Sometimes I worry maybe I’m the friend that no one likes but they all think everyone else likes me, so they all hide it, but then someone confesses they hate me, and everyone else agrees, and they team up to all stab me in the back 23 times at the Senate on the Ides of March
ohmyguthrie asked: Your Maxanor fic is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G friend! I thoroughly enjoyed each word of it
Thanks! It was inspired by Eleanor’s tenacity, Max’s disgusting love for her, and my complete unwillingness to accept the fact that most of their and Max’s storyline revolved around multiple brutal assaults. Seriously, what was that?
PS: I legitimately love your blog. Michonne and Andrea forever. 1701/10.
Okay so this time I can’t blame Mina, it was all me. Thanks to all the peeps who helped me choose a drawing out of the fifty thousand I scribbled down. Fun fact of the day: drawing hugs is terribly difficult. 0/10 would not recommend.
Also, apologies for the terrible digital colouring.
Also I just realized people I know in real life can see these oops please don’t judge me immensly
The first time, he was unconscious. Comatose, in fact. And technically, it wasn’t a hug.
She had volunteered to stay behind – make sure the steady beep of the heart monitor didn’t disappear on them a second time as Spock and Dr. Mccoy were called to be interviewed by Starfleet brass, asked the same questions over and over again, their admittedly only partially truthful answers cross examined strenuously by the stone-faced admiralty. There was a ninety percent chance that Leonard would lose his temper, she thought to herself as she made herself as comfortable as she could in the lone chair beside the bed. And an eighty-nine percent chance that Spock would stop him from saying something he would regret. She sighed, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes.
She couldn’t remember how long it had been. Half of San Fransisco was destroyed; she was being forced to watch two of the bravest men she knew slowly fall to pieces, helpless; the one person she had foolishly thought untouchable was only barely alive; and she hadn’t slept in what felt like a month.
Truthfully, it had only been ten days.
She glanced at the clock on the other side of the bare, sterile room and then back to the pale, emaciated figure on the bed in front of her.
She was so, so tired.