#im very uncomfortable with this

[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.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

[shadowduel]

eye of the beholder

#yttd #your turn to die #sara chidouin #shin tsukimi #sou hiyori #midori yttd #kimi ga shine #kmgsn #shadowart #EXTRA NOTES IN THE TAGS TIME AS USUAL #as far as im aware these are the only two lines that specifically mention sara's eyes ? #and they're both worded in such incredibly similar ways #both are almost very abrupt too #as if they both got distracted and felt compelled to say something about her eyes #there are in general a lot of midori parallels with sara #and i think shin's remark on her eyes being scary... well... shin would know a lot about scary eyes wouldn't he #after all he was uncomfortable with midori's stare too #which further leads into of course midori complimenting her eyes #he sees himself in her. or more specifically. the ruthless sara of the simulations #eyes to some are like a window to the soul #midori's offhanded compliment directly paralleling shin's much earlier remark on her eyes... well it makes sense these two would both make #a comment like that #that being said. i'd love to make make a partner piece to this about gin and ranmaru commenting on sara's smile #as i think those are also the only two instances where someone sees her make a dark expression and calls it out #that's all! #WAIT ONE MORE NOTE #shin going ahaha in this dialogue because it's a quirk he stole from midori really adds to the whole thing #like even while actively pretending to be sou. he is still frightened by the man he is masquerading as #and he sees that man in sara's eyes. terrifying!

[blackbatcass]

donna’s inherent honesty vs dick’s tendency to be manipulative.. speak to me

#dick grayson #donna troy #wonder twins #his manipulativeness being the thing about dick that most bothers donna #vs donna’s willingness to be honest about uncomfortable things being one of the things dick most admires about her.. #!!!!! #like donna is just very emotionally honest in a way most heroes aren’t. #if she’s having a bad time and someone asks hey what’s wrong what’s going on. she will answer and be honest!! instead of giving #some bullshit ‘im fine :D’ response #meanwhile dick…… Does Not Do That #except with donna! one of the few people he trusts enough to feel comfortable confiding in! #they’re so!!

[lucabyte]

messier doodle pages feat. mostly loop because i'm thinking about the body horror of it all... amongst other things.

... at least one of those things being. hey. unrelated to this doodle page. how many months was siffrin travelling with the party? It wasn't that many, right? How many loops would it take before they'd've been in the house longer than they had even been with them? Much to think about!

#i wasnt going to actually put these thoughts to paper but everyone has been very nice in my notes so i was encouraged :) thank u. #LONGER TAG RAMBLE BELOW THE ORGANISATIONAL TAGS. CLICK SEE ALL THANKS #in stars and time #isat fanart #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #isat loop #sifloop #isiloop #siffrin #isat #isat isabeau #isat bonnie #isat mirabelle #isat odile #lucabyteart #samdontlook #<- spoiler tag for my bestie dont PEEK #post a6 loop just rocking up and being supremely volatile and uncomfortable is what im here for. what if a guy could look so disquieted #anwyay. about the body horror of it all. SIMPLY PUT: I do not think loop is fully tangible in places. #especially not like. their head. i think that thing is impassable but not graspable or solid. i dont think it has much feeling either #the chest star being the same white is why im joking about it being intangible too but. thats also a Kaiba reference so #no blood no organs no nothing impermeable skin guy should be allowed to get frustrated about that. its fertile ground for thoughts #being punished for not valuing your body as a vessel for your Self enough by being reduced to nothing but is MEAN..... BIG FAN OF IT..... #anyway !!! kiss your local mouthless entity on the NECK!!! get CREATIVE! ! ! ! MUST I SUPPLY ALL THE NONSEXUAL INTIMACY IN THIS ECOSYSTEM?? #UEAGH. #anyway odile would get on their collective asses so hard about the philosophical ramifications of this polycule. she'd tease them about it #also @ everyone who makes bonnie call loop 'lulu' i owe you my life.

[shepscapades]

GLAD EVERYONE ENJOYED THE ANDROID INFO UPDATE ABOUT INTERFACING DFGJNDGKGNMXGHNCBNM

#dbhc #dbhc sillies #the shepherd #my sona #art escapades #IM DEAD #dbhc doc #dbhc etho #there was a point I was working on pt 6 and I realized I never. talked about it #and I was like oh my god only detroit fans are gonna. know #erm #I should really do something about that #THERE WERE A FEW PEOPLE WHO CALLED IT OUT BEFORE PT 6 EVEN DROPPED #LIKE #‘hm. interesting you added that last part. interesting. hm. hm.’ LMAO #glad it did it’s job #I wanted to emphasize in that post how like. NOT OKAY it is to force interface with someone #it’s very… idk if violating is the right word but I think it would feel very invasive/uncomfortable #if it’s not something you asked for yknow #ANYWAY IM INSANE #etho and doc WILL make up. eventually. #if I may. doc ‘no we aren’t telling anyone what happened. it’s not a threat to them anyways and this isn’t the first time I’ve replaced this #arm. it’s nothing the other hermits need to worry about’ 77 #you better let xisuma comfort you. i dont know if it’s safe to have another guys trauma in your brain. you should get that checked out

[day-colors]

you seem familiar

#im almost into permanent housing then ill actually be able to make better art hurgh #anyway i think wearing an organization coat over a dark suit must be very uncomfortable #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanart #repliku #vanitas #in canon probably no one in the new organization interacted outside of what we saw but there was potential for this kinda stuff idk #them plus xion. they really had alternate versions of the main trio which coulda been cool

[robotpussy]

i know I've already made 2 posts about my university and the fees i owe them and i can safely say i have paid some of it off (£1000) and im so thankful for that but 1k was never my goal and i still haven't reached my goal (£5.6k). My university would like another payment to be made this month so i really do need something to give them soon

here is the link to my gofundme - it is currently at £2k but I only received £1.6k because GoFundMe takes some of the donations but besides that i still need to reach my goal. my graduation is in November so it would be nice if i got the amount by then so i can be certain i'll be able to walk the stage!!

and here is the post i have pinned on my blog with more info about the entire thing

GoFundMe Page

#mine #i will add a screenshot of the email to the post if ppl ask but for now im going to hope ppl believe me because im actually #very uncomfortable sharing the emails im getting from my uni in order for ppl who dont really care to think im not a scammer

[wh0re-behavi0r]

I know this is something white people in the fandom may not think of but you should consider the race of others you talk to online. Even when their race isn't in their bio.

I have had multiple instances where even when people know my race, there have been extremely ignorant things said.

Please listen to POCs when they feel as though there is some racial bias. Please don't get defensive or think any mention of "race" or "racist" is going too far. We are all raised to be prejudiced, so if someone is finding that in you, reflect and work on yourself.

#fandom #911 #i know ppl dont listen and in this fandom they continually ignore shit but #and im beating a dead horse but i am feel very uncomfortable and anxious

[engel-hageshii]

Hey hey...I found another way to take the sushiman out of the water because I'm not ready to let him go yet...

We're all familiar with the saying "A shark in a fish tank will grow 8 inches-" right?

Welp, with that in mind, here is Orca!Eclipse in a fishbowl!

@naffeclipse he is fine, I promise, the fishbowl is bigger than it looks 👀

This is part of a brainrot I had with my friend @roboticsuccubus83 that began with "what if orca!Eclipse but tiny?" And it's slowly becoming its own au based on Apex Polarity

Because turns out that many scenes look really funny when he is roughly 8 inches long...

#and thats basically it #we're still planning things and making lore for the au #its a very indulgent thing because im not ready to let the orcaman go 🥲 #and also its part of my quest of putting orca!eclipse in uncomfortable situations~ #orcaman #orca!eclipse #orca eclipse #orclipse #tiny orca!eclipse

[puppyeared]

mascot

#this isnt vent dw!!! i dont smoke either i was just kinda going for some sort of vibe #i know its usually played for laughs or like. dark humor whenever ppl draw mascots without their heads and u can see the actor #but i always found it fascinating and a little sobering. ever since i was a kid ive always been hyperaware of ppl in costumes #like. even if i tried to block it out id be thinking the whole time 'its not real. theres a person in that suit who gets paid to do this' #it used to be an uncomfortable nagging feeling but now its like. oh yeah theres someone with a whole life story doing this. idk #i think when i tell ppl im not conscious of my body its like. im not dysphoric or experience dissociation but. at the same time #it feels like my physical body doesnt fully outwardly represent me..?? like some sort of costume #i like to phrase it as being a giant hairless mecha and inside theres a very tiny puppy piloting the damn thing #and the other thing is. when i draw my sona i dont really see it as what i /wish/ i looked like or how i want people to see me #its like being in a costume and just. fucking around with some sort of barrier between myself and others #plus mascots arent allowed to talk and i dont really. engage with other ppl in public spaces that it kinda feels like ad lib #i share a lot abt my life but ironically im also a private person..... i guess it just gives me some sort of control over my identity #my art #myart #my oc #sona #mascot #furry #??? is this furry art???? #twinkle #puppysona #edit: had to outline it bc i just realized it looks really weird on dark mode -_-

[cupiidzbow]

im adding a new thing to my new carrd im making and i know not everyone reads it when following me so im just gonna post this here in advance before I finish the carrd 😭😭😭

#I love sharing my f/os and you can think the guys I like are attractive all you want!!! #but I just don’t like treated like im a blank character where other people can insert themselves in place of me 😭😭😭 #like . it’s just very much me….. yknow … like thats now I portray myself 😭😭😭 #my sonas aren’t really separated from me. they’re indeed me 😭😭😭 #i had art I’ve drawn of my sona blow up and people going me coded!!! Or misgendering me bc they don’t think it’s me 😭😭 #like no that’s me . hope that helps 😭 #I’m also gonna add a couple characters I am uncomfortable with people shipping with to my cards bc um…. side eyes… uhhh #like there’s a handful of characters im gonna look at you a bit weird over #but trust me almost all of people I interact with are all good I promise 🫶🏽 #txt

[saphira-approves]

Okay no I’m not done talking about swords, and their names, because sword names are IMPORTANT okay and they MEAN THINGS—

I rambled in the tags of this post about Eragon and Murtagh naming/renaming their swords to be positive, compared to their fathers’ respective negative sword names, but I want to go further into it.

First is the obvious one, Morzan’s Zar’roc, Misery, and Murtagh’s Ithring, Freedom. I’m almost certain Morzan names his sword as an offensive measure—and I don’t mean offensive as in insulting, I mean it in the combat sense. It’s a curse, almost, upon his enemies: any opponent he faces with this blade will be struck by misery, literally. But one thing we know about Morzan: he’s not particularly wise, and even his best works backfire on him. We see it with Selena, and his confidence that she loves him too much to betray him, so he never warded against her. He named his sword Misery, and Misery is all it brought him: he joined Galbatorix, brought the downfall of the Order, and lost his dragon to nameless madness; he killed Brom’s dragon, making an enemy of the man who once had idolized him and sealing his own demise by Brom’s hand; he threw Misery at his own child and pushed his wife to betray him, which ultimately led to the downfall of everything he had ever worked for. Talk about a curse. He upheld Misery, and Misery came right back to bite him in the ass.

And then Brom took Misery from him, and sequestered it away, and eventually gave it to Eragon without telling him its meaning; and Eragon wielded it without knowing its meaning or history, trying his best to do good with it, and even when he did learn its history and its name he resolved to work to give it a better legacy. After all, a good sword is a good sword. But Murtagh, Morzan’s son and heir, was not done with Misery, bore too painful a scar from Misery to let it go—he took Misery from Eragon and claimed it as his own, claiming his birthright, yes… but taking Misery away from Eragon, in the very same moment that he also protected Eragon from capture and forced servitude, the fate that had befallen Murtagh himself. Complicated as feelings all around may have been, intentional as the act itself may or may not have been, Murtagh here is very much intentionally shouldering that burden. He fully believed that Eragon was another son of Morzan, he could have easily justified rejecting that part of his history and his father’s legacy and offloading it on his younger brother, and yet he didn’t. He took it for himself and declared it his own.

And then he called it Freedom.

After enduring torture and enslavement and a hundred other humiliations, he took Misery in hand and said, no. I do not uphold you. I do not fight for you. I fight for Freedom, for my own and my loved ones’, and for the Freedom of all. He looked at the horror of his past and refused to let it define him. He looked at his father’s mistakes and refused to be bound to them. He took a name of offense, of attack and hostility, and changed it to a name of preservation, of defense, of peace.

And then there’s Eragon, with Brisingr, Fire, and Brom’s mysterious Undbitr, Void-biter. At first glance it may seem that they have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but I would not be here if I wasn’t going to loudly and fervently declare otherwise.

My guess for Brom’s reasoning of naming his sword Undbitr would be somewhere between edgelord teenager antics (look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have wanted a sword name Void Biter at twelve years old) and his admiration for Morzan, who named his sword the simple yet devastatingly clever Misery. Void-biter, bite of death, the bite that would send his opponents to the void. To darkness, to nothingness, to anti-life and anti-hope. A sword lost after his dragon’s death, never seen again, and yet Brom himself succumbs to the bite of his own personal void: he dedicates himself to vengeance, throws everything he has of himself into orchestrating Morzan’s downfall, and the downfall of Galbatorix and the rest of the Forsworn for good measure. It’s implied, from Brom’s own admission of fearing his son would hate him and Oromis’s discussion of his near-suicidal madness after Saphira’s death, that revenge is all Brom lived for until he met Selena—and even after he met her and fell in love with her, I suspect his need for vengeance is what ultimately decided the events leading both to Morzan’s death and Selena’s doomed reunion with Murtagh. Brom may have lost Void-biter, but the void consumed him anyway.

And then there’s Eragon. Yes I’ve said that already but if anything can sum up these books, it’s And then there’s Eragon. The first spell he learns is fire. A dangerous force, certainly, one that can easily break control and wreak untold havoc and destruction, but what force of nature doesn’t fall into that category? He could easily have learned, and thus be represented by, wind or ice or lightning, or even just pain or break. But he didn’t, and he’s not. He wields fire. A force of nature, a destructive weapon… but also the foundation of a home, fire in the hearth; the fuel of invention, to shape metal and glass; and most importantly, a light in the dark, the hope of dawn in the long cold night. Eragon names his sword Brisingr, and it’s not merely a weapon: it is a beacon. His father was consumed by darkness, but Eragon is the one who guided him back to the light, who gave him something to live for after he had defeated his enemy and lost his love; Eragon was the figurehead of the rebellion, the spark that drove a passive resistance into the blaze of true revolution; and now Eragon builds the new hearth of the Dragon Riders, to tend and defend it for future generations.

What a change from misery and the void.

Fire, and freedom. Hope, and peace. Family, and love.

I think Selena would be very proud of her sons.

#inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #eragon shadeslayer #murtagh (inheritance cycle) #brom (inheritance cycle) #selena (inheritance cycle) #morzan (inheritance cycle) #saph scribbles #murtagh spoilers #very light but still there #im normal about these books im so normal about these books (lying) #need a murtagh and eragon reunion STAT i need eragon to be all mushy and proud of murtagh for his growth as a person #while murtagh is VERY uncomfortable and fully expecting to be kicked out but refusing to say anything because the hugs are nice even #if he won’t actually admit it

[toasts-httyd-hyperfixation]

So i made this lil transparent worm-on-a-string Hiccup a while back

Im leaving him here for yall to watch while i go do a Thing

Im sure when i get back he wont be in any precarious situations, or unsavory circumstances, or anything of that ilk

Anyways

Have fun

Ill be back

#httyd books #httyd #book hiccup #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon books #to be explicitly clear about this post: i am uploading this guy with the idea that someone may copy/paste him into various situations #like historical photos/bowls of soup/over an active volcano whatever #thats why he's transparent so you dont have to photoshop or whatever if ya wanna do it #i also dont expect anyone other than like my friends to do this #because Social Anxiety is a thing and interacting with strangers is Uncomfortable so like not everyone's gonna wanna do it #and thats cool if you just wanna reblog the boy cause you like him without edits or anything #but also anyone can slap this guy into a photo or whatever i dont care #i just wanna see my guy in situations lol #i feel like i had more to say but idk so #im aware this is a long explanation for this but #i like explaining to be clear #recently had a test that had very little instructions and i didnt know what to do so #im also probably just in an extra explaining mood cause of that lol

[skitskatdacat63]

2023 Las Vegas Grand Prix - Qualifiying - Fernando Alonso

#half asleep making these istg #yayyyy p9? idk ig i expected him to do better #old man asleep at the wheel whats new 😴 #he was very quick w this interview i wonder if he was eager to get to bed #i certainly am rn #f1 #formula 1 #fernando alonso #2023 las vegas gp #(i wish i could atop feeling insecure abt my gifs. i do it for fun.) #(of course i want them to look somewhat good but i get a bit ill over it) #(there was somw drama on here at some point that made me want to completely stop posting then ngl) #(cause like what is the point if im not as good as others ig :/ this is kinda vague posting but it made me so uncomfortable) #(as i said. i do it for fun in quick time bcs yay jsut wanna post smth i found cute) #(but ever sincce that thing happened its just made me extremely self critical and insecure abt posting) #(idk why im saying this. kinda repressing the urge tk be like 'SRY THESE ARE TERRIBLE. YEAH.') #(i need to sleep. but i often feel like this literally every time i post now bcs some people get on their high horse and ruin people's fun) #(iykyk ig. its smth bothering me lately. but i hate to act so morose. but i still feel bad abt the quality sometimes. i guess.) #we do a little bit of f1

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

so. um. @mean-scarlet-deceiver's post about thomas and henry's relationship has been living in my brain rent free for the past month and i have been turning over a scene for just as long.

so. i tried to write it. i hope you don't mind, jobey. and also you're right. they are Hard to get right. if i had to put an era on this i'd call it BG (Before Gordon).

about 1.5k, full fic under the cut

--- --- ---

Thomas keeps shooting glances at the sheds as he bustles around the yard.

It… the hired help from the other railway, the engines who are slightly too full of themselves for Thomas’ liking (and he’s made sure to let them know as such) have been talking loudly all morning, as they were getting ready to take their trains, about… the new engine.

Henry. Even if he couldn’t have remembered Henry’s name, the other two have been saying it loudly enough to carry around the yard that Thomas certainly has the picture now. And… Thomas’ lip curls as he hears their newest comment as he goes past.

“Hey!” he calls, boiling over, and the two hired engines look at him. “It’s 9am already. Are you going to actually go take your trains, or are you just going to sit and preen all day?”

“What would you know, little Thomas?” one of them calls back, all smarmy and smug. Thomas’ lip curls even more into a full on frown. Eugh. Tender engines.

“About running a railway on time?” Thomas snaps back. “Clearly more than you! Are you waiting for Sir Topham Hatt to personally invite you, or?”

They huff and sneer and pout at him, but they do still steam off one by one. However, they each shoot Henry a knowing and cruel side-eye as they go that makes Thomas bristle, despite himself.

Henry is still in his berth in the sheds. Well, he’s half-in, half-out. He only seemed to have made it so far before he… stopped. And he’s been going all sorts of shades of red as the others’ gossip had gotten louder and louder as he waited for his driver to return with an engineer of some sort.

Henry isn’t looking at Thomas now, but his eyes had snapped to the tank engine when Thomas had spoken up. He’s instead closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and seems to be trying – and trying hard – to… to what? To move?

Thomas tries not to stare, as he moves trucks into the siding they’re expected to be found in. Why is he trying so hard?

Eventually, Henry does actually move – but he… Thomas frowns again. Henry moves backwards, back into the shed. The wheesh Henry lets out as he comes to a halt is limp and weak.

Henry has been here, what, all of a month, maybe two at this point. Thomas hasn’t heard… many kind things, actually, so far, which is weird because look at him. Henry’s huge – Henry’s the biggest engine Thomas has ever seen, and he’s surely powerful to boot.

But Henry… Well, Edward said that Henry is sick, and sick often.

“Why?” Thomas had asked, as they had approached the shed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Thomas,” Edward had reprimanded, and that’s when Thomas had realised Henry was in earshot, and clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t.

And that had been that.

Thomas had seen Sir Topham Hatt come out of his office at the station to watch Henry’s comings and goings, and more often than not with a stormy expression on his face. And Thomas didn’t get that either. Problems get the stormy expression. Troublemakers get the stormy expressions (Thomas would know). And Henry seems… too…

Thomas biffs his truck ahead of him as he turns his thoughts over.

Too… quiet? Too wallpaper? Too chameleon? Too…?

He snorts to himself. Whatever Henry is, he’s too much of it. And certainly too much of it to be a troublemaker, not like those mainline engines. It’s not like Thomas has gotten to know Henry yet, and it’s not like Henry has given him the opportunity to, either: but Thomas doesn’t get the impression Henry wants to be trouble. But he has to be… there has to be something wrong here, otherwise the Fat Controller wouldn’t be so upset.

Thomas hears a sniff from behind him as he backs down his stretch of track, and realises it’s come from the sheds.

And Thomas sighs quietly. …Then again, if nothing was wrong, Henry wouldn’t be so upset either.

“Those two,” Thomas says, before he can think, and Henry has gone absolutely silent, eyes flicking over to Thomas as Thomas pauses on a nearby siding for just a moment. “Bloody wankers, the pair of them.”

The silence holds for another second or two, before Thomas is rewarded with a shaky laugh.

“…I noticed,” says Henry.

“All those mainline tossers, really,” Thomas continues, and he keeps talking even as his work takes him all around the yard, speaking up so Henry can still hear him. “I almost wish the Fat Controller wouldn’t hire them. Sure, we need more wheels on rails, but they don’t seem to know a blazing thing about this railway.”

Henry – in the shadow of the shed – purses his lips, before he lets out another sigh, another limp wheesh of steam.

“I would hardly say I do, either,” he says miserably.

Thomas frowns, and comes to a halt a little too sharply with a big woosh of steam.

“Of course you do,” he replies, indignant. Henry’s a big engine, he should- why would he say that?  Sure, Henry hasn’t been here long, but he’s a big engine, he should know plenty. “More than them, anyway.”

Henry sighs. He doesn’t argue, but Thomas’ fire flickers in annoyance as he can read of Henry’s face that Henry doesn’t agree either.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have been bought if-”

“Don’t.”

Thomas’ mouth hangs open for a second, before he closes it, blinks, and glances at Henry.

Henry looks even more upset. Great job, Thomas.

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t,” Henry cuts him off again, sounding grumpier. And he’s gone from miserable to grumpy – that’s a win in Thomas’ book. “I’m particularly not in the mood to hear how I’d be more useful as a tin can.”

“The only tin cans around here are those self-important mainland pricks,” Thomas shoots back, and Henry side-eyes him – suspicious. “I’m not convinced they know what a timetable is, let alone how to read one. What kind of engine hangs around in the sheds when there’s work to… be…?”

Thomas trails off, and Henry… actually laughs. It’s tired and it’s bitter, but it’s a real laugh and it’s better than miserable.

“…Well, I want to assume you’re going to go work. When you can.”

“Optimism,” Henry says dryly. “I admire that in an engine.”

Thomas scrunches up his face. “I don’t understand you,” he says bluntly, in a way he’s sure Edward would scold him for if he was with them. “You’re miserable in the sheds, you’re miserable out on the line, you’re miserable doing nothing and you’re miserable pulling trains.”

Henry stares at Thomas for a moment, before his eyes flick away.

“If I could get out of this yard and actually pull trains, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Thomas says, far more dreamily than he’ meant to, and he cringes a little, chuffing out of where he can see Henry’s face, because he doesn’t need to hear an earful about it from another big engine.

“…You’re small,” Henry says, slowly, not accusatorily nor really condescendingly. He sounds more …confused than anything. “…And you’re useful, here.”

“And?” Thomas snaps back, defensive. “I could be useful anywhere.”

Henry’s silent for another moment, like he’s really chewing that statement over.

Then, eventually, he surprises Thomas by saying, “…I suppose you would be better than those two.”

And Thomas lets out a sharp bark of laughter, shooting Henry a grin as he goes by, and punctuating it with a hoot and a whistle – delighted. The enthusiasm makes Henry blink, before slowly, a smile of his own spreads across his face; one that sharpens to match Thomas’.

“You’re most certainly right! And besides. You let them get to you, you let them win,” Thomas agrees. “And they’re far too useless for that.”

Henry laughs again. Thomas lets out another peep-peep and a woosh of steam of his own, pleased to have earnt it. Footsteps crunch over the gravel of the yard, and Thomas spots Henry’s driver returning with a couple of engineers in tow before Henry does, and replies to their hellos as he bustles past.

“Hello, lad,” Henry’s driver says to Henry, patting his side. “We’ll have you right as rain in no-time, alright?"

Henry sighs again, but does actually smile back at his driver.

His driver blinks in fond surprise as the engineers get to work finding the newest problem. “You’re in good spirits, all of a sudden.” Then, he glances at Thomas as the tank engine goes past. “Making friends?”

“More so finding the only engine in this yard with a thought in his smokebox, it seems,” Henry says dryly, loud enough for Thomas to hear, and that makes Thomas snort in amusement.

He does call back, “Hey, now, be nice to Edward!”

And the engineers and Henry’s driver alike seem relieved when the two engines laugh together.

Thomas watches them work to get Henry’s steam up, and Henry’s finally pulling out of the sheds a good half-hour later. Thomas whistles goodbye as Henry chuffs away.

He smiles with the satisfaction of a job well done when Henry, completely of his own volition, whistles a goodbye in return as he disappears off down the line.

Then, Thomas returns to his trucks, and gives them a good biff once more, ignoring how this time, they really shriek. He – and Henry, he imagines – can’t wait for those mainlanders’ contracts to run out.

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte henry #ttte thomas #ttte fic #dj's writing #i never realised how much i rely on nodding as gestural filler in my writing until im writing engines who cant nod #i hope a) you don't mind and b) this is good #i wanted to draw this originally but it eluded me badly #i dont know if Henry would actually be that forthcoming about his self-depricating comments but ALSO he's very miserable #and probably is trying to make Thomas leave him alone via making him uncomfortable. this however does not work #mostly bc thomas doesn't believe in pity parties. unless they're for himself. #excuse the tag ramble. im thinking about them hard

[raytorosaurus]

tbh my Real hottest mcr take is that once you're invested enough in band-members-as-people to have a social media account dedicated to talking about them, you've already crossed the line into the same kind of thinking and behaviour that can reasonably be deemed unethical about rpf*. behaviour that i can totally understand being opposed to and uncomfortable with! but if you really are, i kinda think it's vaguely hypocritical to Also be highly active on mcr tumblr and regularly discussing these people's lives and/or personalities - or even the intent of their art, anything that wouldn't be written in a professionally published review (or even personal essay). yes i'm including myself in this! i really don't like strict moralism if it lacks self-awareness.

*this is not about genuine tinhatting and serious speculation, which i do think is an Extra line.

#im not talking about people who just love the band and reblog pictures of them or whatever #im talking about the parasocialism - which is a very overused term but one that genuinely does apply to a Lot of the mcr fandom #(including me) #((and im not talking about tinhatters either but for a different reason. bc that makes me G #enuinely uncomfortable haha))