#ur literally a child

[aromanticmara]

5 18 21 (please save me I'm being held at gunpoint to send this ask please)

ok hello axel way to expose me like that but ok i guess

5. ok so mannies smile by the hers reminds me of this one mlp christmas movie with a flying dragon. i have no idea why but it does?

18. I met a boy who didn't know he was so beautiful. He doesn't know it yet but someday he could have it all - boys will be girls by kier. you are this song to me

21. AH ok so i cant choose so i’m picking favorites based on covers. imploding the mirage by the killers is so good:

[id: an image of the killers album: imploding the mirage. end id]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[beeqisch]

SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU

LATE NIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE

[littlecrittereli]

just one of those days man...

THIS IS SO LOW QUALITY HELP LOL

ignore that I can't draw very well rn I'm very focused on school so not much time to doodle

[soaked-ghost]

they are BROTHERS to ME!!!!!!!!

[raayllum]

Crumbs enough for everyone Old and young are welcome to the meal

[zrllosyn-art]

I had, Kikoru brain rot. SO have her and also no. 15

(does it make any sense? no. but also. big sister kikoru 🥺)

[florallylly]

i've seen model steve harrington aus. i've seen child steve harrington aus. i present: child model steve harrington

note: this came from my own desperate need to see this conceptualized and i SWEAR i've searched, i just can't find any content with child model steve so. :(

bc little steve harrington was remarkably cherub-like. his large brown eyes and soft pout ensured endless cooing and fussing from his mom's friends. and when he blushed and ducked his head in shyness, they only complimented him more. when he got home that day, his mom smiled at him.

so steve decided that he would put up with the cheek pinching and the squealing. he sat upright in his chair, sitting on his hands so he wouldn't fidget and ruin the image. because he'd do anything to keep his mom smiling at him. if he was being particularly good that day, she'd let him lay his head on her lap on the drive back home.

but everything changed at his father's birthday gala. a nearly eight year old steve harrington sat prim and proper in his seat, but a smile lit up his face--his cheeks round and his dimples showing up. he raised his hand up to cover his giggle, but he couldn't help but laugh at some silly old man with a loose toupee. then he sees his mom approaching, and his face quickly smooths over, going back to the more polite smile he usually adopted when it came to these events.

he'd ruined it. he hadn't continued being the sweet boy his mom wanted. but then, she smiles at him. and introduces him to the man behind her, who says he's a designer. the man holds out his hand, but when steve puts his hand into his palm, he doesn't shake it. the man simply holds his hand, his eyes scanning steve's face. steve tries not to squirm under the attention. but the man nods and smiles at his mom, and he gives two brief cheek kisses to steve, whispering in his ear "you're going to be a star, darling." steve looks at his mom, confused, but she waves him off to continue talking to the man.

a few months later, steve's mom whisks him off on a trip to france. and steve is so excited to go, nearly vibrating in his seat as the airplane prepares to take off. but instead of the eiffel tower and the seine, steve is taken to a studio. he's posed and changed. once again, he's being fussed over, but instead of wealthy socialites, gossiping make-up artists squeal over him. he's "perfect for the shoot" and "the most darling little boy." steve doesn't understand, but his mom is still smiling, so he lets the nice ladies brush powder over his face.

and he looks in the mirror. his hair is a little more tousled and his lips have a slight tint to them and his eyes seem to take up much of his face. he's put into new clothes, and he feels like a doll in their hands. and when he's put in front of the camera, he simply follows the photographer's directions. afterwards, he's bundled into the car and his mom can't stop gushing about how good he was.

apparently, he's a natural. and then she goes back to fussing over him, focusing more on appearance than his behavior now. but she takes him out shopping and they eat at an upscale restaurant along the champs-elysses. and steve is happy.

and then they go back home, and his mom is so much stricter than before. she has him try out all kinds of different hair products, determined to find the best combination to keep it looking shiny and soft. she controls his food intake and what he wears and makes him use weird creams and serums on his face. but this is what makes his mom happy, so he's happy to let her.

his mom is also on the phone a lot more lately, whispering harshly about the quality of brands and steve just assumes she's being picky about the clothes she buys. later, his mom picks him up and holds him, and asks if he'd like to move to italy. she looks at him intently and it's obvious what answer she wants, so steve nods. she smiles and holds him close, and it's the most loved steve has felt in a while.

so they move to italy, and suddenly steve is a lot more busy. he's put in front of more cameras for more people he doesn't know. but he's smiling and pouting and doing whatever they want him to do. his compliant attitude and polite nature have photographers and designers alike singing his praises, and steve always looks to his mom for approval. but she's been arguing with his dad a lot lately, so she's upset more often than not. but that's okay, the make-up artists are always kind to him.

but then one day, his mom takes a phone call in the middle of the shoot. and when it finishes, she's gone. steve goes back in, close to tears, but the make-up artists still hanging around look after him until a car is sent to pick him up. this becomes a trend. and eventually, steve goes alone to his shoots. he's always taken care of by the crew and someone is always there to pick him up, but it's not fun without his mom there.

but he knows that she's always enjoyed him taking pictures, so he continues to do so, hoping that she'll come watch him again sometime soon. and he busies himself with befriending the chatty make-up artists and the bossy photographers and the eccentric designers. and he's such a cute little thing that they can't help but dote on him.

steve is never catapulted into child stardom, as his mom is picky with his jobs, only choosing luxury brands and well known designers for him. but within the industry, they call him the "little prince."

and then steve is catapulted into puberty, but his intense skin regimen prevents him from getting acne, save for the occasional zit. and his diet and religious exercise schedule help maintain his look. and he's still doing remarkably well, especially now that he's fully aware that he is a Model.

and steve has truly grown into his looks. with time, he's grown more comfortable in front of the camera and made numerous friends. nearly all of them are older than him, but they're fun and loud and it fills up the space that normally surrounds him. and they're the ones who get him hooked on american movies. steve remembers living in america, but he's been in milan so long that everything he recalls is vague.

but he watches them and falls in love with the american high school experience. so when he finally catches his mom off the phone and actually in the house, steve asks if he can go to school in america. and his mom laughs. but steve keeps asking, which devolves into begging. and his mother snaps, slapping him across the face and calling him ungrateful. she cries and begs for forgiveness, cowed into shame by steve's desperate attempt to hold back tears.

and so she lets him go to school in hawkins, indiana. an odd choice, but his parents just so happened to own a property there. (in truth, both of his parents expected him to change his mind within the year). but steve finds his place at hawkins high, because even though nobody in hawkins has ever heard of versace, steve is pretty. he's pretty and charming and he knows the right thing to say. after all, he's spent his whole life perfecting his mask.

and even if his mom ended up moving back home with his dad, leaving steve all alone in that big empty house, steve is happy. he's finally hanging out with people his age and high school is so far removed from the glitz and glam of the fashion industry. and he's settled and content with tommy and carol by his side. while he misses his friends back in milan, steve finds himself longing for the clothes more often. hawkins was certainly the opposite of milan, what with the nearest mall being two hours away and only equipped with a macy's and jcpenny.

through it all, steve is determined to be normal. he laughs along with jokes he doesn't quite get and rolls his eyes at carol's cue, and he joins the swim team. and he joins the basketball team. and he goes to parties and kisses girls and wears dumb little polos with his letterman jacket and does everything that he saw in the movies.

but nancy wheeler is different. steve can't forget his time in italy and who he is and was, and he's reminded of his old life in everyone and everything in hawkins. but not nancy wheeler. she's all hawkins and all his. and then the upside down happens.

and then nancy wheeler breaks his heart.

even after three years, his parents continue to ask when he'll go back to modeling, but he's different now. the upside down and billy hargrove beat that starry eyed little kid who thrived in the spotlight. and nancy wheeler proved that adoration and love is fleeting, so what would even be the point of trying anymore? his dad was a little more approving of steve's retirement/hiatus, saying that steve must want to go to college so he can take over the family business.

but when steve doesn't get into college, he's once again badgered by his mom to go back. but he's grown and changed and he's not sure that he can pretend anymore, so he says no. and they cut him off. enter: scoops era.

the measly scoops salary is not nearly enough to cover all of the new bills and expenses steve has, but he's not willing to leave hawkins. so he reaches out to his friends back in italy, and they refer him to their american connections. steve doesn't model at the same level as before, but he poses for a couple of zines and one artist who got a little too handsy at his exhibition. but he's able to make it through until the mall blows up.

this routine continues and he starts working at family video with robin at his side, but he keeps his side job a secret from the kids, using the excuse of visiting his parents to leave town for his shoots. he's not ashamed, but he knows he wouldn't "be normal" anymore if they found out.

but how does he explain his near mental breakdown at the sight of his healing demobat scars. they're raised and ugly, ruining what should have been a perfect body. and even though he uses scar cream everyday, they refuse to fade away completely. and how could anyone stand to be near such an ugly thing when all his life, steve was meant to be pretty? after all, love and adoration is fleeting.

[can-u-not-14]

A moment of silence for the poor mother on October 1, 1898 who gave birth to a literal fucking cube

[madmaxified]

villain and violent

infant and innocent

[qbbhs]

flusteredmc

Ramon: [places sign] he's so in love with u xD Fit: Oh [laughs nervously]. Well, um... Well, um. I-I-I-[splutters]. That's good. That's uh, I mean love is a strong word though, Ramon. I mean, I mean, it's only been a month, I mean. The L word, that's pretty quick. That's really fucking quick. It's one month. You know?

[stiffyck]

Artists on Instagram and tiktok and most other sites are the strongest people on earth because the comments are always fied with so many stupid people. I'd be murdering them if that was on my posts.

People have no idea what the fuck art is.

[fishfingersandscarves]

Not my dad telling me to "stop acting like a victim" bc I'm resting and about to take a nap on the couch 💀 and then when I commented back about it he says he wants to me to do my best and I said "what if this is my best now" and noooo answer

[daipeanutsaiban]

Hello! Um I know it's been a few months since you said people could ask you more questions on your tgaa thoughts, but I was hoping to ask about your baskerzieks and genshinxwife ones. Like how they met, or what their last in person convos went like before each couple separated/died, etc, bc I really adore your Lady B & Mrs. Asougi designs! They deserved first names 😭

Also I'd love to hear your genklint/ville thoughts too if you care to share those!

ALSO I wanted to say you're 100% correct that if Kazuma & Klint ever actually met good ending au Kazuma would think he's the most annoying person alive. It's funny if genklint is platonic or romantic too, it's like Herlock Sholmes is right there and instead Kazuma thinks his dad's bf (best friend OR boyfriend lol) is significantly worse. Something something hating your parallel

Anyway no pressure, and sorry if you aren't looking to answer more questions at this time!

HI i love to yap and to yap about dgs especially so you're good haha <3 i'm the kind of person who needs to be asked tbh bc i tend to be self conscious/doubt myself so questions are always super appreciated 🥹💗 this post got LONG so i'm going to put it under a break to spare anyone who's just here for art or trying to look at memes during their lunch break

TL;DR: klint and primrose were engaged as kids but it was broken off upon his parents' death, it was renewed when he earned prestige as a prosecutor; their last conversation was when primrose forced him to confess his crimes to her but she'd started having doubts months ago; in my favorite hc, gkv never pursued one another beyond dropping hints here and there but because i am bisexual i also want them to have fun; genshin and yukari met by chance as teens and genshin had to convince his father to let them marry each other after finding out she was pregnant; he could never say his last words to her because writing about the professor's identity could've endangered her and kazuma.

first of all thank you so much, it makes me so happy when people enjoy my designs and characterizations for lady baskerville and mrs asougi!! for clarity, i'll be calling them by the names i gave them in this post, primrose and yukari respectively.

klint and primrose's engagement was decided by their parents and they met as children- i think they were probably feeling awkward around each other for a while since children don't really care about such things (right..?) and primrose actually chose to spend her time reading when her father would take her to visit, and she might've even been more interested in talking/playing with barok because there wouldn't be the daunting idea of an engagement looming on the horizon lol. eventually, she and klint do grow closer and come to consider each other friends thanks to him putting in a lot of effort to make her feel welcome and also have more fun (she finds him boring- i characterize klint as having been a very serious and dutiful child, though he does play with and dote on his brother).

when the van zieks parents die in my hc, losing their life in a fire specifically, primrose's father chooses to cancel their engagement because he doubts klint can suitably provide for his daughter- a cruel but logical decision as klint is just fourteen years old with no backing or achievements. as an aside, the fire is declared to be an unfortunate accident but klint silently believes it was premeditated- this incident contributes to him considering prosecution as a career. out of care for his brother, he never brings up this idea to barok.

still, primrose is a very clever child who's acutely aware that her father's doting is a form of control (such as making her wear beautiful, white clothes to easily find out if she's been sneaking out, which i think i talked about before), and she insists on meeting klint either at his estate or in the city while they both (and occasionally barok) wear disguises/common clothes. the latter option allows them to meet people outside of their social caste, and to develop a sympathy for them from an early age which also contributes to klint's growing bitterness towards other nobles. throughout his struggle to be taken seriously by these men in spite of his age, primrose continuously encourages him and even spies on her father's meetings with other gentlemen to then report to him, and this continues in their adult life with her reporting rumors and "gossip" from other ladies about their own husbands (with perhaps dire consequences in the long run, haha...)

primrose has ambitions of her own, though, many of which are philanthropic in nature and stem from guilt at being born in a wealthy household to a father who does not care about people other than his own. they are difficult to achieve as an unmarried woman (or even as a woman in general), as her father would never greenlight her ideas, and as such she becomes enraged with klint when he allows the engagement to be dispelled due to believing she would ultimately "be happier with someone else" when it would effectively condemn any ounce of freedom she could have. from primrose's perspective, klint is the only candidate for marriage because he actually respects her and understands her as a person.

their engagement was eventually reinstated following klint's multiple achievements, chiefly when he made a name for himself as an extremely prolific prosecutor and primrose's father couldn't really object to it (ha) anymore. when i researched, i learned that men in the victorian era would commonly get married in their thirties once their careers were established, and i especially like that for this couple because it means that genshin could've attended their wedding. (it's also amusing to picture klint pitching him as the best man while primrose is firmly in barok's camp and they have a silly spat about that, haha. but ngl i prefer genshin as their best man because it was tradition that the best man would drive the married couple to their month long honeymoon directly after the ceremony so. he could stay behind a little while if you catch my meaning. teehee)

on the topic of genklintville, my ultimate preference/personal "canon" is that they never outright acted upon their romantic or sexual interests in one another although the tension was clearly there. but like any bisexual on the internet, i like to indulge a little bit, as shown in my previous paragraph hehe. i like to imagine a kind of kinship between genshin and primrose as they are interested in similar literature and share a similar sense of humor as well (chiefly teasing klint- in a deadpan manner for genshin). klint and primrose tend to dote on genshin in a way they think is discreet, because they can sense his loneliness at being apart from his family even though he generally doesn't voice it, but as we all know genshin isn't a fool and it leaves him quite flustered haha. genshin also relates to klint in the way that they are both heirs to something "greater than them" (the asogi clan/the van zieks heritage) and sometimes yearn to break away from it which might contribute to why genshin left for london if the first place. i'd like to add that if i draw genklint without primrose present, it's taking place with her knowledge and consent, though them being pushed to cheating due to increasing stress or suchlike circumstances is an interesting angle- it's just not something i see myself making at present. though now saying that has made me think about the ways it could be fun to explore the way klint's lying and gaslighting keeps piling up, so what's one more lie? so i'd be interested in reading a story that would attest to his guilt from committing the act and his gaslighting towards not only his wife but also to himself, hmm. the best way that i can put it is that if i'm to explore gk without the v, she must be a relevant character because i'm not about to discard a canon female love interest to focus solely on the yaoi lmao.

now for genshin and yukari, or genyu for short as i like to call it in my head (lol)... there's a lot to cover here too 😵‍💫 some of this, particularly the stuff concerning ayame, is still undecided on but i thought the more context the better!

to understand their dynamic, it feels important to state/repeat my headcanons about the asogi clan aka genshin's immediate family beyond her and kazuma, which were mentioned here. but to summarize, they are very patriarchal, strict, and the type to suppress their emotions. genshin is his father's illegitimate child, and his real mother is... hm, well, she won't ever appear in my art because it's suitable for her character, but she's a high ranking courtesan, aka "oiran", and therefore pregnancy/being a mother could bring shame to her and likely ruin her livelihood, because they are meant to project the image of being unattainable both in appearance.. and price. her disappearing for some months to a year wouldn't be all that suspicious as few men can even afford to meet her.

because the oiran brings the House where she works good money, they help her cover up her pregnancy and her son's existence by sending him to live with his father as soon as possible. once, genshin tries to visit his mother, but he is turned away. in short, his first experience was to be abandoned by someone who was supposed to love him. i think this backstory also serves to give reason to his name (written with the kanji 'shadow' and 'truth') because he is a truth meant to be hidden by the government. if you think about his father giving him that name, it becomes quite sad and implies shame for bringing his son into the world. i think it would also justify the personality i like for him, which is more reserved and serious than how i portray the rest of the visiting trio (with a boisterous but ambitious seishiro and a downtrodden but shy and earnest yuujin), and with a greater disposition for being suspicious... which is naturally a good thing for a detective.

genshin's father's wife lost her life to an illness some years prior to genshin integrating into the asogi clan, which is why he sought comfort from the oiran. to avoid unsavory rumors and to preserve both women's reputation, syoma (genshin's father) forbids his son from venturing outside of the house - paralleling primrose's childhood, which they could bond over later in life - until he turns a certain age. he's the dark sheep of the clan, to make it short. it's by sneaking out as a child that he meets seishiro, and then yukari who is accompanying ayame.

as an aside, i want to add that while syoma holds misogynistic beliefs, he still feels a sense of responsibility so he does eventually pay off the oiran's debt in the end- not that she's particularly grateful since he led her on and made her promise not to abort his child without ever planning to marry her. not a great guy, but def a fun character to write. those are things genshin deduces in his teenage years, and he swears to never become like his father.

as for yukari, her family history is also nebulous, and i don't know if i even want to establish her circumstances before meeting ayame and genshin because i like the meta irony of those details remaining unknown to us just as they were unknown to those around her outside of how she is tied to other people. ayame's friend, genshin's wife, kazuma's mother- never her own person. she reaches a breaking point during genshin's absence, but i won't go into detail about that for now because it's part of a long project of mine. what i can say about her is that she does housework for ayame's family in exchange for room and board, but she's not categorized as a servant because ayame cherishes her, a privilege that makes her feel awkward at times.

genshin fell for her due to her frank and joyful approach to life which was so different from the outlook he was raised on, and she piqued his curiosity with her unusual and often "silly", but free, behavior. he has the utmost respect for her, which is why as much as i like gkv and think it could work in a modern au with yukari's inclusion/approval + rapid methods of communication, i think realistically genshin wouldn't have the heart to start anything with someone else when she is waiting for his every letter so far away. he wouldn't be able to read the expression on her face, and she could easily lie about being okay with it.

in this wikipedia article about marriage in japan in the edo period (1600-1868), it reads: "Members of the household were expected to subordinate all their own interests to that of the [household], with respect for an ideal of filial piety and social hierarchy. [...] Marriages were duly arranged by the head of the household, who represented it publicly and was legally responsible for its members, and any preference by either principal in a marital arrangement was considered improper."

you might've guessed where i'm going with this, but genshin's father had already chosen a wife for him, and that person was ayame, who is from a 'good' family. obviously that marriage didn't go through with yukari becoming pregnant at 18 or 19 (!!), and syoma capitulated to genshin's request that he be given permission to marry his girlfriend which only further strained his relationship with his father further. as for ayame, she was fortunate that the man she was interested in was studying medicine, and therefore struggled less for her family to accept yuujin as her husband. but for yukari, although she knows genshin doesn't love ayame, there's always that nagging feeling that she was the "wrong" choice. after all, she has to witness the interactions between genshin and his family every day, and her presence is often the source of tension. her only rock after ayame's death and genshin's departure is her son, who starts rejecting spending time with her as he grows older because, well, he's a teenager (something i want to expand on in that project i mentioned).

in yukari's case, she was never able to read her husband's last words as even writing about the professor's identity could endanger hers and kazuma's lives, but perhaps genshin had promised he would briefly return at the half-way point of his stay overseas and then ended up having to break that promise by choosing to investigate the professor killings before eventually losing his life. yukari's feelings of helplessness were confirmed as the truth in her eyes then.

as for primrose and klint's last conversation, it's been sitting in my wips for a while LOL. i def think she had her suspicions, and when she finally gathered her courage to confront him, he broke down and told her the truth. i've revised this comic and especially its dialogue so many times that i don't even know if i like it anymore, please pray for me 😅

It's funny if genklint is platonic or romantic too, it's like Herlock Sholmes is right there and instead Kazuma thinks his dad's bf (best friend OR boyfriend lol) is significantly worse.

this made me laugh LMAO honestly kazuma would be so petty about it meanwhile i feel like he'd get along super well with the man's own wife 😂 i also think that as an adult kazuma would admire his father less and even be a bit of a tsundere lol, but yeah in a No One Dies/Good Ending AU(tm) he'd probably resent genshin a little for leaving him and his mother, whose struggles he witnessed firsthand for ten years. hell, maybe he does resent him in the current circumstances even if it's not the dominant emotion when it comes to his father, it of course being grief... still. lord van zieks get your paws off my dad!! 🙄💢 also if genshin starts reciprocating the attention kazuma might start killing LOL

...this answer is now well over 2000 words and i still feel like i'm leaving things out i feel CRAZY omg. autism diagnosis unnecessary atp lmfao.

also just found this in my #yukanotes i should've just copy pasted all this augh. i love yukari very much she is extremely dear to me. 😊💗

thanks again for your questions I'M SORRY IT'S SO LONG....... i DO love to yap 🥹🥹💗

[alilaro]

those damned anime weebs were right, Neon Genesis Evangelion really does go fucking hard

[tangledinink]

Micheal would protect the twins like "Who hurt the babies?"

dont listen to them, michael, theyre pitiful little children who dont even realize theyve been hurt yet--