#probably will be drawing more of him soon

[mustainegf]

This is a crazy sad idea I had the other night

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁹⁸⁷

I wake up to the pitter of rain against the windows. The air was dead, with the smell of old wood and the remains of cigarette smoke from the night before. The house held its breath. Lying there, in sheets that smell of memories, the leather and aftershave smell with the damp air and cleaving to everything in this room. His room.

James has left his space this way ever since, the mess of records that he insists have some sort of order, utter chaos to anyone else. Guitars leaned against the wall, scattered papers on the desk. Hard to tell, really. A few half empty beer bottles remained on the nightstand, one of them with the label peeling off where his fingers had unconsciously picked at it.

I sit up and blink away fogginess in my head. My body is heavy, I'm trying to move underwater. Really, I don't want to get up. I want to be wrapped in the warmth of this room, in the memories that lean against me from every corner. But I know I cannot stay here forever. The guys will be up soon, and we'll all gather in the kitchen, making laugh, eat whatever we can find, making plans for the day. It's 1987, and life moves fast. Even if I don't feel like keeping up.

Lately, James has been different. Quieter. Or maybe I'm just noticing things that were always there. The way he sometimes stares off into space, his fingers tapping out rhythms for his own ears. The way he lingers a little too long in doorways, expecting something or someone to appear. He doesn't talk about it, though. None of us do. We just keep going, acting like everything is okay.

Maybe he's downstairs already, fiddling with his guitar, a low hum of his voice humming along to whatever song's in his head. I smile at the thought. James Hetfield. My roommate, my best friend, and sometimes... I don't know what. Something more, maybe. Or something less. It's hard to define what we are.

I drag myself out of his bed and into my jeans,the necklace around my neck is getting heavier with the days. The little locket inside, the one I never take off, a picture of him. I rarely open it. I don't have to. I can pull up his face on the screen in my head anytime. Those diamond cut blue eyes, that wonky smile capable of illuminating the whole damn room.

I trudge softly down the stairs, trying not to make any noise. I used to joke this place was haunted, maybe the ghosts of musicians still waited here, looking for their chance at popularity. James would laugh at me for it, calling me ridiculous, but sometimes. Sometimes, I truly wish it were. And maybe it is.

But it's still an empty kitchen. No James, no one else. Just the light patter of rain, the ticking of the clock on the wall. My face droops immediately. He's probably out in the garage, messing with his guitar, or he went for a drive. That's what he sometimes does when his head needs clearing. I'm fine. I'll see him later.

I sit at the table, running my fingers over the grain of the wood in an absent circle. The house is too quiet. Too still. I shut my eyes and try to recall the last conversation we had, but it's all hazy, reaching for smoke. My mind drifts and for one moment, I might have sworn I heard him, his voice calling my name up the hallway. I snap my eyes open and my heart's racing. But there's nobody.

Just the house. Just me.

I shake my head, feeling pathetic. Need to stop doing this, stop waiting for things that aren't there. I'm not some little girl anymore.

But still… I was hoping the house was haunted.

I lie later on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling, the Scorpions poster on his ceiling boring an image into my skull. The rain has calmed. I have no idea why I am in here. I should do anything else, do something else. Instead, I draw his pillow closer to me, inhaling into the now-faint scent of him that still clings to the fabric. I know if i keep breathing it in, it'll only smell like me. And that's no good.

I simply wish that he would just come back now.

I heard the opening of the door behind me, and my heart leaps half a second, hoping it is him, but it isn't. It's Cliff.

He steps inside, his eyes soft as they land on me, knowing exactly what's going on. That's always been him, kind and patient. He doesn't say anything, not for a minute or so, just walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress.

And then I don't know why, but I just start crying. It's out of nowhere, tears spilling down my cheeks before I can even attempt to stop them. They soak into James' pillow like a hello. It's kind of really embarrassing, actually. I'm not a crier. But here I am, sobbing into James's pillow like some sort of broken thing, and I have no idea why.

Cliff says nothing more, but reaches out and gently brushes my hair from off my face, and I imagine his touch is James'.

"He loved you, you know," Cliff says in a voice soft enough that it caresses my slow heart.

My body freezes up. "What?

"James," he says, his fingers still moving through my hair, soothing me like I was a little girl. "He was crazy about you."   I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You don't have to say that, Cliff. I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

But he doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. He just looks at me with those sad eyes of his, chestnut hair falling slightly in his eyes.

"He was gonna tell you," Cliff whispers. "After the tour. He had this big, stupid plan. He wanted to take you out to dinner, make it all special, you know? He was nervous as hell about it, too."

Why is Cliff saying this? Why now?

Again, Cliff says, "He never had the chance." Cliff's voice is no louder than a murmur. "But he loved you. Really did."

I wrap myself into a tight, clinging ball with his pillow. "But he's still here," I choke. "James is… he's still here, Cliff. He's just… he's just out somewhere, right?"

There's such a long pause, when Cliff speaks again, his voice is full with a sadness that I don't want to recognize. But I do.

"He's gone, sweetheart."

I shake my head wildly, eyes refusing to believe what I already know is true. "No. No, he's not. He's coming back. He's just—"

"He passed, remember? Last year. The bus."

I stop breathing as the room tilts, heavy with fog, pushing against my skin, promising to smother me. I remember, yet I don't want to. I don't want to think about that night, the phone call, a feeling of my love slipping away.

"I saw him," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I swear, Cliff, I saw him. He was right here."

Cliff doesn't argue, won't try to reason with me. He just pulls me into his arms, holding me as I break apart. He strokes my hair, whispering soft words that I can't quite make out, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that James is gone. He's been gone for a year, and I've been living in this house, waiting for a ghost that will never come home.

Cliff lays me back down, tucks James’ blankets around me as if I am some sort of child. He doesn't leave, though. He stays beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

"He really did love you," Cliff says again, much softer this time. "More than you know."

The house isn't haunted. At least, it isn't haunted the way I wish it was.

I still wear you in my locket, James. I always will.

And maybe someday I'll find you again.

[intothedysphoria]

Billy’s therapist probably didn’t mean to be patronising but he very much came off that way. Something about being in a wheelchair now made people think he was simple.

It was CIA appointed or whoever the assholes who’d dragged him into hospital were. The therapist felt like he should have been a part of the Men In Black and Billy half expected that he was going to get his memory erased.

Instead, after Billy signed several NDA’s about the time he was possessed by a fucked up alien thing, he was told to draw. So he drew. He drew his mom bathed in the California sun, Max trailing a muddy skateboard around the house. Heather when she was still alive. Neil covered in bulbous sores, just because. He didn’t draw Steve, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t going to get his boyfriend into more shit than he already was.

The man pursed his lips then asked Billy if he knew why he was there. A sardonic answer almost danced on his tongue until he remembered these guys probably had Max. He shook his head no instead.

“We’re moving you out of Hawkins Billy” came the crisp response. For Billy’s own safety, of course. No cover up here.

They were not moving him back to California, even after Billy threatened to stab a guard. California would be too obvious of a move.

They were dumping him in yet another shithole but this one was in Texas. To live with his maternal grandfather, who Billy hadn’t met since he was three years old.

He didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. All he had were Max and Steve’s house numbers balled up in his fist as he boarded the plane.

His vague memories of “grandpa Patrick” were of a gruff, surprisingly fit old man who scared the shit out of Neil. Memory did not disappoint.

Patrick had served 32 years in the Air Force before working as low level management on an oil rig and retiring soon after. He was a piece of work when it came to bending house rules but it came from a place of genuine caution not the desire of instilling fear.

Since the past months had destroyed any hope of going to college, Patrick signed him up for wheelchair basketball. Under the surname O’Connor, not Hargrove.

Phone usage was limited from 5pm until 6pm every day, because Patrick was perhaps overly concerned about bills and was also convinced that all phones were bugged. Billy tried to call Max and Steve every day. And every day either Susan or Mrs Harrington picked up. It was driving Billy up the fucking wall. What was the point of having a boyfriend or sister if you weren’t allowed to call them?

Billy’s aunt Marie had noticed that he was becoming steadily more despondent by the day, so she gently suggested writing a letter. As long as he didn’t use his old name and wrote with his left hand he should be fine.

Max’s letter took about 10 minutes. They knew each other so well all Billy really needed to establish was that she was safe, she was coping and she wasn’t getting too much shit at school. Billy already knew how she’d be feeling in this situation.

Steve’s letter took much longer. Trying to judge how your boyfriend of a little under a year would react to you suddenly reappearing in his life was a little more complicated. Especially when you had to drop in hints as to who you actually were.

Billy struggled through emphasising that he loved Steve, leaving him had been hell and he’d met several actual cowboys since the move. After that he really just had to wait.

Steve sent him back a letter with tiny butterflies drawn on the front. He was always doodling and on their first date Billy had been told his eyes reminded Steve of butterflies. It was a difference from all his past dates who’d told him they looked like the sea.

It was a long letter for Steve. He was dyslexic and despised writing, would constantly need to be bribed with affection to finish a book report but Steve sent practically a novel. He was bored and lonely in Hawkins, had a job in a video rental space and was working his way up to going to college. There were several paragraphs asking about the rules of wheelchair basketball followed by several more asking if he’d bought a cowboy hat.

He loved Billy more than he could explain and hoped he could come back soon.

Billy felt asleep with the letter tucked into his pocket and resolved to find Steve again.

One day.

For @shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 and also @oopsiedaisiesbaby for giving me the idea of Texan Billy

[faceless-ghostt]

well... welcome back to Meme redraw hell ig. Pt 5

will these ever end? idk, probably ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌

(references and rambles under the cut)

I'm still not completely happy with how I draw Thad but I'm getting there slowly, incredibly slowly. Same with Kon, he's not there yet but he's much closer. and I swear that isn't the usual outfit I draw him in, I swear I can do better ToT

Mindless rambles about my struggles with designs aside I've been trying to post more, mainly to get me back in the habit of drawing, but I am working on a larger, not large, but larger project that may or may not have to do with a Young Justice 98 and FNAF mash up and one of the characters is absolutely fucking me over. So I'm just doing easy drawings until my brain agrees with my arms enough to actually draw what I want to draw. I don't think these drawings are things I'll put on the Internet because they are just random drawings, but I'll probably share them to the YJ98 discord server. but I personally think this is a fun AU I am currently making and it will be forced on the world soon, kicking and screaming.

idk why I'm even rambling, probably because it's 2:30 in the morning and my brain is melting from multiple weeks of shitty sleep but ajdgakudgshsixhsv

uh, shameless plug moment, Join the YJ98 discord server that is pinned on my profile, it's fun and great and I want to yap with more YJ fans!

[fullhavelstonearmor]

Am I sleep deprived? Yes. But, imagine the following.

Batman is away with the Justice League. He’s saving the planet from Brainiac or some shit.

Bane is in Gotham. Plotting. Scheming. Thinking about crime, but most importantly, Batman.

You thought joker was fucking obsessed? Wait until you see bane’s bedroom. Dartboards with the batfam. Various articles of clothing he’s torn from their suits. Where they go to school. Everything. He even has the fucking x-ray scans from Batman’s broken back. He knows Batman’s identity, and everyone else’s too. He says nothing, because Batman is HIS to break, and nobody else’s.

Bane comes up with a plan. A great plan. He’s a little cuckoo off venom, but it’s perfect. He’ll do something heinous, Batman will come, and he’ll break his back again. He’ll get that feeling from breaking the bat again.

So he does something ridiculous. Robs a bank or something. He isn’t stopped by Batman though. It’s Nightwing. He remembers beating Batman when Dick was a boy. He remembers Dick beating him for the first time. He turns on the venom.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t see the broken body of a teen, and he’s got several bruises. (Yes, he forgot Nightwing is a grown ass man now. Venom, dude.) He’s also in an entirely different part of Gotham. He can infer that he lost. It doesn’t matter. Batman didn’t arrive for Bane, so that means Batman isn’t here. Now how could Bane get to Batman when he comes back?

Obviously he could beat up Alfred, or graffiti crime alley, or something minuscule that just warrants him an extra hard beating when Batman finds out. So what if… he hurt the entire Batfam for something they couldn’t beat him for? What if he attacked their pride, and not their spines?

Commissioner Gordon, sits, and stares at the bat signal. He flicks it on. He always does this, every night, to see if Batman came back and, if he didn’t, give whatever info needed to Dick or Jason. Whoever lost the coin flip. He didn’t. He flicks it off, and just past where the beam of light had started, Bane is there. Or, he tried to get there. Do the ominous thing. He is more or less still climbing over the ledge of the roof. Bodybuilding doesn’t exactly make you an acrobat, okay?

Gordon, logical individual he is, draws his gun. Points it at Bane. Bane eventually crawls up and stands tall. There is a dumb little beak on Bane’s mask. He says that he is “The Hawk.” Gordon laughs at him. Bane says he wants whatever file he was going to give to the bat family member. Gordon thinks it’s stupid of him to make such a demand. So Bane mentions Barbara. That he knows her secret. Gordon knows it too, of course. He’s been in her bedroom, and she just sort of has an entire stand for her batgirl suit in the closet. Bane knowing this intimidates Gordon. Gordon shouts threats, and Bane calmly reinstates that he can be trusted. He’s never broken Batgirl’s spine. Gordon doesn’t know what Bane’s doing. He does, however, begrudgingly hand over a Joker case file.

Joker is plotting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s obsessing over Batman, but he’s thinking about how to get to him like Bane would had Nightwing not clocked him on the head a little too hard. He thinks he’ll kidnap little Damian and see how far the others will get to rescue him. He of course, doesn’t understand that kidnapping Damian isn’t easy, but you know, definition of insanity.

Outside though, a group of goons see Batman, but realize that it’s not Batman. For one, no bat ears. For two, he’s fucking jacked. Like, Batman is big but not 6’8” tall. And finally, he’s standing at the entrance, in plain sight. And soon, they breath a sigh of relief. It’s bane. Boss probably invited him for the plan. Bane steps out of the darkness. They laugh at him as he calls himself “The Hawk” and denies being Bane.

So Bane counts. He does things Batman wouldn’t. He breaks an arm. Eighteen muggings stopped. A leg. Five bank robberies prevented. A big ass kick in the nuts. A million potential child abuse victims gone forever.

Joker continues plotting and laughing, when Bane jumps through his skylight. Bane says he’s “The Hawk.” Joker laughs at him again. So Bane counts.

As he throws Joker’s crippled, still laughing body from his van and through a GCPD window, he thinks about how many lives he’s saved. Probably more than Batman will the first week of arriving back home. He laughs to himself. He LIKES being better than Batman at his own game.

When Batman returns, chaos ensues. He’s confused as all hell when Alfred tells him everything. It’s been a month, and Gothamite criminals felt a fear like they haven’t since Batman admittedly got a bit softer. He goes to congratulate Bane. Not in some spectacle, but in his gloomy way. For the first time in a while, he makes a mistake. When congratulating Bane, he looks away, exposing his back. So Bane counts.

Guys can you tell I love Bane?

[laughterfixs]

He’s here! Meet Cab Callico. (One of) my Welcome Home ocs!

This smooth swinging cat loves jazz and can often be found blasting that lil horn throughout the neighborhood. He’s pretty chill and laid back, as most cats are though also a showboat.

More often than not you’ll hear him be called Cabby, Cab, Cal or Cali. He appreciates any kind of sweet nickname made for him. But if you really want to make Cab’s day, dance to his music and he’ll wanna be your pal.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Oooo I love the way you draw Jeff he's cute <333

I hope I did Jeff justice.. gotta love tired men

[wildflowercryptid]

i'm about to pass out at my desk, but have this stupid ass doodle i did before i go sleep.

[meamiiikiii]

imagine if isa's confession kept getting interrupted in increasingly bizarre ways…. ASFASDASF

((this stems from a stream silly!! with my friends!! we are streaming now!! its the finale!! info rbed in a lil bit!! yeah thats it!!))

[aria-greenhoodie]

I fucking HATE them.

Click for Quality!

[demaparbat-hp]

The Painted Lady turned around slowly, deliberately, and stared right through each ghost present in the room. Then, she raised her hands in a graceful arc, pointed loosely at the ceiling, and chanted, “Well, off you go.” She made a shoo, go away gesture, the spirits disappeared, and—wait. The spirits disappeared.

Izumi comes back in For the Spirits Chapter VI: Dream of You. Zuko has a mild panic attack and her upbeat attitude does not help him (or does it?).

Just what is she up to? And what is the meaning behind the blue eyes from Zuko's dream?

[thefablefoxart]

More red dead ponies :D

[smollmilly]

Achievement unlocked!

Congratulations, you successfully confused the Dealer!

[yesandpeeps]

HEY HI HELLO 💙

I absolutely need to see more of your rain design!!! I am absolutely in love and just have to ask if fanart is allowed as well.

Looking at him has cured me.

Life's good.

Rain with a side of Mountain for you!! I’m glad you enjoy him sm 💌

Fanart?? Of one of MY DESIGNS?? PLEASE! Please if you do, tag or DM it to me so I can see🥺❤️

[skrunksthatwunk]

other half

redraw screenshots taken from this post i made a while back ignore that i forgot to actually link it for like an entire day

[yippee-optimistically]

from this concept:

I now have a very cool, very soft, and entirely hand-made 2017 Louie plush !!!!!!

Very silly tail ⬇️

He has a completely functional pull-apart jacket zipper !!!

Also completely functional: the pockets 😼

And here is also a closeup on the little phone

He is made up almost entirely of fleece, all hand-sewn. His shirt and some of his eyes are felt (also the scar on his foot). He's stuffed with polyfill . He's weighed down with lentils 😭 His pattern is made custom by me :) I'm not sure exactly how long he took, but I'd guess some amount of months. Maybe 2, but maybe only a few weeks of collective actual work days

He does also have a dog toy type squeaker in him

[mango-peach-strawberry]

You can do it!