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inkskinned · 7 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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saturnvs · 2 months

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borrowed my mom’s neopastels and scribbled in my sketchbook 💫

#i’ve been wanting to get the water soluble neocolors #but my mom only had the oil pastels so i tried those instead and might buy the neocolors sometime #SO creamy and smooth to work with ahh i usually don’t even enjoy oil pastel all that much #horses #horse art #art #oil pastel #neopastel #illustration #aware that these are kinda terrible but i love the colors #oil pastels are good for getting in touch with your childish side of art #my art

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bluerosefox · 6 months

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Fenton Ethics and Test Tube Babies

In order to get the funding they need for their Ghost stuff, Jack and Maddie Fenton had to do some... rather illegal things when they left college.

One of them was testing alien DNA and seeing if it was compatible with human DNA.

However getting their hands on Superman's DNA or any of the main Leaguers would be far to hard for two up coming scientists and would run the risk of them being caught. Instead they set their sights on some of the younger aliens.

Such as Starfire, or rather Koriand'r.

They manage to get their hands on her DNA, and also her boyfriend (Nightwing) at the time and began to test it. They felt unsure with what they're doing but they needed the funding and in order to make themself feel better with what they're doing they decided if they were test her DNA with someone she was seeing it would be... better for their own conscience (it doesn't make what they're doing okay but they think so)

Eventually they succeeded in the testing! A baby can be made between a human and a alien.

HOWEVER because we know how the Fenton's get, they kind of go ahead of what they were only meant to do, which was just to TEST the compatibility of the DNA. Basically the paper's before the test phase.

With them getting tunnel vision on this project... They create said baby.

Then before they could show off that creating a new baby via test tubes actually works, they were told that the paperwork they were working on were going to be given to a new team, thank you for your work, here is the money for your ghost stuff, and have a good day.

The people who hired them then just leave.... Without knowing about the newly made baby.

Jack and Maddie name the baby Jasmine.

A few years later when little Jazz asks for a sibling... Well they bring out the old test tubes and papers.

And even though Starfire is no longer dating Nightwing, her new partner Red Hood would make a wonderful male donor for their future kid.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny and Jazz are half-siblings #Starfire is their mom #Jazz is the test tube baby of Starfire and Nightwing #Danny is the test tube baby of Starfire and Red Hood #Jack and Maddie do questionable things for their work #headcanon the ectoplasim they've been around skewed their morals bad #they think what they do is normal and okay #its not #debating when all of this is found out #maybe when tiny Jazz needs to do a family tree report but doesn't find any pictures of her mom pregnant with her or Danny #but finds the papers telling both Jack and Maddie they couldn't have kids #either of them can't #then she finds the papers for the test tubing and is horrified and stressed to the point her powers start springing up #she decides she needs to get her and toddler Danny OUT asap #OR teen Danny finds out same way for a school thing and stumbles on the papers and freaks out #finds their science journal and discovers they have noticed his ghost powers but think its his alien powers and have been taking notes #he feels sick and panicked and needs to bring this to Jazz and GET OUT #jazz fenton

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hychlorions · 27 days

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a what-if i've been thinking about for forever... trucy knowing the truth before anyone could tell her

#trucy wright #apollo justice #ace attorney #.png #ough ough ough how many times has she helped 'ruin' someone's life...#like what if when she was so desperate to help phoenix get acquitted she gets hit in the face with the realization that #she might just be ruining her new-found brother's life too #so yeah. how would she even bring that up #haha hey polly. remember that time i handed you fake evidence. well did you know i saw your bracelet and remembered my mom had one too. fun #by the way did you know she told me she had two and gave one to her first-born who she lost a long time ago #like do we know how much trucy remembers about their mom. no! that's why i think this could work #ough i've wanted to make this comic for so long but i never knew how to format it #well i drew the first panel as warm-up and then was like. why not go all the way....#that way i'd be forced to really think about composition

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077891st · 16 days

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trying to remember how to draw again 🐠

#my art #geminitay #sketch #mcyt #hermitcraft #mcytblr #art #hermitblr #mcyt fanart #geminitay fanart #hermitcraft s10 #hc s10 #hermitcraft fanart #i've never drawn a fish in my life can you tell #my mom switched us to an ISP that works really well in the rurals but we dont live in the rurals so the speed is hilariously poor.#I'm reliving 2011 against my will. it took 3 hours to download all 20 of the stardew mods i use. i watch youtube videos in 140p.#it takes 5 minutes to send an email. like. from pressing send to the mail being sent.#autosaving this post failed!!! i didnt know that was something that could happen #customer support has been unhelpful. this whole thing feels like an elaborate april fools joke. im not upset btw it IS funny

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chocoarts01 · 7 months

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✨Little bundle of joy?✨

After successfully destroying Draxums lab, Yoshi carefully takes the small turtle creatures back home with him ((He somehow finds his way back after stumbling through the hidden city)), but oh shit!- These small turtles got big from the last time he’s seen them!

Looks like he has no choice but to take care of them now😔😔

#tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmntleo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt lou jitsu #rottmnt splinter #tmnt au #my art #a single mom who works two jobs and LOVES his kids and never stops🎤🎤#he does not know what to do #but at least he saved these innocent creatures #that’s all he cares about #not his career #not his own well-being #just these small creatures in his arms

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leupagus · 6 months

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On Voting in America

So one of the most profound comments on routine chores that I've ever encountered was, hilariously, the Pickle Rick episode of "Rick & Morty," where (after a lot of shenanigans have already ensued) this therapist absolutely lays Rick out:

"I have no doubt that you would be bored senseless by therapy, the same way I'm bored when I brush my teeth and wipe my ass. Because the thing about repairing, maintaining, and cleaning is: it's not an adventure. There's no way to do it so wrong you might die. It's just work. And the bottom line is some people are okay going to work and some people, well, some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose."

I think about this at least once a week — usually while I'm doing my laundry or sweeping or some other task that needs doing and won't get me anything more than clean clothing or a dog-hair-free floor. There's no Pulitzer for wiping down your microwave or scrubbing your toilet; no one's awarding you for getting all the dishes out of the sink. At best you have the satisfaction of crossing it off your list.

Voting is very much the same (and I'm talking about the US here, as an American). Sure, you sometimes get a sticker; but nobody's going to cheer for you. There's no adventure here, no potential for anything more than crossing something off of a list. It's a chore, something that needs doing in order to repair, maintain, and yes even clean. So I get why people don't like doing it.

And I've decided I don't give a shit.

Do it anyway. Your country takes astonishingly little from you — taxes, the once-in-a-blue-moon jury duty, and a theoretical draft that hasn't been used in over half a century and likely will never be again — but it asks you (asks! not requires! not demands!) to vote once a year. It's not always easy; especially in conservative states, the impediments to vote can be ridiculous. But it is once a year and unlike in our nation's all-too-recent past, you will not die if you do it.

In fact, the worst outcome from voting these days is that the person or issue that you vote for loses — but you won't know if they lose until after the election. Polls are less accurate now, for a whole host of reasons; you cannot know until after the election who or what will win. This makes your vote more valuable than possibly ever before.

Use that power. Not because it's exciting or even rewarding, but because your vote is what keeps our country's metaphorical teeth from falling out and our metaphorical ass from stinking.

Brush, wipe, vote.

#ok the metaphor may've gotten a little gross but rick & morty chose it not me #anyway if voting didn't matter then rich people wouldn't do it #and I can assure you: they do #also: please don't think of voting like a reward for the person you're voting for #or as a punishment for the person you're not voting for #my mom's advice was:#think about the most vulnerable people you care about and vote for the person or issue that will make their lives better #and you'll rarely go wrong #yes there are often two bad options but if you're old enough to vote you're old enough to understand the difference between bad and less ba #anyway that's all the political lecturing I'll do this year #except maybe to complain about the 18-hour day I'll be having on Tuesday #oh also SIGN UP TO WORK ELECTIONS WE NEED MORE HELP #thank you #politics!

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cygnus-is-tired · 3 months

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Orthodontist hate him, dentist fear him! It’s NIBBLY!!!

(Unlike Nibbly you aren’t a god so don’t bite hard candy, you can and will fuck up your teeth)

#fun fact about me #my mom was an orthodontist for the first like 15-16 years of my life #you would not BELIEVE how many times my cousins would be dragged to our house at all hours of the day because they did something dumb #and broke their braces #my art #doodle #hatchetfield #nibblenephim #nibbly #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #I attempted to make his hat thing that I can’t remember the name of look glittery by using stippling #and I don’t think it works like I intended but oh well #can’t do anything about it now

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raiii-bee · 8 months

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Wanted to mess with charcoals again, so here's a little Hal and Sunny based on a memory I have of my own dad.

#otacon #sunny emmerich #hal emmerich #metal gear solid #Pikmin #he was obsessed with pikmin back then. would come home from work and play for hours #obviously I did not have Dave is a fill in for my mom lmao.#anyway Hal absolutely would play video games late into the night and Sunny would watch when she was supposed to be in bed #my art #it's very gesture. i didn't intend to polish it at all. i like how scratchy it is #also sunny has a blanket purely because that was my item™ as a kid

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raycatzdraws · 3 months

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ribbonwood

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu hyrule #(also zelda 1!!! but idk how people would feel about me tagging it since I used Jojo's design?)#(ya'll can always tag my gen loz art as LU (or as any linkverse honestly if it inspires you to think about your favs) and vice versa)#(I want to inspire you to think and create! If you see my gen loz art and want to add that to your headcanons or it changes how you think??#take it! play with it! invite me to play as well haha!)#(not ocs but like- gen stuff??? ye go for it)#mom walked in and looked at the comic I was working on #so I started rambling about my plans with it and what my peers are working on and how cool it all is and how I want to have more of that #and she said “what a waste of time”#so I got loosey goosey with it :\#nice exercise to just draw w/o doing guides or being careful #did this in like under 15 minutes! >:D #but anyways #I haven't slept yet so gn!#.. he's holding stuff in the wrong hands!!!! a #look up ribbonwood / redshanks trees! If Hyrule was a tree- this is it #I imagine zelda 1&2's landscape to be california chaparral!!! I'm really passionate about it!!!!!#check out the california chaparral institute's website -> chaparral -> chaparral types #it's Hyrule's Hyrule!

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reineydraws · 1 year

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so there's this post that talks about how people call jason's curved knife a kris but it's not a kris 'cuz why would he have a southeast asian knife? and op's tags say if you're gonna give him an 'exotic' weapon at least make him malay or something. a later reblog adds a filipino kris as an example, and then i was like, 'omg, jason in a barong tho.' SO i tried designing a bat-barong inspired by his hood logo, for a filipino jason haha. and now here we are! 😊✨️🇵🇭

#jason todd #red hood #batfamily #batfamily fanart #dc #dc fanart #i love barongs SO MUCH i used to think they were just a boy thing but my mom and i found a barong dress for me to wear for graduation ✨️✨️#i was so happy lol #i am posting a lot of lil doodles rn cuz i finished some big involved pieces for the zines im in and this is all the energy i have left rn #anyways i made him white-passing bc comics but like.#it should track that he looks a lil asian too cuz he thinks lady shiva might be his mom right??? so he could feasibly be half... 🤷🏻‍♀️#i like thinking he's a lil filipino but only cuz im all the way filipino (except for all the ways im not hashtag immigrant kid life)#I DIGRESS #here's another extremely niche jason todd post from yours truly 😌✌️✨️#sorry if the knife isnt to scale it's only occuring to me now that i just *assumed* it'd be longer than a man's forearm oops #ugh barongs are so pretty. idve tried designing more if i had the patience to do the detail work rn 🥲 mb in the future who knows #he's wearing a sando underneath!!!!

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isjasz · 3 months

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[Day 202]

I finally designed him head in hands ITS SUMA!! >:D

#dddaily4sherin #The Promised Hermitopia #xisumavoid #cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #grian #solidaritygaming #skizzleman #in all the doodles #trafficblr #hermitblr #isdoodles #intermission amongst the asks bc it is 12am here HELP #this was such a struggle HSAJLEPELPE #also dont question the logistics of him being the caretaker dude idk either LMAOOAOSOOA #also *2. we considered making it Cleo but she fits another role better and cleo is more of scars mom so it doesnt exactly work LOL O7 #X is the best person we could think of

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thefreakandthehair · 4 months

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(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.”

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now?

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son.

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust.

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong.

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself.

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.”

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight.

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging.

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!”

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off.

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can.

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.”

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks.

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?”

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace.

It’s only then that Steve speaks.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them.

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree.

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge.

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen.

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain.

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow.

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him.

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was #our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact?#anyways #replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️#super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕

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