Laughing, crying, screaming. I won Dime’s second chance auction for Marvel Trumps Hate. I gave her a prompt (werewolves because OBVIOUSLY) and she has knocked it out of the park.

If you like dark romance, werewolves, and just a well written fic then PLEASE go read it. It’s amazing so far. I can’t wait to see what happens next. And it deserves alllllllll the love. Mind the tags!

Here he is! Another wonderful Bucky cross stitch, this time by artist Liz K Parkes (@eklixio). This was done for Marvel Trumps Hate 2022 and my auction winner was quite patient with me considering I started this in April 2023. I love that we have access to so many wonderful fan artists and that they are so gracious with sharing their art. Please support our fan artists!!

New board drop!! This one accompanies a cutie one shot by the ever-delightful @ineffable-snowman in which Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes are just a couple of guys who say 'i love you.' :)

CW: slight Brave New World spoilers within fic.

Made for @bulkyphrase who won Marvel Art Party for Marvel Trumps Hate #1072

Word count: 1,367

Rating: E

Summary: After a hard evening, Jake helps Marc find their body again.

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All my MTH auction fills went out in today's mail. Here's the second: Strike Team Delta (Hawkeye and Black Widow) fridge magnets.

For @marveltrumpshate 2020 for my second bidder, BritBrit99 <3

Original Fic: Log Cabin / Camping by @deisderium

Rating: T

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Audio Length: 31 minutes

Summary:

The ocean sang to him. It sang of life, and of food, and of intruders, and of loneliness. It sang of eternity, and desperate warmth, and the melody of salt. It did not sing of brothers. It did not sing of sisters. It did not sing of family, or relatives, or brethren. Those were faded memories now, drowned in blood, massacred by monsters. Twitching his tail, Steve crossed his arms and continued his aimless drift amidst the aquamarine hues of the water. There was a time for action, he thought, and a time for heroics. Frequently there was a time for pondering. Right now, as so many of his moments had been of late, was a time for dramatics. Steve flicked his fingers outwards and watched the remnants of the oyster shell disperse, meaningless, along the effervescent bubbles of displaced water. He swallowed again, the slimy meat of the thing still very much present in the back of his throat.  He despised oysters.