#thank you my dearest!!

[kimjunnoodle]

Lover, take a moment of your day to think of like, just a really fucking cool looking train

done and done 🫡

GWR has some absolutely stunning beasts :D

[saewokhrisz]

another pair of cover art + scene illustrations commissions for the wonderful @ser-estinien for their fic "The Stone Heart" (please heed the tags again :9)

[tomaturtles]

HAPPY SONIC FRONTIERS FIRST ANNIVERSARY TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE (inspired by this)

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

hyung line + chokers for @epiphanytear (cr. namuspromised)

[lonesomenecromancer]

taking a break with your dearest helpful friend loop

also some doodles

[oriixxc]

Forgot to post this WIP here cause the first time I tried, Tumblr wouldn’t let me(crop a little now Like, WTH?

Twitter

[jessamine-rose]

*cries* I thought I would be done with Dainsleif after writing Phantom Pain but no…….I still have Dainsleif x Demon! Reader brainrot orz

A YouTube playlist, Dainsleif art in my Twitter likes, an IG folder of fashion inspo for Demon! Reader, a drawing of Demon! Reader, a cameo in another AU, a fcking WIP for Househusband! Dainsleif—WHEN WILL IT END ( ´△｀)

[willowser]

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

[carwoodron]

lipton is just so. consistently the best guy around. yeah boy, remember to get your life insurance... first to sign his resignation as an nco because he's loyal to his men not to rank... gets hit trying to get the men to leave a zeroed area. dragging luz into the foxhole, always being the first one out of his. yelling to stay down and take cover. don't trash-talk our incompetent c.o. who runs when the fight breaks it's bad for morale. it's hard being a replacement officer with the toughest most professional and dedicated sons of bitches. oh hey malarkey, didn't i hear you say you wanted to bring a luger home to your kid brother? compton how are you holding up? doc heads up we're gonna need you soon. i'll draw the sniper's fire for you shifty. always right where he's needed. oh, you mean it's me who's been holding easy company together? i'm just trying to make myself useful despite having pneumonia sir

[twinleafsystem]

"hey man whats going on in this" yeah.

[xinyuehui]

I missed you so much. Look, I'm all grown up now. No longer the tearful little fairy. But I still think that's the you I find most adorable.

春花焰 · Kill Me Love Me · 2024

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hi, I thought you might want to know about this

https://twitter.com/pakhnokh_art/status/1598704497340993536?t=x44ajllMwWZmlHMS7OyQ-Q&s=19

I’m absolutely outraged. The high retweet/like count implies OP doesn’t intend to go through with it. What cowardice. I’ll do it for free.

[2aceofspades]

Not me going back and looking at Cassandra and Casey's hug reunion like omg Ace you are making me EMOTIONAL i love it so muuuccchhh

~-- --- .-. ... . / .- -. --- -.

WAAAAH MORSE ANON!!!

It almost didn't happen, but I managed...I managed 😅 got me all emotional looking back at all of it ngl. But! They truly did deserve a reunion, and I'm so very glad you loved it as well 🥹🙌✨

Here's a lil bonus sketch of them being all content, no tears...just them:

Also don't mind the morse it's not important, I swear!!

[sidekick-hero]

Life after March '86 is very different from life before.

For one thing, he never almost died before. Nor did he ever have anyone accuse him of murder, never mind murders, as in the plural.

But then again, he didn't have Steve Harrington before either.

Steve is on him as soon as Eddie opens the door to the new, government-funded house on the outskirts of town where he and Wayne now live.

"Whoa, hey, Stevie," he laughs, delighted at the way Steve wraps himself around him like he wants to climb inside Eddie, "it's not even been a day."

Steve kicks the door shut behind them and turns to press Eddie against it. Just before Steve's lips land on his, he whispers, "I know, it felt like an eternity to me too," and kisses him like he can't wait another second.

They make their way over to the couch, mouths never parting, and Steve just about pushes Eddie down before climbing into his lap. He's back to kissing Eddie in seconds and Eddie can't help but laugh again, already breathless from how Steve steals all the air from him. "What's gotten into you?" he says, softening his words by brushing his nose against Steve's.

Steve ducks his head and Eddie sees the rosy color rise in his cheeks. The butterflies in his stomach take flight at the sight.

"I - you just taste good."

Eddie lets out another laugh, loud and carefree, and says, "I thought you hated chocolate mint ice cream?"

Steve's grin is the only warning he gets before Steve's giant hand is on his jaw, holding him still as he licks into his mouth. When he's done, he smacks his lips. "Changed my mind. I love it."

They ruin the blanket on the couch that afternoon, but Eddie thinks he can't be blamed for that. It really felt like an eternity.

Life with Steve is good, but life in Hawkins is not.

It's small things, sometimes. Dirty looks when people pass him on the sidewalk. Whispered conversations behind his back, just loud enough for him to hear.

Other times it's bigger. Like the 35 unanswered job applications, on top of the 17 that came back to him with some kind of rude remarks or even slurs written on them.

The spray paint on the walls of their new house and the broken windows are even worse. So are the slashed tires on his van.

But the last straw is the fucking ambush. They had been playing at the Hideout, one of the few places where people left him alone. Eddie had stepped out for a cigarette between sets when they jumped him. Old buddies of Jason's, jocks who had graduated but still hung around Hawkins.

They were on him before he could scream for help, the first fist hitting his temple, bringing him down to his knees. The blows kept coming after that, his eye (murderer), his mouth (devil worshipper), his jaw (faggot).

The bartender, Phil, saves his life that night when he comes out the back door to take out the trash and finds them kicking at Eddie's helpless body as he lies on the ground with his arms around his head. Phil is a big guy, muscular and tall, and a roar from his massive chest is enough to send them scurrying away like the rats they are.

Phil helps him to his feet and asks if he's hurt. He is, but the shame hurts more than the split lip and black eye ever could.

When Steve sees Eddie's face the next day, he is livid. "Jesus Christ, Eddie! What the hell happened? Tell me who did this. They're fucking dead, I swear I -" Eddie's humorless laughter stops him in his tirade. He sways back as if Eddie had pushed him, his eyes searching Eddie's face and Eddie can see the first flicker of hurt in Steve's eyes.

"You don't get it, do you? Even if you kill one or two, they're like the fucking Hydra. Cut off one head and two more will replace it. It's the town, Stevie, don't you see? This cursed town that's suffocating everything that's," breathing heavily, Eddie wants Steve to listen, to understand what he's trying to say here. "Everything that's different. I don't belong here and they know it. They won't stop until I'm gone, one way or another."

He thought the shame hurt, but it was nothing compared to the look in Steve's eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Steve..."

"No, don't Steve me. Eddie, what are you trying to say?" There are tears in Steve's eyes and his voice is thin. He knows what Eddie is trying to say and wills him not to say it.

Eddie wants so much to close the distance between them, wants to step forward and take Steve in his arms and tell him that it's okay, that he didn't mean it. But it's not, and he does. And so he stays where he is, letting the first tears roll down his cheeks.

"I have to, Steve. I-I can't do this anymore, it's killing me. Every day a little more. And I wish -" I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I could ask you to come with me. I wish it was enough to love you.

It's Steve who steps forward, closing the chasm between them, and takes Eddie in his arms. He shushes Eddie softly as he strokes his back, and it is then that Eddie hears his own broken sobs. "I know, shhh, I know."

"I'm so sorry. Steve," his voice breaks at Steve's name and his hands clutch the thin t-shirt Steve is wearing in a white-knuckled grip.

Steve leans back just enough to meet Eddie's eyes and there are tears on his face as well, but for Eddie he still tries to smile. It's the most heartbreaking thing Eddie has ever seen. "It's okay, Eddie. It's okay."

..............................................................................................................................

They make love one last time. It's slow, drawn out, until Eddie doesn't know where he ends and Steve begins.

They don't talk, just hold each other, Steve on top of him, covering every inch of Eddie he can reach, like he wants to crawl inside him. He doesn't pull out when they're finished, just stays inside Eddie as long as their bodies allow.

The next morning, Eddie leaves. It's still dark, but he feels Steve's eyes on him as he silently packs his things.

His hand grips the handle of his door and pulls it open, but before he steps through and out of Steve's life, he turns back to the bed, helpless not to.

The first light of the day streams in through his window and a beam illuminates Steve's broad back, revealing the moles he loves to trace with his tongue. The light makes the brown of his hair look almost golden and he wants nothing more than to drop his bags and crawl back under the covers with Steve. The hazel eyes watching him from beneath the tousled strands of golden brown hair beg him to do just that.

“Goodbye, Stevie.”

The click of the door behind him is almost deafening, the only sound to be heard in the early hours of the dawning day.

..............................................................................................................................

He settles in Chicago when a cousin of Gareth's, looking for a roommate, offers him a place to stay. There is no particular reason. It's not Hawkins, and that's enough for Eddie.

He likes the big city with it's loud noises and louder people. Unapologetic and free, it's what he can finally be here. There is so much going on around him, whole subcultures being born every day, or so it seems. Bands are looking left and right for a guitarist, some even for one who can sing. He auditions, starts playing with some guys (and a girl) who call themselves Dark King's Consort.

Life in Chicago is good, but life without Steve is not.

He misses Steve. Every fucking day. The first few weeks he can't sleep, can't really eat. He sees Steve's face everywhere. Every guy (and, embarrassingly, more than one girl) looks like Steve. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn't recognize the face that looks back at him most days.

It's supposed to get better over time. It never does.

Until one day, six months, two weeks, four days and ten hours after sneaking out of his bedroom with Steve watching him from his bed, he actually sees Steve. The real Steve. In Chicago, on the corner of his street.

He's looking at a piece of paper in his hand, his eyebrows furrowed and his nose adorably scrunched into what Eddie used to call his thinking face. He wants to kiss it.

"What are you doing here?" It comes out accusingly, as if his heart isn't beating so hard it threatens to jump out of his chest and into Steve's hands.

Steve looks up from the paper and his eyes meet Eddie's for the first time in over six months. "Getting my boyfriend back."

Eddie gapes at him, static filling his head, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You said it was okay. That I was leaving, I mean."

Steve steps forward and cups Eddie's cheek with his hand, closing the distance between them once again. There's a smile on his lips and Eddie falls in love with him all over again.

"I lied."

[xxplastic-cubexx]

I truly do appreciate all you do(and put up with) with all our asks and such. I hope all the things you wish for come to you because you deserve it. Also I have been reading your tags. Snuggle your sis’ cat for all of us cat lovers plz. <3

The peoples asks are the highlight of my day …….. most of the time …… of COURSE im happy to interact with them thank you all for being so lovely !!!!!

now excuse me can you guys watch her

[arsenicflame]

Hornigold's Izzy was the worst, of course. A version of himself that never escaped that terrible place, who lived his life as little more than an object. He still has nightmares about all the things Baz told them, about all the things he didn't.

It doesn't really surprise him, after the first ones, not at its root. To be Izzy Hands is to be someone's after all, though seeing his own face on someone so fundamentally different to him never gets less weird. The people who these other Izzys attached themselves too often left him with more questions than answers. Jack's Izzy, he can understand, from a certain view, though the man himself felt like a fever dream. The less said about Stede's Izzy the better, he's never going to forgive him for the ideas he put in his Stede's head.

Then there was Sam's Izzy.

The first thing anyone noticed about him was that he was happy. He smiled and laughed without thought, and went through life with an ease Izzy didn't think he had ever felt. The crew took to him immediately, accepting him in a way they never did the other Izzys, and certainly not their own. They prodded him and asked him endless questions, and he took every touch without a flinch and answered every question without a hint of a grumble. This Izzy was free. He was open, unburdened, trusting. He was happy.

Sam's Izzy was the one that hurt the most to see. He could accept the worst that Hornigold could've offered, that he would have suffered and been broken. It was infinitely harder to see that he had a chance to be this happy. That it slipped through his fingers.

He's never looked back before, but now? Seeing what might've been? He can't stop himself from considering the possibility that maybe he made the wrong choice back then, going with Ed.