#maybe if I get enough of these
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cj-the-random-artist · 24 days ago
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Is this my best comic ever?? Nope. Do I think I characterized either of these two particularly well in this comic?? Not really. Did I spend an unreasonable amount of time on it to the point that it would be a waste to not post it?? Yes, yes I did.
I really committed to this one, spent a lot of time on those backgrounds and treated myself to ample suffering with the perspective, which is not my strong suit but I am happy with how it ultimately looks. Yay perspective and background practice!!
(Tbh I shouldn't talk like I think this one sucks, I think I've just been staring at it for so long that my brain has decided it's not good and it's actually way better than I think it is, and honestly I am quite happy with it. The artistic process really is something, isn't it?)
The inspiration was basically me reminding... myself... to take breaks sometimes... by drawing for several hour stints during my only little bits of free time. Which totally tracks. Probably. But I've been rolling around in my brain this idea that Lambert is a very uptight people pleaser and anxious workaholic, but Narinder, at least since adjusting himself to the circumstances (which probably took at least a century, maybe two) has discovered the joys of self care, and has made an active effort to chill tf out. This has not made him any less terrifying to the cultists (save for Lambert's closest disciples), nor has it made him friendlier to really anyone but Lambert (and maybe his siblings), but he sure has found some serious peace of mind. That said, I can't place what his motivations are here. Perhaps he is secretly concerned about Lambert's sanity, because he doesn't want them to turn into what he was, or maybe he's just trying to steal away some quality time with his one and only friend, but regardless of the reason, I spent too much time on this for nobody to see it, dang it.
That said. Enjoy this silly little comic that I spent way too much time on, and I hope this silly comic brings you some joy today.
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bacchuschucklefuck · 3 months ago
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no more fan-ta-sizing about it! everything's already changed~
#dimension 20#fantasy high junior year#fhjy#figueroth faeth#riz gukgak#adaine abernant#fabian seacaster#gorgug thistlespring#kristen applebees#fh class quangle#my! class swap thing! I guess this is like the poster for it now#got overinvested and finished it properly instead of winging it lol#in closeup order: cleric!gorgug; bard!riz; rogue!fabian; sorcerer!kristen; barbarian!fig; artificer!adaine#this one does have the harpoon gun I'd give fabian during sophomore year but literally only figured out for this piece lol#I like how it looks tho Im glad I hashed it out#thinking abt power armor adaine a lot tbh... she has the transhumanist audacity. she's villain-adjacent enough#to attempt unspeakable acts of body improvement#(its funny bc to wear a rig like that would Also demand a certain level of physical strength from you)#also yeah this is the thing with riz holding a megaphone that got me considering#its fun! it fits the aesthetics! maybe it'd grant him range for bardics#maybe he gets to keep that Im just not sure how he'd carry it around lol#fig gets to have all of her makeup... I like almost never remember to draw it usually kdsjfhdjk listen. I just forgor#I always forget makeup is real#also dont ask me what's in kristen's thermos it Is usually tea but you truly never know#sometimes its soup. it can be lighter fluid. soap perhaps. hot chocolate#also if u come knocking on my door abt kristen's somatic in this piece: I wont be home#she gets to be gross especially bc shes funny and 17yo and gay. we give it to her#okay I. whoo I should lay down. finally I can move on to other things#cheers! wahoo. yahha perhaps
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noughticalcrossings · 9 months ago
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Put thee not on Silent
[ID: A 4 panel comic made of digital paintings of a zoom meeting between the knights of the Round Table.
Sir Galahad, Queen Guinevere, Sir Gawain, Sir Lancelot, Sir Bedivere, have their own individual screens, and one screen shows a conference room with King Arthur, Sir Mordred, and others who are not named.
Both Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere have their cameras turned off, and microphones muted, the entire time.
Panel 1 shows King Arthur with a few of his knights, with Sir Mordred brooding beside him in shadows, and a hand reaching from offscreen to steal snacks from a bowl.
Sir Galahad has his microphone muted, and is in a forest, looking up and to the side. He has brown hair up above his head and very pale skin.
King Arthur asks, "Sir Gawain, canst thou see the PowerPoint slides?"
Panel 2 shows Sir Gawain, who has brown skin, black hair, green clothes, and heterochromia, with one green eye and one dark, replies, "Verily I cannot, I think it be a miasma of the sight."
Behind him for the background is a section from the Green Knight manuscript, showing faded lettering and a green knight on a green horse standing in front of someone with a large axe while a crowd of spectators watch from the sides.
Sir Galahad's screen is now slightly motion-blurred, showing a reddragon's open mouth in front of Sir Galahad's face.
Panel 3 shows Sir Bedivere, labeled Tech Support, who wears a blue shirt and a plumed knight's helm, looking exhaustedly into the camera, pushing his helmet visor up with one hand. He is lit by blue light and has bags under his eyes, asking: "Hast thou sharest the screen?"
His background is of a library. Sir Galahad's screen is now taken up by the motion-blurred side of the dragon that is attacking him.
Panel 4 shows Sir Gawain turned slightly to the side, looking derisively at the camera, saying: "Yea, but I cannot hear Sir Galahad."
The only thing left in Sir Galahad's screen is the motion-blurred, spade shaped tail tip of the dragon chasing him.
End ID.]
Description very kindly added by @describe-things
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blackkatdraws2 · 2 months ago
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[Toon x Mobster] Only he can make him laugh like that...
Jack Desmond is the silly guy. Gavriel Huffman is the scary guy. They come from different worlds that has contrasting genres, one more cartoonishly comedic and the other much dramatically darker.
It's kind of a running gag that Sir Huffman is unable to laugh without looking absolutely wicked. Both in the cartoon world and his own world.
That doesn't stop Jack from being completely smitten with him though, his voice is the most mind-melting thing he's ever had the pleasure to hear
[AUDIO USED:] Men I Trust - show me how
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artkaninchenbau · 5 months ago
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People keep on asking for more Baby Robin and Papadile so here is more Baby Robin and Papadile. Now never ask anything from me ever again
#My art#One Piece#Long post#Sir Crocodile#Nico Robin#Alternatively panel 5 would've been a close up of Crocodile's face from Robin's POV where he looks like he's giving her a death glare#Not intentionally he's just a big scary bastard with a Resting Murder Face and Robin is a small traumatized child#But I wanted to focus on the silliness of the moment so you get the goofy version instead#IDK man there's just something very funny to me about the idea of Robin just randomly info-dumping about a subject she's read about#And Crocodile being like ''?????????????????????? The fuck you talking about??''#Robin leaves the ship's kitchen and Crocodile just stares at the tomato like ''...It's a fruit? Forreal?''#(Meanwhile Robin is sweating bullets like ''I called his favorite vegetable a FRUIT right in his FACE he's going to KILL ME'')#Robin grew extra feet from the bottom of her feet to reach the counter and that actually isn't me trying to explain bad art away#In the original Papadile comic there was a panel of Robin doing the dishes with extra feet to reach the sink but I cut it out#(It was a stress relief comic I did not feel like drawing a complicated background in detail) (BUT YES I THOUGHT OF IT)#Nico Robin Age 11 is *more* than capable of cooking Crocodile just does not trust her with his food. At least not yet#She did start doing the dishes unprompted and continues to do so (mostly out of fear). Croc told her she didn't have to but allows it#IDK a lot of people seem to headcanon Crocodile as incapable of cooking and like. Surely Mr ''I don't trust people'' knows how to cook#Like he doesn't have to be a master chef or anything but and maybe he enjoys not HAVING to cook (pain in the ass with one hand + knife/hook#But surely he can cook decent enough. SURELY#Botanists don't @ me I know the ''tomato is a fruit'' thing isn't fully accurate this is just a silly little haha comic
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verflares · 3 months ago
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would you like to live deliciously?
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chloesimaginationthings · 8 months ago
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Michael doesn’t like his father in any FNAF universe..
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yes-asil · 2 months ago
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Made fake screenshots for a role-play story I read way back when.
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beebfreeb · 3 months ago
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To all my long-term followers: You have to look through all of my art and deduct exactly what's wrong with me. I know you can do it by now.
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void-dude · 3 months ago
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WAIT I GOT A QUESTION ABOUT TAD so before his dimension was destroyed, could he also see the third dimension or did he only start to see it AFTER the his dimension was destroyed? If it was only after, how did he take it? Now that he knew just what bill was referring to when he was young? THE POTENTIAL ANGST WONT LET ME SLEEP HELP
Also btw, been loving your pibes and shapes au I’ve been eating everything UP
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So my idea was that Tad did have a type of eye mutation! But it wasn’t as severe or noticeable as Bills. He always had the desire to be “ normal “ so “ just because I see something dark and shiny in the corner of my eye if I look really far to the side doesn’t mean I can’t have a normal life “ was what he told himself. Once he met baby Bill, he really really wanted him to think the same. He kept telling him “ Billy please pretend you can’t see it “ or “ keep looking at me, that way your eye is visible a little bit, that’s enough to live normally “
Too bad Tad was the reason Bill got the wrong idea of his developing powers! Tad was an exception not an example! People can’t twist that way, Billy. They can’t turn like Tad. Your powers don’t stay the same either Billy, you’re setting things on fire Billy
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violent138 · 3 months ago
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When the Robins were too young to convincingly pass as drivers, they'd always insist that Bruce drive them to school or anyplace they were running late to, because Bruce's extensive illegal racing experience meant they were guaranteed to make it there on time. Or even early sometimes.
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egophiliac · 2 months ago
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:) hello! :D hope you have a nice day and absolutely do not think of the possibility of one of the last story cards being of silver! and that his groovy will very probably be crying!!! THERE'S SO MANY CRYING PEOPLE IN STORY CARDS LATELY!!! SPECIALLY LIGHT USERS!! I AM!!! SCARED!!!! bc so far we got Lilia and Sebek in the beginning book 7.... so at the end.... so we're missing story Silver... and Malleus is the one with less cards, so they might add one for him... but... the tears... ego.... THE TEARS!!!! EGOOOO!! (LOVE YOUR ART BTW EVERYTIME I GET A NOTIF FROM YOUR BLOG I RUN HERE TO SEE!)
(thank you! 💚💜💚)
YES I am ALSO like...90-95% convinced that we're going to be getting a story card for Silver once we wrap around back to diasomnia. 👀 especially because the way things are going, Silver will be the only character whose dream we haven't seen -- yet???? -- and that just. y'know. makes me wonder!
although I do think it would be VERY funny if he got a story card and the groovy was just "regular Silver except with one beautiful single crystal tear". this is actually a lot coming from him.
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(he used up all his emotion yelling at a baby that one time, there's none left for a proper groovy-level cry.)
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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 11 months ago
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COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO
synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 
word count; 4.6k
contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues
a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33
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”holy shit!”
the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.
”satoru, it’s too early for this...”
”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 
your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.
(snowing.)
with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.
satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 
maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 
it’s beautiful. 
satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 
all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 
the first snow of the year.
and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.
there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.
like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.
and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 
(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.
and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)
high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.
and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 
a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.
he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.
— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.
satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.
(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)
”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 
he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.
it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.
so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.
satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.
”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.
”never.”
a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.
a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”
and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.
his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”
his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.
he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 
when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.
you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 
hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.
satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.
because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 
what more could a man want?
”hey, idiots!” 
the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.
”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”
”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.
suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 
(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)
with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.
”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.
then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”
satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”
a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”
a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”
and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”
satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.
despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”
”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.
”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”
satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.
suguru sighs.
”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”
his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.
he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 
when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.
the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.
(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.
and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)
suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.
when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.
that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.
”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.
satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 
but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”
a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”
you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”
a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.
and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 
his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.
and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 
(i'm sorry, you big baby.)
satoru grins.
you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.
”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”
he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”
”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”
”and don’t play dumb, either.”
a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”
said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 
and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.
”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”
satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”
you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”
”hmph.”
suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.
and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 
that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.
this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.
(married.)
sometimes he still can’t believe it. 
”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 
and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.
and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.
your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.
his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.
(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)
and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.
a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.
and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.
”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”
”— you’re disgusting.”
the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.
and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.
you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.
then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 
”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.
silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.
”… santa can only do so much, baby.”
two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.
”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 
you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”
”of course not! blasphemy.” 
a moment passes.
”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”
a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.
then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 
he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.
and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.
he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 
for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?
(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)
— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.
it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.
and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.
warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 
he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 
and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 
he hopes it never goes away.
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sakuravalelp · 5 months ago
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Ellie(Dani) didn't realize how dangerous Danny's home was for him until he was more worried about her when she got her own home. - Prompt I think(?)
Ellie wasn't sure how to feel when Danny excitedly animated her to accept Arthur's invitation to live in Atlantis.
"Just if you want of course, but you'll get a stable home, and Frostbite said living underwater might be good for your water cores stability."
She had already been planning to accept the offer. Once she gave the guy an opportunity to have some sort of conversation, the guy was pretty chill, and the castle was pretty cool. So yeah, she was going to accept the offer.
But for some reason Danny's eagerness for her to go with Arthur hurt. It felt like he was trying to get rid of her.
She knew that was ridiculous, she didn't even live with Danny. He looked out for her, and was always a call away but, as much as Danny parents her, he was just a child like her. It made sense he was happy to give away the responsibility of taking care of her.
So when Ellie moved into Atlantis, she was expecting to hear less from Danny. After all, she had settle down, and he didn't need to worry about her adventures anymore. That was Arthur's and Mera's job now.
Weirdly enough, it was the complete opposite.
Now that Ellie was living with adults, Danny seemed MORE worried for her. They went from a call once a week or so, to almost daily calls in the afternoons. He would be more insistent about her telling him if anything was wrong.
He would ask specifics about the food she was eating, and her activities of the day, and her room, and the castles security...
Sam had told her that it was because he used to be able to monitor if she was eating well through the transactions of the debit card they had given her. Tuck had told her that he used to evaluate how safe she was through the phones location, and the hotels receipts.
And well, maybe she underestimated how much attention Danny put on her before, but the way the calls went made it seem like he thought she might be in more danger now that she had a stable home.
Which made no sense, because unlike him, she didn't even need to hide her ghostlines. Anything that was out of normal for Atlanteans was excused with meta-abilities, she didn't need to worry about being classified as a non-sentient species.
That was when it caught up to her. Danny was worried now that she was in a stable home because his stable home had always been dangerous for him. It isn't even a think of it being dangerous now that his a ghost, it has been dangerous ever since he was a child. She remembers all of Jazz's rants about how unreliable their parents have always been.
The food has always been contaminated. The security now attacked him directly, but there had always been a possibility of it malfunctioning and hurting the residents. Him and Jazz had always had the responsibilities of not only keeping the house clean, but the lab as well. If she tops it with the house security system attacking him, and his parents been ghost hunters...
Ellie hadn't found it too dangerous back then, Danny mocked Jazz rants with her, and Jack and Maddie were kind when they interacted with her in her human form. The Fentons neglect seemed liberating in comparison to Vlad overly controlling nature. But thinking about it now, after two months living in Atlantis, she doesn't like the picture.
She doesn't like the idea of Danny being somewhere so unsafe, but where would he go? He doesn't have a water core like her, and even if he had gotten sorta used to shapeshifting, he isn't good enough to live in a second form, which isn't recommendable either way. So he wouldn't be able to move underwater with her.
More so, she doubts that Danny would like to leave his Amity, he had taken the sole responsibilities of dealing with the whole humans - ghost conflicts. With the anti-ecto acts, there's no way he would leave the portal unsupervised.
What should she do now? Should she talk with Arthur about it? He said he was part of the heros friend group, what if they already know about the anti-ecto acts and are okay with it? What if they change hoe they act with her when she tells them she isn't actually an atlatean meta?
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aunmenosheteroenespanol · 7 months ago
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2.12 Chimney Begins - 2.09 Hen Begins - 2.16 Bobby Begins Again - 7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered
Tommy's family arc
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tatretot · 8 months ago
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this hat was made for scar specifically 🔧
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