#i forgot to add all of my tags oops

[qprstobin]

I thought I was the only person who felt uncomfortable with the overfeminization of Steve and how he’s always “mom” to them in fics, I’m glad I’m not! It’s worse when you remember that Joe Keery doesn’t really like that joke either. And while the occasional joke is fine, when it’s emphasized in a fic and the kids actually call Steve mom purposely, it just feels sorta weird?

You are far from the only one who dislikes it!! Unfortunately it's caught on so strongly in popular fanon :( It's worse because I actually like genderqueer and transfem Steve!! But not like the way some of the fandom overly feminizes him.

Steve's such a fun character, because he is very traditionally masculine in a lot of ways, and part of his character journey is (while not done explicitly because I don't think the Duffers did this on purpose) him kind of accepting the ways in which he isn't traditionally masculine (the hair products, the "babysitting", the fact that he's often the emotionally vulnerable one in relationships - wanting the emotional connection when the girls come to him for sex).

(It's because of this that I think he's a fun character to explore the possibility of him being transfem or genderqueer!)

But all of this doesn't stop him from being masculine. He's a jock, he has an interest in cars, he can be a little overprotective not even in a parental way but in the "I'm the man so I've got to take care of my partner" sort of way. The dude will bitch about being a babysitter and then get an action movie sequence of him ripping apart a monster with his teeth and bare hands. The dichotomy of these two things is what makes him fun!!!

Like you said, the mom jokes can be fun on occasion. (I've mentioned before that I think it's funny when it's contrasted with Robin as the dad, because it's exactly the type of fun gender bending bit that they would drive into the ground.) But when they are constantly being said, all the time, no trace of irony, and it's reflected on Steve's character too (like to the point where he's extremely out of character?)? It's just weird.

Part of it is that honestly Steve is much more of an older sibling in all honesty in canon - he's actually a pretty classic sci-fi/fantasy older sibling, who teases the younger sibling and then constantly does self sacrificing moves against whatever monster is trying to attack his siblings, all while cursing out his siblings for getting him into this mess.

The other part is, if you're going with parental Steve, what is so wrong with him being jokingly referred to as Dad? Like, I'm sorry if some people have never had a father who cooks, cleans, helps with laundry, takes the kid with them while they do the errands. This is an issue in our society of gender norms and societal expectations. But that doesn't mean you have to perpetuate these same gender roles in your gay fanfiction lol. I think it would honestly make him uncomfortable after a point to constantly be called a mom when he's pretty much said that he used to fantasize constantly about being a father. (Ooh, now that's a fun idea to explore.)

Anyway, fandom can like, do what they want but I'm... not a fan of that trend lol.

[chewingbatmanlikeasqueakytoy]

My favourite version of Batman keeping the Joker alive is him being like. A litmus test for the justice system

Like Joker thinks Batman and him have a special bond but in reality it's just that Batman knows when the system can Actually Deal with people like the Joker he can finally fucking retire, bc people can't wriggle out of their deserved punishments

[wildflower-otome]

[kakyogay]

gotta stop going from one au to another

anyways br au because yes!!!!!!!!

with dividers because dayum one doodle turned into another and another and another and augh now here I am 2 hours after I originally wanted to post it.

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[awoowoof]

guess who got a collar

spoiler alert: it's me! :D

[chronic-crassicaudiosis]

I've got my finals grades!

I'm officially still a fucking nerd

[theladycarpathia]

Empty Places chapter 2- Cold Spots

Back to chapter 1 

Creel House. Since its creation, this house has attracted bad luck, violence, and murder. A site of great evil? Or just a magnet for coincidences? We’re here to discover the truth, today on Mystery Spot!

“Did that sound cheesy?” Robin complains, twisting her head back to glare at the framed portrait of the Creels, as though they’re the ones responsible for their bad dialogue. “I think that sounded cheesy!” Billy raises an eyebrow and presses pause.

“It sounded cheesy,” he says bluntly. “You sound like an infomercial.” Robin sticks out her tongue and adjusts her beret. It slipped a little during her speech and now threatens to topple off onto the fraying carpet below.

“Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll think of something else. Even Steve’s intro sounded better than that.” Steve looks up from where he's fiddling with the ring light. He’s removed himself from this particular piece of theater as he has no design to stand near that horrible portrait or stare into Billy's eyes. Damnation all round.

“Hey,” he says, mildly offended. “You weren’t around when I was recording that!” 

“It’s an educated guess, your intros are always cheesy,” Robin says and then sighs heavily. “Okay, maybe we should come back to this. You guys want to go have a look around? There’s two more floors above this, including an attic, and I think there’s a basement too.”

Steve makes a face. “I’m not going to the basement,” he says automatically, because he does not care about being seen as a jittery coward, so long as it means he doesn’t have to go to the basement. Basements are notoriously for murder rooms, and dark tunnels, and books covered in skin. No, thank you.

“I’ll take the basement,” Billy says, in a tone that implies that he knows exactly what Steve is doing. They once found a secret room in an old house that Billy had willingly gone into. He either doesn’t believe in squatters hiding in the walls or he’s very, very stupid. “You guys can head upstairs. Meet back in fifteen?” 

Robin grabs her bag from the table, digging for her recorder. “Sounds good. Walkies on?”

“Yes,” Steve says, before Billy can scoff at the idea…again. “It’s an old house, Billy. You could fall through an old piece of floorboard and we might not find you until you’ve bled out. Turn on the damn walkie.” Billy digs out his walkie, clips it to his belt and makes an obvious show of switching it on.

“Happy?” he asks and Steve tries to not let it bother him. Billy’s just like this. Reckless, wild, immortal. Safety precautions are just a joke to him. 

“Ecstatic,” Robin says, dryly. She tucks the recorder into her pocket, along with her walkie, and dumps her bag back down. “Don’t get dead. Let’s go, Harrington.” 

Steve lingers just long enough to watch Billy wander out of the room first, heading for the basement door, before he trails after Robin. He can see by her face that he’s not subtle. 

“Lech,” she hisses, tugging on his arm. The stairs are still pretty fucking incredible, a grand sweeping staircase of some rich, dark wood, carved into delicately sculpted banisters. Steve shrugs.

“He’s a dick but he’s got a great ass,” he says practically. And he would know. He’s the sucker who gets to see the curve of his best friend’s rear in boxers every time he sleeps over, after every basketball game as teenagers, that one time Billy jumped into the lake. 

“I’d agree but my problem is that he has a dick,” Robin says, bounding up the stairs. Steve follows more carefully in her wake, mindful of how the wood creaks under her weight. “You’re on your own there.”

The second floor is pretty much the same as the first. Dusty, empty and abandoned and Steve has to resist the urge to sneeze. Robin drifts into the little girl’s room, looking at the faded pink teddies, the streaks of dust over the unicorn lamp. There’s a Barbie left on the floor, her blank plastic eyes staring judgmentally at their invasion. 

“I just keep thinking that this is just all…really sad, you know?” she says, her voice echoing through to Steve in the hall. When Steve steps through the door, he finds her gently touching another family portrait with her fingertips. “You know? Like, they left everything. All their possessions and their memories. What on Earth scared them so badly that they did that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, but he feels it too. There’s something strange about this house, not just in the unnerving wrongness of it all, but the idea of a family just leaving and never coming back. No matter what Billy says, something had to have happened to make them leave everything in their lives behind. All they took was the kids, the dog and the car. Every family photo, every soccer trophy, every piece of artwork on the fridge. No one does that unless you’re absolutely desperate.

“If we found out why we’d be legends,” Robin continues, excitement coloring her voice. Steve tilts his head back to look at the glittery pink lampshade, faded after a decade in the sun. They probably would be - crime podcasters have helped make progress on cold cases before, and breaking the mystery of Creel House would definitely earn them some fame. Maybe enough to get him and Ro out of Family Video, which isn’t really where he thought he’d be rotting so soon after high school. Billy used to work at the local pool during the summer and recently - begrudgingly - got work at the local diner. 

“Ro, if it was bad enough that they left one night without even taking their urn of Grandma’s ashes, I doubt that we really want to know,” Steve points out, and walks back out into the hallway. Robin follows, stopping only to look at the family portrait again.

“This little girl is all grown up by now,” she says and Steve looks at the remaining doors, more rooms and lives left behind.

“I hope so,” he says, because it sounds to him that Creel House always gets its blood.

XXX

The little boy’s room has a football deflating by the door. The parents’ bedroom has dust coating over the full length hanging mirror, a dress still lying discarded on the bed. There’s more mold on the shower curtain that they care to think about so they leave quickly. 

“Didn’t you say there was an attic?” Steve asks, pivoting on his heels to see which door is left. There are two and after a shared shrug, they each step up to one.

“One?” Robin says, hand resting on the doorknob. Steve grins and does the same.

“Two,” he says, closing his hand around the metal.

“Three!” they say as one and push open their doors. Robin groans.

“Damn,” she says grumpily, dramatically leaning on the door frame. “I got the study.” 

But Steve’s door has opened to a small, narrow staircase, a spider carefully making its web in the corner of the door. He reaches out for the pull light but a few quick yanks prove that it’s long burnt out.

“I’ll go up,” he says, digging in his bag for a torch. “Follow me when you’re done?” And then he puts his foot on the bottom stairs, ducks under the spider’s intricate work, and begins to climb.

The attic is…an attic. It’s so caked in dust that Steve has to cough once he takes his first deep breath. Like everywhere else, it’s filled with relics of another time, the remnants of a normal family life. Boxes labeled BABY CLOTHES, XMAS DECS, and CONCERT T-SHIRTS. There’s even a Christmas tree, still in its box in the corner, and Steve wonders if it’s the same one the kids were sitting under in the photo downstairs. 

“Creepy,” he mutters, and that’s when the bell starts to chime.

He’s glad that no one is around to hear his squeak, as he whirls around to face the source of the noise. A large, polished grandfather clock sits at the very end of the attic, against one wall, the pendulum swinging back and forth with every chime. Swallowing his nerves, Steve inches closer. The time is all wrong, the hands set to the twelve and the two. He wonders if the clock thinks it’s early in the morning or early afternoon. 

Wait. Two o’clock. Two chimes. So why won’t it stop chiming?

Steve freezes, suddenly unnerved. It’s fine. It’s a decades old clock. It’s definitely busted. It doesn’t know the right time so there’s probably no way that it’s going to chime the right amount of times either.

No. No, wait, that’s still all wrong. It’s been well over two decades - closer to three - since the Packards left their house. Steve doesn’t know much about physics and that shit but he knows enough that stuff needs power. Electric, batteries, some kind of fuel. And like a lot of clocks, this one would need to be wound. It wouldn’t keep going for nearly thirteen years. So who wound it?

Oh shit, he’s going to regret this.

He steps forward carefully, clutching his torch like a weapon, the beam cutting across the ceiling and occasionally illuminating the pale strings of another web. The clock continues to ring, the sound taking on an unnerving tone, each one growing more distorted as the bell chimes. Up close, Steve can see the thick crack across the glass face, the smears of dust on the curves of the wood. But just as he reaches out to touch it, the dark crack split from the eight all the way up to the two begins to squirm and Steve bites back a yelp as a small black spider emerges from the clock face.

“What the fuck?” Steve mutters, retrieving his hand and carefully turning the torchlight over the clock. The spider skitters over the glass, unaware of the intruder in its midst. Steve exhales, chastising himself for being startled. It’s a broken old clock and a tiny spider has taken up residence. It’s fine. 

But then Steve sees the second spider. 

And then the third.

And then the crack froths and hundreds of the little bastards emerge from the clock face, tumbling over each other in their race to get out, turning the clear glass a squirming inky black as they spread.

Steve bolts.

He promptly smacks into Robin on the way down and only her quick reflexes stop them both careening down the small staircase.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Robin curses, pulling herself- and him - upright by tugging firmly on the hand-rail to right them both. Steve lets go of her shirt, the fabric now seriously crumpled from his damp fingers. She continues to look annoyed, until she sees the fear on his face.

“What is it?” she asks and pushes her way past him up the remaining stairs. Steve drops down on the closet step, heart hammering in his chest. He hasn’t felt like this since they found that odd bloodstain in the living room of that empty cottage. But even peeling up the carpet to see the massive dried rust underneath doesn’t quite feel like this. 

“What?” she asks, looking baffled. She peers back down the steps towards him, her face unusually anxious. “Steve, what is it?”

Once the blood pounding in his ears fades, Steve can immediately hear what’s wrong. The chiming has stopped. 

“What?” he says, in disbelief and pushes himself up so he can climb back up the steps. Aside from Robin, and her overwhelming aura of worry, the attic is exactly as it was.

Except for one thing.

“There was a clock here,” Steve says stupidly, pointing at the now unoccupied patch of wall. He turns to look at Robin. “A big grandfather clock and it was chiming, and it had spiders coming out of it. It was right here!”

Robin stares at the wall. The now empty patch of wall. The expression on her face flickers between worry and bemusement.

“Bud, I love you,” she says, tilting her head. “But did you inhale something really old that you weren’t meant to?”

“No!” Steve howls in frustration. “There was a clock, okay? A big one and it kept chiming. Even though the clock hands were pointing to two o’ clock, it just kept chiming a lot. And who even would wind up a clock that old, okay? It’s not like the ghosts of the Creel kids are coming back to keep the old vanishing grandfather clock wound up!”

“Steve,” Robin says gently, face now turning to one of pity. “I get that you’re…having some issues. Like this house is really fucking weird and the whole Billy thing gets really obvious every time that we do a video, but can you chill?”

Steve turns and storms back downstairs.

Fucking murder house.

XXX

Steve stomps down the attic stairs, not even bothering to close the door behind him. A small petty part of him suggests that slamming the door would feel really satisfying but he pushes it down. 

He feels rattled and frustrated. Nothing about this day is going as planned and as he storms back down the main staircase he can’t help but think that maybe this is what they deserve. None of the other places they’ve explored have ever been like this, the remains of a family still waiting to be collected. It feels more like a violation than the old barns, the empty factory, the burnt out mill. Steve stops at the bottom of the staircase and drags a hand across his face.

It’s stupid. He’s letting this weird old house get to him.

Steve sighs and jams his torch back into his bag. They’ll need the lights soon, as the sun begins to set, but they’re good for now. Enough time to do a little scouting around for interesting spots, get some filming done. It’s been over a year since they started this and they have it down pat by now. Getting used to filming in the dark took some time in the beginning and they try not to do it too often for various reasons, but they decided today that filming some stuff as night fell would look really creepy.

Steve regrets that choice now. 

He heads back to the dining room, intending on waiting with the rest of their gear. Let his friends finish the walkthrough by themselves. He’s going to find Robin’s emergency chocolate and eat it in front of the Creels’ weirdo portrait.

But the dining room isn’t empty. To his surprise, Billy is standing by the wall, staring up at the picture frame. He must have finished up early, the basement taking less time than upstairs.

“I didn’t think you liked that picture,” Steve says, dumping his bag onto the table. Robin's bag is already there, as she prefers stuffing her pockets full of the tools she might need rather than carrying a large backpack around. And anything else that doesn’t fit, she makes Steve carry.

“I don’t,” Billy says shortly. “It’s a lie.”

“Okay?” Steve asks, unsure. These days he never quite knows how to handle interactions between him and Billy. He hates it because Billy’s still his best friend, having been there for nearly all of his life. He doesn’t want to not know how to talk to Billy.

But it’s become more and more inevitable as Steve’s crush grew into something unmanageable and persistent. Talking to Billy leaves him open to saying something stupid without Robin as a buffer, to Billy flirting with him, Billy making a dumb comment about the cute guy he went on a date with last week. 

“It is, though,” Billy says, gesturing up at the warm smiles of the Creels. “It’s all fake. People don’t pose for these family portraits because they’re really that happy. You have this huge fuck off painting in a room where they probably brought guests. It’s bullshit.”

“I suppose,” Steve says slowly, digging in the front pocket of Robin’s bag for a mini chocolate bar. He probably should know, as his own family have pictures just like that in their front room and they’re definitely only for show. He’s probably unable to see it in the same way that you can’t see the forest for the trees. Billy never had the kind of family that put on a front like that. No one gathered the Hargroves together for a cheesy group shot. “And they all died, in the end.”

“Hmm,” Billy murmurs and turns away from the portrait. His eyes move to the chocolate in Steve’s hand but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Did you find anything?” Billy asks curiously, the fading glow of the sunlight rippling off of his dirty blonde hair. Steve exhales, wondering in what universe it’s fair to make one man so fucking attractive.

“No,” he mutters mutinously, shoving the last of the chocolate bar into his mouth and stuffing the wrapper into his pocket. “Well, sort of. Upstairs is the same as down here. They left everything. But there was this freaky clock in the attic.”

“Okay,” Billy says, the single stud that he wears in his left ear glinting in the light as he fully turns to face Steve. “I’ll bite. Go ahead, Scooby Doo, what did you find?”

And sometimes Steve just wants to punch him in his stupidly gorgeous face. 

“I saw this weird clock,” Steve says, because it really does sound stupid now. Hey, audience, subscribe now to see Steve freak out at a clock! There’s probably a totally rational explanation but he’s going to freak the hell out about it anyway! Hell, they’d probably lose viewers. They’ve never tried a stunt like that before. Steve didn’t even have his camera rolling. 

Maybe Robin’s right. Maybe there’s like thirty year old drugs up in the attic that he breathed in.

“It was just chiming and shit,” Steve shrugs, wandering over to the freaky portrait of the Creels again. He has to admire the Packards for their bravery. If he’d just moved in and found this painting in his dining room, he’d have burned in a cleansing fire out in the backyard.

“And that’s freaky how?” Billy asks, sounding totally reasonable. 

“It vanished when Robin came up to see it,” Steve says sheepishly. “I know it sounds bullshit but I swear-”

“Hey,” Billy says and gives that brilliant smile, the one that makes moms go weak at the knees and persuades gym buffs into his bed. Steve feels his own knees go a little weak under the full power of it.

“I know you believe in all this weird, spooky shit but you’re not crazy,” Billy continues, his eyes a brilliant, impossible blue at this range. “And this house is really fucked up. Even I agree with that.”

“You do?” Steve asks, a little dumbfounded, because not once has Billy ever been creeped out by anything. They visited the old Miller barn once, where old man Miller supposedly hung each of his daughters from the rafters, and upon seeing the tattered rope hanging from the beams Billy had scoffed and said that some idiot had probably hung it up to trick gullible assholes. 

“Yeah,” Billy says simply. “I mean, you can feel it, can’t you? There’s something different about this one.”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “There’s something different about this one.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for it,” Billy suggests. Steve snorts, taken aback.

“You’re kidding, right?” Steve says. “Should I get out a camera or will our ratings plummet? Billy Hargrove, born skeptic, admitting to the possibility of ghosts, ghouls and goblins?” Billy dramatically presses both hands to his chest, faking hurt.

“Ouch, Harrington,” Billy says, a teasing glitter in his eyes and something dips in Steve’s belly at that familiar challenge. High school basketball games had been hell. “That was right out of King Steve’s playbook.” Steve shrugs, turning his head away from Billy’ piercing gaze. 

“Yeah, well…” he mutters. “Just didn’t expect it.” He leans against the solid wood of the dining table, and doesn’t really think about the inevitable dust and dirt clinging to his rear until too late.

“I’m just saying,” Billy protests. “At some point the teenage investigators stumble across the genuinely haunted house.”

“No, thanks,” Steve says, because he’s seen that movie. Which is kind of every horror movie. “I do actually prefer that we stay the kids with a dog Scooby gang rather than the Sunnydale Scooby gang.” 

“Ok, but even they found actual ghosts sometimes, you know,” Billy says, and tugs up his sleeves, allowing that brief glimpse of his tanned arms, the leather cuff around one wrist. “Like, all of the movies have them find mummies and zombies and shit.”

“I may believe in this stuff,” Steve says frankly. “But I’d still prefer that we don’t stumble across the room in the basement with the chains and bathtubs full of blood. Okay?” Billy grins.

“I didn’t see much of that downstairs, I swear,” he says and then tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “Hey, where’s Robin?” Steve shrugs and looks up too. He hasn’t heard her footsteps for a while but maybe she stopped to film something. 

“Dunno,” he says, and immediately hates that apparently they can’t be alone together without needing Robin around. “What do you want to do? Wait for her?”

“We don’t have to,” Billy says, pivoting to lean against the wall across from Steve. “We could film something. It’s been a while since it was just the two of us.” 

“I guess,” Steve says vaguely, because a lot of that has been by design. He’s always been slightly worried that if he’s left alone with Billy for an unlimited amount of time he���ll do something stupid. He’s good at that, as his mother likes to remind him. He hops down from the table, intending to grab a camera. They might as well make use of the light. “I don't know why it turns out that way.”

“Well, that’s because you’re in love with me,” Billy says suddenly, like it’s obvious, and Steve stops dead.

“You…you knew?” he whispers, because oh God, Billy knew. Billy knew all of this time and he didn’t say anything. He probably just pitied poor Steve, the idiot with the crush. Everyone wants Billy. Billy could have just about anyone he wants. Steve can’t blame him for not choosing Steve. 

“Not that subtle about it, Stevie,” Billy chuckles, folding his arms across his chest. There’s something not very nice about that smile. It’s not Billy’s real smile - it’s the one he uses when he thinks the middle aged women at the pool are getting too close, too handsy. It’s the one he used to use on the courts when some asshole from the rival team used to call him a fag. It’s all teeth and venom, badly concealed disdain hidden behind Billy’s bright pearly teeth. Steve’s known Billy long enough to know when he’s faking it. 

“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” Steve says, crushed. He feels a little bit numb inside, a little bit stupid for expecting any other outcome. Admittedly, this is worse. He thought he’d just get the ‘hey, we can still be friends, but I just don’t feel about you that way’ speech, followed by an awkward arm pat. Not whatever this is. 

“You’ve been in love with me since, what?” Billy asks, inspecting his nails like he has nothing else to do while he breaks Steve’s heart. “Freshman year? I mean, you’re not that great of an actor, Steve.”

“I…I don’t get why you’re being like this,” Steve protests, the sharp sting of tears coming to his eyes. He’s never known Billy to be so cruel and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it. “I am in love with you and maybe you don’t feel the same way, but do you have to be such a dick?”

“You know I’m a dick,” Billy says bluntly. He’s still leaning against the wall, watching Steve with sharp blue eyes, as though this is just sport to him. “And yet you fell for me anyway. That’s the really stupid move on your part, Stevie. I’m a fuck up who’d rather screw half the basketball team rather than you and yet you love me anyway. You probably always will, which is the pathetic part. Did you honestly think that we’d stay friends?”

“We certainly won’t now!” Steve spits, taking a step back. But it’s no good because Billy follows, like a shark that has sensed blood in the water. 

“Well, maybe you should have said something years ago,” Billy retorts, sticking his fingers through his belt loops. “Broken off the friendship after that night at Robin’s. Do you remember? We watched the first three Die Hard movies right after the other until Robin fell asleep. It would have been easier then. Repressing things just isn't good for you, Steve.” But Steve barely hears his last words, staring at Billy in absolute horror.

“No, but…how did you know it was that night?” he asks, something crawling up the back of his spine. He never told anyone it was that night. Not even Robin knows. Steve remembers every second of that sleepover, the one they’d had before they’d all been shipped off to different places for Christmas. It had been the night he’d looked at his best friend and thought that he wanted something more. 

So how does Billy know?

“Steve!” The walkie barks furiously and Steve jerks his head down to the walkie still attached to his waist. The spell is broken, Billy looking startled as the voice continues to call for Steve.

Because it’s not Robin’s voice. It’s Billy’s. 

Steve whips his head back up, terror killing the words in his throat before they can reach daylight. It’s not possible. Billy is on the walkie. Billy is in front of Steve. Which one is real?

Billy sighs heavily before frowning ruefully. “Shame. I was having fun.”

“You're…you’re not…” Steve stutters and in his haste to get back from whatever this…thing is, his foot catches on the edge of the rug. He loses his footing and falls backwards, the walkie skidding away as he crashes to the ground. The Billy clone looks dispassionately at him and Steve wonders how he missed it before. There’s nothing in this Billy’s eyes.

“No, I’m not Billy,” it says, sounding amused, and Steve had been correct in his assessment that it was all just a game. He just hadn’t known that it wasn’t Billy’s game. “But I had you going, didn’t I?”

“Steve!” Billy’s voice continues to shout down the walkie like a siren song but Steve can’t make himself move to answer it. All he can do is curl his fingers into the threadbare rug and stare at the entity stalking towards him. 

“You made a mistake, coming into this house feeling like that,” the thing continues, dropping down into a crouch in front of Steve. Steve stares, open-mouthed, because every freckle, every dark lash, every curl in his hair is exactly the same. There was no way he ever could have guessed that this was merely a copy, even while this Billy spat poison at him with that cruel smile. He was expecting ghosts, see-through and wailing and rattling chains. He wasn’t expecting…this. 

“I…” Steve starts but the words stop as the thing moves its hand up to stroke his hair back from his face. Its fingers dig into Steve’s scalp and Steve holds still as it turns his face up. He can feel a warm breath on his skin but it smells strange. Old, musty, metallic. Inhuman.

“Yes,” the creature murmurs, studying every inch of Steve’s face with an unsettling amount of interest. “Yes, you’ll do.”

And then the creature is gone, leaving Steve slumped against the wall like a puppet without any strings. 

“Someone answer the fucking walkie!” Billy screeches down the receiver and Steve scrabbles to answer it. It slips from his cold, shaking fingers a few times before he can grip it properly.

“Billy?” he says, voice trembling, because he half expects this to be another trick, another Billy who will pull his heart out piece by piece, just to show him the tangled bloody mess of where Steve used to keep his love. But Billy just heaves a sigh of relief down the walkie, something ragged and familiar and human.

“Thank fuck, Steve,” he snaps, because that’s how Billy usually works. “I’ve been out of my mind. Shit’s weird down here. Are you okay?”

Steve pulls himself up and rests his back along the wall, just under the portrait. His heart is skipping in his chest, because they fucked up and ended up in the only actually fucking haunted house in America. With some shitty ghost who likes copying their faces and mocking their deepest insecurities.

But Billy doesn’t know. Billy didn’t just tell Steve that he was worthless for loving Billy. Everything is exactly the same as it was before.

“Yeah,” Steve says, hollowly. “I’m okay.”

Onto Chapter 3

@dragonflylady77 @cupc8keblonde @ihni

I genuinely can’t remember if anyone else wanted to be tagged for this specific fic so lmk!

[creamecream]

Proper introductions be damned, have the full art of the rest of my sin band.

Naaz, she/her, smol, demon of pride, in service of Lucifer, circus and ringmaster theme, Rory <3

Kauri, she/her, tol, demon of greed, in service of Mammon, traditional clown theme, sleeping with Mammon is just part of her job.

Raivo, he/him, massive, demon of wrath, in service of Satan, classic devil theme, Pepper ❤️

Anasuya, she/her, tol, demon of envy, in service of Leviathan, based on terror demons from Dragon Age and the classic ghost girl.

[strawberry-barista]

⚅— Continued from here. —⚅ ⚅— @petitprincekiryu —⚅

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

The question got a raucous laugh from the barista, and remembering well what he'd ordered last time he started on repeating that order again. "Oh, no, I have done some very stupid shit since the last time we talked. Absolutely, I've been a dumbass. But hey, ya learn from that sorta stuff, right? And alla the folks I hurt, I've had the good fortune to make amends with them. I'll never forget what I did, but I think it's alright now."

His cafe had made some changes as well. There were new items on the menu and new blends, things that he'd been experimenting with and perfecting. And since it was getting around the season, he was putting out the pumpkin donuts and coffee (though the coffee wasn't actually on the menu, a secret item for certain sweet-tooth customers), and there were even more posters and art pieces on the walls. The music of the district had settled considerably as well. The Composer and Producer both had been going to therapy, and though it had largely sacrificed their relationship, they were both in a much better place now.

Hands worked as seamlessly as before, and if he hadn't said it outright it might have been difficult to tell anything had changed with him at all. Aside from the anxiety that no longer weighed heavy on his shoulders, he seemed just the same as any other counterpart of himself. Careless and happy, full of life and light in his element here in the shop. And excited for a visitor he hadn't seen in such a long time.

"And that is to say, I'm working hard to make sure I don't make the mistakes I did in the past. I hurt a lotta people in part because of my own trauma and insecurities. I'm actively working on myself now, trying to learn how to work with the things I struggle with. I won't go into too much detail since it concerns from friends'a mine, too, but ya know. I apologized and I did what I could to fix the damage I had caused. They've forgiven me now, and I don't want to forget it or the actions leading to my growth, but I'm trying not to talk about it too much to respect the privacy of the other parties. You understand."

[ttpdsargeant]

invisible string

oscar piastri x reader, ex!lando norris x reader

part 1 part 3

in which she moves on with his teammate, but why should she care about his feelings? he never cared about hers. besides, oscar is a much better boyfriend.

this is for the oscar girlies and is also like 6 months after say don’t go!! (we’ll pretend 1989 tv was out 6 months ago for the sake of timelines😭😭)

liked by oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 935,746 others

yourusername, 🤍🤍

view all comments

user1, WHOOO IS THATTTTT

⤷ user2, i might be insane but like… OSCAR????

logansargeant, i expected a better caption from you considering how much taylor swift you listen to

⤷ yourusername, i couldn’t think of a song to use oops

user3, what if it’s logan????

⤷ user4, not captain america stealing my gf

user5, that should be me holding your hand💔💔

lilymhe, i had to sit and watch you guys be so unbearably cute and i don’t get pic creds for the first one??? criminal!!!

⤷ yourusername, SORRY SORRY IM SORRY thank you taking it lils ily🫶🫶🫶🫶

user6, kinda hope it’s oscar or max just because lando deserves it

⤷ user7, max has a gf but oscar… i need

liked by moref1, norrisupdates and 29,737 others

f1wags, y/n y/l/n has arrived at the qatar gp with kika gomes, but for oscar piastri rather than the usual lando norris👀

view all comments

user1, fav homie hopper😋😋

⤷ user2, i mean it’s not like it’s unprovoked

user3, don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding the love of your life🤞🤞

user4, i wonder how lando feels about this😭😭

⤷ user5, doesn’t he have a new gf?? he arrived at the paddock with another girl today so he can’t really be mad

⤷ user6, NOOO IMAGINE HOW AWKWARD THAT IS

user7, usually i hate wag accounts BUT i am kinda thankful for this i needed to know who the guy y/n’s soft launching is

user8, I KNEW IT WAS OSCAR OR LOGAN IM SO HAPPY

⤷ user9, if it was logan we could have more lily and y/n cause alex and logan are teammates💔💔💔

⤷ user10, i don’t think they have to have a bf from the same team to be friends babe

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 953,746 others

yourusername, when he’s a sprint winner >>>> (pic creds: lilymhe)

view all comments

user1, SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP PUNCH ME IN THE FACE

user2, prettiest couple i love pretty people

oscarpiastri, ❤️❤️

⤷ yourusername, 🤍🤍

user3, i would not have wanted to be in the room when lando found out😭😭

user4, she’s just like me i would also date my ex’s friend if he did me wrong🤭🤭

⤷ user5, i’ve honestly shipped her and oscar since before her and lando broke up is that weird

⤷ user6, i don’t blame u i kinda feel like they suit each other more yk

lilymhe, CUTEST I LOVE U LOML

⤷ yourusername, I LOVE U GF

⤷ oscarpiastri, how did alex get used to this

⤷ alex_albon, i didn’t it’s just something we have to deal with unfortunately😕😕

user7, does this mean more alex and oscar🤭🤭

⤷ user8, IMAGINE DOUBLE DATES WITH THEM LILY AND ALEX

sorry for making lando a sucky person but oscar is my one love so😋😋also i had to repost this cause i forgot to add tags and it wouldn’t show up under the tags after i edited it and added them😭😭

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re silent as you walk next to Cole. He’s so much taller than you. The sun beats down and adds to the heat beneath your flesh. You fold your hands together as your eyes scan the fields and pollen tickles your nostrils. 

“So... you have a good week?” He asks, his voice crisp yet brittle. 

You nod, “mhm.” 

“Everything okay now?” 

“Uh...” you blink and shake your head. “I guess.” 

“Just that last time, you sort of... ran away from me. So if I did anything, I’d like to know so I can apologise,” he explains. 

“Oh no, you didn’t... do anything. It’s just me.”  

Another lull rises around you. You twine your fingers together and wring your hands until your knuckles hurt. He steps ahead of you as you approach the greenhouse. 

“It’s hot inside so if you need a break,” he says. “Let me know.” 

You nod and go through first as he waits. He follows and you look around at the tables full of long planters. Some are just sprouting, others are about to bloom, while others are overgrown. He points you along a row and you gratefully latch onto the distraction of the flowers. 

“You know, I was really looking forward to this,” he says. You glance at him in surprise. He grins and his blue eyes meet yours. “Really. I’m not just saying that. I don’t meet a lot of people very interested in all this. Or who know so much.” He turns and puts his hand on the table, “Maybe I forgot to say but your garden is beautiful. I can see all the care you put into it.” 

You look back to the pansies, “it’s Aunt Bev’s.” 

“Yeah, but she said you do all the work.” 

“She’s nice that way,” you shrug. 

“You’re too humble.”  

You shake your head and look closer at the petals. 

“You can touch. It won’t hurt them.” He says. 

“Oh, no, it’s...” you sniff. “Smells nice in here.” 

“Yeah,” he wipes his forehead, “but hot as hell.” 

“Ha, yeah,” you tug at the collar of your shirt. “A little.” 

“Well, you can look around as much as you like. And after, I’ll show you the loft.” 

You keep your eyes on the table, “the loft?” 

“Yeah, sure, it’s neat. You’ll like it,” he says. 

You continue to wander down as you admire all the different species and stems. Cole gives you your space. You’re thankful for that. Not just because it’s warm but because you’re not quite sure about all of this. He’s nice, his Aunt Jill too, but you’re just not used to all this. 

The longer you linger, the thicker the sheet of sweat that drenches your body. You feel it seeping into your clothing. You head back to the door and peer around. You don’t see him anywhere around.

Did he leave? Why would he do that? You don’t know where to go? You could get lost here! 

He pops up from behind a table, “oop, you all done?” He asks as he swipes back a shank of hair from his forehead. “I was just transferring some bulbs.” He bends and lifts a large planter up beside the others. The strength in that act further echoes your size difference once more. 

“Mhmm,” you confirm. “It must be a lot of work doing all this.” 

“I have help. Ma and Dad. They do what they can, you know? But I wish they wouldn’t. They deserve to enjoy their retirement.” He goes to the door and pushes it open. He holds it for you again. Outside, a breeze cools you. 

“Right,” you agree. 

“You know, if you got the time...” he begins then waves away his words. “Nah, you know what? I was just thinking out loud. Never mind.” 

“Wh-what?” You ask nervously. 

“Really, it’s nothing. I don’t wanna be too much. You know,” he hooks his fingers in his pockets and pushes his shoulders up. “I’ve been told I can be.” 

“Ah, er, right. Well... okay.” 

“Look, I should just ask,” he points you along, past the greenhouse. “I could use some help so you could maybe stop by and—I'd pay you. Obviously. It’s work. Is it like rude to offer you a job?” 

You stare at him. It’s unexpected but not really rude. It does make you feel lesser. You know it’s not his intent but you can put the puzzle together. He knows you don’t work, that Bev takes care of you, and a few extra bucks would be a help. Plus, it will get you out of the house. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he agrees eagerly. “Take as long as you like.” 

“Erm, thanks. It’s nice of you to... ask.”  

The wind rustles the green grass as you sink back into nervous tension. He guides you along to a barn and you near curiously. He steps ahead of you and slides open the large door. He turns back and smiles at you. 

“Come on,” he beckons you with his hand. As he enters, he shrugs out of his denim jacket. He hangs it on a peg. “How about you? You wanna put your sweater up?” 

“Oh, I guess,” you look down at the crochet; it’s itchy from the heat. You slip it off and hand it over. His fingers brush yours as he takes it and hangs it over his jacket. 

“Just up there,” he points to the ladder. 

“Oh? Okay,” you eye the rungs and rub your palms together. 

“Need any help?”  

“Um, no, I can...” your voice trails off and you reach for the ladder. 

You climb and your uncertainty ascends with you. What are you doing here? You’re suddenly afraid at the realisation that you’re all alone. That you don’t know how you could get out if you need to or if anyone would hear you cry out. 

No, this is Cole. You don’t have any reason to expect that. Aunt Bev says things are different now. Not all people are bad. Not like your mom. 

Cole follows you up. You stand and look around the loft. You see the dim shapes of furniture set across the wooden slats. 

He shuffles by you and opens the window, pushing the doors outward. The sunlight streams in and limns the space. There’s a day bed on a worn rug right in the center, a table to one wall with chair, a basket of apples on top, and a shelf of books.  

“Sometimes I just need a space of my own,” Cole says. “I thought, I don’t know, you might like it. You seem like the type to appreciate solace... you’re so quiet.” 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“For what?” He blinks at you. His eyes catch the sun with a twinkle. His hair curls with the humid sheen on his skin.  

“For... being quiet.” 

“I don’t mind. I’m sorry for talking so much,” he grins. 

You nod and bite your lip. You look around and pace along the floor, each step creaking. You go to the shelf and browse the book spines. 

“Do you read a lot?” He asks. 

“Sometimes,” you answer. “More now...” More now that you don’t have to hide your books. 

“You got a favourite?” He comes up next to you. Close. Too close. You don’t want to embarrass him by stepping away. 

“I don’t know. I read... I read Murder on the Orient Express. It was interesting.” 

“Wow, that’s a good one,” he praises. “I’m kinda into anything. Don’t get much time to read but I take my moments.” 

“Mmm, yeah.” 

Again, silence. You look down. You don’t know what to do or say. You feel like you have to explain yourself. You’re making him uncomfortable. Your mother always told you how weird you are. 

“I--” 

“You--” 

You both try to speak at the same time. He gestures with his hand, “you first.” 

“I...” you breathe. “I only really hang out with my aunt so... so... so...” you start to panic. You’ve already said too much. 

“Hey, it’s fine. I spend all my time with plants and at the market. By the time I’m done selling, I’m too exhausted for friends,” he says. “So, no pressure. You never have to talk for no reason. It’s always quiet out here. It’s nice.” He stares at you a moment before he looks back at the shelf, “I’d say it suits you.” 

You exhale. You feel a little better but still on edge. You teeter on your feet. 

“Can we go back inside? I don’t want Aunt Bev to worry.” You utter. 

“Sure, of course,” he answers, “you’re gonna think about it? Working with me?” 

“Yeah, I’ll think.” You agree. 

He moves first. He goes the ladder and turns. He starts down as you approach. You follow as his boots hit the ground. You descend, rung by rung, but you can’t find the next as you get halfway. You slip and gasp, Cole echoing you. 

He catches you as you fall and flail. You let out a squeak as he holds you in his arms, hiking you up so you don’t drop. Your shoulder is crushed to his chest. He’s touching you. Your hair feels like it’s going to fall out of your head. 

“Um, sorry!” You squeak. 

“Don’t be. That was close,” he sounds breathless himself. “I’m just happy I caught you. You okay?” 

“Y-yeah...” you stutter. 

He stares at you and you gulp. You stare at the collar of his shirt. His throat bobs and you squirm. 

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles and sets you on your feet. “There ya go.” 

“Thanks,” you cling to his arm as you steady yourself. You let go and fold your arm against your chest, hugging it with your other. 

“Come on,” he says and puts his hand behind you, not touching you.  

You emerge from the barn back into the yellow daylight. There’s a steady hum of insects and the soft flow of wind. You follow the beaten path back to the house. He lets you up the steps first and you go inside. He’s right behind you as you enter. 

“Sweetie,” you aunt surprises you as she appears in the archway to your left. “There you are! Did you see all the pretty flowers?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod and give a tight-lipped smile. 

“Everything alright? You look flustered?” Jill nears from behind her. 

You keep nodding. Cole laughs softly, “she had a bit of a slip but she’s okay. Maybe a bit of the heat getting to her too.” 

“Oh yes, it’s so hot today,” Jill agrees, “honey, how about something to drink? Maybe one of those delicious muffins you made?” 

She comes to you and squeezes your arm. You flinch and pull away. You’re still tense from falling. Right into Cole’s arm. You swear you can smell him.  

“Mom,” he warns. 

She looks down at her hand and retracts it, “sweetie, I’m so sorry. I forget. I can be so touchy-feely.” She shows her palms. “I’m surprised Cole’s keeping his hands to himself. He’s the worst for it, you know?” 

“Ma,” he coughs again. 

“Oh, that sounds worse than it is,” she cackles. “No, what I mean is he’s just a hugger, you know? He’s always been one. And he does give the best hugs.” 

“Ma,” he says a third time. 

“Right, right,” she huffs, “so, how about some iced tea?” 

You look at her, then Aunt Bev. You’d hate to be rude and you are a bit thirsty. Especially after being out in the dry heat. 

“Yes, please, thank you,” you say. 

“Not at all, sweetie,” she smiles, “Cole, would you like some?” 

“Sure, ma,” he says, “thanks.” 

Jill preens and struts away. Aunt Bev comes closer, “I am so happy you two are getting along. Oh, Cole, thank you for showing her around.” 

“Not at all. You know, I don’t get to show off very often.” 

“Really? But this place is so pretty. Isn’t it, dear?” She asks. 

You blanch then nod vehemently. You just want to fade into the background. You’d hope with your aunt and Jill, it’d be easier to do that. 

“Oh, and your muffins are fabulous. You really should have one,” she insists. 

You try to smile but your cheeks pinch tightly. 

“You know, I might just do that,” Cole intones. “Can I get you one?” 

You shake your head. He lingers, waiting for an answer. You choke out your voice at last, “no, thanks.” 

“Right,” he accepts and turns away. 

You peek over at Aunt Bev as she smiles after him. She likes him. If she likes him, he can’t be very bad. She’s not always so happy either. Especially since you came around. More often, she’s worried. You don’t want to always be a problem for her. 

“Um, Aunt Beverly,” you say, “I... Cole said I could come help out. He’ll pay me.” 

Her brows rise and she turns to you, “oh, really? And you want to?” 

You stare at her. You don’t know that you want to but you know you should. 

“I’ll do it,” you say at last. “I like the flowers.” 

[aeliem]

400 followers dtiys!!

deadline for prizes is November 14th!

thank you so much for 400 followers!!! im so glad so many people like my art!

rules under the cut

Rules for prizes:

deadline is november 14th 2024 (so 2 months from now)

you can change the pose/angle/add/remove details all you want! just keep killer ensnared by nightmare

no AI/tracing/bases

permission granted to go ham with the lighting and tentacles

suggestive is fine but please keep it sfw

tag me so i can see it & use the tag #senseless400dtiys

You can change/move around the text in the background (its from Senseless by QueenPb which is a really good song go check it out):

Close your eyes and shut your mouth, Numb your fingers, block the sound. Isn't it just way too loud? You need to tune your senses out.

Prizes!

1st place: up to 3 fullbodies with a background

2nd place: up to 2 fullbodies with a simple background

3rd place: 1 fullbody with a simple background

if i do something like honorable mentions i might do icons/bust shots but it depends on how many entries i get

characters i draw can be whoever you want, just keep in mind i'm not very good at drawing mechs & furries

timelapse: (forgot to hit record before starting the lineart oops)

[thefallennightmare]

Please enjoy this Matt blurb that I need to get off my chest after seeing this picture.

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. 18 +

Dom! Matty slowly turns to Sub!Matty.

*I did this on my phone so I apologize for any mistakes. Also I was going to add tags but yet again tumblr is being stupid and won’t let me.”

“You’ve been a fucking brat,” Matt sneered in your ear from his position behind you.

Smirking, you glanced over your shoulder at him, pausing setting up his sound booth.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have hired me to be your assistant then.” You shot back while tapping his cheek.

He didn’t even flinch from your touch.

“I should drag your pretty little ass to the back stairwell of this venue and fuck that attitude out of you,” his eyes went dark underneath his hat.

Desire pooled low in your gut and you let out a soft moan.

“You wouldn’t. The doors open in less than an hour.”

Matt always loved a challenge.

With his fingers wrapped around your wrist, he dragged you through the venue, ignoring the stares and shakes of heads from others. It was typical for you and Matt to sneak away from time to time.

Pushing through the door that led to the back staircase, Matt tossed you inside and kicked the door shut behind him. You swallowed thickly at the sight of him so tall in front of you.

So feral.

Yet, so soft in his love for you.

A wicked smirk pulled on your lips as you slowly undid the zipper of your sweater, showcasing your bright yellow lace bralette.

“You’ve been wearing that all day?” Matt licked his lips at the sight.

“Oops? I almost forgot how much you loved me in yellow,” your voice had taken a playful edge to it as you sauntered up to him.

His hands reached for you but you smacked them away which then caused him to wrap them around my neck, tenderly squeezing.

“Strip out of your pants and get that ass on those stairs,” Matt ordered.

“No.”

He blinked, taken aback by your denial which you took it as your moment to grab a hold of his bright blue shirt and force him down onto the stairs.

His curious words fell away as you haistly tossed your hair up onto a pony tail then sunk to your knees to crawl to him.

“Baby,” he began but you held a finger to his lips

“Be a good boy and sit there pretty for me while I choke on your cock.”

“Fuuuuck,” Matt groaned, the noise rattling his chest as you worked open his belt and the zipper, dragging his cock out.

Shit.

It was thick and a soft pink color, making your mouth salivate when you saw him spilling precum already.

“What’s this?” You dragged a finger over it, making Matt shiver. “You’re so close already and I’ve barely touched you, Matty.”

His words were foreign on his lips, unable to form any coherent thought because the image of you so dominant while he was your submissive was something new. Something he desperately wanted more of.

“Baby.” He panted, trying to raise his hips towards your mouth. “I need-.”

Your hand gently stroked him in a way you knew he absolutely hated. Matt hated taking things slow.

“What do you need, Matty. Come on, use your words,” your tongue flicked over the head of his cock.

“Shit,” his body fell limp against the stairs, hat falling off. His blonde locks cascaded around his shoulders and you internally gasped at the sight of him.

Your teeth softly grazed over the head now. “Words, my love.”

“Ple-please baby. I need your mouth. Fuck please. I’ll be good just let me fuck that throat,” he sputtered out with a tight grip in your hair.

You hummed, panties already soaked with your arousal but this wasn’t about you. This was to make Matt pool at your feet.

“Good boy,” you purred before taking all of him past your lips, not stopping until he hit the back of your throat.

The sounds of you choking and his ungodly moans tangled together in the confined space.

“B-b-baby. I’m not going to last long,” Matt gasped when you began massaging the underside of him with your tongue.

Tears ran down your face and drool dripped from your chin but you weren’t going to stop taking all of him down your throat so instead, you tapped his thigh granting him permission.

With a guttural groan, undoubtedly being heard by everyone outside the door, Matt had a bruising grip on your hair as he finally spilled himself down your throat; you making sure to drink every last drop.

[cosmos-coma]

Hello there! 👋😀

I was thinking of Bucky who volunteers with the elderly (considering his real age ) headcanons, please ! 🧓

No pressure of course ! 🫡

You. You get me. 😁♥️

Bucky Volunteering With the Elderly HCs

So I think it actually started at Sam’s request.

He understands Bucky to a good degree, being a trauma counselor and one of his few, but closest friends (despite the bickering lol). So he suggests Bucky get out into the real world again since that’s what helped Sam. He recommended Bucky reconnect with real people, and people from his own time at that.

Sam of course goes with him for his first visit. And while Bucky is a little nervous/awkward at first about how this will go he’s quick to loosen up

“Oh! Aren’t you a handsome one!” An old lady tells him, “how old are you now?” And he just smiles, “oh I turned 107 a few days ago.” The nurses of course think that it’s a joke, but the old people are the truth of it.

"Oh! So, you remember Joan Bennett and those silly weather prophet toys?" The old woman said excitedly. "Remember her?" Bucky says with a big smile, "She was my first crush. My mom and sister loved little women when it first came out."

All the older ladies adore talking to him, telling him all about their newly single kids (who are all like 60-70) and reliving pleasant memories of decades gone by. But Bucky does also make a point to visit with the men and old Vets and such too, where he's finally able to relate to someone outside of Steve. Though the old folks often forget some of the hard times (for which Bucky is glad for) they do get to recount a lot of good laughs and shenanigans they got up to In their respective squads.

Bucky doesn't even realize that by the time he's done and ready to leave that it's already been 4 hours. Sam even went to get lunch and come back.

After that Bucky makes it a regular thing. If he's not off doing missions and has a good chunk of downtime he'll go volunteer to spend time with the them. The staff and nurses of course absolutely love him and thank him profusely for his time and the way he's really lifted up the patients moods lately.

He also makes a point to remember people's birthdays. Bringing them flowers or a piece of pie from the diner down the road. He's also not above sneaking in some contraband either (mostly beer, nude magazines, and harmless prank items)

Of course becoming friends with old people also has its draw backs... and Bucky's heart breaks whenever he loses a new friend so quickly. He'll make a stop in at the funeral or wake, say his condolences and such, but doesn't usually stay very long. Honestly he's just happy to have known them in the first place.

But! To end on a happy note: you know the staff gave Bucky his own little locker or coat hook to put his stuff away in. He's in there so often that they actually print out a little name card and everything (Sam might be a little jealous).

________

(Oops! forgot to add the taglist!)

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions

If I missed or accidentally tagged you lmk! Wanna be added General Bucky taglist? Please ask/DM me!

[morrigan-sims]

OC Height Tag

I was tagged by @hauntedtrait. Thank you fangs!!!

I'll tag @goldenwaves (I wanna see Clem next to Asa, aksdjasds.), @potionio @salemssimblr @panicsimss and @warwickroyals

OOPS, SORRY, I FORGOT THE LINK. HERE YOU GO

Commentary under the cut.

Here's the main cast of RTQ/ATQH (I really wanted to add the side characters too, but it was already getting to be so many...). Technically Fallon is the only one of those sims that I made, but I have custody of all of them. (Order is just the order they're in on the character page, cause that's where I had to check all their heights, lmao.) I try my best to include height differences in my poses, but they're usually more subtle than the actual ones, partly because posing two drastically different height characters is a pain in the ass.

The second group is some of my favorite D&D characters I've come up with. Cyra and Rook I'm currently playing, Zen was the first character I ever played and I played them for two sessions, Laverna was made for a tumblr thing well before I ever played dnd, but I'd love to play her someday, and Morana is for a pathfinder game that I will be in someday. I could have done more, but I didn't know who else to choose, these were most of my named characters anyways, ajdakjds.

As you can probably tell, I have a very skewed perception of normal heights, lmao. I'm 5'10, and Fallon is my shortest OC that I can name off the top of my head, at 5'6". And I rarely make any taller than 6'1" or so. Most of them clock in at either 5'10" or 5'11" because those are the ideal heights in my mind, lmao.

[thepeculiarbird]

Oc in 3

Thanks to @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag!

Rules: find three pictures that fit the aesthetic of your OC! Make sure to cite your sources and add image IDs!!

(I forgot to tell the sources for the last two oc in 3 oops)

Noe :

🎨 / 🐶 / 🌳

And I think I have one to do but as always I'm so late on this.

Madhi :

🙂 / 📷 / ☕

Tagging all the writing mutuals: @raiden-makoto @sarandipitywrites @jaelink @aalinaaaaaa @lyutenw @buffythevampirelover @nettleandthorne @finxi-writes @arwenschepers @corruptedbread @whimsical-blood-fairy @unrepentantcheeseaddict @kidukami @ryns-ramblings @rowenas-my-fave-child @jezifster