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I’M NINETEEN

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dunno how to make animations but i did it anyway

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hmmm

two-headed mother

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two-headed mother

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me and who

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marshall’s intro or whateva

⟡ i go by he/it/pup prns

⟡ i mostly repost stuff. i make edits once in a blue moon. same with art

⟡ i’m a multishipper and i enjoy destiel/sastiel as well but i hardly post about destiel because no one interprets them like i do ..

⟡ i’m a samgirl ^_^

⟡ may post ocs sometimes

⟡ i run a server for spn proshippers + mainly wincest shippers.. comment or dm if you’d like to join 😇😇

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trying to remember how to draw 👍

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dean was hard here by the way.

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Sam Wesson and Dean Smith were meant to be a couple and no one can change my mind.

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sammy for my art class :)

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Some of you self proclaimed freaks aren’t actually freaks. In fact, you hate actual freaks. you like the freak aesthetic but shun the freak lifestyle 🙄🙄 smh you’re not a pervert you’re a poser

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no one in breaking bad was capable of having normal, casual feelings for jesse pinkman. they either wanted to fuck him silly, nurture him like he was a baby bird who fell out of the nest, or torture him in a slutty, perverted way. and walt’s biggest crime was that he wanted to do all three. now that’s the greed they talk about in the bible.

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vamp ohhh

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15x09, the trap

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sam and dean eyefucking

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waiter waiter!!! can i get more house md smut with a side of intox <3

I GOTCHUUUUUUU ive been thinking a lot abt it can you tell >:3

warnings: intox, hard drug use, cnc/noncon/dubcon, somno, gaslighting, humiliation, mentions of date rape and suicide, homophobia/transphobia, slurs, sph but make it t-dick, medical kink, 🏠 being 🏠

reader is a trans man/transmasc. anatomical terms used are cunt, slit, and dick/t-dick

so. house has no qualms drugging people for his own personal gain. he’s done it to wilson, cuddy’s mother, a nuisance neighbor, and god knows how many patients. but i don’t think he’d do it to have sex with someone. he has multiple reasons for this, the simplest being that he doesn’t need to.

“date rape is pathetic. if you can’t get people to sleep with you of their own free will, that’s what we call a ‘you problem’. you should worry about fixing your own life instead of ruining someone else’s. or, you could do the honorable thing and just kill yourself, like the noble samurai.”

he also wants his partner in the moment with him. someone excited, responsive, someone who will react to his every touch and beg for more. it’s an ego boost for him.

that being said, however, he’s absolutely into intox sex. it’s probably one of his biggest kinks. he’s fascinated by the effects of drugs, how a little bit of this or a tiny bump of that can augment the experience, either for himself, or a willing lab rat.

house gets off on documenting the experience. sometimes he’ll ask you questions about your high and put your answers in writing. sometimes he'll film the session (with or without your knowledge. i bet he has hidden cameras. depends on if he’s worried about participant bias). most commonly though, he'll narrate his findings into a voice recording.

he's fully clothed with you naked on his lap. your head's been spinning for a while now, thanks to that brownie he fed you earlier. he's got one hand pinching your nipple; the other lazily stroking your cunt, tracing up and down your slit, creating a baseline level of arousal for you. "current time is 11:57, almost 3 hours after ingestion. subject is presenting with dilated pupils, impaired motor skills, decreased cognitive function..."

he pinches your t-dick and jerks it aggressively, causing you to jolt upright and yelp in shock, "a-aah! f-fu-OH! fuck!” you start to leak into his hand.

"subject is self-lubricating adequately—" house’s fingers slip off your t-dick. he huffs in frustration, but gets right back to it, “perhaps even excessively, and presents with healthy erectile tissue despite underdevelopment.” he stops jerking you to suck on your neck and smack your cunt with an open palm. “you get that? that’s big smart doctor-speak for ‘you have a tiny dick.’” he starts to jerk you again. “an adorable, tiny little baby dick. it’s almost like you’re a real boy.”

it's not always a clinical trial with him, though. he’s also into more casual, personal, intimate intox play. things like drinking games or sharing a bong together. he loves pressuring you to do one more shot, take one more hit, let yourself slip further and further. he’s such a bad influence.

as you two get better acquainted over time, you’ll build trust in each other, and house will want to take more risks with you. he likes to call you on the phone at random with ideas.

he leaves you a voicemail, “you ever hear of ketamine? it’s a dissociative anesthetic. used as an antidepressant, a party drug, and horse tranquilizer. let me know if you’re interested, because i wanna give you some and then fuck you in the ass. alright! gotta go, talk soon. later, fag!”

after enough sessions together, he’ll pop the question: “how do you feel about loss of consciousness? are you okay with waking up to me using you?”

he invites you to spend the night, and you’re greeted at the door with some water and a mysterious pill.

“what’s this?” you ask.

“wanna find out?” he answers.

a few sessions like that, and then house will escalate. suppose an offer of a pill turns into a surprise injection in your bicep.

if you don’t pass out, you’ll have to guess what he gave you based on how it makes you feel. on edge? heart’s racing? a stimulant. dizzy? can’t think straight? a benzo. your body’s heavy, and the world seems like it’s lagging? ketamine.

but it’s not always obvious. you’ll be hours into a session, paranoid, overanalyzing your senses, trying to pinpoint what’s different than usual, but nothing sticks out. overall, you just feel… good. that’s all it feels like. no wacky colors or crazy thoughts, just good. but house always makes you feel good. in fact, his mouth is making you feel really good right now. what the hell did he give you? it’s gotta be something, right?

he’ll come up for air while he’s eating you out, “any guesses?”

you’re panting, gasping for all the air you can get in this brief moment’s respite, and you have no fucking clue. “i don’t… fuck, i don’t know. i can’t tell.”

“hm! sounds about right.”

“wh… wha?”

“i gave you a sugar pill, dummy. thought you would’ve figured it out by now. god, you’re stupid.”

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dean doing the clothes shopping whenever sammy outgrows whatever he’s got. he lurks around the local walmart, putting the charm on heavy when the lady stocking shelves looks his way.

he sneaks a set of girls underwear into his jacket, carries on like normal, and when he gets back to the motel-of-the-week and tosses them onto the bed, sammy mumbles a thanks with rosy cheeks and thumbs the fabric, soft to the touch.

dean’s been buying sam girls underwear since he graduated from pull-ups, claimed they were always the easiest to sneak out of the package and hide, stuff in his pocket—smaller, thinner, less bulky.

and all of that’s true, but dean can’t deny the gut churning thrill that crawls up his ribs whenever sammy’s shirt rucks up at the hem and he can see that pink trim dotted with that cute little bow, taut over his hips. can’t deny the way his stare lingers, chases the waistband over his stomach, across a hipbone, eyes stuck right beneath the dimples at the base of his spine. it’s maddening, how bad he wants to rip at those ratty sweatpants, yank them down and fill his hands with pretty pink and baby soft skin.

that night, it’s hot as all hell and the ceiling fans broken, dad’s out at a bar and they can’t sleep. sammy’s frustrated, sweaty and exhausted. and dean’s heart flips and nearly bursts on the spot when sammy shuffles off the side of the bed, pushes his shorts down those long legs and kicks them to the side.

and all at once there it is: his sammy, naked, save for those little pink panties dean eyed up in the store, slipped into his jacket, all for his baby brother.

sam climbs back into bed, flops onto his stomach and burys that messy bed head into the pillow. and god dean can barely control himself, wants to reach out and trace fingertips down the curve of his spine, dig blunt nails into the skin of his hips and drag, drag until he catches on that pink elastic.