#mostly his fringe bc drawing it annoyed me and i think it suits him more

[offorestsongs]

template.

Rosienne's got a redesign!! it always bothered me that for somebody who's supposed to not care about conventional beauty standards, Rosienne looks pretty,,, well, conventional - i always kind of felt that it made his whole story kind of, fall flat. so! he's goth now. i will probably lean more into this in future art, this is supposed to be a more toned down, "appropriate for classes" look. he's also not super-model thin anymore!

made the little intro card for him too because i'm planning to do so for all my OCs anyways (kind of fucked up on the placement of the text but shhhh it's fine)

[whatscallion]

“Just call me cake, cause I’m going straight to your ass, cowboy.” with Nat and Steve PLEASE

In the spirit of the upcoming month of Halloween …

Tagging @cptsteven bc i know she’ll like it too

It was the fifth annual Stark-o-Lantern Halloween party, taking place the weekend prior to the actual holiday itself, if only because it fell boringly in the middle of the week. No one had ever truly cared much for the gothic holiday, citing far more important activities to be had, the laziest being “listening to police scanners” ( courtesy of Clint Barton ). It wasn’t until the idea of unity and family came to surface in the team of the righteous did the holiday become something to look forward to.

Leave it to Tony to foot the bill to make it that way.

Property out north of the city had been bought ( much to Pepper’s chagrin ) and the proper people were hired ( also to Pepper’s chagrin ) to make each year more memorable than the last. A corn maze. A haunted mansion. A miniature carnival complete with rickety rides and rigged games. It felt important to provide a place where they could relax and mingle with one another without the “sir” and “ma’am” and weapons.

Mostly.

“I told you you couldn’t bring guns,” Tony admonished, catching sight of the Winghead dressed, unsurprisingly, for the Wild, Wild West. “I also told you that you couldn’t use the same costume as last year. This is just lazy, Steve.”

“It’s not lazy. You really think I had time to go down to Target and get something new?” Sheriff Rogers was holding an unnecessarily spiked hot apple cider and posing casually in fringed chaps, wranglers, a further fringed leather vest, and a crisp white Stetson. Had this not been the third time Tony had seen this outfit, he would’ve pointed out that he could’ve been in a remake of ‘True Grit’ seamlessly. But alas, he was left thinking of ‘Blazing Saddles’.

“Rogers, you’re killing me.” And it was at that point a rare moment of childish humor came into play: Steve pulled the plastic gun from his holster and clicked the trigger. “If I didn’t know it was impossible for you to get drunk, you’d have me thinking otherwise. I have to go make sure Barton isn’t hoarding candy for his kids. Please try to have fun.”

“You make it sound like I don’t know how to have fun-”

“Fun isn’t something you can really fake,” Sam chirped in over Steve’s shoulder, making the soldier jump a bit at the sudden appearance of his friend. “Ahaha, gotcha, huh?”

Sam was dressed … interestingly. Someone had wrapped him entirely in aluminum foil, drawing a very unimpressive circle on his chest. The perking of Steve’s eyebrow must’ve been question enough.

“I’m Aluminum Man. Y’know, like Iron Man but-” Words were cut off at the sheer confusion on Steve’s face. “Nevermind. Hey, you seen Buck around?”

“No, not yet.” He doubted his best friend would show up, not that he was really banking on it. In fact, he was hoping someone else would show up. “Haven’t seen nat either.”

“I’m sure they’ll show- oh mY GOD.” Sam spotted Buck, who had cut his hair short, dyed it blonde and was wearing one of the uniforms Clint had turned down. Sam was immediately howling with laughter, and Steve could not believe the defected assassin was taking a cheap shot at the archer in a parody costume. “YOU DID NOT.”

Buck grinned something snarky, pointedly ignoring the glare from the candied apples stand across the path. Clint was already planning his revenge of the greasy piece of sh-

“I had to. I couldn’t let all the stuff he says about me fly like that.”

“The blonde does not suit your complexion at all, man.”

“Oh good, then I look more like him than I originally thought.”

The trio had a solid snicker, spending time rounding up a variety of sugary goods, spiked hot chocolates ( of which Sam had ordered a “cup of me”, bringing Steve to facepalm ). Despite the time spent with the boys, which was surely a fun time, Steve had kept a keen eye out for a familiar silhouette and shade of crimson. Disappointment was slowly starting to settle into his bones, but more so at himself. He should’ve known better than to think Romanoff would attend one of these parties. Had she even gone to any of the prior ones? Or was her costume just that good? The revelation brought him to scrutinize costumes that hid faces, but he was left with more suspicions than answers.

A hand patting his back brought him thoughts back to the candy corn he’d been taking his time eating.

“Don’t worry, bud. You shouldn’t get down about Nat. She’s never been one to be like … out there, y’know?” Sam had had one too many spiked hot cocoas, but the sentiment remained the same.

“You’re right,” Steve admitted. “It’s not like I had anything planned, anyways.”

This was a lie. He’d wanted to kiss her in the corn maze. Was that too cheesy?

“Yes. That is really too cheesy,” Buck said, eating cotton candy from the end of an arrow. It hadn’t occurred to Steve that he’d been thinking outloud. For a moment, he was thankful for the lack of light in the night air since it meant no one could see just how red his cheeks were in a furious blush.

“Shut up. Let’s hit up the Haunted Mansion.” Sam swooped in, per usual, to save the day. Any kind of wallowing could be fixed in the eyes of Sam Wilson, despite him knowing how much Steve thought haunted mansions were cliche and boring.

When you are in a constant war with every bad guy in the universe, is there such a thing as a jumpscare anymore?

It was a way to pass time, so Steve couldn’t really argue with the boys, who almost always ribbed one another too much to even notice the zombie jumping out of the dark corner in the room or anything. Steve was just thankful that he had a handful of candy corn and two grown children to babysit.

Until they suddenly weren’t even around. When did he get alone in that room? The bland walls flipped to produce mirrors. A whole lot of mirrors, leaving the patriot to stare at several dimensions of himself, bathed in a sickly green light. He couldn’t help but notice that green really wasn’t his color.

Movement in the corner of his eye, and he nearly snapped his neck trying to catch it in time. All he was left with was, well, nothing. It made him think he was just seeing things because of the general ambience. It wouldn’t be the first time. Wanda was banned from using magic within the first ten minutes of her first appearance at one of these Halloween parties. That had been a James Wan movie made real.

Another movement from the corner of his eye, leaving him whirling to try and catch it. Again nothing.

“Ha ha, guys. Very funny, trying to scare an old man. We all know that isn’t happening.” Confidence painted his tone thickly, as if he was absolutely sure this was something Sam, Bucky, and Tony had cooked up in their free time. He wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if that were the case.

Two fingers walked two inches up his spine, though he spun again to try and catch who’s fingers it was, only to be met with his own face looking back at him.

“Come on, guys. Using Wanda like this isn’t very nice.”

Two more inches, and he turned. He wasn’t met with his own face, but rather a neon glowing sign shining through the mirror that was creating an illusionary wall. The green light had changed its source from the bulbs overhead to this light alone.

It was a neon pair of green lips. Nothing special, and nothing particularly unnerving about it. An unseen white neon bulb flickered a skull and crossbones behind the lips. Steve rolled his eyes.

“This is just getting annoying,” he grumbled, looking around to try and find a way out. Calloused palms moved along the mirrors, leaving prints in his wake in his search for the exit. But the further he traveled from the neon, the darker the shadows grew.

He was met with another neon sign, though this time, it took on the crude illustration of a witch face. Rather than look as if it were fixed on a wall, it moved slightly. It would be now that Bucky would tell Steve that this was a golden rule in watching horror movies: the closer a character looks at something, the more likely there is to be a jumpscare.

So, naturally, Steve Rogers leaned in to try and see if he could make out what was attached to the neon face.

Instead of getting an answer, he was met with a quiet and remarkably sinister whisper in his ear despite there being nothing in the reflection.

“Just call me cake, cause I’m going straight to your ass, cowboy.”

It was followed swiftly with a loud SMACK! across his ass.

And thus, Steve Rogers nearly jumped out of his skin, crashing into not one, but two mirrors with flailing limbs and scattered candy corn.

With the breath stolen from him and nerves frayed, he laid in a heap of broken mirrors, fluorescent lights flickering to light above, only to be blotted out by that damned witch mask. He felt so cold in that moment, right up until that mask was pulled back, and the face of a very, very sneaky Russian was grinning down at him.

“NAT?!”

“Did I ever mention that I love Halloween?”

“NO?!”

“Shh.”

“NO!”

She helped him pipe down with that kiss he’d been wanting, though he would’ve greatly preferred his original idea of the corn maze to this.

But he couldn’t help but grin about it the next day.