#ghosty beth
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bethanygabrielleart · 3 months ago
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HEY YOU!!! I GOT A DRAW THIS IN YOUR STYLE CHALLENGE FOR YA!!! 💫✍️🎨
Click to see the clean image, see the prizes, and the rules! Starting from August 9th until September 9th, you can enter the Draw This in Your Style challenge for a chance to win a free commission! You are not required to follow to enter, but you do need to @ me on this account so I see entries! Read all the rules in the last image for everything, and I can’t wait to see what comes up!!!
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bunnyslize · 2 months ago
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DTIYS for @bethanygabrielleart
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baspingo · 2 months ago
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DTIYS FOR @bethanygabrielleart !
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bangaveragewhitewine · 1 year ago
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Hearts are wild creatures
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Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader
Halloween, 1999
A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.
Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow
Word count: 6.4k
Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.
Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there. 
Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!
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Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here. 
The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.
Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring. 
Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted. 
Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall. 
After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub. 
You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them. 
Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.
Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’
His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper. 
“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck. 
Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night. 
Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs. 
“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.
It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers. 
Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…” 
You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home. 
You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming. 
Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you. 
Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips. 
Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees. 
You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth. 
“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes. 
“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss. 
Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,
Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy. 
But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again. 
All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet. 
Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool. 
“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?” 
“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off. 
“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…” 
You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them. 
Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips
Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday. 
The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.
There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.
He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him. 
The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’ 
Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers. 
Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.
Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply.  An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing. 
Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief. 
Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth. 
“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur. 
Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.
Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver. 
“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.
The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire. 
“Back. Pass me that cushion?” 
As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.
Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together. 
“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top. 
He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip. 
“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.” 
He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers. 
“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”
His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that. 
“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.
Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again. 
“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him. 
For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right. 
“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.
“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?” 
You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”
Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss. 
The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder. 
“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck. 
You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum. 
Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different. 
The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like 
You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.
Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out. 
“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap. 
“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.” 
The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour. 
Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough. 
Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”
“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself. 
You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass. 
Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates. 
Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good. 
“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful. 
There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..” 
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?” 
You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk. 
That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body. 
You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck. 
“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.” 
A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too. 
His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow. 
Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home. 
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck. 
“But you’re so comfortable.” 
Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you. 
The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face. 
“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you. 
“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate. 
He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids. 
Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.
“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile. 
“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.
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Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July). 
Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner. 
Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night. 
You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again. 
You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze. 
You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.
The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave. 
“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight. 
“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you. 
You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest. 
“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun. 
“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose. 
You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes). 
Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.
Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve. 
When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him. 
“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up. 
You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair. 
Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face. 
Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family. 
Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table. 
“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down. 
“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume. 
“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?” 
You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours). 
“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.
“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.
“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”
Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.
As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation. 
You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle. 
Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary. 
“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.” 
“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee. 
“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?” 
“On what, sweets?”
“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max). 
“The nice stuff? Syrup?” 
“Yeah! Sir-yup.”
“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”
“Um. Can I dip it?” 
“In the syrup?” 
“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”
“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”
“Teddy.”
You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.” 
“Which one?” 
“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.” 
“That’s my girl.”
Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.” 
“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now. 
“Magic word?” 
You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.
“Are you practising your magic for later?”
“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”
“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”
Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”
You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand. 
“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task. 
“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down. 
“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is. 
“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table. 
“No tank you.”
You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.” 
“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips. 
Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week. 
After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer. 
“Glasses.”
“Getting them next, chef.”
“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.” 
“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”
“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”
You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.
Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup. 
“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first. 
You smile to yourself and start plating up. 
“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”
When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides. 
“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.
“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.
“Can we do a-a spooky one?”
“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves. 
“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face. 
Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”
You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth. 
“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.” 
“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.” 
Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste.  He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.
The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.
“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet. 
He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s. 
When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created. 
“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face. 
Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”
“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”
You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.
With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her. 
You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls. 
There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and  Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind. 
You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep. 
For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table. 
What a treat. 
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Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 
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And they're in!
Find your teams, Dear Colorists! They'll be your close comrades for the rest of the battle!
And if you haven't joined the required Discord server, get on that! It's where mods will get a hold of you and where you'll be able to talk to your teammates!
Red
Echo-084
Magic Person
Goodfish
Fuyu
Ecto
Furiarossa
BroTheBro
Yellow
Your Overlord
ReadingWanderer
Moon
JBee
Catostrofiqu
Pax
Marzfartz
FishyArtist
Blue
Allie
Ana
Sherry
Syddog
EldritchMoth
Hachi
Gemini28
Balshumet
Orange
CraftyBookworms
Akela
Alixie
Calyx!
Bstarrb
Miles
Purple
Ovytia
EchoGhost
Summers
Lav
Snazz
Skittlespoxxum
Solagearts
Green
Penner
Neighborhood Neighbor
Hayley
Polar
Sienago
Aurora
Beth
Brown
Blobby
AJ
Dream
Stars
Ghostypeppers
TheBooo-merang
Pink
Grace
WingedFlight
Midnight Ecto Snack
JadeNoRyuu
Joy
Minnow
Black
Hannah
Chroma
Trinox
Cloudy
Susi
Ghostie
White
Chord
Raaor
Klfette
Pokie
Cheese
Mayko
If you don't recognize the names, that's okay! Go to the Discord server to find everyone's various pseudonyms!
Looking for the Masterpost?
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crabbng · 1 year ago
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sea ghostie bon, or cheth bon. chon. or beth.
for the @screentonescast draw jam night
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maxisanangrywell · 6 months ago
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back on my simon riley with rheumatoid arthritis shit.
so im getting checked out for juvenile RA, (cause if ur under 28 it's considered juvenile i believe) and its making a lot of things really difficult, so imma project on ghostie here for a bit.
TW: Stress, Stress Vomiting
Part One; Lightning
Ghost has good and bad days. On the good days, he gets to take his N-SAID, probably Celebrex, and it actually works. He doesn't get stiff much, and it doesn't feel like his hands are stuck in a really touch slime and he's trying to move them around.
On the bad days? God it sucks.
He cannot do paperwork. Holding the pen in the way he needs to sign off documents or write his own is genuinely painful. He has to force his hand open with the other when he has no choice but to sign the paperwork. (Or sometimes take his glove off and stick his hand under hot water until he can feel the stiffness recede enough to move it.)
He can still use his weapons, but it's a chore on the bad days. It's too dangerous, and so he's benched until he gets an all clear from medical as they're reviewing his x-rays to see how bad it's gotten.
He can't open soda cans anymore. Can't lift the tabs on soups or bean cans. He can't operate a can opener either. He has to get these things called Tab Buddies for the cans, and then if he has to use a can opener, he angrily passes it to Soap. (At that point, his pride is screaming at him to not eat anymore, but he needs to eat.)
They're still waiting on X-rays and he gets more imaging done, just to see truly how bad it's gotten. The positions they make him put his hands in are painful, and he feels tears prickle in his eyes as he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth.
It keeps getting worse, and Simon quickly finds himself getting angry and depressed. Why him? Why now? He was on the top of his game, he had finally felt just a smidge of happiness, and now he had to dig up the birth certificate he never used and show it to the world the death certificate was simply for his job. To operate safely.
Now he doesn't have a job. His family is a bunch of soldiers who love their job and can continue doing it. He can't do what he loves, bringing terrorists to their knees and making them beg for the mercy they never gave others. The mercy he wouldn't give. Now, he has to confront his trauma and become a civilian. Figure out how to live with such a disability, he cannot preform basic fucking functions anymore.
How the fuck is he going to do this? If it's this bad within three years, and getting worse fast, how fucking bad is it going to be in the next year? Or next eight?
Was he even going to be able to use his hands in the next coming ten years?
Medical comes back with devastating news he knew from the get-go.
"Sorry Lieutenant, you're going to have to be honorably discharged. There's nothing we can do."
He doesn't get angry, he just feels resigned.
So, he gets discharged, and he's holding his head in his hands hyperventilating at 1 in the morning in his flat in Manchester. Crying, sobbing, beside his toilet with his mask across the tiled floor somewhere. The occasional sickness poured from his mouth into the toilet.
Fuck.
He's become everything he didn't want to be. Soon to be homeless, disabled, and how the fuck was he going to find work when fine motor skills is all he knows?
"Fuck me."
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Comment on this Post if you want to be tagged whenever I post this AU!!
Pls like & reblog if you want to see more of this au. :) im really excited about this one, as the 141 are all going to have different chronic ailments. it's a story about hope and perseverance, with a little touch of romance and a shit ton of drama. Also.... Tommy, Beth and Joseph survived the Christmas Massacre, because I said so.
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littles-blog-103 · 8 months ago
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Intro post!
* . °•★|•°∵ ��°•|☆•° . *
Welcome to little blog #103!!
There are 4 people running this blog!
But before we introduce ourselves heres is our dni!
Dni - k!nk blogs (Ddlg + Variants), Anti-Agere, Endogenic “systems”, Anti-Kin, Anti-System, Anti-petre, NSFW blogs, Anti-xenogender, Anti-Lgbtq, Mspec Lesbian/Gay, Israel supporters, Factkin, Kin for fun (Kff) 
More will be added if needed
* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *
Now on to our introductions!!
Person 1
★Name - Bambi // Ghostie when in little space
★Pronouns - They/It/She
★Gender - Genderfae + Agenderfulid
★Age/Age Range - 13-15
★Agere roles - Little mostly but also Cg
★Little age - 4
★Sign off 🌹
★Regressed sign off is 👻
★Extra - I’m Otherkin, Fictionkin, Concept Kin, and a Therian
Person 2
❀Name - Beth/Soul
❀Pronouns - She/Her
❀Gender - Female
❀Age/Age Range - 14
❀Agere roles - Cg
❀Sign off - ❤️
Person 3
♡Name - Bun
♡Pronouns - (it/its)
♡Gender - Agender
♡Age/Age Range - 13-18
♡Agere Roles - Little
♡Little ages - 2-5 and 6-8
♡Animal regressor - pony, puppy, lamb, goat
♡Sign off - 🌸
♡Regressed Sign off - 2-5🍼, 6-8🪽
♡Pet regressed sign off - puppy🐾,sheep🐑,pony✨, goat🍬
♡Extra - I am an otherkin🫶
Person 4
☽Name - Winston
☽Pronouns - it/he
☽Gender - transgender male
☽Age/Age Range - 16
☽Agere Roles - Little
☽Little ages - 2-5
☽Sign off - 🦑 
☽Regressed sign off - 🐙
* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *
Now on to our tags and what they are!!
#➼ ⭐ reblogs - Just reblogs
#➼ ⭐ agere games - Little games either we make or we do
#➼ ⭐ babbles - One of us just talking about something random
#➼ ⭐ info - Information on Agere, caregiving, petre, and age dreaming
#➼ ⭐ outfits - Little outfits one of us makes through picsart
#➼ ⭐ ponytown - Either our ponies that one of us make or we are playing and would like y’all to join us!!
#➼ ⭐ journal - One of us posts about our journals or journal prompts/templates.
#➼ ⭐ asks - One of us answering asks
#➼ ⭐wallpapers - One of us makes a wallpaper to share with y'all!!
#➼ ⭐moodboard - Just some moodboards one of us makes!
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carbonateddelusion · 2 years ago
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HRRRGRJRHDHHFFHF.
lil general content warning for stuff frequently brought up in the 80s universe (child death, murder, abuse, etc.)
things I want to mention before I forget because I don't want y'all falling behind on story update things:
-Dew and Sal? still victims in 80s Jack's universe. but they show up as ghosties later in the hotel, so they aren't cut off from all of the other victims this time
-hotel just. attracts ghosts for whatever reason. I'm not giving it an explicitly explained reason because it ruins the mystery
-Isaac started working at the hotel thing first before getting close to Eddie, nd then Noah showed up
-Jack introduced himself to everybody but Edgar (and a few of the kids) as Chuck. Isaac doesn't like using his "actual" name or even thinking about him, Noah only calls him Jack when speaking to Edgar, Dew refers tohim as "Chuck" when she's talking about her personal experiences with him, but the wider person that is him is "Jack".
-Chuck Young is the fake name 80s Jack goes by, he Does Not Like Being Called Jack by most people
-him n Eli are still twins, 80s Jack's version of Eli (in Jack's timeline) died when bb Jack "accidentally" pushed Eli down during a tantrum and he cracked his head open on river rocks
-Mads is ALWAYS the first victim, in both 80s Eli and 80s Jack's timelines. she's also their half-sister
-Most of the victims of Eli died by strangulation
-All of Jack's victims died in different ways because he makes a game of finding different ways to do it (e.g., pouring acid on them, drowning, blunt force trauma)
-Beth's death was how Edgar found out about Jack being a serial killer. This is very important. This was the huge turning point for him- he found Jack drowning her in Eddie's bathtub, freaked out, broke her ribs trying to give her CPR, and was mocked by Jack for it all. THIS is when things get really bad. He feels an extreme amount of guilt over it
-Jack's motivated by the adrenaline rush, Eli's motivated by anger (it builds up in his until he snaps and takes it out on his victims)
-Edgar ends up killing Jack in a very. very brutal manner. and lies to the kids, Isaac, nd Noah, saying that it was self defense.
-Jack's last few words were smth along the lines of calling Edgar too much of a coward to actually kill him, that he's a terrible person, a terrible father, etc
-Eddie basically takes this to his grave, only telling his brother while he's on his deathbed
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wigglepiggle · 2 years ago
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i had an idea where liam makes a season 3, attempts to have it be the contestants were in a spot ala circle with a mole or batch 2 and grossly underestimated how many of them had lives.
the current cast is:
Glitter Jar (Transfem, she/he/they)- pretty much proxy to Liam, lived in the same world as him (outside of the forest is a world pretty much based on object shows. there's canada, in*n*m*te *sl*nd, g*iky, and thats it), Glitter Jar is his actual fucking name btw. Horror experiencer number 1. Was going urban exploring with her mates before being sent.
Beth Scott/Energy Drink (transfem, she/they)- A human from batch 2's world. Sells TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS energy drinks. Her whole thing kinda follows the dehumanized au. Godt some identity problems mayhaps.
Jane Doe/Ghosty (demigirl, she/they/hir)-The rules of hir world means that she became a ghost instead of going to the waiting room when they died. Also got some identity issues but they were always there cause of hir foggy memories of her life before dying.
oo
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air-rising · 6 months ago
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Beths likes on twitter she cryinnnnn assna isn’t renewing ghostie 🤭
How dare Love Island FC, how could they do such a thinggggfff
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bethanygabrielleart · 2 months ago
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been really busy but didn’t wanna miss out on celebrating my ocs birthday and mine :) so here was just a portrait in a different style for funsies 🎂💙
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mochabonesblog · 11 months ago
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Oh man yeah like, in ep 5 it was "oh man I missed that face" in a very... melancholy passive way, he has beyond accepted diane has gone so I think that rick in "real life" would have outright and quite angrily rejected the not-real diane because he is SO attached to his now family (even jerry!) And I'm not sure morty will ever realise that, that rick truly values him and summer and Beth's and Jerry and will choose his very real family over a "possible ghosty not real but still there enough to pretend she's back" diane. At this point I would put money on him immediately choosing Jerry's life over a scenario where he's with a diane.
At this point I'm thinking maybe I might be the only person who thinks this..?
i know everyone is freaking out ab diane but i just find it kinda funny how morty’s perception of diane is as an extension of rick and not as his literal grandmother. like idk, maybe diane is similar to what morty’s interpretation of her was but i’ll be damned if she would treat her grandson like that
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soughtserenity-a · 2 months ago
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@ner0tic
And let's not forget also that in Rafe's scream verse with beth @bettermonster ( where I think there was a break up and partner switch I don't remember lmao ) the ladies are literally the ghosties in the front with the plans and hes literally just extra muscle along for the ride lmao he dont care as long as they aren't doing something stupid. He does clean up and all the public knows about him is he's a man wearing a sack mask weiding an axe
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Afterwards it's just a bunch of bickering or giggling there's no in between LMAO
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duckybeth99 · 5 years ago
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I forgot to share this, it’s my latest fic! fair warning it’s really long (I normally write on the notes on my phone and I put it through google docs to see how long it is. it’s 27 pages lmao) but it’s got plot elements needed for future fics and also Just Something I Been Workin On For A While so here we go
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clarabellumsart-archive · 8 years ago
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SO IM RE AL EXCITED TO BRING GHOST BACK BUt im also VERY excited for all the story potential w johnny
for example, this half-machine half-magic motorcycle he built that is. his baby and he uses to drive beth around town for fun and also attacking collosal giants rampaging through the Realms with beth blasting magic off the back
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