My Babiiiiiiies - Blog Posts

I fixed Enid's kissing scene.

(I wanted to draw them as season 2 is coming out in 2025)

Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua. Platonic Tillsua.

Everytime i think about them meeting again i get the butterflies in my stomach. What will they talk about, what will they show each other, how long will their conversation be? I would love nothing more than to watch them simply speak.

Do you guys think Kuma ever told sabo about Nika when he was young? It makes me so emotional imagining sabo realizing his younger brother is the warrior of liberation he's heard about this whole time. Ugh.

UGH.

anyway, speedpaint:

Song name: Moonsetter- Toby Fox

Credits artist @moririforever

Happy Valentine's day! [Extra under the cut!!]

Okay, so Stan’s toffee peanuts, right?

The candy that’s now associated with a majorly traumatic event. Do we think Stan despises them now? Because if I were to have a candy associated with a traumatic event I would never go anywhere near that candy ever again. Do we think that he has like a physical reaction or something when he sees them? Imagine Mabel or Soos or someone brings that specific candy home and he freaks out (obviously he wouldn’t really freak out freak out, but yk what I mean).

Do we think Ford associates Stan with the smell of toffee peanuts? I mean, that was like the last thing he smelled before Stan was kicked out.

Just an interesting thought or something, idk. I’m half asleep so apologies if this doesn’t make sense.

Silly piggies :)

💜

💗 koobi cuties for @raplinenthusiasts (cr. 0613data)

Steve sings "Dude (Looks Like A Lady)" at a karaoke night with him, Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Argyle. Robin sings backup and it's an overall great performance.

But then Eddie starts to imagine Steve with a guy instead of how he'd normally imagine him with a girl when they would talk about dating.

That night he realised that he doesn't just really want to be Steve's friend and that "shit... I've got a crush on Steve Harrington".

It only took 3 months and quite a few chats with Robin about many absurd dreams (which Steve had no idea why Eddie was in) for him to realise that he liked Eddie too. And a month after that they were together, happy and in love.

Madison Frederick, the main character of a story I'm doing rn 😊

Being stuck in a windowless penthouse with no social media, Madison is unaware of the state her world is in (as well as the existence of phones). She's an important figure for the future of the world, but all she wants to do is sleep and punch people.

Soft fluffy tooth rotting Ghoap thought that became a mini fic

Johnny gets put on concussion protocol after a mission. A bad knock to the head, the kind that leaves his vision fuzzy and his mood worse. Medical sends him on leave, off-base and under strict orders to rest. Lights stay off in the flat for days. Curtains drawn. No TV. No music. No cellphone. No work. Just the painkillers, cold water, and the occasional muttered curse when the neighbor’s car alarm goes off.

And Simon—God bless him—is a ghost around the place. Quiet as a shadow, moving through rooms like he’s on recon, not just bringing tea or folding laundry. He cooks in silence, cleans without fanfare, and makes sure Johnny takes his meds on time. Johnny doesn’t have to ask for a thing.

The rain tapping against the window still makes Johnny hiss some days, the light of the fridge makes him squint, but Simon never pushes. Just offers a warm hand and a whispered “You alright, Johnny?” when the migraines hit worst.

And Johnny—dramatic, daft bastard that he is—soaks it all up. He rests, yes, but he also notices. The careful way Simon tucks the blankets around his feet. The way he keeps to soft shirts, no zippers, no buttons, so the quiet isn't broken when he moves. The way he presses one soft kiss to Johnny’s hair each night and thinks Johnny’s already asleep.

So, naturally, Johnny does what any self-respecting man in love would do under these circumstances.

He fakes his own death.

Well, not really. But he does lie dramatically limp and still on top of the duvet, arms flopped out like he’s in a Shakespeare play.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon. Simon’s just come home with groceries and chicken soup ingredients. And Johnny thinks it’s time he got a little extra affection. He has been through a traumatic brain injury, after all.

Simon pads into the room a few minutes later, that low, soothing voice he’s been using all week curling around the words: “You wanna eat, Johnny?”

Johnny doesn't twitch. He keeps his breathing slow and even, though his lips are fighting to stay straight.

Simon doesn’t push, just assumes he's sleeping again. He sets the food down and walks in closer, brushing a hand gently along Johnny’s knee. “Food’ll get cold,” he tries, coaxing but quiet.

Still nothing.

Simon stands there for a beat too long. Then his chest shifts with a breath that’s a little sharper than the rest, barely audible. He leans down, carefully, fingers soft against Johnny’s jaw, brushing over cheek and temple. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just a few bites, yeah?”

Still, no movement.

And then Simon’s jaw ticks. Something in him flickers. Worry, sharp and sudden. The kind that grips the spine and squeezes. He leans in closer, too close to dodge, taps Johnny’s face again, firmer now, a touch of urgency. “Johnny.”

And that's when Johnny strikes.

Arms snap up, legs curl around Simon’s waist like a fucking koala, and he yanks the poor man down with him—Simon lets out a startled grunt—only to get a mouthful of laughing, smug Scotsman pressing a kiss right to his lips.

Simon blinks, wide-eyed and floored. Johnny just grins, stupid and pleased, still holding him tight. “Caught you.”

“Mm."

“Yooohhh were worried,” Johnny sing-songs, clearly delighted. “Felt the panic settin' in. You were picturing my obituary, weren't you?”

Simon doesn’t even deny it, just sighs, long and put-upon, forehead pressed against Johnny’s. “You’re lucky you’re still concussed or I’d drop you.”

“I knew you cared,” Johnny whispers dramatically, then kisses him again, softer this time.

And Simon, despite himself, melts right into it...

They stay there for a beat—Simon braced awkwardly over him, caught between exasperation and affection, and Johnny clinging like a barnacle, head tilted back against the pillow with the smuggest smile in Scotland.

“You’re a child,” Simon murmurs, but there’s no heat behind it.

“A very injured child,” Johnny corrects, fluttering his lashes for good measure. “One in dire need of affection.”

Simon rolls his eyes, but his hand’s already smoothing over Johnny’s side, tucking under the hem of his shirt to check for warmth. “You need to eat.”

Johnny hums. “I need you to cuddle with me. My head still hurts. Emotionally. Spiritually. And a little physically.”

“You faked being unconscious, Johnny.”

“I said I was injured!”

Simon huffs out a breath, like he's two seconds from laughing. “We’re eating first.”

“Fine,” Johnny relents, but not without a dramatic sigh. “But I wanna eat in bed.”

Simon raises a brow. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” Johnny says, already smug again. “My body’s weak. You said that. Fragile. Like a Victorian maiden. Don’t you want to be my sturdy war husband and bring me soup in bed?”

Simon does laugh at that. Just once, quiet and dry, before leaning down and kissing Johnny’s forehead. “Alright, love."

A few minutes later, they’re tucked under the blankets again—tray balanced on Johnny’s lap, bowl of soup in Simon’s hand, one spoon shared between them even though they definitely own more. Johnny rests his head on Simon’s shoulder between bites.

And when the food’s finally gone and the dishes are abandoned on the nightstand for Future Simon to worry about, Johnny snuggles in closer with a groan.

“You said cuddling,” he mumbles into Simon’s shirt.

“I meant it,” Simon replies, already shifting to pull Johnny into his arms.

Quiet falls and the rain starts up again outside, but Johnny doesn't flinch quite so hard.

those baby blues..