tower fics are so back baby
I love that the FEELING is back? It’s so fun but so bittersweet and I feel like if I don’t hurry up and savor it I’ll lose it like I did back then?!!! I love thunderboltsssss!!!
YOU ARE THE REASON
Jules of Nature
Cosimo Galluzzi

Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Three Goblin Art

titsay
Misplaced Lens Cap
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Andulka
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Product Placement
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NASA
KIROKAZE
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
styofa doing anything
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from Brazil
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@buckysred
tower fics are so back baby
I love that the FEELING is back? It’s so fun but so bittersweet and I feel like if I don’t hurry up and savor it I’ll lose it like I did back then?!!! I love thunderboltsssss!!!
his girls [one-shot]
marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.
Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.
main masterlist
You were careful.
Or at least, you thought you were careful.
For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.
You figured no one had noticed.
Until today.
It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.
No one:
Not one person:
Absolutely no one:
Me:
NESTA ARCHERON I LOVE YOU
Me anytime anywhere: NESTA ARCHERON YOU ARE A QUEEN AND WILL BE TREATED AS SUCH. I WILL SLAY YOUR ENEMIES
me yesterday today and all days: nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron nesta archeron
JOE KEERY by Christian Coppola - Rome, Italy
are you having a fucking LAUGH
@strangerwriters: Happy birthday to the world’s greatest mom!
First light
Summary: Hanukkah is coming up. The system has some complicated feelings about that. You aren't really sure how to help them navigate it.
Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader
Word Count: ~5.3
Warnings: mostly fluff, anxiety, angst mostly from Marc because he’s just like that
A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoy and happy holiday season to everyone who celebrates one this time of year! I want to note here that I am not Jewish, but I researched as much as I could for this fic. If there's anything wrong, or something that shouldn't be there, please let me know and I'll fix it. The reader is written as non-religious and as having grown up without any religion. And as always, please, please, please let me know what you think!
“Flurries,” you point with a soapy hand out the misted window over the sink. “I think it’s snowing.”
Marc doesn’t even look up, his eyes focused on the puzzle on the coffee table in front of him. “It’s not cold enough for it to stick,” he grumbles.
You roll your eyes and grab a tea towel to wipe your hands on. “So sorry it’s not a blizzard, Spector.”
“I’ll take you to Chicago in January and see how excited you are about the snow then.”
You huff out a laugh and cross the room to sit next to him on the couch, plucking up a puzzle piece to slot near the bottom of the picture. “I didn’t even say I was excited. I was just mentioning it.”
“Just mentioning it means you’re excited,” he says, leaning his chin into your shoulder.
omg everything they write is fuckin amazing🧎♀️🧎♀️
I like Lucien in red.
*kisses Lucien on the head* you've done nothing wrong ever pls don't change
Planning
Summary: Planning for the wedding has begun with choosing a color palette.
Notes: Also posted on my ao3. Part of Something More
I know that it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted and even longer since I’ve updated this and for that I am so sorry. The past few months have been rough and I’ve been struggling to write anything, but I’m trying which is what counts I guess.
I haven’t forgotten about Something New - there’s for sure one more part, possibly two, but for now here’s something and again I am so sorry for how long it’s been taking me to get these posted.
Warnings: Surprisingly none - unless you count idiots in love falling more in love.
“Black and yellow?”
“No.”
“Purple, orange and black?”
“No.”
“Red, white and blue?”
Keep reading
so damn cute
sorry but I am officially a joel miller apologist. the fireflies knock him out & as soon as he regains consciousness marlene breaks the news to him that ‘yah sorry you’re never going to see your daughter again bc the surgery is lethal. but here’s her knife as a keep sake <3′ i’m sorry marlene but u thought that was going to go over well? you thought the insanely dangerous and firearm proficient man was who obviously bonded to ellie was going to go calmly? she should have sent ten men to escort him out. thirty. she should have just shot him in the head while he was unconscious. but of course she underestimated how much he cared. what he would do for ellie. bc she knew mean gruff self serving survivalist joel not father joel. she didn’t even let joel and ellie say goodbye to each other. was planning on killing ellie without even telling her for an experimental procedure they had no proof would work. didn’t even give joel the option to see her one last time. “would u kill 1 person to save 100?” they didn’t even allow a fourteen year old the agency to answer that question. team joel
All of the artwork I’ve illustrated inspired by The Last of Us. I’m not ready for the finale.
safe space — s. harrington
pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 1.8k
synopsis: steve begins to notice a little quirk that you possess only when you’re around him. while he was initially concerned, the reason behind it is sweeter than he could ever guess.
warnings: reader wears makeup and nail polish, very very brief implication of sex, reader is implied to eat chicken, near death experience??? (reader doesn’t look both ways before crossing the street), tooth rotting fluff, lmk if I missed any
a/n: my first steve fic! technically it’s not the first i’ve written (I have many wips) but it’s the first that’s going up on the blog. it’s a bit short but I wrote it in a day after seeing a tiktok of girls talking about this topic and I just had to write it for steve! let me know your feedback and send in your stranger things requests! gif isn’t mine.
Steve didn’t believe it until Robin and Nancy had pointed it out. At the time, he thought the notion was ridiculous. But then he started to take notice.
He noticed the way you seemed to depend on him when he was around. How you never seemed to be able to find anything until he found it for you.
“Babe?” You called out from the restroom. You’d taken to staying over at Steve’s on most days. His parents were hardly around and yours didn’t mind as long as they knew where you were. “Have you seen my mascara?”
we deserve more dad! esque steve harrington.
steve harrington x fem! reader
“Make sure you put on sun-screen,” Steve says, turning his head over his shoulder to scrutinise the space between his car and the yellow/line. He edges it into reverse. “Are you putting on sun-screen?”
Dustin guffaws. “I’m sixteen!”
“And you’ll look twice as old as that if you don’t take care of your skin,” Steve asserts. He’s gripping the back of your seat, the hair on his arms golden from the sun. “Seriously dude. Suzie’ll break up with you if you get ugly over the summer.”
Dustin makes a noise that is vaguely scandalised, scrunching his eyebrows in disbelief. “Suzie doesn’t just like me cause i’m pretty,” he says. Though, he pokes around in the back-seat while he grumbles, anyway.
He’s hitched a ride to the fair across town. Steve had told him to bike there— no reason you can’t use your own two legs and cycle , he’d said. But Dustin had come to the push/over parent (you) and batted his big, scheming eyes and worried some spiel about heat exhaustion being terrible for kids, and now Steve had been transfigured into a glorified taxi-service.
(He couldn’t say no to you. Dustin knew his only weakness, and he knew exactly how to work her.)
“Suzie likes how smart and funny you are,” Steve agrees, “but a woman also likes a handsome face. And trust me, you got it, so make sure you take the steps to keep it.”
You laugh. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Obviously,” Steve flashes you a white smile, kindly squeezing your shoulder. Warmth seeps against your skin, through the butterfly sleeves of your yellow sun-dress.
“Your boyfriend is so annoying,” he complains, as if Steve can’t hear him. Steve rolls his eyes. “Do you even have it in here? I can’t find it.”
“It’s in my purse Dustie,” you tell him very sweetly, pushing your sunglasses back up your nose.
The sky is blue and the air is warm and there are plenty of people out to enjoy it. You love July days. They’re ever so sweet in Hawkins, beribboned with a pleasant delight that only really visits during the holidays.
Music is playing distantly in the background. Billie Holliday, you think idly, rolling down your window to let the breeze in.
Dustin locates the squeeze-y bottle and makes a grandiose show of applying it, rubbing it in furiously against his heat-freckled face, as if he’s forgotten he’s made out of delicate flesh and tender bone. Steve perfectly parallel parks. Rewardingly, you pat him on his knee.
“Well done Stevie,” you giggle, tucking some of his hair back behind his ear.
He’s wearing one of your sparkly headbands to keep it out of his face. Though, he has so much of it— it’s so thick and glossy and untamed without farreh fawcet— that it struggles to be contained. Steve looks nice with wild hair and loving eyes.
“Thanks babe,” he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.
“Ew, gross,” Dustin interjects, unclipping his seatbelt. “Get a room.”
“This is my car. You get out of it.” Steve stretches over and opens the door for him.
“Don’t you kiss Suzie?” You ask him, endlessly bemused. Dustin wrinkles his nose at you, but refrains from saying something snark. You are his favourite, after all.
“It’s different when we do it,” he shrugs. “Less… gooey.”
Though you seriously doubt that — you’ve heard the way he talks to her through the walkie talkie system he’s cultivated — you concede. Young love is strange and sweet and new. Sometimes, it’s like you’re the first people to discover it, like nobody else in the world could possibly feel this great of an emotion and keep it to themselves.
That’s how you felt about Steve sometimes, anyway.
“Whatever,” Steve sighs. “Go on, scram. Get yourself an ice-cream or something.”
“Can I have five bucks?”
“Nice try. No. This isn’t the bank of England.”
Melodramatically, Dustin exhales through his nose and hops out of the car, slamming the door shut. He readjusts his hat. It’s one of yours, with flowers printed in the fabric. He looks adorable. “Worth a shot.”
It was. Steve might have said yes, if he hadn’t have given Dustin a fiver two days ago for the arcade, you think.
“Bye Dustin! Have fun!”
“Bye. Thanks for the ride,” he grins at you; pretends Steve doesn’t exist. “Will you pick me up after?”
“No,” Repeats Steve, as he leans over your body to point at Dustin through the open window. “We’re going on a date. To the Farmer’s Market. Walk home.”
“But—“
“Don’t you have parents?” Steve wonders.
“Yeah. I’m looking at em.” He responds cheerfully.
“We’ll come get you in two hours,” there’s a sing-song lilt to your voice that humorously juxtaposes the woeful groan Steve emits. “Ask your friends how they’re getting home.”
Dustin grins. “Thanks!”
He turns on his heel and disappears before Steve can protest.
Exasperatedly, Steve turns to look at you, betrayal swimming in his eyes. “You’re far too sweet on him,” he shakes his head. “He’s abusing your trust.”
Pleased with yourself, you gather his face between your hands. It’s delightfully soft—he’d shaved this morning. “He’s just a kid.”
“Yes. A kid. Not ours,” Disapproving, he wrinkles his nose. It’s very cute.
“You love him really.”
“I love you,” Steve corrects. His big hand collects your chin in his grasp. “I tolerate him.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
You can see him begin to argue. It’s in the way his lips part and his eyebrows meet and his eyes squint. Instead, you kiss him to shut him up. It melts him immediately. His fingers press into your hair, and he hums against your mouth.
“Let’s go find some organic honey,” you whisper, smiling against his lips. “Before we have to collect our kids.”
Steve groans .
🎧— reblogs/ comments are appreciated! they really do help out writers!
Why am I imagining the concept of you/reader helping Steve wash his car that essentially turns into a flirtatious water fight? Wet t-shirts and all because he just seems like the sort 👀
because you are a GENIUS anon, genius!!!!!!!! i loved every minute of writing this | suggestive! (very)
“Are you really going to do this?”
Steve is sitting on the bottom step of your porch, watching you with something akin to delight in his warm brown eyes, leaning back on his palms and enjoying the faint breeze in his hair.
“I will,” you say decisively, bucket of suds in one hand, a big fluffy sponge in the other. You walk past him with the gait of someone who's going to do something really, really fun, almost bouncing around (which you only don't do because you're carrying the bucket in the first place, by the way) and he chuckles, shaking his head; he cannot understand at all how all this excitement is compatible with the simple act of washing his car.
It's a hot but pleasant day, and you had asked him, wanting to do something nice for someone who did so many nice things for you every day without asking for anything in return. Steve had said yes. He even had the trouble to park the car close enough so you could use the hose. So yeah — you're definitely going to wash his car.
How did he end up so lucky?
Steve can't believe how adorable you are. He watches silently as you walk around the hood, carefully set the bucket on the ground, and bend down to dip the sponge into the sud.
It's summer and the sun is high in the sky; you're wearing light clothes, a pair of little shorts that slide and expose a good amount of your skin in this position.
“Oh, c'mon,” he sighs, smiling that smile. "Now you're just teasing me."
Your interest in washing his car is genuine, you swear. “I'm not,” you guarantee, looking at him over your shoulder with a loving chuckle.
You start from top to bottom, so the roof is the first part of the car the sponge touches, spreading suds and lifting the pleasant fragrance of the car wash product he'd brought for you to use. You stretch on your tiptoes; Steve tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes at you.
“Are you wearing the red bikini?” he says as if it is a personal offense to him.
The red strap and the bow at the back of your neck most likely gave you away.
im binge reading steve fics again and oh my god I want him so bad😭😭😭😭
amy how would steve handle a jealous!reader⁉️⁉️⁉️
i have thoughts anon, i have thoughts and here are they:
"Can you stop ignoring me, please? I'm going crazy."
"I'm not ignoring you," you say pointedly, contradictorily still not looking at him as you pull the duvet off the bed and carefully fold it.
Steve watches your every move, leaning against the doorframe. He knew exactly what he was going to say, but you bend down to fluff the pillows on the bed and your dress — a cute little summer dress that made his heart do funny things inside his chest — rises up to your thighs, and the words get lost on their way to his mouth.
He knows you're pissed off. There's something definitely wrong because it's a Sunday and you're making your bed instead of suggesting that the two of you get back to it.
Well, because of that and because you've been pouting ever since he brought you coffee.
It wasn't Steve's fault, really. It wasn't. He hadn't flirted with the barista. Hell, he couldn't even remember the color of her hair, for God's sake — it wasn't his fault she'd written her phone number on the plastic coffee cup he'd — unknowingly and innocently — brought into the house.
He takes a few steps and brings a warm hand to your lower back. You don't acknowledge him or how close he is, hands still working quickly to finish making the bed as if nothing is going on. "Babe," he calls softly, his hand stroking your back in a failed attempt to soothe you. "Baby."
"What?"
"You're still mad, aren't you?"
"Me? No why would I be?" you finish your task and walk to the closet, looking for a clean change of clothes, walking past him without so much as a glance his way. "Just because you got a girl's number?"
Steve doesn't want to smile. Doesn't want to look smug. He really doesn't want to. It's hard — you're adorable and he loves you and he's never had anyone love him like you do, like he's something precious and worth fighting for.
He uses your position to his advantage, striding up to you and crowding you into the closet before you can escape, one arm on each side of you. "I didn't get her number, babe, I told you, I didn't even know she put it there, I swear."
You make a noise that could mean anything, grumpy and annoyed, and when he leans down to kiss your lips, you turn your head away.
"Gimme a kiss?" he murmurs.
You try to move, traitorous heart beating faster now that he's this close to you, but you can't get away. "I wanna take a shower, Steve," you say, still not looking at him. "Move."
"I'll move if you kiss me," he kisses your neck. He is evil.
You press your back against the closed doors of the closet, nowhere to go. Stubborn. "I won't kiss you."
"Then I won't move."
"Steve-"
"What do you want me to do, huh?" he asks, gently taking your jaw into his hand and making you look up at him. "I already threw the damn cup away, but I can fish it out of the trash and set it on fire if you want…"
"Steve-"
"-then I could bury its ashes somewhere very, very far away. Indianapolis- No! California-"
He's almost making you laugh now, he can feel it. There's a hint of a smile on your face as you shake your head in disbelief, at least. "Steve-"
"Or maybe I can go back to the coffee shop and tell her I have a girlfriend. I'll go right now if you want, and I'll say that I have this really, really gorgeous girl that I love more than anything and-"
He smiles against your mouth when you kiss him, hands squeezing your waist.
"You're a dork," you accuse softly.
Steve presses you against the closed closet door and murmurs against your neck, "And you're hot when you're jealous."
i want. now.
31 and Steve because it’s what 👏🏻 he 👏🏻 (and we) 👏🏻 deserves 👏🏻
It’s 2023, we’re putting the pretty boy on the kitchen counter to make out with him. Equality.
31. kitchen counter make-outs
It took about ten minutes for Steve’s role in baking Robin’s birthday cake to be reduced to sitting on the worktop, being fed ingredients, and looking pretty. Your boyfriend might have been a force to be reckoned with when wielding his trusty bat, but he was truly useless with a whisk. The cake batter in his hair was testimony to that.
“Tell me if that needs more vanilla?” you asked, holding the wooden spoon up to him with wide eyes.
He held your wrist steady and obediently licked the spoon; almost immediately, his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Fuck me, that’s good,” he moaned. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, biting back a smile. “I don’t think we can take this cake to the party, babe. They’ll all be trying to steal you from me when they realise how good a baker you are.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, no bite in the words, “They’d try and steal me because I’m hot as hell, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoed with a grin, his hands finding your waist to pull you further into the space between his legs, “You’re a total catch. And I am-” He ducked his head down to peck your lips, towering over you from his position sitting on the counter, “-so damn glad I caught you.”