freshsturns

[selfspinninglies]

I saw ur post abt sketch ideas and I thought it would be cool to see a cyberpunk Donatello in your sketch style. I know you have your Donnie character too but I think it would be a fun sketch to draw a Donnie that’s explicitly cyberpunk. Like stupidly cyberpunk. Like massive gun and robot leg cyberpunk. Going completely nuts with it.

I'm sorry this took so long hdjskn but here they are ! I tried because the thing is I have no idea how to draw robot shit so this is all extremely simplified . I love byte though they're so silly and of course my brain already has a story for nem kind of . It's really loose but for some reason I imagined this as a bad future au . this was really fun though also I am kind of obsessed with their design he's criminally fun to draw and also a little shit <3

[they/he + any neos]

[mika-meowz]

my good good friend @distantspacedisaster​ was willing to go find some descriptions of Sammy in the books for me and i took a crack at a design

[m340700]

wip

[kitsupine]

☆i said no, and now he's pissy- ☆

[flamestar126]

Would a kiss suffice?

[hyusolk]

stupid old man

[blueplushies]

more low quality content of elliot!!

[carnivoured]

driftcells fanzine

[smileofdreamers]

sketched out emu and nene’s designs for my emurui mermaid au !!!! the initial emu design was done by my friend in a discord server, so i wanted to draw it up myself as well!

emu is a white indonesian sea nettle, and nene is a siren (specifically inspired by shyren from undertale!)

the first part of my fic is up on my ao3, where you can also see my animal assignments for some of the other characters!!

[sntoot]

in the spirit of the new games horse twink, i twinkified emets horse too (feat. a reference pic for vibes and close ups in case the image viewer on mobile is still being stupid)

[ihittedpostlimt]

All your art has been in black and white, but what color do you headcanon Mer!Joseph's tail to be?

hmmmm i think hes definetely a green/yellow guy

kinda like this but more yellow and with more cool stuff (the little other fin thingies and also Sparkle ....)

[madelynraemunson]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲) 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞 ✨ — a steve harrington one shot fic

modern!sperm donor!steve x modern!pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: It’s hard to find ‘forever’ in a world that glorifies hook-up culture. After multiple failed relationships, you start to believe that your dream of having a family someday will only be just that — a DREAM. That is until you stumble across The Baby Gate Foundation, a family planning organization that helps qualifying Strangers start families with one another.

disclaimers — fluff overload, strangers to friends to lovers, some angst, reader goes by “Honey”,

NSFW — very brief smut, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, cream pie, soft!dom steve

word count — 6.0k words

“So… what’s your favorite color?”

It’s the most aggravating question to ask when wading in the Dating Pool — and unfortunately the most frequent. But you figure at least asking about Steve Harrington’s favorite color is a good ‘precursor question’ when trying to get to know him. After all, you are the one carrying his child.

“Cerulean,” the handsome stranger from across the table replies.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue.”

“You could’ve just said blue.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

You issue him a touché type nod as you gently place your folded hands over your growing bump…a bump that was a byproduct of an ordeal that he wasn’t even present to participate in.

Before you knew him as Steve Harrington, he was just Stranger #021 whose sperm donation gave you the gift of life. The gift of having a little one of your own.

And it was about time you started a family. It has been a dream of yours — once you bagged your dream job and got to travel the world — to get married and have kids. But apparently the person you spent 6 years with did not share that dream, despite having told you he did in the beginning stages of your partnership.

Are you crazy? How dare you think your ex wanted a family after he explicitly told you he wanted you to marry him and have his kids? Silly lady. You actually thought he meant what he said.

And Steve Harrington’s baby daddy application seemed impossible to resist. The Baby Gate Foundation disclosed to you that Stranger #021 has no physical ailments, was a star athlete in high school, isn’t a carrier for any chronic illnesses, and passed a mental health and drug clearance.

Your baby is very likely to come out healthy and, now that you’ve gotten a good general idea of the guy, will hopefully inherit Steve’s luscious chestnut brown hair, his radiant smile, sparkling eyes, and kind nature. A healthy baby. A healthy family. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Your stomach feeling okay?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah,” you smile. “I just like touching it sometimes. It still doesn’t feel real.”

When selected, Steve jumped for joy. And you bet he started doing cartwheels when your pregnancy test came out positive. My dick still works! he remembers saying.

Having been a foster parent to many teenagers in the past, Steve also felt ready to have a kid of his own. But then his first long term girlfriend of three years cheated on him, and then his next long term girlfriend left him when she realized a family with him was not what she wanted. Steve was practically on the same boat as you. And the stars aligned…

“So I was thinking…when you’re in what’s considered a ‘safe’ point in your pregnancy, say second trimester… we can do cute pregnancy announcements,” Steve suggests.

Your eyes glimmer at the thought.

“As coparents of course!” Steve makes sure to add. “A-and then we can have a gender reveal. We can choose the theme and ideas for it later but I’m just thinking of an intimate cake cutting thing….pink frosting, obviously for girl…”

“And cerulean for boy,” you smirk at him, finishing his thought.

He chuckles at your comment. “Yes, cerulean for boy.”

You two then begin to brainstorm the minor details. Signing up for parenting classes. Check-up appointments. Your baby registry. Ironing out the details so that you both can relish in the pregnancy as much as possible.

When you’re done, Steve then pays for your lunch and you two go separate ways. But not before a long, grateful hug.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his ear. “You’ve made my dream come true.”

“I am just as indebted,” Steve insists, giving your back a loving rub. “I’ve always wanted to be a father.”

You decide to not let go until Steve breaks the hug. But little did you know that was Steve’s plan too. So you both stand there, in the middle of the mall food court swaying back and forth, waiting patiently for the other to let go because to be honest, you never know what a simple ‘I see you’ hug can do for somebody.

Finally, Steve pulls away.

“Listen, uh, Honey,” he says. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird because technically we don’t really know each other…but I already care about you so deeply. You’re the mother of my child. I want to be as involved as possible.”

“I care about you too Steve,” you beam at him. “And I feel like our healing journeys are coming to an end. I’m so excited to come together with another person who has the same goals in life.”

And that is all that’s said during that exchange. You hope that throughout your pregnancy, you and Steve can have more coparent dates to really get to know each other. You love that he feels safe and trustworthy, willing to put his all into the child that he, and many many medical experts helped you create. And you hope that as your baby grows up, you will find a lifelong partner like Steve someday.

“So how’d it go?”

You’re over at your best friend, Eddie’s apartment talking to him about your day. Eddie has been your best friend since middle school, bearing witness to every wonderful milestone — and tragedy — that has plagued your life ever since. Your decision to become a mother on your own, and coparenting with a stranger is no exception.

“I like him!” you exclaim. “He’s very sweet.”

“Do you trust him as your Baby Daddy?”

“If I didn’t, it’d be a little too late for that I’m afraid.”

Eddie would’ve been more than happy to be your donor, and without a doubt, you’d trust him in being fully present in the child’s life. However Eddie comes from a home with a turbulent family dynamic, and unfortunately is a carrier of the addiction gene along with many other illnesses. Eddie didn’t want to risk doing that to you or your family. So it works out that he and his boyfriend Henry are the ‘Fun Uncles’ or as he calls them “Funcles” instead, and Steve is the dad.

“But yeah I like Steve,” you circle back. “He’s funny, sweet, looks like he takes care of himself. Even paid for my food. Oh, and as a bonus, he uses big words.”

Eddie snorts as he strides over to the fridge. “He uses big words.”

“Yeah, like cerulean.”

Your bestie cocks an eyebrow and smirks at you. “What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue,” you smirk back at him.

He releases a theatrical gasp. “Ground-breaking.”

Your banter is cut short when Eddie’s partner Henry walks through the door.

“Hello, hello.”

“Hey, Henry!”

You watch as the quiet, tall blonde dressed in dark-denim-tailored-to-fit struts in with a grocery bag, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“Hi, darlings.”

“Funcle Number Two,” Eddie greets his partner.

“I thought I was Number One.”

“You are,” Eddie shrugs. “In my heart. If you have an issue with your title and rank, I’d talk it up with Honey.”

“You can be Number One,” you grant him permission, eliciting a betrayed gasp from Eddie.

“Thank you, Honey,” Henry smirks, shooting a sassy look at Eddie.

Eddie issues a sour variation of that smirk to Henry, only to be met with a rough nudge to the ribcage. The two black cats then assemble to unload the groceries, all while focusing their attention back to you, their appointed ‘golden retriever’ of the bunch.

“Speaking of titles,” Henry adds. “How was your meeting with Daddy Steve?”

“It was wonderful,” you respond. “Was just telling Eddie how much I like him.”

Henry grimaces, understandably so. Your taste and judgment in men throughout the years have been nothing short of concerning. But because you didn’t willingly seek Steve out on a shady online dating app, at a dive bar at 2 AM, or on the dance floor of a sweaty small town nightclub, you figured you were in the clear.

“We’re gonna make it work no matter what,” you insist to your seemingly doubtful friends. “Even if there are discrepancies, we agreed it’s our kid before anything. And I’m ready. I told you guys myself that if I don't meet the love of my life by the time I'm 29, I'm having a baby by myself."

Aside from the two "Funcles", you have been the only consistent person in your life. And in this day and age, two people don't need to 'be together' to bring life into this world. And even if they are together, it’s not a happy home sometimes.

All that matters in this arrangement is that both of Baby Harrington’s parents are involved. That was Steve's promise to you.

Let's just hope he keeps it.

“That’s the head… and those…are your baby’s feet.”

You and Steve watch the monitor in awe as the sonographer scans your belly. You are now 20 weeks along, and doing a routine ultrasound check up.

First trimester was a nightmare. Constant nausea and vomiting so you’re not even sure that you’re stomaching those pre-natals, intense mood swings, and breast tenderness so bad you essentially begged Steve to just chop your tits off.

Regardless, you are healthy, and the baby is healthy. And now your camera roll is filled with pictures and videos of every frame of every ultrasound you get done, as well as audio recordings of Baby Harrington’s heartbeat. You and Steve even share your content amongst each other, just in case the other missed something that the other captured. It’s a wholesome exchange, really.

“Baby’s kicking a lot. Almost looks like they’re swimming in place,” the tech comments.

“I did swim and water polo in high school, could be why,” Steve explains.

You bat your eyes in adoration at your friend. He gives you a warm look back.

“Just like Daddy,” you say. And then Steve rests his palm atop your hand.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels complete.

“So, would you like to know the gender?” the sonographer inquires.

Immediately you and Steve bombard her with anxious-filled “No no no no”s. You decided to go with the cake gender reveal idea, and Henry and Eddie were in charge of having it made.

“We’d like for it to be a surprise,” Steve smiles. “But we sure would like an envelope with the gender in it. Honey’s gonna give it to her friends to give the baker.”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” the tech grins widely. “I will have it printed out for you shortly.”

She wipes your belly down so that there is no more ultrasound jelly on your stomach before leaving. Meanwhile, you and Steve are absolutely giddy. You are now halfway through your pregnancy and couldn’t wait to hold Baby Harrington in your arms.

But as exciting as everything is, it is also anxiety-inducing. No parenting book could ever prepare you for bringing a kid into the world. There was so much more that needed to be done. So much to do. And it seems like there was so very little time to do it.

Steve has another question for you. “When does the baby usually wake you up?”

“Baby’s a night owl, strangely,” you reply. “I’ll feel some moving and stuff at night.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head in thought.

“Man, I hope kid doesn’t wake you up at night too much when they’re born. That’d be god awful.”

“I know, I’ve been thinking of that too,” you groan. “And all the diaper changes I’ll probably have to do before putting them back to sleep. Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about diapers.”

You didn’t want to think about post-partum shit. So far, you’ve only been focused on pregnancy shit, and that shit is already overwhelming. While you seem well-equipped for pregnancy itself, the thought of actually being a fully-functioning parenting unit alongside Steve brings on a new set of fear.

Suddenly you and Steve look up at each other.

“Oh shit!” you shriek. “A crib! We need a crib! A stroller.”

“And a whole nursery,” he gulps. “And a baby monitor… A swaddle! A carrier!”

———

You and Steve are moved in together by the end of the month. Platonically, of course. With a capital P.

You both figured that raising the baby under one roof would be the healthiest way to approach your parenting situation. Both of you already get along really well and have similar communication styles. You two also have the same expectations from each other. And not every child is blessed with two parents living together in a happy home. It’s a luxury you both refused to take for granted.

So eventually the non-traditional-housewarming-slash-baby-shower-party rolls around, in efforts to help prepare for Baby Harrington’s arrival. It ends up being a huge success. Additionally, the party gave everyone a chance to mingle with one another, your friends meeting Steve’s friends and jokingly calling each other "in-laws". Robin and Eddie immediately grow very fond of each other, having deemed each other best friends after their third time meeting.

“How long do you give it?” Robin asks Eddie as they watch you and Steve work together to build the crib. “You know till they…”

They observe as you and Steve bicker back and forth about whether or not a section of the crib was installed the wrong way. You argue that it was, and Steve, still firm in his masculinity that he felt like was slowly chipping away (he can’t help it sometimes) insisted that it wasn’t.

“I know how to read, Honey. And besides, if it’s the wrong part, how did I screw it on perfectly?”

“I don’t know, Bob the Builder,” you fire back at him. “You didn’t have to 'screw it on perfectly' to get me pregnant.”

“Til that baby is born,” Eddie estimates.

Eddie chuckles at this. He’s been with Henry for many years, but you two have beat him at the argue-like-a-married couple thing. Slyly, he sips his beer.

“…The very latest.”

“Steve, I’m hungry. Wanna go to Rally’s?”

The cravings have officially kicked in (finally). But of course, it’s at the least convenient of times.

“Woman, it is 1 in the morning...”

“Yes, and I want Rally’s.”

You give Steve a light thunk on his fluffy head.

Now that you two live together, sleeping in the same bed was bound to happen eventually. But it is the least of your concerns. In a world where people go ‘ghost’ after getting what they want, laying your head down in the same bed as Steve is the farthest thing from intimacy. You’re also afraid of the dark, and being in his light calms your nerves.

Except for tonight. Where the only thing that’ll calm those nerves is a Wild West burger and some fries.

Steve huffs, clearly too tired to argue with your hungry ass. But also, you’re the mother of his child. You have the hardest job, and having a late night snack when you felt like it is the bare minimum of what you deserve.

“Let’s go.”

You smirk to yourself as you dance your way out of bed. Anything Baby Mama wants, Baby Mama gets.

Rally’s sure did the trick. When you and Steve return, you find yourself skipping back to the bedroom while Harrington fights to urge to plop onto the floor right by the entry way, his body’s natural response to a food coma, and the state of lethargy he was in from being stirred awake.

But as much as he valued his beauty sleep, he knows deep down he’d still do it again for you. Your little food dance was also pretty damn cute, anyways.

———

THE NEXT WEEK

You and Steve have been ordering way too much takeout. So tonight you decide to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. So while he’s at work, you’re searching Pinterest for healthy, savory dishes to cook. Chinese food it is. One can never go wrong with some chicken fried rice.

Steve comes home right when you finish.

“Oh my god,” Steve gawks as he enters the kitchen. “What smells so damn good?”

“I made dinner,” you smile gleefully, and with pride. “I have so much energy second trimester it’s insane. Hope you like Chinese.”

Steve slows down. Glancing around the chaotic kitchen, he takes in the array of sauces, the cutting board, and the multiple plates and bowls that most likely harbored the. Then he looks at you — a sweaty mess with stains on her apron from all the rice tossing. And he can tell, by your slightly labored breathing, that you’re gathering up all the energy you possibly can to powerwash all the dishes.

“You…made this for me?”

“Yeah! For us, actually. And the baby. I hope you’re okay with onions and scallions.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine with those,” he insists. “It’s just that…I have a date tonight.”

Suddenly the pots and pans feel so much heavier. The air, hotter. The onions, stronger judging by how tears start pooling at the base of your eyes. At least you want to blame it on those.

“Oh,” you sniff.

“I’m so sorry, Honey. I should’ve told you so you didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“It’s fine.”

Why do you feel this way? It’s not like you two are together anyway. This pregnancy is a partnership… platonic with a capital P. So why are you upset? And more importantly, why are you jealous?

“I-I’m sorry…” Steve panics. “I-it’s just that we’ve been getting takeout all week and I thought it’d be the same toni-”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

“That came out so bad, I…”

“I know what you mean,” you shake your head shutting him down immediately. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

“You’re crying…”

“I was chopping onions,” you point out.

You nod to the bag of onions that were yet to be put away. There was a lot left to be put away actually, and you were kind of hoping Steve would help. But clearly he’s a busy man.

“And it’s probably just the stupid pregnancy hormones too,” you add.

“They’re NOT stupid,” Steve insists. “And you just said you have so much energy. You were bursting with light just a moment ago…before I killed it.”

“Have fun tonight, Steve,” you repeat.

You head over to the wok and scoop out a serving for two: one serving for you, and one for the baby. Dad will get the leftovers, you suppose.

Steve watches you intently. You can feel his stare even with your back turned. Suddenly, you hear the faint dial tone of his cell phone ringing a couple of times before someone answers.

“Hey…Lacey, I can’t come tonight,” Steve sighs. “I’m really sorry for being so last minute. A family emergency came up.”

You look back over at him. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says ‘family’.

The two of them talk some more before Steve hangs up the phone. Awkwardly now, you chew softly at the rice you made.

“Well she definitely hates me,” Steve chuckles. “But I don’t care.”

“Steve…” you speak. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re carrying my kid,” Steve looks at you with glimmering eyes. “I can’t be running through the town in the arms of another woman. This pregnancy is a team effort.���

He glides over you and stops right where your hips meet. You timidly manage to look up at him, tear-jerked, all sweaty, and very very pregnant. And after Steve tucks a loose strand of hair behind the blushing cartilage of your ear, he presses his tender lips against your forehead.

“For the baby,” he whispers to you.

“For the baby,” you repeat after him.

The day is here.

The gender reveal, that is. You didn’t expect finding out something as simple as having a boy or girl was going to be this nerve wracking. And to think some people do this in front of a huge audience.

“Okay…” you exhale unevenly. “You ready?”

“Only if you are,” Steve nods, but his trembling hands betray him.

“Hand me a glass.”

Steve hands you one of the two wine glasses you brought for the intimate picnic you had planned for today. On the count of three, you two were to dig those very glasses into the cake and scoop out the long awaited answer.

SWEET CHILD O MINE, the cake reads. Boy or girl?

Henry and Eddie settled for a Rock-N-Roll inspired cake, with self-indulgent black and red buttercream on the outside, and the pre-determined blue or pink on the inside. You were afraid that it was going to be a little too edgy for Steve, but he assures you the aesthetic of a cake is the least of his priorities.

Drawing out an uneven breath now, you decide to start counting down.

“One…” you gulp.

“Two…” Steve joins in.

But you can't bring yourself to say ‘three’. Shutting your eyes closed in a bout of nervousness, you mutter softly,

"Two and a half..."

It earns you a chuckle from Steve. Knowing just how to calm you down, like he had been doing all pregnancy, he offers you his available hand to squeeze if you needed.

“Three!” you two finally say together.

Plunging your wine glasses into the cake, you and Steve gather one big scoop each while your eyes drift elsewhere.

“I can’t look,” you choke, sniffing back a tear or two.

“I can’t either,” Steve exhales, evidently nervous. “You can look first though.”

“No, I’ll look when you do.”

You’re met with messy dough and frosting in the glass at first. But after trailing after the inside part of the cake, you catch sight of the fluffy frosting that was buried beneath. A bright, eye-catching, pastel....

...cerulean blue. A baby boy.

“Oh…my…god,” your hand trembles in complete shock. “It’s a boy…”

“Oh my god, baby!” Steve sniffs going in to hug you. “We’re having a boy…”

And then it happens. Unable to contain himself from his joy any longer, Steve cups your face with his frosting-laced fingers, connecting his lips passionately to yours, and you with him.

It’s the best day of Steve’s life. You are the reason that he gets to live out his dream of becoming a dad. And now that you two are having a son, all he can imagine is teaching the kid how to throw a football in the backyard, signing him up for T-Ball and Boy Scouts (just like his dad once did with him), and taking him and his buddies out on silly, fun-filled rag-tag group adventures.

And knowing how strange and daunting the world can be, Steve already maps out how to raise your child morally, encouraging him to always treat others with kindness, to be a friend to all, to always lend a helping hand whenever the situation calls on it. And to respect women…because after all, everybody came from one. And Steve knows that he struck gold, considering the fact that he views you as an absolute queen.

You kiss King Steve back, humming in awe because of how natural his energy feels against yours.

It all feels very natural. Makes you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Your eyes widen in shock as you two look at each other, both stunned that a kiss was both of your initial, seemingly ‘platonic’, response to the news.

"Is it just me or is it just now hitting?" Steve questions. "We're having a kid together."

"It's just now hitting me too," you agree, the double meaning tugging aggressively at your heartstrings. "We're really doing this, Stevie."

“Our son.”

“Our son.”

———

“What happens when one of us finds somebody?”

It’s a talk you and Steve were due for eventually. But Steve is just as unsure, looking over at your pregnant silhouette standing at the foot of the doorway.

But with how beautiful you looked standing at the doorway, your silk, maternity night gown hugging all the beautiful curves of your body while you rubbed your belly that housed your very active kicker, Steve wasn’t even sure if he’d ever want to find somebody else.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he ends up saying.

He makes his way over to you, wrapping his gentle arms around your waistline, emitting his ever-growing love for you and the baby you two share.

“But if one thing's for sure, it's our son. Baby Harrington first. Before anything.”

“Baby before anything," you repeat the promise.

Steve’s lips graze your skin once again, an invitation and incentive to join him in bed — nuzzled up in the sheets and his warmth — so the two of you can soak in all the rest you possibly can before Baby Boy makes his entrance into the world.

Some bridges aren’t meant for crossing. Sometimes settling is the best option. And you don’t mind settling down. Because here, in Steve’s arms, it feels like home.

WEEK 38

An involuntary rush in your lower extremity stirs you awake. When you feel around to push the sheets aside and hobble to the bathroom, you’re stunned to discover your nightgown had become a raft, and that you’re laying atop your own unscented secretions. And you know it’s not piss. So if you didn’t pee…

Oh no, it’s happening.

You begin to panic.

“Steve!” you hiss, sitting up and pushing your partner awake. “HEY! Harrington!”

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, still half asleep.

“Get the hospital bag.”

“What?”

“Get the hospital bag, dingus. My water just broke.”

He shoots up. Still relatively disoriented, but now also horrified.

“W-what? Are you sure?! Does this… A-are you about to…”

“Yes! Grab the bag and start the car. He’s coming RIGHT NOW.”

While you slowly sit up to get your shoes and a robe on, Steve scurries to the car with your overnight L&D bag and purse in his arms. You reach over to grab your phone and charger, dialing up Eddie in the process.

It rings for a long time before he picks up.

“Honey, it’s 4 AM, what do you want?” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s time, Eds,” you sniff happily. “The baby is coming.”

The line is silent for a couple seconds, and for a while it’s like you can hear Eddie connecting the dots in his head. Alas, he speaks.

“HO-LY SHIT!”

*Click*. The line disconnects.

Steve holds your hand through it all. From checking into Labor and Delivery, to moving to your room, to breathing exercises with your bedside doula, check-ins with your midwife, and throughout the entire birthing process.

Not only is he nervous out of his mind, but he thinks you’re so beautiful.

"You know," Steve says in attempts to soothe you. "When I came out the womb, the nurse yelled "Oh my gosh! That's a lot of hair on a baby!"

You're too fixated on your breathing exercises to fully appreciate Steve's story. But you understand his sweet gesture, so you stroke his thumb with your thumb to let him know you're listening.

“I guess I had double the amount of hair than a usual newborn,” he continues. “And all the nurses were crowding around to get a good— OW OW OW! Watch the hand, watch the hand.”

The sudden level 9 contraction that shot through your entire stomach, causing you to scream in agony and beg for the epidural.

"JESUS, FUCK GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!" you plead desperately.

Steve kisses you softly on the forehead before going in to stroke your, very sweaty, hair. He was not going to leave your side. Not now, not ever. This baby — and you — are the best things to ever happen to him.

Thanks to yours and Steve's mindful prep, the birthing process was a smooth one compared to others.

But still pretty painful, nonetheless. For you, for Steve, for everybody involved.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Eddie sputters as he and Henry rush onto the unit with the baby's carseat and other miscellaneous belongings in their hands. "It's happening, it's happening. He's almost here!"

"I wonder," Henry pants, doing his best to keep up with his boyfriend. "If she experienced the Ring of Fire yet."

"What's the Ring of Fire?" Eddie questions him.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" your tumultuous screams sound down the hall directly from your room. Anyone would've thought someone was getting murdered in there, had it not been a hospital unit strictly for childbirth.

"That," Henry answers him.

---

"You're almost there, baby," Steve encourages you. "Keep pushing."

The epidural had finally kicked in and now all you had to focus on was pushing.

“I see the head, Mama,” your midwife announces, rubbing your knee as you’re struggling to push. “Keep going, keep going! Couple more for me.”

“FUCK!” you cry out doing your best to contract those muscles.

“There we go…” Steve soothes you as he strokes your hair. “Doing AMAZING, baby. That’s it…”

He strokes your thumb with his, a helpless look in his eyes as he watches you struggle. It’s clear that Steve doesn’t know what else he could possibly do for you, but he attempts to mask that belief. He couldn’t wait to spoil you afterwards. It’s what you deserve.

“Few more pushes, Honey,” your nurse says again. “He’s almost out. We got his shoulders now.”

“Oh god I’m gonna faint,” Steve says, evidently growing dizzy.

“Can someone get a wet towel for Dad?!” another nurse calls out. “And maybe some juice?”

“PUSH, PUSH!”

“PUSH, Honey!”

“ALMOST THERE, MAMA!”

“I can’t,” you cry out. “I can’t anymore.”

“You can do it, baby,” Steve encourages you, pelting the back of your hand with endearing kisses. “You’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you…”

Before you know it, the air of the hospital room fills with tiny belted cries, followed by relieved and adorn coos as the nurse catches your baby.

“0507, time of birth!"

“Oh my god,” Steve wails in excitement. “Oh my god, he’s here he’s out. We have a baby! You did it, Honey!”

Too exhausted to say anything you simply fall back, taking a few deep breaths in relief. It’s over, the baby is here. And he is healthy.

You feel a sloppy kiss land on your cheek. Steve ruffles your hair when you look his way.

“You did it, Honey.”

Everything happens so fast after that.

From what you hear, Steve was the one who cut the umbilical cord — and he was very adamant about having the pictures to prove it. The baby was then weighed and bathed, all the hospital data was gathered with permission granted by Steve.

And soon, after an eternity, your son is swaddled and soon returned back to you and ‘Dad’.

"Oh wow!" a nurse remarks. "This baby has a whole lotta hair!"

You and Steve immediately look to each other and burst out laughing. Just like his Daddy...

———

“How does that feel, Steve?” you ask him, eyes fixated on the absolute DILF in front of you.

“Amazing,” he coos. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

When all needs were attended to, it was finally time for ‘skin to skin’. You didn’t think it’d be possible to be both sexy and wholesome at the same time — until you saw Steve cradling your newborn, pressing him tenderly against his exposed chest so that their hearts can beat as one.

“Hi little man,” he sniffs. “I’m your daddy.”

A single tear falls from his face and splashes onto the blanket that your son was cocooned in. Steve pulls him in closer and kisses him softly on the forehead.

“I’m your daddy,” he repeats.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. Steve’s legacy is about to begin and it’s all thanks to you. And from your hospital bed as you recover, you are able to snap some pictures of the two loves of your life, the first photos of many, of the family photo albums.

“Ugh, when did Steve get so hairy?” Lucas wonders as he sneaks a gaze into the hospital room.

“Right?” Dustin agrees, joining him beside the doorway. “I told him he needs to tame that jungle but he claims the ladies dig it.”

“I mean, look at Honey,” Lucas points out. She seems to like it and Steve knocked her up.”

“True but it wasn’t organic, you idiot,” Max mutters.

Love pours in from every wing of the unit. Soon all your family and friends start to arrive, as well as Steve’s family and friends. You’re spoiled with ‘congratulations’ signs, and postpartum care packages, and an array of foods that you couldn’t eat while pregnant (i.e. sushi, deli sandwiches).

And with your approval, Steve comes out of the hospital room, ready — and proud — to showcase your baby to the entire world.

“Everyone, there’s someone we’d like for you to meet,” Steve says, keeping his voice at a low murmur. “This is Benjamin Dean Harrington. Benny for short.”

You and Steve end up taking parental leave at the same time.

Your entire day-to-day consists of loving on and spending quality time with Benny. The diaper changes, the cuddles, the nursery rhymes, and everything in between. It’s impossible to think you’ll ever get tired of it. You and Steve have officially transitioned to Mom & Dad Mode.

Until Benny goes to sleep.

As the golden sun peaks in through the cream colored blinds, you feel Steve’s hand trail down your back and down to your ass to grab it. Releasing a soft moan, you lean into his touch, shifting your weight to one side of the mattress.

“Baby…” he moans into you.

“Should we?” your eyes twinkle. “The baby’s asleep…”

He chuckles into your neck, raspy voice sure to be the end of you if he kept teasing you any longer.

“‘m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you barter. “I feel ready.”

———

“Fuck, right there, Steve…”

You grip the sheets tightly as Steve rolls his hips into you, his strokes a delicious mix of pleasure and a challenging stretch. And as you bite into your pillow, your eyes rolling up towards the sky, he maintains the pace you love so much, drilling you in, simultaneously massaging your clit while his quenched lips tenderly suction themselves to the crook of you neck.

It’s your first time together, but it feels like you two have done this before. Your bodies are naturally in sync, knowing where your boundaries lie without needing any cues, and knowing exactly how far you both can take it. Daddy Steve, being the gentleman he is, has your entire body mapped out.

“God I love it,” your overstimulated self whimpers, chest to your chin, ankles dangling off of Steve’s broad shoulders as he rails you.

“Oh, I bet you do, Honey.”

His large hand encloses around your neck, thumb hovering over your lips as he fawns over your mewling, vulnerable body.

“You want my cum, baby?” Steve asks. “Want me to fill you to the brim huh? You wanna have my babies?”

“Yes, I want your babies, Steve,” you moan. “Want all of them.”

And as an orgasm spills out of you, Steve’s spills in, coating you with his warm release as you both unravel in the sheets.

“Holy shit, that felt so good,” you whisper, nuzzling your head against his chest. Steve grins from ear to ear when you kiss him on the chin. “Thank you for making me feel so safe and loved.”

“Well when you’re you Honey, you make it so easy,” he blushes.

Steve rests his hands on your ass again, giving it a faint smack. You bite your lip as he pulls you even closer to him. And as the sun sets, you know round two is on the horizon.

“Anyways, when ARE we having another one?”

———

author’s note: i’m noticing some themes with the way i write eddie smut vs steve smut. i totally write eddie as a rough dom and steve is def a soft dom. not complaining tho, those are my headcannons for them 🤭

divider creds: @silkholland , @elfbar-baby

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Malleus Draconia - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: This was quite the special invitation. Let us celebrate this auspicious 100th year together.

Summon Line: Just as the rumors have said, this truly is a vast museum. I am elated that I have this opportunity to walk these halls.

Groooovy!!: Do take care not to act discourteously while paying your respects. That is, if you do not wish to incur any unwanted curses.

Home: My blessings on 100 years of history.

Home Idle 1: I hear the Asim household has enough paintings to rivals this museum. I do hope to receive an invitation someday.

Home Idle 2: It seems that Rosehearts has memorized a plethora of anecdotes so as to be able to respond to any question. How very enthusiastic of him.

Home Idle 3: It is said that the subordinates of the Thorn Fairy were unwaveringly loyal. Seems as though they all held her in high regard. We are quite similar in that regard.

Home Idle - Login: Allow me to show you around the museum. I have an affinity for art appreciation. You'll be in good hands.

Home Idle - Groovy: Spade seems to have a very straightforward personality. He spoke his mind without any hesitation... Fufu, that was quite the pleasant encounter.

Home Tap 1: That's some furrow in your brow. Each person will glean different impressions from the same painting. There's no need to figure out a correct interpretation.

Home Tap 2: The King of Beasts would turn to his chamberlain for a song to soothe his woes, I see. That chamberlain's singing must have been superb.

Home Tap 3: While I was gazing upon a painting of the Fairest Queen, Hunt began to recount her stories and his opinions on them in rapid-fire succession. His intensity was quite something...

Home Tap 4: The painting depicting the Thorn Fairy's castle is spectacular. It is quite a useful reference for the style of gargoyles of that time period.

Home Tap 5: I cannot say I'm accustomed to this silvery-white color, or your human formal attire, but... From what I gather of your reaction, it does not seem like it is ill-suited.

Home Tap - Groovy: Have you found a work of art you like? Your eyes are glittering just like a child's.

Duo: [MALLEUS]: Follow me, Spade. [DEUCE]: This will be a good experience, Draconia-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: So, you've come to wish me a happy birthday. You certainly know no fear, it seems. Most people are too frightened to even say one word to me... If the people of Briar Valley were to see this, they would be quite taken aback. Heh, I don't mean it as a rebuke in anyway. I only am reminded once again about what a strange human you are.

Requested by Anonymous.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 28 all chapters

⚠⚠Trigger warning: mention of past terminated pregnancy, NOT Reader. If details of this will bother you skip the section that starts with “One day he lets you sit in as he repairs a tattered copy of The Wind In The Willows.” You can pick up again at “-He gives you run of the house.”  I’ll give you the brief gist of the plot point in the end notes.  Also mention of possible suicide, NOT Reader.

-As he prepares dinner you sit at the island, you are enjoying a glass of wine and watching him cook. His hands are like poetry, no matter the task at hand. He is slicing peppers, and offers you a piece from across the island. After your previous experience, you should be wary accepting any tidbit that color from this man, but in an act of trust you take it, your lips brushing the tips of his fingers.

It is sweet and crisp and juicy between your teeth, and you sigh to yourself.

This is what you could have had, all along.

Watching you with a small smile, he twirls the knife in his hand absently like it is an extension of his body.

You do not take it as a threat. He simply seems…content, and you wonder if you dare trust any of this at face value.

He goes back to cooking, and you watch him with your wine in hand. It is a tasty Cabernet from Chilé, and maybe you shouldn’t drink too much of it, but then again…what do you have to lose at this point?

Your eyes cast around the cavernous room while John bustles at the stove. The scene is so domestic you could cry, because you realize this is what you’d hoped to share with him before it all went to hell.

You cast your eyes down, to find the razor-sharp Japanese paring knife is now sitting in the middle of the island by the cutting board, easily within reach.

It's really the first mistake he's made in the keeping of you, since he let his guard down enough to let you whomp him with War and Peace.

You stare at it, thinking.

Is it an opportunity? What exactly would you do with it, that would achieve any sort of useful end? It hits you like a ton of bricks for some reason, when you realize that despite what he’s done to you, you have zero interest in hurting John.

You hadn’t even liked hitting him with a book.

The thought of stabbing him makes you physically ill.

Frowning at the thought, you cross your arms and sit back on the stool, glaring at the thing as though it had called you a filthy name.

Belatedly, you realize John is watching you from over at the stove.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was a test.

You transfer your glare to him as he approaches, picking up the tiny but potentially deadly blade.

He says nothing, just washes and dries it before replacing it in the knife block, not the locked drawer.

You guess you passed.

-Later, over dinner, he asks, “Why didn't you pick it up?” 

“Because the thought of hurting you makes me sick.”

He actually smirks at you. “That’s nice to hear.”

You’re not sure if he’s baiting you on purpose, but your temper starts to rise. So much for a quiet evening.

“That’s not how I’m going to get out of here,” you declare, feeling brave.

Or stupid.

Hearing this amuses him heartily.

“Yeah?”

“Someday, you're going to let me go, because you'll realize it's the right thing to do.” 

He leans his elbows on the table, fixing you with that dark stare that pins you in your seat. “I already told you, kitten, I'm never going to let you go.” He says it sweetly this time, but you sense he is still absolutely serious in his conviction.

-The week that follows is a series of halcyon days, filled with the affection and attention from Mr. Wick that you'd craved all along. Something has shifted in him, and you're still not sure exactly what, or how to make it stay.

 You cook meals together in the mornings and evenings. He teaches you things about haute cuisine and international dishes that you'd never had any inkling or access to. The things you make for dinner some nights you've only heard of on tv or in magazines. He's tasted these things in their original countries, and tells you what stories he can, that don't involve disclosing the details of multiple homicides committed for astronomical pay.

You know he must be showing off for you. A man with a waistline like that does not eat like this regularly. A small part of you dares to wonder, is he actually trying to woo you?

You fill your days with time in the studio, and with him.

The brightly colored Dolce and Gabbana sundresses you’d coveted in Italy mysteriously start appearing at the foot of the bed every day. Floral prints in pink and red, and bright majolica-inspired designs with yellow acanthus curls and blue accents, as well as the dreamy azure and white azulejo tile patterns. You marvel at what he spent, to lay these at your feet. You don’t even care that he’s picking out your outfits, dressing you like a feminine doll—because they make you happy. You even go so far as to wear them in your studio, not caring if you get a smudge of paint or pastel on the brightly printed fabric. What does it matter now?

What does anything matter?

-One day he lets you sit in as he repairs a tattered copy of The Wind In The Willows. You discover he likes old children’s books best and he has dozens on his shelves. Something about missing out on a real childhood of his own, you reckon, and undoubtedly the artistry that went into them.

This is the day he tells you that he was almost a father himself once. That when he’d been a foolish young man (his words), he’d fallen in love with one of the ballerinas at the school for assassins where he’d been raised. When the inevitable this led to that with hormone-charged youths with no access to birth control, they planned to run away together.

He’d wanted nothing more at that time, but to just live a simple life with his little family. He just knew in his heart, that the baby would be a girl. He’d already named her, Irina, his little Irinushka. But the night they meant to leave they were intercepted by the other students, and separated by The Director of the school. Tatiana was forced to terminate her pregnancy, because a principal ballerina bearing baby weight was of no use to The Theater at all.

When finally they were allowed to see each other young fire-eyed Jardani wanted to try to leave again. He was willing to kill anyone who got in their way this time, brothers or not. But Tatiana was changed, a shadow of the girl he’d known, and she refused to go with him. She said it had all been a stupid mistake, and he heard the Director’s indoctrination echoing through his lover’s mouth. She began numbing her pain with pills, and wouldn’t stop, despite his pleading. She pushed him away, and a year later she died in a car crash during a mission running drugs across the city. John never knew if it had been an accident, or if she’d given up to the sorrow eating at her heart.

He tells you all this in quiet, almost impersonal tones as he weaves the kettle stitch binding on the book, as though it happened to someone else. The man he had been, you suppose, this Jardani Jovonovich. You imagine what he must have been like as a young man. You suspect he must have been heartbreakingly beautiful, and probably could have had women eating out of his palm and tucking their panties into his pocket at every turn.

Yet, all he’d really wanted was his little ballerina, and his baby Irinushka.

He did leave The Theater soon after, to become the notorious Baba Yaga, the infamous assassin John Wick who could kill three men with naught but a pencil. You listen to all this with horror and tears in your eyes, feeling as though your own heart has been run through a shredder, understanding even further exactly why this steadfast man finally cracked to pieces.

You doubt your own state of mind could have fared so well, for so long.

-He gives you run of the house, reasoning correctly that you won’t be able to get past the locks and bulletproof windows anyway. One day, when you cannot find him, you wander into the garage.  He is tinkering with his motorcycle, in a grease stained white t-shirt and ratty jeans that cross the wires in your brain a little. 

The sight of the machine fills your heart with what is perhaps an irrational amount of hope.

“Can we go for a ride?” you ask, thinking of that perfect day you once spent together. You have not been outside once since returning to Clear Forks, though you can tell from looking out the window that you've had a series of beautiful sunny days. They’re a thing not to be wasted in the mountains; fall will come quickly, and then winter before you can blink.

“Not today, sweetheart,” he sighs, actually sounding apologetic, wiping his hands on a rag.

You pout silently, but do not push the issue. You are learning to pick your battles. If you keep poking here and prodding there, someday, you will find a weakness to exploit. You must be patient.

When he is sweet to you, patience is not so difficult to come by. You know that is dangerous, but not quite what to do about it.   

The garage is a massive space, and you take the opportunity to look around. You should be scoping out possible tools for escape, but mostly...you're just curious. 

Is he succeeding in training you? You ask yourself this with what should be an alarming amount of detachment.

Looking past the Land Rover in the middle bay, you see something underneath a cover. Feeling emboldened by his mild mood that day, you walk over to peek underneath. 

The sight makes a quiet exclamation slip from your lips. 

“Is this the car?”

It is a matte gray Mustang with subtle black racing stripes. You don't know much about classic cars, but it looks fast as hell. 

“The car?”

You turn to find he is directly behind you. You didn't hear or sense him move at all. You wonder belatedly if maybe this is a sore spot you should have left well alone. 

“Um...never mind.”

“It's OK. You like classics?” 

“I...guess? It’s very pretty.”

He pulls off the cover, unveiling the machine in all its glory. “It’s a ’69 Boss 429. 375 horsepower, 450 pound-foot of torque.” 

You smile, having no inkling what that really means, but you can tell it makes him happy. 

“Can we take this for a ride?”

Luckily, he just chuckles at your transparency. 

“Maybe.” It would be harder for you to escape from a car, than from off the back of the bike, after all. He kisses your forehead, not replacing the cover, before going back to the bike. 

Somewhat heartened, you wander back up to your studio.

-On the third day, you start to dream about Helen.

It’s actually nothing new for you, communing with the dead through your dreams. You’ve never really thought it more than your own overactive imagination, visiting with your grandmother or your great uncles, even sometimes an old boyfriend who had since passed away. But this feels like something more, and frankly, it gives you the creeps.

At first, you are simply sitting together, an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. You can hardly blame her—you are fucking her husband, after all, if not entirely of your own choice.

But one night, she comes to you in a field of daisies. Extending one to you, she offers you a tired if not slight smile. There is a pleading in her caramel-colored eyes, and maybe regret too. She only says two words. “I’m sorry.” You wake with the haunted feeling that she knows she made him into this version of himself with the trauma of her loss, but she’s still passing the keeping of him on to you.

What does she want you to do? Save him? You start to cry quietly to yourself, because the dangerous man who was her husband is laying asleep behind you with his arms tight around you like you are his teddy bear, and you don’t know how.

.

.

Author’s note: The general gist of the TW section was that young John/Jardani and one of the ballerinas became pregnant and were going to run away from the Tarkovsky theatre. But they got caught and The Director wouldn’t allow it. She separated them, made Ballerina terminate the pregnancy, and Ballerina died the next year possibly of suicide.  Obviously, this left an impression on John.

[scribblescrabbledepartment]

2 more illustrationsss idk if im really in love with them maybe ill redo them someday

[ID: two illustrations. the first shows two boys walking against the wind in a barren, snowy area. the second shows a creepy, grimy, decaying baby doll.]

story under cut (taken directly from a dream) (this one isnt really my best & it still needs some revising but what ever)

“Do we really have to go all the way out here?”

“Yeah, I wanna show you something.”

Two young boys of eight and ten trudged through a marsh-turned-tundra, one leading the other. The gray sky was difficult to differentiate from the gray ground, and despite the snow and ice covering the area, the land was still somehow spongy and muddy and threatened to pull away their snow boots with each slimy step. Their footsteps would have made a pretty unpleasant crunchy-squishing noise which might be compared to the sound of an enormous beetle being crushed as their boots broke through thin layers of ice and sunk into the marshy ground, but the wind was so eerily loud with its otherworldly howls and whistles that it drowned out nearly every other sound. The younger of the two boys, following behind his older brother, looked warily at the few trees and shrubs poking out of the miserable grayness and thought that they resembled monster skeletons, but would never express this out loud; his brother mustn’t get the idea that he was scared, even though his brother was a little scared himself.

“It’s up there,” the older boy called through the shrieks of the wind. They approached a strange little area which was partially shielded from the weather with monster skeleton trees. About ten feet from the trees was the edge of what couldn’t quite be described as water even during the warmest seasons. It was more like a muddy quicksandy sludge, now mixed with winter slush. Between the slushy sludge and the monster skeletons was a barren strip of land. A couple of objects lay partially covered in muck and snow on the ground.

“What is that?” The younger boy stuck close behind his brother, not feeling particularly fond of anything that was happening right now. His brother snapped a stick off of one of the shrubs and used it to haphazardly dust off the things on the ground—dolls. Two baby dolls that looked like antiques, one still a rosy peach color and in pretty good shape, the other appearing greenish and almost decayed.

“A kid at school told me about this place,” said the older boy, answering before his brother could ask. “Apparently people leave sacrifices for them. You know why?”

His younger brother shook his head. He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. If they didn’t freeze to death out here, he was sure he’d have nightmares for a week just from the visual alone.

“They leave sacrifices because apparently they’re alive. They look pretty dead right now but when nobody’s around they get up and start walking and looking for something to kill, so people leave the sacrifices so they won’t go kill anybody.”

“That’s dumb,” the younger boy said in a voice that trembled much more than he would have liked it to. It was absolutely dumb and it creeped the hell out of him all the same.

“Yeah, it is,” the older boy admitted. “Still kinda neat though. They look really old. I bet they’ve been here for a hundred years.” Doing what, though? He pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn’t need his little brother thinking he was any kind of creeped out.

“Can we go now? This weather sucks,” the younger complained. His brother nodded and they turned around to leave. As they shuffled off, however, the younger boy lost his footing and tumbled over into the vast pond of sludge.

“God dammit,” he cried out in frustration. He knew his brother wouldn’t tell on him for swearing; they always cursed with each other when no adults (or tattle-tales) were around to hear. Grunting, he tried to push himself upright, but he found it very difficult to move in the thick liquid, and his heavy winter clothes didn’t help.

“Here, grab my hand,” the older brother called against the wind, reaching out. His brother somehow seemed much farther away from the edge of the land than he should have been. As he glanced at the ground to make sure he wasn’t stepping into the muck, he noticed that the more decayed-looking doll was missing.

“What the…” he murmured under his breath. He looked back up to his brother and felt his body go numb. On the horizon, moving closer, was what appeared to be a tiny figure.

“Come on, grab my hand!” He tried not to let his panic show as he leaned out over the edge of the pond, but something in his voice tipped his brother off. The younger boy turned his head and saw the doll swimming toward him, slowly but surely, and he began to scream. He screamed and reached as far as he could and tried to shuffle out of the sludge but it was much more difficult than it was getting in, and the doll grew closer. They could see its arms slowly going around like windmills in their creaky sockets in a very poor imitation of swimming and if it had been a scene from a movie they would have been laughing hysterically, but it wasn’t a movie and the movement somehow managed to push the doll with relative ease through the same almost-liquid that trapped the younger boy.

The two were becoming increasingly frantic as the younger brother struggled to free himself and the older boy briefly considered stepping in just a little bit to reach him, but then he surely would have wound up just as stuck as his brother and of no help to anybody. He stretched his arm out as far as he could, nearly falling into the pond as he reached, and as he finally brushed his brother’s fingertips he noticed that the doll had disappeared. And suddenly, so did his brother as something pulled him under at a terrifying speed, leaving the older boy standing stunned and alone in the desolate, miserable grayness.

[camellia-salazar]

April's drawings and doodles!! Get ready! 🎉🌟

At first, I was gonna draw ARG tangled in some rope, but then the rope looked like a ribbon, so I made Gangle into a monster instead. Also, I drew two of the most underated cats from Warriors ever, especially Lionheart.

(I started this first but finished it second). Drawings of certain characters cause their birthdays this month, except for Colin his birthday is at the end of March. I just forgot to draw him. I just love how Cody, Popee, and Waluigi share the same birthday, tho. 🎉

Edit: (No offense to those born on April 1st, btw).

I was writing a story with these six, inspired by The New Prophecy. But I haven't written it in some time. Idk if I'll ever continue it. I don't think I'll post it anywhere, either. Probably.

The next two drawings I started a month or so ago but didn't finish until this month.

Took quite a while to finish, but I'm glad I did. Idk where this takes place yet, but it is a scene from that crossover I keep thinking about but never really writing down.

Either takes place before or after the drawing above it, I don't really remember. What I do know, tho is that I drew these drawings because idk I just felt like Adam would have interesting interactions with some other characters.

I rushed this at the end. I did not want to leave it out. I want a clean slate next month. God damn it. I love crossovers, how bout you?

More about the Multifandom lore and other stuff below if you want:

Characters who die in canon that end up in the place (idk what to call it) keep being in the clothing that they died in. (Rip Ram and Kurt from Heathers: the Musical). (Spoilers warning if needed) So Adam is stuck with his robe he wore during the war with Charlie and the others from the hotel.

Also, about the 3rd drawing, like I said, it's an idea I had that, yes, takes place in the same crossover thing I think about. The colors in the background of each kiddo are involved in it, too.

The first two drawings are pretty much just some random doodles (idk what to do with the one with ARG and monster Gangle) while the other three kinda have stories to them that may or may not be written or animated on someday. (God, I hope that last sentence made sense).

Oh, and Bluey, Bingo and their cousins got to visit the Cul-De-Sac cause of a reason that's also in the multifandom/crossover I think about, I don't know if I should explain it or not. Meh.

BTW I've tried to match the original art styles of everything before, but this time, I've taken some steps forward. The hardest thing to figure out is the claynimated ones like Orel, Clay, and Claire. But I managed (for now, probably).

Edit: i went back and fixed it, I feel so much better about it now.

I even tried to have it seem like Bluey and others are slowly transitioning to the EEnE art style a bit.

But anyways, thanks for looking at my art and reading my rant! (If you did, if not, don't worry)

Have a good one! 🌟✨️✨️👋

(i keep forgetting to include my logo in my fanarts, but whatever, maybe next time, maybe next year ill start. Idk.)