#this was such a sweet idea!!

[impish-baby]

hello hello!! it is i, 📼 anon!! in your ghost caregiver writing, i saw you mentioned a possible haunted doll at the bottom of it, and it got my brain turning on how a haunted doll could be a caregiver and not a playmate, but then it clicked!! what if the doll isn't haunted by a child, but you think it's haunted by a child (at first). The doll is actually haunted by an adult who was in someway a guardian of a child, whether they have been a mom, a dad, a significantly older sibling that took in the younger one after something happened to their parents, etc etc. The doll was owned by their child/sibling/charge, and so their strong familial bond caused doll!caregiver to possess their charges favorite soft toy after their passing; so they could always be with them! But sadly, their charge grew older and packed the doll away. doll!caregiver couldn't reach them at that point, until years later when they were taken out of storage; they thought that they could see their charge again, but they just got donated to a thrift store with other knickknacks that their charge deem unnecessary to keep around :( And that's how dol!caregiver got into your hands! you popped by a small thriftstore while walking the town, and browsed around, eventually getting to an endcap near the back of store labeled "UNIQUE AND VINTAGE ITEMS", and there sat doll!caregiver! They'd most likely be a rubberfaced but softbodied doll, maybe a rainbow brite or a strawberry shortcake; something heavily associated with young girls from a while ago, but not too long ago, because that's why you picked the doll up in the first place! It reminded you of your childhood in some way, or maybe you were interested in older toys in general. Regardless, you brought them home, and almost immediately paranormal activity began happening. It was small things, like if you lost your keys, you'd turn around and find them on a very obvious spot you were sure you'd checked multiple times, or going to sleep with your TV on and waking up with it turned off. Little stuff like that, which made you look towards the little doll you'd brought home right before the activity began. You were a bit weary at first, but ran your memory back and deemed them harmless. You assumed it was haunted by a child, so you started to try and include it in things. You'd carry them around the house, you'd bundle them up in their own blanket at night, you even got them some little toys from the same thriftstore for them to play with! But that was all in vain, because the doll is haunted by an adult, an adult who's decided that you're their new charge. Whether or not they'd view you as a little sibling, a child, or something entirely different is up in the air, But they do care very much about you! They find it adorable that you try to take care of them- silly thing! they're the one who's supposed to take care of you! You're unaware of the spirit in the doll being an adult, and they're unaware that you think they're a child's spirit. They'll eventually do bigger stuff, like leave out milk and cookies when you get back from going out, or if you fall asleep in a chair or on the couch, you'll wake up to being tucked into your bed. doll!caregiver wouldn't want you getting a crick in your neck! + i didn't touch much on the yandere aspects of this idea, but i fear i may have yapped too much :( your writing is just very inspiring and I can't help but make an entire novel about the ideas u spur on,,, have a good day/night/whatever!! -📼 anon

Ahhh, this is so so good!!! I keep rereading it over and over, you did such a fantastic job with the concept!!

I'd forgotten, people are kind - Haunted doll caregiver x reader - 🧸

You take the utmost care with your vintage toys, carefully giving them baths and trying to give them the love they must have had from whoever owned them originally. It's a labor of love, repairing any tears and touching up paint to the best of your ability, but it's worth it. The newest addition to your collection definitely needed some repairs, face cracked and faded with a body that definitely expirenced some rough play throughout the years.

Once you're finished, you're proud to say it looks almost good as new! Delicately dressed back up, the doll is now ready to be tucked into bed beside you with a few of your other plushies.

Although, when you wake up the next day every single one has fallen to the floor, the doll being the only one left on the bed. You have to apologize to them for the tubble they took, setting the plushies back onto the bed in a way that you hope makes sure there's no more accidents.

However, it becomes a nightly occurrence. That's not the only strange thing happening either. Lights flicker on and off, doors slam, disembodied footsteps follow you, everything points you to the conclusion that your doll is very much haunted. The fact both saddens and makes you relieved in a way. It must be a child's spirit, but at least they won't be collecting dust in a stuffy old thrift store anymore..

They end up with a dedicated corner in your room, filled with toys you'd think they'd like, careful not to include any stuffies or other dolls. It's actually fun setting them up with a little tea party. They seem happier too! Notes crudley scribbled in crayon start appearing, touching even if they were unsettling at first.

The ghost is strangely fixated on how well you take care of yourself, almost scolding you for not eating three meals a day. The next morning, you wake up to your favorite cereal already poured with cartoons playing on the TV.

Mathew thinks you're just the cutest. You're so much like his little sister it's uncanny, but you won't abandon him like she did. He's sure of it. He had resigned himself to rotting away before you found him. You're his savoir, and Mathew will do all he can to give all your care back tenfold.

It's a little funny watching you talk to him like a child, but he supposes that's what it must seem like to you.

You've stopped paying so much attention to your other toys at least, thank goodness. Mathew feels a bit silly for being so upset with the fact that you supplied your love to them the same way, but he deserves it more. It hurts when you aren't looking at him, it makes him scared.

You're trying to color with him now, rambling on from one thing to another. He can't help but mess with you a little, only adding to his page when you aren't looking. But by the end of the night, there are two coloring pages proudly hung up at the fridge.

[mxmarsbars]

he’s trying to help (the treat is soup)

[chloesimaginationthings]

Do you guys like FNAF fan games?..

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[soosoosoup]

treasure planet au, last of the batch (Poppy & Floyd)

[thecmaly]

adoptbduction

-

more windbreaker comics

[r-aindr0p]

Mr. Hunt's sweet true lies

[heavyheavycream]

feedist kintober 12-13-14 : Candy Crush, GoTHICC and Pumpkin Spice

[novelbear]

cute (and clumsy) cooking prompts 🥣🍪

a prompt list by @novelbear ᵔ���ᵔ

"come make tanghulu with me!" "no. we burnt all the sugar last time. you remember? we managed to burn. sugar."

accidentally using sugar instead of salt (or vice versa) and trying to quickly think of a way to cover it up before the other finds out

teaching the other how to use a certain tool (can opener, potato peeler, etc.) since they're somehow doing it so terribly, dangerously wrong.

bickering over whether or not they should follow the recipe word for word

"cheese? i thought you said peas. i bought peas." "...eh, i guess that's fine too. put them in."

setting like three separate timers for different things and then forgetting which timer went to what.

one lying about knowing how to cook and promising to walk the other through a recipe for a date idea (then having to spend all day trying to perfect the recipe themselves)

^ or they can just wing it and chaos ensues naturally

finding out the oven is broken after already prepping everything together

"god, could you stir any slower?" "you try this then!"

^ *proceeds to stir perfectly fine whilst the other glares in annoyance*

having to pause and tend to the other because they burnt a singular finger

"did you wash those?" [very obviously lying] "....of course."

sweetly lifting a spoon to their mouth to taste a little of the food

^ this immediately backfiring because the food was still too hot.

[after the meal is successfully cooked] "so we agree we're not attempting this again, right? "not for a long while."

one ordering delivery halfway through and the other just stares in disbelief

^ "you're serious? we're working our asses off here and you ordered chicken." "we had a rough start, okay? i thought we would have given up by now."

dancing and making fun out of having to clean up the mess in the kitchen

spending the next day in bed together as they had somehow given themselves food poisoning.

[lunaraindrop]

Steddie fic idea:

Someone recorded one or a few of Corroded Coffin's songs and put it on cassette tape. (It could be live show, but the sound would have to be really clear)

In a shuffle, the tape gets played at a party Steve goes to...and he is enamored. He ends up paying the guy who played it $5 for the tape, and the song becomes his favorite.

All Steve has of the song is the one mixed tape. Nobody he talks to knows where the song came from. The record store was no help. (He is, of course, asking all the wrong people)

Steve is also very afraid that he will overplay the tape and break it.

Out of all the Tears for Fears, Abba, Bruce Springsteen, etc out there, *this* is the song that could save him from Vecna...but he doesn't even know what it is really called or who made it.

...

How funny is it that Eddie Munson wrote that song about some hot jock that he had a crush on...

[blighted-lights]

ravage is #1 personal space stealer and heater, 10/10 would recommend having him as an amica. usually he'd be sleeping curled around soundwave's head but the other cassettes are out harassing starscream on patrol, so soundwave's chest is free real estate

anyways send me asks with ur soundwave and ravage hcs and mayhaps i'll draw them soon

[szczurherbacany]

shout out to hozier for creating too sweet and singlehandedly making me motivated enough to finish any art of them

[majosullivan]

Girls supporting girls

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[tummysmoocher]

Having this kink is so funny because You will have a crush on someone and think they are soooooo fucking hot and they will stand there and tell you that they are insecure about their body and you will have to do the equivalent of locking your brain in a straitjacket to formulate a response that sounds supportive and socially acceptable when the reality is that you would commit atrocities just to kiss their stomach ONCE. That, if given the opportunity, you would worship them like they were royalty. And you would do this in both a non-kinky way because you love them and think they are beautiful and wish that they could see themself the way you see them but also in the kinky way where it feels like there’s a feral dog inside of you that wants to sink it’s teeth into the softness of them and never let go. You have to stand there and think to yourself “you have no idea the things I would do to you. You have no idea just how desirable you are.” And it’s honestly unbearable !!!!!

[mroddmod]

little scrapped comic bc it felt a bit ooc to me in hindsight