Steddie Bigbang: The Baby Project
Hi!!!
This is my piece of art for the @steddiebang !!!
I had the chance to work with @miraculousmultifan with her funny and cute fic "The Baby Project".
Summary:
Steve turned around with a grin and propped his elbows up on Munson's desk. Then, before he could really think about the words coming out of his mouth, he said, “Guess that makes us married then, huh darling?”
Munson, of course, stared back at him blankly, but instead of backtracking or something, Steve batted his eyelashes for good measure, really hamming it up.
Munson blinked at him once. Then twice. Then he raised an eyebrow and said, deadpan, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
***
In the last month and a half of Steve's senior year, he gets paired up with Eddie Munson for the final project in Mrs. O'Donnell's Home Economics class. The assignment? To take care of a fake baby for four weeks. For some reason, Steve finds himself surprisingly excited. Eddie, not so much.
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The way that Dream is nothing but a child to doomsday trio is going to haunt my brain !!
Like, imagine
You are young, and you are strong, and you have seen things, had things happen to you, that no one should. You're smart and you will never die in a way that matters, and one day you will know death intimately.
Imagine seeing that !!! Knowing that death will never touch you, that lives are nothing more than sparks on a good day, ants on a bad day, and finding himself caring for one.
I have more thoughts but they're incomprehensible. I adore immortals though
:)
i like to think that doomsday preparations took multiple days.
-----
Dream straightened his back, rolling his shoulders. His cloak (longer and thicker than his usual-- better for enduring the arctic cold) slipped from the sharp edges of his shoulderguard and pooled behind him, ruffling a few maps that he'd discarded there. His mask obscured his face, but judging from the soft rush of breath that left him, he might've yawned.
Philza passed him a mug of tea.
"You can stay the night, you know," Phil stated casually. The boy had been joining him and Techno during daylight hours to plan for the upcoming battle, but he disappeared into the cold each night. Yesterday, he didn't even say goodbye. "Might be easier. You can get a head start in the morning if you don't have to travel." Dream watched him, silent behind his mask. "I have a guest room for you," Phil continued, "Nice and private."
Dream took the mug in both hands, fingers splayed along the ceramic. He was cold. "I appreciate that. Really. But it's, uh... that won't be necessary."
This was a part of being in your early 20s, Techno explained a few days ago. A need for independence yet no life experience to know what it means to be responsible in the first place. All Phil saw, really, was a kid with cold hands.
Phil sat beside him-- or, rather, as close as he could without crumpling a map. "You're making a poor host of me," he replied, lightheartedly.
Dream seemed to ignore him. "What's this?"
"The drink? Ah, it's peppermint tea. I sweetened it a good bit-- it's bitter without. Let me know if it needs more sugar."
Dream nodded softly. He raised a gloved hand up to his head, and it lingered for a moment on the clasp of his mask, but he opted instead to simply tip it upwards to reveal no more than the slant of his jawline and the curve of his lips. A skintight, spandex wrapping covered a lot of neck and chin, but the sliver of flesh that showed was unmarred. Unblemished. He hadn't yet gained any frown lines or smile lines.
"It's good," he said after a small sip, "Thanks."
---
Dream was small in Technoblade's arms. His skin, freshly washed and slightly rosy from the warm water, was decorated by more scars and burns than Phil's ever seen on a living man. A few larger scars spanned his chest, where his ribcage showed behind the folds of his robe. Smaller scars hid along his fingers and forearms. On his face. His calves. His neck. Every inch of skin that was exposed had been violated in one way or another, it seemed.
Half-conscious as he pulled himself back from a seizure, Dream nuzzled into the crook of Techno's elbow. Wilbur used to do that, too, as a newborn.
"Yo, Dream?" Techno asked for the third time.
"Mm?"
"Hey, welcome back, dude. I'm gonna put you on the couch, mm'kay? Floor's cold."
Dream nodded, forcing his eyes to open. They were unfocused and foggy, but alert enough that his gaze successfully landed on some of the items around them. The table, the paintings on the wall. Philza's face.
Dream was shivering. All Phil could see, really, was a kid with cold hands.
"What can I do for you, mate?" Phil asked, staying close as all three of them moved to the couch. This boy wouldn't live long-- no humans do, really-- but without help, he wouldn't even last the night.
Dream tested his jaw, stretching it and chewing at nothing, before he spoke. "Do you still have that.. uh..."
"The peppermint tea? You bet I do."
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I’ve been trying to figure out how I’m going to draw the voices so I started with Paranoid and Cold, my two favourites !!
Ohhh, these are so damn good!
They're gorgeous, I love how much personality comes through for both of them...
Paranoid's shivering and that tight double-handed grip on the blade, how Cold holds the blade more carelessly (gonna cut your thumb on that) and even has that one finger up in an almost shushing gesture... The frost-like coloration on Cold's shoulders and the veil, the fact that Paranoid is cloaked and hooded, so covered up...
I adore these :D I am so happy you sent them to me, I love your art already!
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