#this is so stupid but i wanted to draw them

[frownyalfred]

Why is it so hard to find ppl that actually understand bruce? I am tired of either finding ppl that see him as an abuser or others that only love wfa version of him I am really tired of this like really I can't even join a Fandom without getting my favorite character not getting mischaracterized left and right 😔

I'm going to rant a little bit here, and I apologize in advance. This isn't really directed at you. But I'm kind of tired of this flavor of ask. I get it a lot -- half of these asks are praising me for having a "good" interpretation of canon, and the other half are blasting me for being too "fanon" and bending too much to fandom tropes in my posts and writing. And of course the nonstop WFA hatred in my inbox is tiring.

Be the change you want to see in the world. If you don't like what the fandom is doing to your blorbo, write him your way. But sitting at the edge of the playpen complaining about how someone else is playing with their toys isn't useful. And it's really getting annoying to me, as a content creator.

I'm also tired of the superiority some canon-adherents have over those who write/draw more fanon tropes. So many of you are SO bitter over the idea that fandom is "ruining" Bruce or your other Batfamily blorbo because how DARE they write your blorbo in that way that is so OOC. How DARE they! And yet, you sit on the sidelines and create bitchy tumblr posts about how those fandom participants are stupid, or ill-informed, or simply don't have the higher thinking ability to understand your blorbo like you do.

And yet. You don't write Bruce the way you "enjoy." You don't create content or share posts or promote those canon characteristics you so highly value. Instead, you write posts complaining about the others in this fandom and deride them for being stupid like adhering to canon strictly somehow makes you better than anyone else. You mock their acceptance of fanon tropes as canon as if there is required reading in this fandom, entirely dismissing the idea that the line between DC fanon/canon is confusing as hell on a good day, and ignoring that the natural progression of engaging in fandom is finding out -- sometimes on your own timeline -- what actually happened in canon. Especially when canon is so vast.

And guess what? At the end of the day, we are all on the fandom website(s). You're still reading fanfiction at the end of the day. Canon or fanon or some blend of the in-between, you are still a fan participating in fandom content in some way or another. And we are all equal in that respect.

We are all here to enjoy these characters. Fanfiction is a medium that allows us to further explore canon, yes, But it is also a way to explore the OOC, the what-if's, the out of character but fandom-fave ideas and tropes people want. The fact that OTHER people enjoy those things should never impact your enjoyment of fandom.

If you cannot handle someone else playing with the same toys as you, but playing with them in a way you don't like, you need to go back to preschool. And if someone won't give you your toy back, find another one. Write the story. Create the post. Build your own engagement from the ground up, finding likeminded people if you can. They are definitely on here.

But I get the impression that when people complain about fanon "ruining" fandom, what they're actually saying is "I'm upset that canon content isn't as popular as fanon content." And that, I can't help you with. We can't always change what other people love or want to engage with.

I'm sorry that this rant is blunt, but it's been simmering inside me for a while. I'm really tired of getting and deleting this ask 15 times a day. You will not find much sympathy on this blog for canon purism and the derision of fanon/fandom, and for that I apologize. But it's the truth.

I enjoy consuming content about both "fanon" and canon Bruce. I like the contrast and complexities. But I have seriously had to stop following a ton of blogs in the last year who don't create "canon" content anymore and instead spend their time complaining about other people in the fandom who are just enjoying themselves and creating their own content. It's incredibly disheartening and frustrating.

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, crazy sexual tension, lots of cussing, light angst, tons of humor, workplace relationship, the hospital is lowkey slutty lol. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 7.5k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Comment to get added to the tag list ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part One =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

♡ Part Two ♡

“Doctor, you should call it. The time of death.” Comes Miwa’s voice, soft and sweet, as you’re pumping your hands tirelessly over this woman’s chest.

The woman had a damn baby right in the hospital nursery, having had a placental abruption, they had gotten the baby out in time on the maternity ward, but then she lost too much blood, and they’d brought her here. You've pumped countless times, your elbows are locked, your arms are aching, there are tears sticking to your cheeks that you don’t know where they came from.

You’re counting, one, two, three… to thirty, then scowl up at the nurse assistant now. “She’s not dead yet, now do the breaths!”

The assistant squeezes the blue bottle, frowning at you in concern. “It’s been three minutes, the patient is likely gone.”

“Don’t tell me to just give up on her. I won’t. Charge em up.” You turn and say to Miwa now, and she sighs. “I said…” You’re pumping so hard you feel her ribcage just barely crack, but you can’t stop, she’s flat lined and she has a damn baby. “I said charge them. Thirty joules! C’mon, Yula…”

The patient’s name was Yula, her name was Yula.

You keep repeating it to yourself as you work over her, hopelessly staring at the screen, praying to see a blip, to see anything. You’ve already had to call time of death for patients, but something in this got you, in knowing that the baby wouldn’t even know her own mother. In knowing that she got here just in time to save her baby, only to fall unconscious.

You’re nearing four minutes, you realize with a panic, and you notice Miwa has not charged the paddles. “Doctor, you should-”

“Are you telling your doctor what to do?” You demand, breathless, and she pouts then, thin brows drawing together.

“If she says charge them, fucking charge them. Thirty joules, now.” Comes Doctor Gojo’s voice, deep and stern, as he steps into the room, glaring over at Miwa, who now suddenly decides that she will charge the paddles. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t compressing over and over on Yula, exhaustion already setting in.

“Thank you, Dr. Gojo.” You manage, trembling with your effort, and he gently pushes you out of the way, you shake out your numb arms.

“You get the paddles, intern, okay. How long?” He asks.

“Almost four minutes, Gojo, she's crazy!” Miwa says. Your jaw clenches.

“Did I ask you anything?” He demands then, and the room goes silent, Gojo looks right at you, seriously, when you get the paddles and then he moves his hands, as you shock Yula’s chest now.

A blip.

“Please, please…” You whisper, choking up, and then the blip dies off. “She just had two blood transfusions, we need to-”

“Doctor, she’s been at it too long.” Miwa says. “She’s going to have no brain function if we go one more minute.”

“So we give her one more minute!” You shout at her, you never shout, you never break this composure you try to have, but you’re exhausted, weak, thank god Gojo’s pumping over her, his strong arms working faster than even you could.

“Hey, intern, look at me.” You look at Gojo then, at his pretty face as he’s working over her, his white hair falling over his forehead, he nods at the paddles. “Just breathe, yeah? Charge them to forty five.”

“Yes, Sir.” You manage, taking a breath, then you open your eyes, and look at the screen one more time, taking the defibrillator paddles, and shocking her chest, her entire body jolts. The room is dead silent, then you hear it, a heartbeat, a pulse on that machine, a steady beep… beep… beep…

You start sobbing in relief, uncaring what anyone thought at that moment. Doctor Gojo checks for signs of brain activity, rubbing her throat then, feeling her pulse. He grins at you, brightening that room with those glinting white teeth. He gestures for you to come over now, as Yula barely opens her eyes, gasping for breath then, leaning up on her elbows.

“What… where’s my baby?” She whispers, her lips are blue, but she’s talking, cognizant, aware. You feel chills through your body, goosebumps you rub gingerly with sore arms.

The first thing she asks, her baby. She’s gonna be a damn good mom, and she gets to be a mom. You push back thoughts of your own mom, taking a breath to finally speak.

“Your baby is nice and healthy, she’s strong. Like her mom.” You say softly, holding her hand delicately in your own, the nurses are unhooking her from the plugs in the wall, wrapping tubes and wires now, so that they can take her to get checked on Doctor Gojo’s orders.

“Oh thank goodness, oh…” She’s blinking tears now, and she looks to Doctor Gojo, who is smiling softly at her.

“She saved your life.” Gojo says, and you shake your head.

“He did, truly.”

“Well, a little, but mostly her.” He nudges you a bit playfully, and she’s smiling, holding her hands out to both of you.

“Thank you both so, so much. Thank you.” The nurses who all were not listening are quiet now, but you don’t blame them, many of them have done this for years, and you were new.

But something feels so good knowing she is okay, that she will live to see her baby, a fucking rush knowing you saved her, that Doctor Gojo had helped you, despite you going against certain protocol. You look up at him now, and his lips part as he studies you, seriously.

“We will get you to some tests, then you can hold your baby. How’s that sound, Miss Yula?” Satoru says, turning his attention to her, and she nods, grinning so big. She’s pale, she looks weak, but she’s strong and she’s alive.

“Thank you both so much. I can’t wait to meet my baby! Was it a…” Your heart pounds now, realizing she didn’t even see the baby yet.

“It’s a boy. You will see him very soon.” They wheel her away, Miwa is about to leave when Gojo pauses her.

“You will not do that again, I don’t care if she’s new, she is your doctor. Do you understand?” He asks, he’s quiet, so no one hears, and she is blinking back tears now, lip trembling.

“You’re being mean to me.” You try not to scoff, acting like you can’t hear a thing she says, Satoru doesn’t hide his scoff.

“Mean? It’s lives we’re talking about, not personal things.” He says, dropping his voice even quieter, as you work on putting in orders for medicines for Yula, you pretend you don’t hear, but something in you is curious.

“She’s insane.”

Ouch.

“She’s my best intern, and I like insane.” You can’t lie about how elated you are when you hear him. Doctor Gojo might come off as silly, or goofy, but he was the best, and the praise meant so much, even if insane may not be a compliment, from him it seemed like one. “How many times have I pulled a stunt like that?”

“You’re Doctor Gojo.”

“She went through the same schooling, she earned her place here. I am disappointed. I’ll have to assign you elsewhere if you keep on with it, you’ve repeatedly not listened to her. Understood?”

She looks at you, then looks down, nodding. “I get it, fine… but, can I see you later?” Her voice drops another octave, just a breath really.

“I’m busy today, but just know I’m not mad at you, okay? Just you need to trust her judgment, I only brought the best here.” He has his hands on her shoulders gently, she nods, then walks by you.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just seen… a lot of situations where that doesn’t work.” She says, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, I am kind of batshit crazy to keep going so long. I think I really… because of the baby…”

“I understand. I’ll trust you next time.” She whispers, giving you a little hug now, surprising you. “You saved her.”

“Thank you, Miwa.” You give her a little smile as she leaves, and it’s just you and Satoru now, as the heavy hospital door slams shut. Satoru has his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat, leaning against the counter of the hospital room, looking at you. “I know, I know… I was reckless.”

“Completely reckless, and honestly she’s right. You’re insane.” He says, you flush then, looking down.

“Is this going to fuck up my chance to scrub in? I’m so sorry-”

“Why did you go so hard?” He’s suddenly right in front of you, the pounding of adrenaline racing through your body makes you overheated, lightheaded, to the point you feel a little dizzy.

“She just had that baby, Satoru. Fuck… Gojo. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” He brushes your hair back, it’s fallen out of its bun. “You want me to fix your hair?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I asked if you wanted me to.” You nod then, turning, and Satoru is taking your hair out of your bun now, gathering it gently. “So you wanted to try insane shit because she had a baby?”

“Yes. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“You just gave four hundred compressions, you should be a mess. Now, is it just because you love babies so much?” He asks, long fingers massaging your scalp, you can’t help but shut your eyes. It feels so good.

“I do love babies, but no. My mother died having me, from the same thing, placental abruption. I was in the NICU for a long, long time. My dad had to care for me alone, poor guy had no clue what to do. I snapped, honestly, it wasn’t professional in any way, Gojo.”

He’s quiet, as he fixes your hair back up, now his big, sure hands are massaging your sore arms, you exhale, tilting your neck side to side. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I never knew her. All I have are stories, I never even got held in her arms, just like Yula’s baby would have been.” Your voice is hoarse, your body is tired, you feel his gentle touch and crave more of it.

“You call your patients their names, not ‘patient’.”

“Yes. They have names, we should use them. Don’t you?”

“I do. But… you know that you are letting your emotions guide you, rather than your brain.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“I like that.”

“What now!?” You turn to look at him in shock, and he’s very serious, more serious than you’re used to seeing him. Even in surgery, his confidence carried over, and he could crack jokes as you would watch him through the glass. You were always amazed by that, the confidence, the skill, the ability to laugh even.

“I like that you said fuck protocol and tried your best to save someone, shit that’s why I’m as good at what I do as I am. I said fuck all these rules. Sometimes saving someone means trusting your gut.” He’s tilting your chin up, and for some insane moment you want to kiss him, is it the adrenaline, is it his praise, is it your heart racing so much you’re stupid?

You eye his plush lips, barely registering his words.

“You like that I’m too emotional? Isn’t that the opposite of what I’m supposed to be as a doctor?” You whisper, and he shakes his head then, leaning close.

“You’re unique, special. I find you intriguing actually, and exactly what I want in an intern. I’ll have to cover for your ass though with Yaga.”

“Ugh, I know.” You sigh now. “You’re about to take over as chief of surgery, aren’t you? I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

“Nah, no worries there, I have been getting away with shit for eight years. I’m the best so they do whatever the fuck I want to keep me.” He smirks, and you smile up at him, enjoying the close proximity far too much. “You owe me.”

“Anything! Oh, nothing pervy.”

His lips quirk up. “How dare you assume.”

“Well, Miwa is probably upset, you may not get a bj.” He snorts then, dropping your chin and rolling his pretty blue eyes.

“She absolutely was in the wrong to question you, and she knows. As for… well we don’t have a relationship, I don’t really date.”

You raise a brow curiously. “You just fuck?”

“Lots of fucking.” You snort, shaking your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You should try it, you’re too stiff, you should loosen up.”

“Bet you- actually, you know what, no. I’m too happy to argue. Maybe I should go relieve some stress, shit.” Gojo laughs again, and you giggle now. “I’m losing my mind at this career.”

“That’s what good doctors do.” He taps your nose.

“Why do you do that?” You ask curiously.

“You’re cute when it scrunches up. Now, I want you to go out to eat with me sometime, that’s all I ask.” You sigh, tilting your head.

“Why, you’re Dr. Hojo, you can have anyone go out to eat with you, and do much more than I would, I’m sure.”

“Maybe I just wanna know what makes you tick, intern. Especially now that I saw you in action like that.” You nervously bite your lip, as you think of just being around him outside of this hospital, what would that even be like?

“Sure, we can go out to eat some time. Are you going to the party tomorrow?” You ask, and he nods.

“I’ll be there to make it fun. Now, you go put in your notes, I’ll go mitigate this with Yaga before it blows up.” He gently rubs your shoulder, walking past you now towards the door.

“Doctor Gojo?” He turns then. “Thank you, so much.”

Satoru smiles at you, nodding his head a bit. “You’re welcome intern, you owe me though, I’ll be annoying you about it.”

“Can’t wait.” You tease, he chuckles as he walks by, you nearly collapse, so overwhelmed, plopping down into the rolling chair and covering your face.

You saved someone. That eclipses it all, this is what you wanted to do, always, to save people, like your mom that day. No, not everyone is going to get saved, but if you can just do your fucking best, you feel good. You look at your watch, only one hour left of this insane day.

The night of the party

You’re rushing to get out of the hospital, to hurry and get to the party Maki, Yuta and Toge have started without you. You brought party clothes with you, so you quickly change into the outfit, a slinky little red dress that glitters even under the icky fluorescent lights above. You run over to the mirror, slathering on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss.

You then dig through your bag, retrieving a brush, running it through your hair and attempting to look human, to look…

“Damn, intern, you look hot.” Gojo’s voice comes behind you, you gasp, jerking and dropping the brush, it clatters to the floor. He smirks at you.

“You scared me, shit!” He bends down, grabbing your brush, and for a moment his breath hits your bare thighs, you tremble as he looks up at your bare legs, taking his time to stand.

“Nice stems.” He says, you roll your eyes, snatching up the brush.

“Oh hush.” You turn, running it through your hair once more, peering at Gojo’s reflection, feeling how small you are compared to him in that mirror. “You bringing Miwa to the party?”

“She’ll be there I’m sure, but I told you, we aren’t dating. One blow job doesn’t make a girlfriend.”

“Only one, hmm? You have more stones to collect.” He chuckles, shaking his head, you turn then, slinging your bag over your shoulder, far too close to him. “God, you always smell good.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You panic, shoving past him, and he is grinning far too big now, taking off his white lab coat, revealing those strong muscles, veins popping out under the pale skin, and since when are veins attractive!?

Everything about him is.

Be immune to the charm.

“I wanna show you something before you go, can you wait just a second? Or so eager to get to the party?” He asks, going to his locker, sliding off his shirt, your throat goes dry, you look quickly away.

“Just eager to make sure they don’t destroy my house.”

“Are you giving me a tour of your room?”

“No infinity stones to be found here.” He snorts, you look back and see him in his boxers, looking away again.

“All right, I’m decent. You’re cute when you blush.”

“I’m just… overheated.”

“Uh huh.” You look to see him now, as he shuts his locker and he’s wearing a dark blue dress shirt, black slacks and boots, he runs a brush through his hair, you’re entranced as his silky strands slide through so effortlessly. “There, all done, how do I look?”

“You look good, Gojo. You always do though.”

“Sure do.” You can’t help but laugh, he’s ridiculous. He grabs his wallet, shoving it in his pocket, holding out a hand. You look at it. “Come on.”

“Oh, fine. It better be good I’m already running late.” You put your hand in his, and he drags you down several halls, until you’re both in an elevator, still holding hands, you pull yours away, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Gojo.”

“Ouch, you wound me, mean little intern.” He puts a hand on his chest. “I’m so offended, I didn’t say that to you!”

“You fuck whoever, and that’s cool, I get it. You’re hot, and this job is stressful as shit.”

“You think I’m hot, hmm?” He leans close, far too close, you glare at him again, pushing on his chest, ignoring how good his muscles feel under your palms.

“You know you are.”

“Yeah, I do. And of course I wanna fuck you, look at you. But I also just want to… get to know you.” He cups your face, and your eyes shut for just a moment. “I know you’re a goodie goodie.”

“Am not.”

“So you’re freaky?”

“You won’t find out.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope.” He leans closer, and your chin tilts up, lips just a breath from him, so close you taste his sweet breath.

“Then why do you look like you wanna kiss me so bad, intern?” He murmurs, you lean even closer, before the elevator stops, and you step back, struggling to compose yourself, turning away. “Aw, you okay?”

“Fuck you, Dr. Hojo.”

He laughs once more. “Come on, I’ll stop teasing.”

“You’re such an ass.” You huff, stomping out, then pausing when you realize where you are. “The maternity ward?”

He smiles, hand now gently holding your inner arm, you ignore how good his hand feels on your bare skin. “I think you should see something.”

Soon he’s led you to a room, then you see them.

Yula holding her little baby.

“Oh my god.” You smile up at him, he studies you carefully, nodding over to where they’re sitting in the hospital bed.

“Go say hi, you deserve it.” His hand is at the small of your back, as you walk inside the room, Gojo stays at the doorway, watching you. Yula lights up when she sees you, grinning so big.

“You downplayed what you did, everyone is calling you a miracle worker, Doctor.” She says to you, you shake your head, stopping in front of them, looking at the beautiful baby boy, his cherubic little cheeks hollowing as he sucks on a bright blue binkie, then you look back at Yula.

“It was nothing, just my job.”

“No, it wasn’t nothing. If not for you… I…” She blinks back tears now, and you barely hold in your own.

“Don’t upset yourself, please. You have been through a lot, mama.”

“You should hold him!” Yula says.

“Me? I…”

“Here.” She sits up carefully, and you pick up the little boy, Yula smiles at Gojo and waves him in. “His name is Gojo.”

“What?” Gojo blinks a bit himself, coming to stand beside you and looking down at him, Gojo carefully brushes the baby’s cheek, his hands bigger than the little baby almost. You smile up at him, and for a moment, your eyes lock, then you both flush, looking away. “After me?”

“Yes, you were amazing. I’d have named it after you if it was a girl!”

“Oh, goodness. He is handsome, huh Gojo?” You coo to the baby, Gojo’s hand again comes to the small of your back, he is leaning over your shoulder, looking down at the bundle in your arms.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Knowing you did a good thing here.” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod then, smiling back at him.

“Thank you for this, Gojo. And thank you, Yula.”

“Thank you both, you're getting Christmas gifts from me.” You both laugh softly, saying your goodbyes, and when the elevator closes again, you let the little tears fall. Satoru swipes at them, and you sigh.

“Fuck it.” You yank him down by his shirt, kissing his lips, expecting it to feel nice, or good… but instead, it’s electrifying, as if little shocks are radiating throughout your entire body. Satoru exhales, deepening the kiss, pressing you against the wall, hands at your waist, peering back to look down at you, to take a breath.

“Fuck…” He murmurs softly, brushing your cheek with his long fingers, running a thumb over your lower lip. “What did I do to earn something that sweet?”

“You did a lot for me. Thank you.” He kisses your lips again, but now his tongue slips in, and you feel desire pooling in your core, especially when his hands are trailing up your sides, and his tongue is dancing with yours. You pull back, gasping. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t fucking apologize. Please.” He kisses you deeper now, and you lose yourself for that moment, his teeth on your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around his neck as he bends low. Your hands entwine in that silky hair, the hair you have wondered how good would feel under your fingers, his thigh coming between your thighs. “Oh my god…”

“Mmm.” You whine out, pathetic, hips arching up, and you feel him, his hard thigh, those hands overtaking you, tasting him, a hand enwrapping in your hair.

“You’re so hot there…” He murmurs, a hand sliding down your tummy, making it tremble, and you are questioning everything, until the elevator dings, and you both pull away quickly, but Satoru looks completely affected, eyes dilated, his breaths heavy as they come out, mirroring you.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah you should have.”

“No… but thank you. Really.” You touch his shoulder gently. “I will not be an infinity stone.”

“Think you’d be the whole gauntlet.”

“Oh whatever. Forget that, please.”

“No way.”

You both are walking out to your cars then, you’re fucking insane, you kissed Satoru Gojo, your boss! You kissed him. He’s walking you to your car now, opening your door, and you can barely meet his pretty eyes, so embarrassed. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were feeling something, emotions, gratitude… attraction.” He practically says the word like a caress, you feel it physically. “More probably. What’s wrong with feeling things?” He asks then, and you sigh.

“Feeling things for someone who you can’t be with, that sounds like torture.”

“Is it all that?”

“Yes. You should… forget it.”

“I’m not forgetting it. I’ll see you there?” You nod, shy as fuck now, surprised at yourself, touching your lips when you shut the car door, his kiss is lingering on your lips, like some drug you crave.

You gasp when he’s still standing there, grinning at you through your window. You roll it down, scowling. “Go on!”

“You were thinking about it.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“Was not!”

“Mmm, naughty intern-”

You rev up your loud ass car. “Can’t hear you!” He’s grinning far too big when you drive off, heart pounding.

You kissed your boss, and now you’re going to a party with him?

You have lost your mind?

“Bitch, you look so hot.” Maki runs over to you, shoving a questionable red solo cup in your hands, making you wince.

“Bad memories. You look hot too!” You kiss her cheek now, as there are people all over your house, dancing, laughing, most of whom you have no clue who they are. Some loud bass music is blaring, and it’s giving you a bit of a headache, but the energy is good, and you can see your roommates enjoying themselves.

Yuta is taking shots with Toge, you both walk over as Maki takes a sip from her own cup, her eyes sparkling. “Drink it!”

“Oh fine.” You take a sip, feeling the sweet, fruity drink. At first it’s fine, but then you can feel the burn of the alcohol. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, chug it bitch.”

“No!”

“Then take shots, pretty.” Yuta says, and you giggle, shaking your head. “What, you look pretty? Both of you do.”

“Pretty.” Toge says, blush on his cheeks when you kiss one, then Yuta’s.

“Aww thank you all.” Toge runs off then, leaving you confused, staring at Yuta and Maki who are whispering to each other. “What’d I do!?”

“He’s got it bad.” Maki says, seriously.

“What? No.”

“He does, poor guy. No chance.” Yuta says, you sigh.

“You all are silly, he does not. I would know, I live with him. He’s just a little… shy sometimes.”

“Exactly. You’re so evil to men.” You stick your tongue out at Yuta.

“Whatever! Am not.” You sip your drink, it starts tasting less biting as the alcohol warms your tummy.

“You’re mean as shit to Gojo. He’s got puppy dog eyes for you.” Maki says, as Satoru now walks in, Suguru right next to him.

“He has eyes for everyone.” You flush then, remembering the elevator vividly, as Satoru’s eyes catch yours across the room. “He’s my boss. Our boss.”

“The entire hospital is fucking.” Maki says, earning your look at her and Yuta, your eyes narrowing, assessing how close they are. “Not us!”

“Oh, you two so are. Since when!?” They both flush and look away, you cross your arms now, leaning forward. “In my house, terrible children.”

“Fuck off, you’re not our mom.” Maki sticks her tongue out.

“How long!”

“Like two weeks, chill.” Yuta clears his throat.

“I see something… over there.” Is all he says, then he leaves, and you scooch closer to Maki now.

“I tell you something, you tell me.”

You lean close, looking back at Satoru, Miwa is bouncing over to him, but for some reason he keeps looking at you, eyes shouldn’t be so intense you see them across the whole living room and dining room!? You have a pretty big house, but it seems small with this many people, overheating the area.

“Fine, we’ve had sex a lot, but only for a couple weeks, we’re not labeling it anything.”

“Oh…” You struggle to understand how your best friends are… hooking up. It doesn’t surprise you completely, though. “Not dating?”

Maki rolls her green eyes. “It doesn’t always have to be a relationship, you’re so old school.”

“Am not. I just… have a five date rule or so.”

“Bet Doctor Hojo breaks it.”

“Maki!”

“Time for your secret, and a shot.” She pours you both tequila, you shiver as you remember college with Maki, the amount of nights you’d both held each other’s hair as you got sick. “Don’t wuss out, you’re the hero doctor now.”

“Am not at all. Fine, bottoms up.” You both take shots down your throat, biting on your lemons now. “Blegh.”

“Baby.”

“I won’t tell you then!” You hiss, and she yanks you to her.

“You will!”

“Oh fine. I kissed him, there I said it.” You whisper, looking around fervently, as if someone can hear you whisper over booming music, Maki barely hears you, but she sees your gaze darts to Satoru, and his gaze hits you.

“Oh fuck… that’s so messy, you gonna hit it?” You shush her as he starts to walk toward you all, luckily he keeps getting stopped, everyone loves Doctor Gojo and him and Doctor Geto are getting swarmed by nurses and interns.

“No, no… it was a kiss. Maki he was so great to me yesterday, I think I really like him, but I can’t.”

“You can, just gotta be careful babes.”

“No, he’s… Maki he’s a slut.”

“Rude.” Sartoru says then, and you nearly spit out your drink, coughing then, Maki’s grin is huge, she pushes her glasses up, eyeing Gojo then.

“Hey Dr. Hunk.”

“It’s Dr. Hojo.” You glare at her, and Satoru slings an arm around your shoulders, lanky limbs overtaking you.

“She’s mean as hell, your bestie.” He says to Maki.

“She is, that's why I love her. Hmm, you should have shots with us!”

“Sounds good-”

“What, no!”

“Why? Scared I’ll out drink you?” He asks.”

“You absolutely could, I suck at drinking.”

“Even better, loosen you up-”

“Shots!” Maki hands you both shot glasses now, and you both down them, Satoru then bites a lemon and it’s far too sexy how he does, you feel your tummy clench just watching him suck one. “Hmm, I see… something over there.”

Maki dips now, leaving you alone with Satoru, and you don’t even know what to say, so nervous next to him. You keep looking at his lips, then down, and he surely notices, as they curl into a smirk. “You gonna give me the tour, pretty?”

“Pretty, thought I was just ‘intern’ to you.”

“You’re pretty, very pretty, little intern.” Satoru bars you against the counter now, and your hips shift side to side. “Aw, excited?”

“Shush. People can see!”

“Everyone’s fucking in this hospital.”

“No kidding.” You pout as you look at Yuta and Maki. “Some right in my own damn house.”

“You’re like an angry mom.”

“Hey!” You shove at him now, and then you see him sip a drink, watch that adam’s apple bob, and fuck…

Gojo’s gorgeous, and you haven’t had any in forever.

Usually you’re good, a nice smut story and a vibrator, but he does something to you, that makes you forget who you are, where you are. You still ease out of his trap now, sighing and shaking your head. “Not here.”

“Oh, not here? Are you planning on seducing me, intern?”

“Psh, you wish. I mean… we can talk somewhere else.”

“Talk, huh. That’s what the twenty somethings call it.”

“You’re so ridiculous, ugh… I mean… talk. Will Miwa get mad?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes.

“You really seem to think a blow job equals dating.”

“Yeah, well she’s already not a fan of me.” You take his hand now, walking him down the hall, where there are indeed people making out, including Miwa. You blink a bit then, and Satoru leans in close.

“Told you. The hospital is slutty.”

“Not me.”

“You’re so different.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh softly though, continuing through the hall, pointing at a room now. “Down there is the basement, where I hide my bodies.”

“Called it, serial killers have those steady hands.” You stick your tongue out, enjoying holding his hand far too much, he seems just as enamored as you, following you through each hall.

“There is Maki’s room, Yuta’s is there, and Toge’s is across from mine.”

“He’s in love with you, you know that yeah?”

“Why do people think that? He’s just a sweetie. And this… well this was my parents room, I just leave it be.” You murmur then, taking another sip of your drink, and Gojo frowns now.

“Can I see it?”

“Um… it’s all covered in sheets since forever, dusty and abandoned unfortunately so… nothing to see.”

“Curious if you look like your mom or dad.”

“Are you?” He nods a bit, and you bite your lip, shaking your head. “I can show you a picture of them, I have one in my room.”

“Dad’s gone too?” He asks, and you sigh, nodding, walking into your room, feeling the intimacy suddenly of such an action. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. My grandparents raised me. They’re good, they just moved out to Florida, retired.”

“You’re alone here?”

“No, I have my friends. Here, this was them.” You show him a little picture then, it’s frayed at the edges, of your mom and dad holding each other at prom. “They were really young here.”

“She was beautiful, you do look like her.” You get misty eyed at that, touching the picture, before shaking your head.

“Fuck you’re supposed to be here for fun, not me crying. What’s with me today?” Satoru turns you to him then, after you put the picture down, and you exhale, desire killing you, it’s like something is pulling you to him.

“Nothing is wrong with feeling things. I didn’t come here for a party, I came here to get to know you.”

“Why do you want to? Maybe I’m boring.”

“I doubt all that. So you tell me, intern, what do you want to do? Talk, look at pictures, give me a blow job?”

“As if!” He laughs then, and you realize it then... “You’re cheering me up, aren’t you Gojo?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You do that. A lot.”

“I’m glad.”

“You also annoy me.” Satoru’s pressing your back against your dresser, and you’re all too aware how hard his body is, how he’s muddling your mind. “What you wanna like… just fuck as friends or something?”

“I didn’t say that. You assume. Maybe I want to kiss you all night.” Your head falls back, Satoru is kissing you again, this time you let yourself go, feeling every bit of him, the kiss is more messy, more desperate than the elevator. Your teeth are nipping at his lower lip, earning a soft moan, as he grips your hips tightly, thumbs pressing into your pelvis.

“Mnh, we shouldn’t…”

“We shouldn’t. But… you’re really ready.”

“Ugh.” You’re a blushing mess now. “It’s been a while and… you’re really hot and…”

He chuckles. “You’re adorable. Let me make you cum, then, hmm?”

“Wh-what now?” You gasp when he’s picking you up, hoisting you on the dresser, spreading your thighs. “Gojo…”

“Satoru.”

“Doctor Hojo.”

He smirks, hands trailing up your thighs, your head falls back just so, hair cascading down your back, sighing at how good it feels. “You’re a brat.”

“You’re the bratty one. What do you mean just… get me off.”

“Stress relief. Why not let me help? I am a doctor.” You blush furiously, and he smiles. “Cute.”

“I’m not your patient…”

“Roleplay.”

“You kinky little- ah!” Satoru slides his hand between your thighs, cupping you where your panties are, and he pauses, mouth open slightly, snowy lashes lowering over dark blue eyes in the dim room.

“You’re that wet from kissing?” He whispers, you shut your eyes, taking his hand, with every intention of pulling it off, but you just keep it there, around his strong wrist, feeling his pulse flutter under your thumb.

“I don’t do this.”

“I’ll just finger you.”

“You gonna get me off with your fingers?” His smirk is now a wicked grin, his fingers slipping under your panties, finding you slick and hot. He exhales.

“I know anatomy extremely well. And no, it doesn’t have to change things, I can still be professional.” He slips a finger inside your pussy now, you’re clenching around him, moaning, covering your mouth then. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Pro-profes… you!? Not… mmm… fuck it, yes, there!” You’re arching your hips up, he is watching your every move intensely, analyzing you like you’re a medical case for him to solve, every breath you take, every movement of your hips, the way your brows draw together. He’s crooking his finger just so, and you see stars, gushing all around his long finger that’s too fucking deep.

“There’s that spot.” He leans close, sliding two fingers inside now, your pussy greedily sucks it up, your hands clinging to his expensive dress shirt, his lips just an inch away. “It’s not on any anatomy, is it, this spot? But yours is easy to find, pretty, right there.” He hits it again, and you’re getting closer and closer, whining out, pulling him closer. 

“Mpfh.” You can’t manage a syllable, it’s too good, the stretch, his nearness, you crave him so bad you can’t think.

“Want me to make you cum?” He asks, sultry voice as much of a caress as his soppy fingers.

You nod eagerly, then he kisses you, pulling your hips down, pumping his fingers in and out, hitting the spot over and over. “Satoru…”

“Fuck that sounds good from your mouth.” He kisses down your neck, before whispering in your ear. “So this is a place on the human anatomy, your clitoris. There it is, it’s a tiny little thing.”

“Fuck!” You’re clinging to him desperate, pathetic, as his other hand reaches down, thumb circling your clit. Your eyes lock then, his pupils are so big there’s just a ring of blue, his eyes almost look black, his cheeks flushed.

“When I use both, it can overstimulate you, can’t it?” You mindlessly nod, tears in your eyes as he’s working you. “Hear how wet you are?”

“Mmm…” You’re done with words, his long fingers are too good, and you can hear how wet you are in your room, the squishing sound as he pumps inside your little walls, and you’re soaking his hands.

“I feel it, there, your pussy is tightening up, your nipples are rock hard, you’re biting that lip. You’re about to cum for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs, studying you still, and then you shatter, earning his moan along with your cries, as you feel your orgasm hit so hard you can’t see, just clinging to his dress shirt wordlessly. “Fuck you’re pretty, look at you.”

“Satoru!” You barely manage to focus, when he’s rubbing your pussy up and down between your lips, you jerk you’re so sensitive, you damn near could come again. “Fuck, fuck…”

“Sensitive?” You weakly nod, and now he is sliding his two fingers inside his mouth, sucking, and your jaw drops, breasts heaving. “You’re so yummy.”

“I am?” You whisper, he nods, and takes his other hand that was on your clit, rubbing your own arousal on your lower lip.

“Taste yourself and see.”

You lick your lower lip tentatively, pussy still pulsing around nothing, then he growls, grabbing you, kissing you over and over. You’re a fucking mess, so weak now, you want to say fuck it, suck him, touch him, do anything to make him feel good, you want him inside you.

Your legs are wrapping around his narrow hips now, hands shaking when you’re unbuttoning his shirt, fuck you’re so ready you can’t even remember anything you said you would or wouldn’t do. 

“Want you.” You whisper weakly, he exhales, big hands cupping your face.

“Yeah?” You nod again, and he’s kissing down your throat now, pulling you flush against him, your throbbing cunt right against where you feel him, his hard cock under his pants, you weakly grind, mind fuzzy from him. “You feel so good, shit I thought you didn’t-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Shit…” You hop up now, adjusting yourself, looking in the mirror to see your fucked out, dilated eyes, all glittery, your cheeks flushed, your hair a mess from his hands. “I look like I got fucked, dammit.”

“You didn’t yet, imagine how you’d look when I got done with you.” He’s kissing down your neck now, images flying in your mind, as the door keeps knocking, then you hear Maki’s words.

“Someone passed out! We need you, please!” Maki’s words are like cold water, you and Satoru both rush out without a second thought. “Fuck… I’m sorry-”

“No, what’s wrong?” You and Gojo ask at the same time, she looks between you both for a moment.

“It’s embarrassing…” She admits.

“What is?” You ask, as she leads you to Yuta’s room, confusing you further.

“I may have been riding him and…”

Yuta is passed out, half naked on the bed. “Maki, did you kill him with your pussy!?”

“No! Maybe.”

Satoru chuckles, going up to him then, and peeking at his neck. “Did you all get freaky?”

“No!”

“Maki.” You glare at her, shutting the door now. She flushes, tilting her head back and sighing.

“I choked him, he likes it!”

“I think he’s just zonked from it. He’s responding fine. Hmm…” He says your name then, the man that just had you cumming on his fingers…

Fuck…

“Grab some ice.” You run down stairs, come right back up with a cup of ice, handing it to Satoru confusedly. “Watch and learn, interns.”

Satoru now throws the entire cup of ice on Yuta’s face, and he sputters, waking up and gasping. Satoru’s evilly chuckling, Maki is damn near in tears, and you’re watching with ongoing confusion, alcohol setting in, post bliss orgasm, thrown off that you just found Satoru throwing ice attractive.

“Thank you, shit!” Maki hugs Gojo tightly, as Yuta flushes, looking around at the three of you.

“Maki! I was fine.”

“You scared me!” She’s kissing him then, deeply, and Satoru and you gently walk back, you close their door with a quiet click, sighing and looking up at him.

“What made you think to do that?”

“I’ve had freaky sex.” He teases. “I’m kidding, I just saw the marks from her fingers on his throat, put two and two together.”

“You’re like Sherlock Holmes.” He shrugs then, and his phone starts buzzing, he frowns as he looks at it. “What’s wrong?”

“I gotta head out, nothing big.” He leans close, and you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows under your eyes.

“Then good night, and be safe?” You say, he nods, running a finger over your swollen lower lip then. “Satoru…”

“You still owe me a date, I’m no hussy. Can’t have that and not go out with me.” You feel far too good now, as he’s asking you out.

“But we shouldn’t.”

“And you shouldn’t have been insane yesterday, but it worked. Be a little crazy, just… a date.” You nod then, and he leans his forehead on yours. “Also, your anatomy? Perfect.”

Your pulse thrums in your neck, chest tightening as he says it. “No, certainly not perfect…”

“Mmm, it is, and I would know. An expert on female anatomy.”

“Well thank you, slutty doctor.” He snorts, pecking a kiss on your lips, one that you would never be able to get out of your head.

“I expect a better tour sometime.”

“Keep dreaming. But… lunch, I agreed.”

“Sunday work?”

“Yeah.”

“Text you then.” Satoru leaves then, and leaves you leaning on the hall, suddenly the door opens, and Maki and Yuta peek their heads out.

“A date!?”

“You should be passed out, freaky asses.” You shove them back in their room, running off to yours as they try to bombard you with questions, you lay on your back, staring up at your ceiling, the glow sticker stars from your childhood still decorating the ceiling, you never did take them off.

You like him, you really like him. But you need your career, it’s just beginning, and would this just fuck it all up? Could you keep this shit separated? You can’t do this, you can’t…

Your eyes shut, flitting images of Doctor Gojo enjoying your anatomy filling your mind, keeping you up half the damn night, as you hear it get quieter, assuming the party has died off. You lay on your side, looking out at the window, seeing the moonlight shining through just so.

Your phone goes off, and it’s your stupid ex, earning your scowl, as you delete it, but then a new message pops up.

Doctor Gojo: Let me know if you need anatomy lessons again, intern.

You snort, shaking your head.

You: You wish!

Doctor Gojo: Hmm, still taste you.

You: Oh my god, good night Doctor Hojo!!!

You hate that your heart hammers in your chest as he hearts your message.

You’re so fucked.

Taglist: @lost-resonance @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @labelt-san @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @aldebrana @shadeowz @gojo1228 @victoriaaaa00 @jaeminaur @seeing-stars-alt

Can't wait to hear thoughts, this is going to be a messy, wild ride. Next chap will be a little more angsty and learning more about reader, also more of Dr. Hojo lol (what was the mysterious call!!) <3

[doctorho]

thinking about viktor with a chronically ill reader. you know? we see the vision, right?

it just works.

the thing with chronic pain, illnesses, disabilities, all of that - is that you can't always see them. sometimes you can, sure, you can see the mobility aids and the not-standing-up-for-too-long and the bruising from blood draws and sometimes you can see the compression garments, the pills and inhalers and the i'm fine, i just need a moment-

but most people just don't pay attention to that. or if they do, they don't put the pieces together fast enough to figure out what's really going on under the surface. viktor does, though; he's been there, and most of the time he's way beyond hiding it. or, well, he's way beyond hiding some of it.

walking with a cane was like carrying a neon sign that said yes there is something different here. yes i can't walk the way you can. no it's not going to get better. that last part wasn't directly evident just from him using a cane, sure, but with the way his cane looked, it should've been pretty clear. He had used one practically forever and it had evolved with him, he'd made it as comfortable to use as it could be, had even made it match his uniform.

so yeah. viktor knew what it was like. he'd been the disabled kid forever, even if some of the others were never going to say it out loud. that was just a thing about him, and he knew how hard it could be to navigate something like that in an academic environment. it was hard to admit you couldn't do something, that you had to sit down, that you needed a moment. that sometimes your body was just falling apart for no particular reason and it was just another tuesday.

sometimes it was easier to sit with the pain than take medication in the middle of a meeting, knowing that someone would make a bigger deal out of it than it had to be, even if it was just raising their eyebrows meaningfully. they'd think about you differently afterwards.

he could see you push through it, and he didn't blame you, really, he did that himself, too, but - he didn't want you to hurt yourself. you hadn't been in the lab as long as he had, so he could understand you being a little cautious with how you acted and what you told people, but he didn't want you to feel like you had to put on a show for him. he was, after all, walking around with the equivalent of a light-up sign of i'm disabled, too, and he liked to think of himself as someone who wouldn't come off as judgemental about stuff like that. other stuff, sure, stupid stuff, but not that.

so when he sees you dealing with the telltale signs of being in pain, he conveniently sends jayce and the others to pick up some parts that would take a while to collect and that they wouldn't actually need until the next day. but better prepared, right? what's the harm.

and then he comes to sit next to you and sighs deeply. leans back. relaxes to the best of his abilities. asks if you're alright, and sounds like he already knows the answer.

you sigh too, shift your position, and answer with it's fine. and viktor recognizes the strain in your voice, in your posture, and he knows there's a key difference between this and i'm fine, but he'll take it. it's not what he'd like, but he'll take it.

he leans over to dig around his belongings, and then offers you a bag of candied almonds.

"if you're going to take pain killers, it's better if you eat something first," he says, and you just stare at him. "i assume you haven't taken anything yet. nothing strong enough, at least," he continues, casually, and you take a deep breath and accept the almonds.

he smiles. continues like this is totally normal. "jayce made me start carrying around some food so i could do that. for myself, i mean. but it doesn't hurt to have some snacks around either way, i suppose."

he knows he's skirting around the real topic of the conversation, but he also knows that sometimes people get uncomfortable around his bluntness, and you hadn't exactly told him you were in pain, so he'd understand it if you were a little weirded out. after all, most people didn't notice this stuff. but you haven't run away from him, and you're eating, and then you're digging around your own bag to take your medication, so he'll count this as a win.

thanks, you exhale, handing back the almonds, and he takes a handful of them himself.

"i'm fine, really," you continue, not really looking at him, "it's just hard sometimes."

he nods. it was - even if he didn't know the specifics, he knew that it was true. especially since you had been hiding it from the others. and with something like that, something the others couldn't see, the invisible step to let them see it would grow bigger and bigger with time, when they expected you to be able to do everything they did without a second thought.

he also knows you didn't mean fine in the dictionary definition sense of the word, but more in the this is normal and you don't need to worry -sense. and that's fine. he was used to functioning on different parameters than most people, so this version of fine was good enough.

my body just isn't always very reliable, you explain with a sigh, and that he knows better than well.

he hmms in answer and nods. he knows.

you exhale a small laugh at that.

and he's glad you're relaxing, wants you to be as comfortable here as possible.

"these people are alright," he says casually, "as far as healthy people go."

viktor smiles a little.

another win for him.

and then he sits with you, talking and not talking and enjoying the quiet comfort if it all. and then he makes up some excuse so you don't have to keep working yet. he was well aware what it was like trying to work through the pain, waiting for the medication to kick in, and he wouldn't exactly recommend it. besides, as a rule, you were more likely to make mistakes if you were thinking through a layer of pain, and that was just plain bad planning. it made much more sense to just take a break and continue when you felt better. in fact, he was in dire need of a caramel latte and a pastry right now, do you want anything?

and after that it just... sort of falls into place. you're more relaxed around him. and the others, too, but he's the only one that really gets it. doesn’t make a whole thing out of it when you need to sit down for a moment or take a break while your pain killers kick in. he's just there.

he knows what it's like, and that feels like an invisble curtain lifted from between you and him, and it's just easy. you don't have to pretend you're doing better than you actually are and he doesn’t hide it when he's in pain, either.

most people don't see it, but there's a mutual understanding there; yeah, sometimes life sucks and sometimes you're in pain and no it's not fair that sometimes your body is falling apart and life just keeps going. you can't do all the things you want to do but you still have to show up for the other life-stuff and if you took a day off every time you felt bad you would never get anything done and it just never stops.

but sometimes there's someone who'll sit through it with you without judgement. offer a warm drink and a snack and some understanding.

[entropicbias]

draw all the trolls

alright, i got an ask more than a year ago, and your wish is my command! i received a question about my headcanons as well, so if i have any, i'll point them out.

here, open this up if you want to see them all up close.

i always like drawing aradia with her logo smaller and off to the side, like on a polo shirt. i also like giving her lighter eyes and more compact horns.

sollux has acne and he's hunched over. that's the headcanon.

karkat has a few freckles. WOW!

nepeta has paw shoes, and for some reason, i've always imagined her with shorts instead of pants. i don't know why, it just makes sense

kanaya now comes with one beauty mark (you'll see in a later drawing of rose that she shares the same beauty mark. wonderful, eb, thanks for telling us about your mole matchmaking headcanons.) she also has hoop earrings, and i made her skirt a little more "mermaid"-y!

terezi also has freckles! WOW! i always draw terezi's eyes peeking out above her glasses. you'll see that in most of my terezi drawings. i don't know why.

vriska has tattered pants, and her robot arm has claws shaped kind of like a scorpion's stinger. oh, i also gave her red pupils. i think i was inspired by the red eyes on her shades.

apparently, equius doesn’t wear knee-high socks with leggings, he just wears leggings. so, my headcanon (which was originally just "he has dreads") includes that.

gamzee now has heterochromia; i think the long-term effects of eating sopor slime should have a physical effect on him that makes his eyes look cooler. his pants are also baggier—apparently this type of pant is called a "harem pant," so that's what it is.

eridan has a chain. that's it.

for feferi, i removed some unnecessary accessories and made her goggles magnify her eyes. her goggles also have lashes, kind of going for meenah's look there.

there are two other troll headcanons i want to mention: i don’t think the trolls have boobs unless they’re fat. that’s my headcanon. i also don’t think they have belly buttons or nipples, though sometimes i draw them with nipples because i think it’s funny. like, if karkat went to the beach. that's probably a funny comic idea. hey karkat, if you guys aren’t mammals, why do you have nipples? EVERYONE HAS NIPPLES, JOHN. IT'S A UNIVERSAL CONSTANT.

that is stupid and this is the end of this post.

[makesyouevil]

bakusketching

[hitlikehammers]

the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame Steve’s face even as Steve tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Steve sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Steve’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but Steve’s cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Steve blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from Steve’s face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and…

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts

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[armandsfangs]

this not now kitten gifset just brought to mind for me all the fics that feature daniel (old daniel especially god bless) calling daniel baby or babe and armand just melts like you get the occasional did he just call ME a 514 year old ancient vampire baby?? but mostly he eats it up and i just need that to happen on the show asap

(this is the gifset in question)

I'm not a big pet name person but I've seen this fanon so much that I've internalized it too 😭

Have young and old Daniel calling Armand babe:

---

1976

"What did you just say?"

Heat rushes to Daniel's cheeks, and suddenly he wants to bury his head in the ground. It had slipped out so naturally he didn't realise until his handsome vampiric stalker raised a sardonic eyebrow and questioned him in that stupidly silky voice.

Daniel runs a hand through his tangled curls, trying to casually hide his reddened face behind his arm. "I said, uh, do you wanna go to the movies tonight? You're always following me anyways, so might as well go together, right?" he rambles.

A shadow of malicious glee flits over Armand's angelic face. "No, that's not all that you said. Repeat it exactly."

Daniel thinks he would rather Armand just kill him right now and put him out of his misery.

"Don't be stupid, Daniel. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago. Now, speak."

The humiliation increases tenfold when a shiver runs down Daniel's spine at being commanded like a dog. The wicked glint in Armand's eyes confirms that he has noticed this and will be using this information to further his evil plot against Daniel's chastity.

Daniel mumbles, "Do you wanna go to the movies tonight... babe?"

Armand's terrible smile widens. It's almost blinding in its brilliance. But Daniel can't look away even if he wanted to. Armand is magnetic, the way he draws Daniel closer until the unnaturally cool huff of laughter from Armand's lips ghosts across his own. He shivers again.

Armand whispers like he's imparting a profound secret, "I would love to, beloved."

The endearment melts sweetly on his tongue.

2024

"Check this out, babe!"

It slips out of Daniel so smoothly that it takes Armand by complete surprise. His breath catches. Citrine eyes flick toward the younger vampire's glowing expression before quickly casting their gaze down to where a phone was being held in front of his face. For a moment, Armand is too conscious of the warmth creeping up his cheeks to pay attention to what Daniel is showing him.

His silence prompts Daniel to peer at him, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Babe? You alright? It's fine if you're not interested," Daniel says, a tad sheepishly. As if he's not making Armand's long dead nervous system go into overdrive.

It's an advertisement for a drive-in theatre showing 80s horror films, Armand realises faintly.

"No - that sounds lovely - we should go." The words tumble out of his mouth as he shifts his weight back to put some distance between them for fear of Daniel noticing the way his pulse quickens from the little endearment.

It's far too late. Daniel's shrewd green eyes morph into keen orange.

"You're turned on," he says bluntly. "It better not be from that picture of Freddy Krueger."

Armand lets out a snort. "You wound me, Daniel."

"Then..." A predatory smirk slowly spreads across Daniel's face. "What is it, babe?"

"Insolent brat," Armand says, without any bite. His cheeks are burning. Why did he feed so recently?

"Come on, baby, tell me what's wrong." Daniel is full on grinning as he leans forward, taking Armand's hand in his and dropping light kisses on each of his fingertips. "I'll take care of it for you, babe."

Armand's stomach flutters like a swarm of locusts.

"Such impertinence toward your maker," he says fondly, as Daniel moves on to pawing at his waist. He allows himself to be pulled onto Daniel's lap and melts into his arms with a contented sigh. "I am four centuries your elder, yet you insist on calling me 'babe'. Doesn't it sound ridiculous?"

Daniel shakes his head. "Who cares, as long as you like it? It's not about age. When you're a thousand years old and I'm five hundred and something, I'll still call you 'babe' and I'll still ask you to go to the movies with me. You know, like... Like our first date."

Armand stares at him, at the earnestness in Daniel's upturned face, at the way Daniel's cheeks still redden under his scrutiny.

Daniel shifts nervously. "H-Hey, don't just stare at me like that, say something, babe."

Clasping Daniel's face in his hands, Armand says, "Beloved, I'm going to make you come so hard you see God."

Daniel's eyes widen.

[tamayakii]

warning i am so high

phillip graves unlocks something in me, touches that part of my daddy issues that makes me sing. He's so country-bordering-red neck daddy energy, all of the looks-ugnff..,, the nimble yet gruff hands,,, years worth of callouses on them rubbing on your back as you sit on his lap, drifting dangerously close to your hips... wiping your cry baby tears away as he shushes you after he raised his voice a bit too loud for your poor heart. Those eyebrows furrowed upwards, lips thinning as when the inside of his lips caught on his teeth, often right before he spoke, a habit he has from his own father...

He knows what it's like for your dad gone emotionally. Having grown up in the classic white-picket family, expect the pristine paint to allude to a perfect family—which was not entirely true. He joined the military to deal with it, and now he has an entire company under him—in a way healing that tiny part of him by becoming a leader and teaching his men. He won't admit it though.

But you? Your father gave you nothing besides a few memories. No tools to try and survive in the cruel world, at least he had the makings of them. You had no tools, not even the plans to make them yourself. Left to wander with an aching heart, burying that hole and the pain with lies that you were fine.

Curling on the couch, laying your head next to Phil's right thigh. A beer in his left hand whilst the other pets your hair, some stupid (at least to you) football game. Letting you take small baby sips of the drink, chuckling at your twisted face. Fully tugging you on his lap, purring in a soft voice- "You're not supposed to like it, baby" his words sent warm fuzzies in your stomach. He doesn't just let you sit up in his lap, no no no... he basically cradles you now, letting your head fall on his shoulder, drawing your knees up.

He lets you satisfy the little girl in you, buys you the cutest frilly outfits, and lets you "win" in playfights just to hear you giggle like a madman. He lets you plan picnics because you want to plan one for once, so diligently—acting like it's all a big surprise, but he went with you to get the food you needed.

Standing beside him, as he works on his old high school truck. Telling you the stories of teenage him- oh GAWD. You know he lives in some big-ish town, still big enough that he may not know everyone, but small enough that he does see a majority of folks he knows.

God I need to ride his dick so bad, I need it so bad. Don't yell at me but I need him to be my daddy AND fuck me. FUCK

and don't get me on if you misbehave around him. The disappointment, dear god it's nearly overwhelming as the tears well in your eyes- Not used to the feelings stirring in your chest but you hate them so much. Phil forcing past frustrations when he sees the tears spill over, cupping your face as he tells you he's not mad... not anymore.

god fuck... the spankings would also be brutal as hell. Sobbing over his lap, slapping your bare ass cause he tore your panties down with your jeans. The rough fabric of his fingerless gloves added to the pain.

I literally cannot stop, somebody help.

OH MY GOD AND TRACING HIS SCAR TOO,,, him telling you mild war stories, having himself be the big hero, cause he is the hero in your mind. Sitting in his lap facing him, thighs straddling him, his hands interlocked behind your hips,,, sobbing on my knees.

[possiblyreallyme]

Oooo headcannon’s…If possible can we get Ace with a reader who’s fire resistant due to a devil fruit?

Hello!!! I love love love receiving your asks! i'm so sorry this took so long, i finished writing it at the start of november but it got deleted when i went to post it😭

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He is a silly goose at heart, and if you're his friend, you'll need to be ready for a few pranks once he finds out about your fire-resistance. For example, setting you ablaze when meeting strangers because their reactions are priceless, or annoying you with little fire-punches that have flames licking at your cheeks when sat next to each other at dinner (his fist never actually came in contact with your skin— he's not that stupid), or anything else he can come up with.

Also, expect a lot of testing. Like, constantly bothering you and begging you to be a guinea pig for the new move he's been wanting to try, or seeing how hot he can make his flames by slowly trying to burn your palm, things like that. Of course he'd be careful if you were unsure of it, but he would trust you enough to be 100% confident that you'd be fine if you told him that there was no way he could burn you.

If he had a crush on you though, he's a little bit more careful. Yes, he knows that you won't get burned no matter what, but with the added complexity of having feelings for you, he doesn't really want to risk anything. That doesn't mean he won't show off though, because trust me, he loves to do that.

He'll create firework shows just for you, or come up with excuses to use his powers whenever he can— including warming you up by making himself a human bonfire.

Now, if you're his lover, the whole game changes.

If you were a badass, cool, tough kinda babe, he has little issue with creating small flames in the palm of his hand and letting you play around with them, but that's about where he draws the line before he gets too worried. If you were the sweet, kind, shy type however, I don't think he'd be able to bring his flames anywhere near your skin.

He'd be WAYYYYY too paranoid to set his sweetheart on fire— what if he burned you?? What if your devil fruit powers worked differently then you thought???? WHAT IF YOU HATED HIM AFTERWARDS????

"Ace, come on, stop being a party pooper!" You whine, wanting to test out your abilities. And what better way to do so then with your fire-fist boyfriend? "Babydoll, I'm not gonna set you on fire..." He murmured uneasily, as if the thought made his skin crawl. "Fun hater😒" "Love you too, angel-face!😚"

For afab readers, he most definitely works as your full-time heating pad when you're on your period.

It wasn't even your idea— he just asked Marco how to ease your cramps (tearfully, might I add, mans was terrified for you), and he just about jumped with joy when he found out that heat makes it better, skipping back to your cabin to fulfill his God-given duty, which was cradling you like a baby to his chest and heating your back and stomach.

NSFW HEADCANONS BELOW! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

While on the topic of periods, hear me out: heated period sex.

My man loves him so good period sex, especially if you let him act as an internal heating pad by warming his cock. He'll keep his large hand on your stomach to feel the bulge of his cock and heat up his palm to ease your cramps, whispering sweet praises into your ears while he keeps himself to the hilt, letting you adjust to his large size while he himself tried not to cry out in bliss.

Mess? What mess? You think the Fire Fist Ace is afraid of some blood? Honey, we have towels for a reason, don't even worry about it.

100% into temperature play, but again, only uses real fire if you're the tougher type or you beg. Though you'll never forget that one time he teased your nipples with a flame on the tip of his tongue...

In summery: Ace is a complicated guy, so your personality and role definitely change his opinions a lot (sorry if the way i'm writing it is annoying tho).

[howlingmod]

Hello mod, may I request something cutesy for Skateboard x reader?

summary - skateboard x reader, reader is from blackrock and is described as being a little bit messed up from it (not detailed)

misc - hi i seen this request and got so excited i love skateboard ... 1million tripmine attack go

-Skateboard hadn't really been looking to make any new friends when he'd stumbled onto you. It'd been late at night and he was dead tired, having spent the entire day in the blistering heat of day. He was really just looking to go home when he'd seen you.

-It wasn't uncommon to see people lost in Playground, especially people from other regions. It was less common to see someone frantically pacing back and forth with a stuffed full suitcase and what was very obviously a Blackrock-style uniform talking about getting hunted for sport.

-Initially, the uniform had put him on edge. He phights Subspace and Hyperlaser all the time and he's seen plenty of people from there pass through Playground, and it wasn't often they had good intentions. There was something different about you, though, your panic didn't seem manufactured to draw someone in, it felt unnervingly genuine. Blackrock isn't exactly known for letting its residents easily slip out whenever they want. if you really were some kind of runaway, you definitely had reason to be freaking out.

-Against his better judgement, he approached you.

"Hey man, are you ok?" Skate asked cautiously, taking a few steps closer to you. He kept his distance, he wasn't sure what kind of gear you might have and he wasn't looking to phight right now. Your head had whipped towards him the moment he'd stepped into the alley, wide eyes darting over his figure. He certainly didn't look like the type to be affiliated with the faction. Besides, to be entirely honest, an alley was a pretty terrible place to hide. For any Blackrock authority with an itchy trigger finger (most of them, you noted bitterly), it was the perfect place to solve a runaway. "Hello...?" You blinked, remembering he'd asked a question. "O-Oh, um... Yeah I'm- I'm fine," you stammered, hastily smoothing yourself out and ripping your eyes away. Any attempt at looking casual was soaked in anxiety. "Right, Right," he didn't believe you at all, "You mind telling me what's up then?" You kicked at the ground a few times, scuffing up already worn workboots out in an attempt to shake your nerves. You couldn't meet his eyes for more than a glance. "I'd rather not." Skate paused for a few moments. Maybe it's exhaustion talking, but you really didn't seem like much of a threat. If you were trying to bait him into getting close, it seemed counterintuitive to be acting so guarded. This didn't feel like an elaborate scheme, it just felt like a genuine moment of crisis. Before he could say anything, you spoke up again. "Listen I just- Do you need something? I really don't know why you're talking to me." You were struggling to keep your voice firm, but you couldn't afford to let your voice wobble over the edge and into tears. "Hey, just calm down. I wanna help you, ok?" This could have been a stupid move, but he took another few steps closer, one arm holding his board and the other raised in a show of pacifism, "I'm sorry if I was freakin' you out with all the questions. Do you have anywhere to go?" You bit the inside of your cheek, mentally debating if you really wanted to put this onto a stranger. On one hand, it was just humiliating for you. On the other, it was a risk, he might be playing nice now but he could sell you out in a heartbeat. "No." "Alright, well how about you come with me?" He was quick to clarify when you glanced at him, "You can stay with me until you find a place! Or, I could try and find some hotel nearby, I guess ..." He trailed off, talking more to himself than you. Part of you was screaming to run the other way, as far as you knew this guy had you totally figured out and was ready to use the situation to get whatever it was he wanted. He could blackmail you, rat you out, ruin every chance you have at a new life. You can't just pick up and keep running if he tries anything, this guy was clearly from here, far more familiar with the bustling city than you were. Despite all this- "Please."

-It was a pretty long adjustment period. Skate was a little too casual and open for your paranoid mind to comprehend and you were a little too guarded and mysterious for Skate to trust you fully. You were so unfamiliar with Playground's culture, the lively and crowded atmosphere was a stark contrast to the utilitarian lifestyle you were accustomed to. There was little you could do other than try and bully forward.

-It was the little things that made Skate warm up to you. You always insisted it was out of politeness whenever he'd confront you about how nice the place looked or how there was leftovers for him when he got home. You would get wrapped up in something and you would start talking to yourself, walking through all the different steps and alternatives in a long ramble under your breath. Despite the exterior you were putting up, there was clearly some life to you yet.

-Sometimes he would tease you about it, but he was surprisingly strategic. He'd annoy you just enough to get you to glare at him and then back off for a while, returning the favor by bringing home snacks and takeout for the two of you in an effort to draw out more of that humanity. Besides, you could really use the food. The day he noticed most everything you made for yourself was just whatever used the least amount of resources was the same day he shoved most of his portion over to you without a word.

-Neither of you really noticed how you opened up to one another. Slowly you two stopped sitting on opposite sides of the room until you spent nights laying on one another watching bad tv. Admittedly, he might've gotten the first hint at his crush for you the first time you fell asleep on him. Sure, it was just plain cute, but it meant something more knowing it was you, the same person who used to run off to go eat by yourself every night and stuck to the corners of a room.

-He noticed your quirks become more apparent, little references and phrases he'd never heard before suddenly littered your every word. You spoke more openly, though you still had a tendency of not talking unless he said something that absolutely called for it. He didn't mind, he was usually the more chatty one in his friendships anyway. He just liked getting an excuse to tell you about all the phights he's been in and all the (more lighthearted) things his gang was up to. At some points, the lines between fabrication and reality in his stories blurred for whatever reason. He didn't mind that either, so long as you were laughing or drawn in by what he was saying.

-You weren't into the idea of phighting yourself, it was just a little too much for you. Besides, even the idea of seeing Hyperlaser or Subspace again on the battlefield of all places made your stomach churn. Instead, he'd just gotten you into play wrestling with him. You were stronger than he'd been expecting, though he probably should've known you would be considering your background. He didn't have to take it easy on you, only really holding back for the sake of not breaking anything.

-It was cliche, but there was some time where you'd won and managed to shove him down and keep him there and all the admiration he' been building up for you overflowed and left him looking up at you with some dumb grin. You were smiling back, something you'd only recently really started doing again. He liked to think it was because you were comfortable here with him, you would agree.

"Hi." "Hey." He laughed again, a nervous habit you often poked fun at, "You're really pretty, you know that?" You'd burnt up at that, laughing a little yourself as you stared down at him, "Where's this coming from?" "I dunno, just been thinking it." "You're weird." "Do you like me weird?" You snorted, halfheartedly swatting him one more time before pushing yourself back up. "Of course." "That's good, I like you weird too," the moment he'd finished his sentence, you were already pouncing on him again.

[circletakingthesquare]

this is so stupid and far fetched

ok so i went ahead and searched DRAAG on google and found out about this 1973 science fiction film "Fantastic Planet". DRAAG on this planet, Ygam, are basically blue creatures with pretty long-life spans who can alter their appearances during meditation ceremonies led by the Grand council. So, the DRAAG society is governed by the Grand Council, they represent the hierarchical pinnacle of legislation and direct the spiritual life for the entire Draag civilization. They're kind of the leaders of the planet Ygam. This Grand Council consists of five members.

this is a picture of the Grand Council (which looks prettyyyyy familiar). Also i have no clue where the fifth council member is at in this, this only pic i could find. ANYWAY basically, the Grand Council are cruel and apathetic to the suffering of the Om's - who are a sentient species like themselves however smaller in stature. Oms are not originally from this planet but were brought from the planet Terra.

So, i think they may have taken some inspiration from certain aspects of this storyline. Like maybe The Black Parade was taken to MOAT, similar to how the Oms were brought from Terra to Ygam. On Ygam, Oms are kind of forced to act as pets and inferior beings to the DRAAGS. You could definitely draw a connection to how the dictators portrayed in MCR's recent posts are forcing The Black Parade (IN THEORY IN THEOOORRYYYY), to perform for them (or like perform for people idk just performing maybe not necessarily for them) in MOAT, similar to the role of Oms in the planet Ygam. In short, they both have that inferiority role in the hands of authoritarian leaders, kind of kept captive sort of part in the storyline. They're both captured from one place to another (Ygam and MOAT in this case) for captivity and control. I still don't really know what MOAT means but it could be a different location where The Black Parade has been forced to go?? Idrk

If I wanted to go supppppppppperrrrrr far i could say that IF they used some inspiration from Fantastic Planets, you could predict some things that might happen next. In Fantastic Planets, Oms eventually rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship, which could maybe sort of kind be possible with the Black Parade too? The Black Parade could come together (as the Oms do) and rebel against the DRAAG dictatorship and gain freedom again. This is SO far tho im just thinking. In Fantastic Planets, very similar to MCR's new lore, there are obviously some political undertones about oppression, elitism, and fascism. I cant say what these are exactly in regard to MCR's recent posts, but in Fantastic Planets, these themes are portrayed through the authoritarian rule of the DRAAGS and subjugation of the Oms. So, you could use your own theories and interpretation of the MCR lore to make connections to these themes.

Im honestly not super sure about this AT ALL this isn't like a crazy theory or break through or anything, but I found the connections kind of interesting but ik this is so far-fetched so don't take it too seriously at all LMAO. Also, I've never even watched the movie and there are some parts of it I'm leaving out I just kind of wrote down what I thought related to MCR's new lore. But the general idea of Fantastic Planet kind of struck me as a little similar. Also, it makes A LITTLE bit of sense since Gerard Way is really into sci-fi (not confirming anything just an observation). Who knows tho

[daddiel-ish]

Question, since the other main Heart pirates are ladies, do you have any ship headcanons for them in your fem!law universe? I know Killer/Penguin is a popular choice for Peng, and they'd look so cute in your style!

Thanks!! I would like to draw the hearts more, but I never have good ideas -

Glad you asked this question 😈😈😈

Law (idk if you if you want something with her, but I'll drop something and then concentrate on the others)

Law and Luffy are a thing (duh). But law didn't fall immediately for the Monkey D. Her interest in him rose before Sabody, but not in the romantic way, more like "I wanna see what this little punk can do"

She fell in love with him after she saw him at his worst cause she had the impression to finally see the real Luffy. She felt understood in some ways...and you guys know the rest

Law love language is through act of services, she never clearly says "I love you"

Everynight she clings to Luffy with all her strenght cause she is afraid someone will take him away from her

Bepo

Bepo is looking for a sweet bear, but she has still not found one yet. Maybe her standards are too high (Shachi always says that)

She is not afraid of expressing her love. She always hugs the people she loves most. If you're looking for Bepo, you can certainly find her hugging Law or making sure the kids are having fun (and mostly making sure they're safe)

She is like a sweet aunt. Always dreaming to find true love, but her only love at the moment is her family

Shachi

She is pinning for Penguin till she has memories. Always yearning but never have the courage to make the first move

She always jokes about Penguin being hers, but it's always a bit painful, but seeing Pen laugh, it's always her biggest reward

She always leaves a tiny candy on Pen's pillow

When someone makes her notice that maybe she is in love with Penguin (Bepo), she always dismisses that with a laugh. "How can I be in love with her? She's like a sister to me!"

After Law sewed back Penguin's arm that night, Shachi never left her side, even tho Law encouraged her to rest. She wanted to be sure that Pen saw her as first thing when she'd open her eyes again. So she didn't feel lonely

Every day, she promises herself to talk with Pen about her feelings. But every time she met her gaze, Shachi forgot how to speak and just said the most stupid thing in the world

Penguin

Pen likes to flirt a lot. She doesn't think to be a catch, but gosh, how much fun she has flirting around

Every now and then, she steals gazes with Shachi. She always felt something for her but never really understood what-- she only knows that when Shachi is not around, the sun is less brighter

She loves finding candies over her pillow, and she knows Shachi is the one leaving them. She had done that since the first day on the Tang. She thinks it's sweet

When Shachi comes to her with that serious look just to say the most stupid shit in the world, Pen laughs her heart out, thinking that she couldn't live a moment without her in her life

When she's cooking, she always makes sure to make Shachi's portion a little bit bigger than the others

Every night, she fell asleep thinking about that time she woke up from Law reattaching her arm with Shachi holding her other hand while sleeping...that's her dearest memory

Here is some of my headcanons! Killer/Pen is a ship I have yet to explore (always open for new things), but since I've started to know the hearts Shachi/Penguin is one of my otps ♥️♥️

[jnpje]

i was planning on like. staying away from here while in my new home because i don't really know how private my internet activity is here

but………. i really feel like drawing sometimes. and i want to share my art and my thoughts again. and you know, i also really want to share whatever joys i have in this world. we need all the joy we can get right now, right? i don't know the exact amount of joy and good that my being here brings but because of the nice things so many of y'all have said to me, i have to believe it's not zero. and i want to do whatever little part i can to make this world better.

I'm always scared I'm going to say the wrong thing. accidentally reveal myself as a terrible or stupid or unbelievably weird person. or, absolute worst of all: overlook someone or fail to properly pay back their kindness, and make them feel sad somehow. so i hope y'all will forgive me if i say stupid or bad or annoying things or if i mess up. i hope you'll forgive me. i try to be a good friend but actually i don't really know how and i worry about that just like all the time and it really holds me back and i want to stop. so I'm gonna stop!!!!!

I'm going to start queueing up a bunch of art now. and I'm going to try really hard to 1) only look at this place occasionally 2) not be sad if i feel alone here 3) not feel guilty for being myself 4) be somewhat active with interaction and 5) actually start blocking/unfollowing people that make me sad. edit: feel like i wanna add a disclaimer that even if i don't follow you anymore i still think you're cool. certain things in my feed have sent me into misery spirals of sadness in the past and i want to prevent that happening again.

if you want to support me too, i really really appreciate all interaction, even just likes if that's all you want to do. i notice it and will remember it and to be honest it kinda scares me how much i really really CARE about it, care about what people think of me, of my things. how much i want to see other people relate to them or even just enjoy them because i really really really really don't want to be the only person like me. but maybe that's just inevitable and i need to learn to be ok with that. i want to be ok with that. i don't want to be ashamed to be different from everyone else anymore..

[hannahssimblr]

Fridays end, as they always do, as the life drawing class filters out of the room, and I scrub charcoal from my hands with the icy water in the classroom sink. I don’t know how I do it, get smudges on my fingers, my hands, the sleeves of my sweatshirt, but invariably I do. I use an old paintbrush left lying on the ledge to scrub my fingernails, too. They’re always filthy. I think I am inherently messier than everyone else, somehow, despite my best intentions to be something else. 

“Und dein Gesicht.” The tutor, Gunther, says casually as he saunters from the room, shattering the illusion I had of having cleaned myself off. My face, too? How did it get on my face? The silver tap reflects a smudge above my eyebrow. I bring a handful of water to wash it away, and the coldness stings my skin. I shiver as it trails down my neck and under my collar. Cold. I’m always cold these days, even as January has limped into February and, along with the new year snow, my delusions that spring is just waiting to burst through the frozen soil, have melted.

My face, still damp, feels like it might freeze solid as I trudge across campus to the lecture halls. This is part of my Friday routine, too: Visiting the lecture hall. Not because I have an actual lecture. My art history class is on Wednesday. Astrid has it on Friday afternoon, finishing at half four, and I like to be there to meet her. My phone reads 16:40, the screen is bright in the fading light and the mist, grey, cloud hanging low over the brick pavers.

I make myself known with a knock on the door. It’s ajar, the room vacant of all students but Astrid, and she stands by a desk, her white blonde hair covering her face as she murmurs in German still too sophisticated for me to understand. 

It’s Steffen who she is speaking to. Her art history lecturer. A rumpled, mousy-haired man with a leather satchel always slung across his body. He has an incessant need to discuss the minutiae of Astrid’s academic essays with her after class far more often than he does any of his other students. He wants her alone, and it sends a shiver up my spine. His lack of concern about being creepy is alarming. I could go around to everyone on campus and describe him as some lecherous old weirdo hunting women half his age. He would be ostracised, ridiculed for it, but it’s like the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, like he’s lacking some basic element of male shame.

I don’t like it. It freaks me out. I hate the way he holds her hostage after hours like this, and his habit of looking at her like she’s not flesh and blood, but some sort of otherworldly, celestial thing for him to rake his eyes over as he pleases. He enjoys her too much.  

“Hello,” I say with all the obnoxiousness I can muster, and they both look up. Perhaps I am projecting onto Steffen, this notion I’ve bamboozled him, pissed him off by interrupting his time with my girlfriend, while he innocently helps her with her essay on female painters of the 16th century, but I swear he gives me a look, and I give one in return. He’s so weedy. I wonder if he knows that if the rules of university were the same as the primitive, hierarchical rules of secondary school, I would have snapped him in half already. Look at him, and his stupid glasses and his stupid leather bag. 

“Danke, Steffen,” Astrid says, and scoops her books from his desk. I keep my eyes on him as she walks away, to make sure he’s not watching her do it, and I keep them on him until she has slipped out of the room ahead of me. I’ve never felt more like a territorial dog. 

“Good chat?” I say, my intentions of sounds casual coming out weird instead, while Astrid strolls along next to me, examining the paintings hung along the walls of the hallway. 

“Oh, yes, it was fine. We talked about Marietta Robusti, mostly. Steffan was showing me paintings of bowls of peaches and things.”

“Peaches?”

“Yeah, she painted peaches proficiently.”

“Right. You were just talking about peaches. He didn’t, like, say anything else to you, did he?”

“Not really. Why?”

She pulls on her coat as we exit to the courtyard and brace against the gust of icy wind. “Because of what I was saying before, about being careful around that guy. I think he wants more from you than discussion about bowls of peaches, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, I thought about that. You’re could be right.”

“I’m right?”

“Yes, I think he has a certain way of looking at me when we’re talking.”

“Oh,” I pause, having expected pushback. “Well, yeah, I think so too, and I think you should be careful about being alone with him.”

“Jude!” she cries, “He’s my tutor. I can’t stay away from him, exactly.”

“Yeah, but if he wants to drag you up every class to talk to you alone, then maybe you should pretend to be too busy. At least then you won’t be uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable. He was saying interesting things about Marietta Robusti.”

“Marietta Robusti,” I echo, forlorn, and I hold the door to the café where we have our Friday afternoon coffee. “Maybe he should email you about Marietta Robusti and her famous peaches, huh? Has he heard of Gmail?”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t worry so much. It’s okay. He’s my tutor, and if he wants to speak to me about my assignments, then it is fine. If he wants to fuck me, I’ll say no. It’s like you think he will coerce me. Like he will lock the door of the classroom and trap me inside.”

“Yes, that’s what I was picturing. That he’d throw a big sack over you like a cartoon villain and run away with you slung over his shoulder.”

“Why do you say things like that? As if he has a sack waiting under his desk with which to steal women.”

I laugh at her unintentional comedy, and we reach the top of the queue. “Könnte ich bitte einen Latte, einen Americano und ein Stück von diesem Kuchen haben?”

The barista nods. 

“I don’t want any cake today. I’m not hungry,” Astrid says. As we shrug out of our coats and hang them across the back of our chairs, I nod, “I’ll have it all to myself, then.”

I reach across the table for her hand, and stroke my thumb across the sharp peaks and valleys of her knuckles. 

“Later, I think we should go to a play I’ve been interested in seeing,” she says. I pull a face, and she frowns. “What?”

“I hate plays.”

“That’s ridiculous. You cannot hate an entire art form.”

“I do. I just don’t like the way they talk and move their faces. It makes me cringe, and I find them unwatchable.”

“They need to talk and move their faces to say the lines.”

“We can’t go to a play, anyway. My friend Jen is coming.”

“Oh, is that today?” our order arrives, and she dunks her spoon through the foam of her latte to destroy the steamed milk heart on top. “I forgot it was happening.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving to collect her from the station in, like, half an hour.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you still up for dinner at mine?”

“Oh, yes, we planned that too, didn’t we?” She exhales slowly. “Yes, I suppose. Though you live so much further from here than I do. Wouldn’t it be easier if we ate at my apartment?”

“What, like you’ll cook?”

“No, you can still cook, but at mine. Wouldn’t it be more comfortable?”

I take a contemplative bite of chocolate cake. Astrid’s apartment is smaller, but it has the unique benefit of not smelling like tobacco, and a heating system that works with some semblance of reliability. Still, we had a specific plan. Now I’ll have to tell Jonas.

“If that’s what you want,” I say with reluctance. “I suppose your place is a good bit nicer than mine.”

“I think Jen would like it.”

Jen wouldn’t care, but I nod in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be nice for her to go straight to a nice warm apartment, rather than, like… mine.”

“So true.” She steals a crumb of cake that crumbles onto my plate. “And I want to be in a good mood when I meet her. I feel I will be a little tired after travelling to yours.”

“Mm, good thinking.”

Astrid reaches for my fork, and I relinquish it. I watch as she digs wholeheartedly into the remains of my chocolate cake, then finally, in defeat, I slide the plate to her and let her finish the whole thing.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[bomberqueen17]

how the writing is going

Ok so. LOL. About the only thing I am effectively achieving this week *is* writing, and even that is not really..... I don't have a draft. But I have a whole bunch of sample snippets I've written to try and feel my way through the worldbuilding and discover the sorts of things the characters are likely to be preoccupied with, which is often how I figure out what a plot should be.

The next thing I thought about after dolphins was modes of transport besides sailing ships.

So this is a fairly high-tech society, but they do not have fossil fuels, and they don't have a large-scale power grid. I decided that for aesthetics, but as I'm unpicking my plot, I'm realizing that it makes sense. See, the main driver for all my plot devices is that there's a lot of sun activity-- sunspots, coronal mass ejections, magnetic field anomalies, that sort of shit. A power grid could not survive on a large scale. So all power generation is done in small, local installations-- some very local indeed, panels on rooftops, little waterwheels, tiny wind turbines. Industrial-scale power is generated in hydro plants and used right at the site for hydro-powered manufacturing-- much of it direct hydro-power, not converted to electricity. Just direct drive waterwheel shit. Because the sun can throw whatever shit it wants at the planet and your waterwheel won't notice or care.

That said. Communication over long ranges does pose a significant challenge. You're going to need line-of-sight semaphores and shit, which I had not worldbuilt in the earlier versions but absolutely could add in.

There should be trains, and I haven't really pondered those yet because I need to know more about my geography. Please, god, don't make me draw a map, but I'm gonna have to. Oh well.

But the other thing I thought of and got really excited about was

DIRIGIBLES

It's feasible with technology we currently have, and this is a thing that some large companies are pursuing, to make very large, hydrogen-filled, entirely solar-powered dirigibles for long-distance cargo transportation, faster than ships, the same speed as trucks/trains but more direct, slower than airplanes but INFINITELY lower carbon footprint. And hydrogen is outlawed by the FAA as a lifting gas, not because of the Hindenberg (which had many contributing factors) but because of a Congressional hearing which was presented by the helium lobby in the 20s. Hmmmmm.

A fascinating detail is that you could make a solar-powered lighter-than-air craft operate day and night seamlessly by having a power generation process where some of the day's collected solar energy directly powers the thing, and some of it goes toward... I forget the details but it powers a chemical reaction that, come nightfall, is simply set to reverse itself, which will then release most of the energy that it took to power the reaction in the first place, which you can now use to power your aircraft. Which is not a thing I knew about and I now have to research how that would work because, fascinating.

Anyway. In Fantasy World, there are totally dirigibles, and they're also probably operated by the Navy, and the water-ship sailors fucking hate them, LOL. This will be a wildly entertaining dynamic and I am rubbing my little paws together.

Also.

While feeling sort of brain-dead and stupid, I got a sheet of paper, went through a bunch of lists of historic names and lists of like, suggested baby names from various ethnicities, and I just made lists on this sheet of paper of men's names, women's names, arguably gender-neutral names, and then a huge pile of surnames, and then I sat down with a bullet-pointed list cribbed from the website of the museum of the USS Constitution of all the personnel that would be on a 44-gun frigate ca. 1812, and I first pondered each of the jobs, added some, took some away, came up with my own numbers of how many guys I needed, and then I just sat there and combined the first and last names in aesthetically pleasing ways to generate characters, lightly crossing out ones I'd used. (and sometimes googling them to make sure they're not somebody famous or something, which i always recommend with fictional character creation, especially if you're as oblivious as I am.)

I was unable to resist also coming up with some backstories-- siblings, little work histories, criminal pasts, notable traits, that sort of thing-- for many of the characters.

I did not make up names for every individual person on this ship, which I decided should have a crew of about 150-180, but I made up some names for every position, and considered age and gender as well for all of them.

I will not use many of the characters I've created this way, I'm sure, but the ones with interrelationships will totally somehow get used, and this way as I'm writing if I need a character I can find them already made, and if that person has a defined role, I already know which one and won't lose track of them.

This also got me to consider why people wind up in the jobs they do in this society, what drives them to seek out certain things, and that gave me a lot of background as to what's going on onshore.

I should try to find a list of a dirigible's crew and think about them, too, and build out the train people and routes and whatnot.

I also bought a used older edition on Thriftbooks of The Annapolis Book Of Seamanship and have been reading that with... more interest than I expected actually. I have the 1983 edition and it has a really moving little plea to let the women on your ship also learn to sail because it is foolish to relegate them to the kitchen when if only they were taught how it works, they could save you all in an emergency. LOL I wonder if that's worded differently in the updated new version or not.

[wilfywarfy]

“My friend… it's been a while, hasn't it?”

Wilford stared down at the coffin. Half black, half white. Waiting, as if it could respond to him.

He's finally remembered. After years of trying to figure out why this day was one of the few that ate at him every year… he remembered.

“You've been here a long time…” he says. The greenery had started to really take over. Vines had been slowly wrapping around the coffin, drawing it closer into the Earth.

That word felt weird. Friend. Would Annus have considered them friends? If Wil was being honest with himself… he didn't think so. The few times they spoke to each other were nice, yes. But is it enough to be considered friendship?

Hell, Dark was closer to being considered a friend to Annus than he was.

“Heh, you know, the last time we spoke, I figured that you weren't going to do it… I thought it would be a ruse. It's always a ruse around here. It's one big joke. I… I didn't know you had it in you.”

When was the last time an ego died? Septiplier? That was on purpose, and they were more than happy to rid themselves of that monstrosity. When was the last time that an ego had truly… died? Or better yet, when has an ego ever willingly died? Encouraged dying?

All of them wanted to live forever. What many of the egos would give for Wilford and Darks aging. Near nonexistent. What they would give to live forever…

“Do you know how quiet it was? We had to clean up after you, you know. We had to clear out the set for the rest of our shows. And no one said a word.”

Wilford remembers it. How crushed some of the others were. Elliot especially. The E-boy was attached at the hip to Annus. That was the boy's father… the man that gave him the life he has now. The poor kid went weeks having to be comforted. Months maybe. Time was weird.

“We still find some of your shit around here sometimes. I found that horrifying statue you made of that poor woman in a storage closet a few days ago. Seriously, you two couldn't capture her likeness for anything.”

The birds chirp around him. As if they were laughing at his comment. Would Annus have laughed?

Would Annus even want to see him?

“...damnit. Do you know how stupid this feels? Talking to a box, wanting an answer?”

Wilfords hands start to shake. He starts to fidget to try and hold back his tears. It doesn't work.

“Do you know how much we miss you? How much everyone here misses you? How much Elliot misses you? Do you know that we still come out here for you? Do you even care? Did you think for even a second about what would happen?”

It's all stupid questions. Of course Annus thought about it. He had his plans all laid out in advance. A burial spot. A hard drive for Elliot with videos for him. The fucker even gave Dark special permission to his suit collection. Of course he thought about it.

And yet… he hurts. Even after all these years.

“God damnit, Annus…” he says, dropping to his knees. Tears start to fall from his eyes, dropping into the grass.

It hurts.

It all hurts.