#very excited to be sharing this

[infinite-orangepeel]

🦅 STEVE CH. 2 WIP EXCERPT

Consubstantiation calls upon the divine.

Steve Harrington is, notably, not divine, but he is determined to commune with those who are. The moral. The just. The virtuous. His neighbors and ‘friends’ dressed in fine silks, button down linens, dry-cleaned slacks, and ridiculous floral hats to be placed beside them in the pews.

On Sundays, he joins them to consume divinity in tiny neat parcels. Follows the line forward in a herd of merciful ducklings. Mindless and desperate to be told what to do, how to believe, why there are miracles and mysteries.

He’s never understood, but he follows.

He follows and bends at the knee to pay his respects and tries to ignore the ache in his soul that protests the nauseating idea that he contains an odious and unforgivable sin. One, even Christ, himself, would name too heinous, too damning.

The women smile, nod, wave titillating hands with newborn babies perched upon their hips. Fulfilling God’s will to inherit the Earth with the constant creation of miniature disciples. Tin soldiers in a post-modern war. Against blasphemy, exposed shoulders, parties that last until the early hours of the morning.

The men lead, speak louder than they should in anticipation of Monday night football, scold their daughters for skirts that ride up over their knees.

It’ll be a beating at home. A bloodbath. It’s for their own good. Lust kills. Worse than cigarettes and dunk driving combined. The casualties begin at the age of ten or eleven and, from then on, it's a lazy, redundant crime—

Eddie was naked.

Eddie was a boy who looked a whole lot like a girl.

Curls brushing past the midpoint of his spine like they aimed to meet the dirt and claim roots underground—build him a place to rule and laugh and talk in that liquifying tone.

Cool smile. Sharp grin. Cutting edge. Delicately encompassed by those poetic lines of black ink.

Rings that sting and leave little bite marks of the devil. Reminders that he’s here to stay.

Steve’s stomach flips and there’s that familiar warm pull in his gut.

It can’t happen here.

Not with his father solemnly praying over the Lord’s precious gifts. Consecrating and holding his gaze through the crowd like a warning.

Not with the growing lump in his throat that seems like it could only be resolved by Eddie’s fingers splaying out around it. Squeezing and taunting and humiliating his contrition until it dissipates. Swallowed into the black of his eyes. The midnight haze.

Venomous.

Steve makes every conscious effort not to choke on his own spit. Not to bite off his own lip in the midst of the choir’s screeching crescendo.

He’s sweaty and awkward and grasping at his shirt collar, because the air is decidedly too thin and everyone’s going to be dead on the floor in less than a minute if they don’t open a window.

Eddie Munson touched that man like he wanted to punish him—

Eddie Munson recited spells that transformed insults into terms of undying affection—

Eddie Munson made the birds sing for him and whistled a tune like he had every right to make a home in the middle of the woods—

He’s next in line. His father’s looking down at him in judgment. His father knows—can smell it on him, can see it bubbling up beneath the vulnerable layer of his skin. His mouth twitches in dissatisfaction and Steve prepares to lose.

And, there’s no surviving a fate like that, so Steve blinds himself.

Closes his eyes, whispers a few ancient words—a holy and devout enchantment, and opens his mouth for the moment of communion.

Receives the sacrament and pretends it’s going to work. Pretends it can slay the beast and leave him whole. Pretends he can win at the game. Have his cake and eat it, too—lick the pretty mess off his frosting coated fingers. Sprinkle candied confetti over the carnage and somehow, not dissolve into guilty ruin.

When Steve’s father places it between his teeth, he stifles a scream. Quiets the addiction, the obsession, the infestation striking nutrient rich gold in the labyrinth of his fear. Clambering against his ribs to get free.

It’s a thing of nightmares. A thing of dreams.

One startled heartbeat later and the blessed flesh makes contact with his tongue. Melts into a sticky, gummy mess. He sticks to the routine. Swallows a subsequent quick swig of burgundy wine, almost black where it sloshes in the ornate chalice.

Made for a King.

The King of Kings.

It's lukewarm and languid in his throat. Tastes bitter and bloodied and it vaguely chills his bones to think that every pair of lips in the congregation—children and expectant mothers excluded—will press themselves along that seam like an audience of succubus monsters.

There’s a split second, fragmented into crooked shards, in which he considers the fact that the son of God is really and truly inside him. Filling his core. Turning him belly up and meek. Renouncing Satan. Finding the cracks in his tainted purity, in his poisoned humanity.

[wuntrum]

happy tdov!! since i'm visible today, i wanted to let you know that i have a new comic and stickers available to help me raise money to get top surgery this year :')

read the comic digitally here (for as low as $1)

get a physical copy, some stickers, or all the above here

[expelliarmus]

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[shepscapades]

Finally: The Official DBHC Etho Reference Sheet!

I had to clarify that the “current” look is for Season 9, because I’m not sure how or if he’ll change for s10 yet! The “current” version is essentially his updated “default” look! Thought I might mention also that “Back Around” on the loose timeline lineup at the bottom is a reference to a song on his playlist in which he takes some time away from everyone after re-deviating to re-remember and find himself <3

Side note: Etho wears his mask under his chin mostly just around bdubs, but he starts wearing it down more often around doc, tango, or others who are used to seeing the damage. More than anything else, he’s sure to keep it for protection purposes when he’s outside working, exploring, or anything else that isn’t just hanging and chatting with friends :]

[emositecc]

Here's your daily Mind Wipe AU art drop w no context 🥰

[anbaisai]

It's not even actually their birthday

(Based on a conversation I had with a friend + Jamil's 2024 birthday present to the player)

[stradithebird]

I've seen plenty of Biker!Kim, but no helmets. I present to you, my design of Kim Kitsuragi's motorcycling helmet.

A proper helmet, covered by an aviator style ear flap hat. The buckle of the helmet is designed to go through the specially made hat, allowing both pieces to remain securely in place. Goggles go on top. Kim got a prescription for his, of course. Wearing goggles incorrectly by shoving glasses beneath is not very safe, nor is it comfortable.

If you guys like this, I might share my Kim bike design too

[kuyashiz]

More of my old mgs art from 2021

[dobythealpaca]

hi tf2 community,,,,

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[sirlanval]

Swan Song: An illustrated poetry zine about Law and Doflamingo (by me!)

[foldingfittedsheets]

My poor beloved is cursed to suffer one of my love languages being telling them about my unusual poops.

[silvermun]

The King’s orders are absolute ⚔️

my full illustration for the @shadow-zine!

[royalarchivist]

This video is only available to people who are members of Acau's ( 악어 ) Youtube, but one of his fans posted a short clip Acau shared of his and Quackity's conversation testing out the QSMP translator!

[ Original Tweet ]

[weatherera]

Frame 10 and 11.

The final 2.