#fridge blob nick

[fridge-art-nick]

I've been watching the Dana Terrece (and Alex Hirsch) Charity Streams, and have been trying to along with them. Specifically, with the same prompts and around the same time. The first ones, I drew on my computer, because I didn't realise that it would be on a drawing tablet . . .

So, this marks part 2 in the Dana Terrece Charity Stream series (DTCS series for short) - "Stan and Ford Doing the Titanic Pose"

The original:

My not-so-wonderful-take on it:

There will not be a tablet-drawn version of this drawing

I do not like it. I: [

[scary-lasagna]

ThanksKilling [Pt. III]

___ New guests arrive at the manor!~ ___

"Greetings, Tobias." 

"Hi." Toby adverted his gaze from the tall demon and tried not to focus on the paling blood supply to his head. "C-fucking bastard-Come in. Sorry for the tic." Toby mentally cringed. His medicine usually worked just fine for his tics, but alas one has to slip through in the fit of nerves at the worst possible moment. The king’s dense red cape rustled behind him when entering the threshold to the manor. Somewhere he's never set foot in before. 

"Exquisite foyer," Zalgo noted, trying to dismiss the feeling of his height shrinking from the protective magic surrounding the manor.  The once 10-foot tall being shrunk to an alarming 7 foot, and he hated being so close in height to these humans.

 Toby was leading the demon up the stairs and to the library but had to stop in aggravation every time the king stopped to inspect something, one of the objects happened to be a picture of the proxies, with Toby sporting a small medal on his chest. "Tobias, did you know your name means 'God is Good' in Hebrew?"

"Yes, you told me that before you put me in the sensory assault chamber." "Ah, yes, I remember that." 

Toby caught himself before he turned to glare. 'I remember that' echoed in Toby's head. He said it like he was recalling a fond memory. Not only did that dive Toby's PTSD, but he's also now sensitive to loud music, screaming, and strong scents. Slender's been working with him for gradual exposure, thankfully.  "Slender is this way." 

Everyone in the room silenced, and all heads turned towards the horned demon and poor Toby at the entrance of the dining hall. 

"Good Evening husband killer!" Mother announced her presence, crossing her skinny arms over her laced corset.

"For the last time, Madame Slender, that wasn't personally me. Everyone has a part of their bloodline they aren't...particularly proud of."

Toby excused himself before he could get dragged into another argument and retreated to the kitchen to find comfort in his friends. But upon arriving, holy shit, a lot of people were in here. 

"Toby! Come here!" A motherly voice called out to him, and he was engulfed by expensive smelling perfume and black fabric.  "Don't you guys start fucking asking him shit!" Even if Jane titled the group as 'you guys', her sharp gaze was directed at Jeff's nosey appearance.

"Well how else are we gonna know what's gonna happen with that fucko here?! We need information, JANET." 

"Jeffery, don't fucking call me that when we're both surrounded by sharp kitchen utensils." Jane lowered her hand with a sigh. "I'm keeping it together for the sake of everyone else, but I will not hesitate to skin you for a new rug."  Jane straightened her bare shoulders and crossed her arms. 

There was silence for a few moments, and Jeff decided to pipe up "Is there a reason why you hate me?"

Jane slowly looked at this dumb fuck, holding a wide-eyed expression. "Jeff, run." Helen stated, walking past and balancing a pile of glitter on his sketchbook. He didn't wait to see what happened next and frankly didn't care. The glitter puffed in a cloud of sparkling smoke, and Helen casually ripped off the page and pinned it on the fridge at the request of Sally. 

Sally, however, was busy nudging her way through the crowd of manor residents, nicking food and snacks to appease her growing appetite.

"Sally!"

She walked faster and soon broke into a run, but her escape was deterred by a black suit and pale hand already scooping her up to settle on his hip. "Why do I see beings in the kitchen who aren't on kitchen duty?"

"Because despite the lack of eyes, you can see pretty well for an old guy."   Even expressionless, everyone could feel the shiver of second-hand embarrassment when Slender didn't respond. 

Sally, however, was focused on more important matters, "So when are we eating?" Her leg kicked back and forth as it dangled in front of the tall man's torso, and the crinkling of her (BEN's) fruit gummies did nothing to satisfy Slender's depleting mood. 

"We'll be eating in an hour, so please, everyone wash up and put on some decent clothes for dinner. And for God's Sake, get out of the kitchen and leave the cooks be. The last thing we need is inedible turkey." A tendril protracted to aid Slender's busy hands with the door, and Sally was taken to her main caretaker, Splendor, to get ready.

Scanning the room for any imperfections before sitting down, Slender realized he couldn't. The black and red blob considering himself a king sat his unattractive bottom in Slender's prized dining seat.

The tall man approached, as politely as possible, to make him aware of the situation. "I hate to be a bother, King, but that's my seat."

"I know."

Slender stared at Zalgo, doubting if he should pass it off as a crude form of comedy. 

"So get up."

"...No, no...I don't think I will."

"Are you going to be a bastard all evening?"

"Oh, Slender darling! You know me too well!" A clawed hand patted Slender's velvety cheek before returning to holding Zalgo's chin up.

"Christ this is going to be a long night.." Jeff said from the opposite end of the table. His long hair was decently brushed for once, and pulled back in a neat ponytail that way too long to achieve.

A hiss next to Jeff responded in agreement and it took all of this boy's common sense not to scream in the face of all five talons of The Rake.

[curlynerd]

Happy Birthday Dean

Dean yawned as he padded down the bunker hallway in socked feet. He wished that was a sign of impending sleep, but unfortunately insomnia plagued him tonight. He hoped a glass of milk and a small snack would help him along.

But the kitchen light was on, and he could hear someone moving around in there. He frowned. Sam went to bed hours ago. Cas too, since he needed his beauty rest now that he was human. Jack was almost certainly engrossed in his newest Minecraft addiction.

So Dean tensed. He thought about going back to his room for a gun, but he knew it was almost certainly one of the other men, probably also searching for a midnight snack. Still, he crept as quietly as he could and peered around the corner, just to be safe.

It was only Cas, standing with his back turned to Dean, an unholy mess on the counter in front of him, hunched over watching something on his phone.

Dean relaxed and smiled. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he said as he swaggered into the kitchen. Cas jumped, sending a canister of spices toppling over and spilling on the counter and across his apron. Correction, Dean’s apron. Dean’s grin widened.

“Dean!” Cas whirled around and clutched the counter behind him with his arms spread as wide as possible, like he could block the entire thing with his body. Dean raised an eyebrow. Suspicious. “What are you doing up?”

“A guy can’t grab a bite from his own kitchen?” Dean advanced on him, and Cas pressed up against the counter. Definitely trying to hide something. “Whatcha got going on over here, Julia Child?” Dean tried to lean around Cas, who tilted right there alongside him, but Dean could see flour, butter, brown sugar, and a big bag of apples.

“I’m just making a snack,” Cas huffed. His irritated sulk did nothing to cover up the unmistakable suspicion of his body language, nor the panicked flicker in his bright blue eyes.

“Mighty involved snack for two in the morning,” Dean remarked, undaunted. He kept dancing around Cas until Cas had no choice but to either let him see or shove him away. Cas chose the former, though he rolled his eyes spectacularly. There was a large lump of...well something. It was limp and soggy and had large, visible lumps of butter dotted throughout the flour mess. “Baking?”

Cas folded his arms. His black sleeping shirt was a mess of flour. His dark hair was dusted with white too. Dean bit his lip to fight down his own grin at how tragic and adorable he looked. “I can’t tell you.”

Well that caught Dean’s attention. “Why not?” he challenged, staring Cas down. 

Cas squinted at him and turned his lips down in his own very serious version of a pout. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”

Dean blinked. “Surprise? What--” And then he remembered what tomorrow was. “This for my birthday?”

Cas let out a beleaguered sigh. “You weren’t supposed to find out until morning.”

Warmth spread through Dean’s chest. Cas was baking something for him? He tried to squash down the tickling joy and chuckled. “Cas, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but that’s the worst attempt at a cake I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s going to be pie,” Cas said, his deep voice even heavier than usual with petulant remorse.

“Pie?” Now Dean was interested. He looked down at the pastry blob on the counter. “That’s never going to bake right.”

“Yes. Thank you. I was able to deduce that myself.” Cas turned back to his disaster. “I was trying to find a video to help fix it.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “I think you might have to scrap it and start over.”

Cas shook his head. “Nonsense. I just need to cut in more flour. The YouTube video says so.”

“You gonna trust some mommy blogger over me?”

“Absolutely.”

Ten minutes of bickering and one triumphant “I told you so” from Cas later, and their mostly correct-looking pastry dough was chilling in the fridge. Somehow Dean also wound up with flour all over his chest and pajama bottoms. Cas tried to give him his apron back, but Dean insisted he keep it on. Any opinions on how silly and domestic Cas looked in an apron were wisely kept to himself.

Dean clapped his hands together. A tiny puff cloud of flour ghosted around them. “Alright. Step one done. What next? The apples?” He patted Cas’ shoulder and grinned at the white handprint he left behind. “You peel, I’ll start measuring out the other ingredients.” Dean flashed his most innocent smile, feeling pretty smug that he’d pawned off the least desirable task on Cas. Cas eyed him for only a second, suspicious, before he went to work.

Dean first focused on wiping up the mess of cinnamon Cas had made when Dean came in and startled him. Once that was done he chanced a glance to Cas, who was mangling the hell out of his apple with the paring knife. Dean tisked at him. “Man, what’re you doing? You’re gonna peel off your own skin!” Dean reached over and yanked the knife from Cas’ hand. “Who the hell taught you how to use a blade?”

Cas handed the apple to Dean. “I was created with that knowledge,” he remarked dryly.

“Well we all know Chuck sucked at teaching anything.” Cas rolled his eyes, but Dean caught the tiny smile on his lips at Dean’s antics. Dean grinned as he held the apple and knife in front of him with a flourish. “Like this, man. Don’t slice off half the apple with the peel.” Dean demonstrated while Cas leaned in close to observe him. Dean could feel the warmth of his body practically touching him, distractingly close and smelling like his soap and the cinnamon all over his apron. Dean almost nicked himself. He cleared his throat and hastily shoved his supplies back into Cas’ hands. “You try.”

He only watched for about ten seconds before Dean was back to scolding Cas. “No that’s even worse! Your thumb is too close. Here--” And without thinking about it, Dean shuffled in closer and curled his hand around Cas’ to carefully arrange his grip. “Like this.”

Castiel went very, very still. “Of...Of course, Dean,” he said, but his voice was tense and even deeper than normal, like he was doing everything in his power to keep it steady and sure. Dean looked up at his face, but Cas’ eyes were locked on their hands.

Dean yanked his hand away like it was electrocuted. He tried to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and rubbing them over his thighs. “Anyway. Uh. Yeah. Hold it like that.” 

Something quiet and sad flickered across Cas’ eyes, making Dean’s racing heart drop into his stomach. Dean forced a smile until Cas turned back to his peeling.

The silence in the kitchen was heavy. Memories of Cas’ confession weighed down the air, pressing against Dean and keeping him from saying anything more. His own fears choked him. Fears that Cas didn’t mean what he’d said, not in the way Dean wanted him to. And especially not now that he was human, with a human’s feelings, and a human’s experience and all of the mess and confusion and resentment that came with it.

Besides, Cas didn’t deserve someone broken like Dean. And Dean didn’t deserve someone amazing like Cas.

Because at the very least, Cas deserved someone who could look him in the eye when reminded of the fact that he loved him.

Dean scrubbed at his hair and bit back a sigh.

“If you’re just standing around, you can at least slice these,” Cas said, his voice steady and calm again, slicing through the awkward silence and Dean’s pitiful thoughts with the same ease as he cut through the apple peels now that Dean had shown him how. He held out a naked apple for Dean.

Dean immediately grabbed at the lifeline he was given. “You gonna make me cut my own apples for my own birthday pie, Cas?”

Cas’ gaze was unimpressed. “Yes.” He pressed the apple into Dean’s hand and turned back to his own task. Dean made a face at his serious profile, but did as he was told.

The silence surrounding them shifted gradually, moving from awkward to comfortable as they settled into something familiar, working side-by-side, not needing to say a word to fill the quiet between them.

After the third apple, thinly sliced and placed into a big mixing bowl, Dean chanced a glance at Cas. At this angle he could see wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, a clear sign of his humanity. Underneath them the skin was dark and heavy. He was obviously tired. But his eyes were still as bright as the day Dean met him, now shining with a quiet light of contentment.

Dean didn’t understand it 

How could someone look so happy just standing next to him? How could Cas, a former angel, find peace and purpose in doing something so humble?

Yet here he was, baking Dean a pie in the middle of the freaking night. Using his own two hands to make a nice surprise for his birthday. Dean couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something like this for him. Maybe never. Even Mary’s pies were store bought.

Dean smiled as warm sunshine settled in his chest. Perhaps it didn’t matter if Dean understood it all, because Cas was happy where he was no matter what Dean thought. 

Cas must have sensed a shift in his posture, because he glanced over to him. “What?” He tilted his head at Dean. Dean shook his head a little and didn’t answer, only let his smile grow as he turned back to the apples. In the corner of his eye, he could see Cas still staring at him, but Cas didn’t press for more, and after a moment he returned to his peeling. When Dean glanced at him again, he was smiling too.

They worked in easy silence until the apples were all peeled and sliced. They bickered again as they made the filling, Cas insisting they follow the recipe to the letter while Dean insisted that no, it needed at least twice as much cinnamon. Dean won that round by playing the birthday card. As he rolled out the pie crust, Cas made a few passive aggressive comments about how following the recipe saved the pastry. And when Dean countered by looking him dead in the eye and adding even more cinnamon to the filling, Cas gifted him with a rare laugh that made Dean’s chest swell with smug pride and golden warmth.

They fell back into easy silence while Cas carefully lined their pie tin with pastry. Dean spooned the filling into the tin, packing in as much as he could. While Cas carefully laid the top crust over it and finished things off, Dean helped himself to the leftover slices of crunchy, spicy, sweetened apples.

“Damn Cas, I think I’ve outdone myself this time,” he said with an impertinent wink as Cas slid the pie into the preheated oven and set their kitchen timer. He held out a bite for Cas. “Try it. It’s awesome.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to eat raw flour.”

Dean rolled his eyes and held up the fork even higher. “Quit being a baby, baby.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, but he rose to Dean’s baiting. He wrapped his long fingers around Dean’s hand and maneuvered the bite of apple into his mouth. Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his lips move, watched his tongue flick out to catch a speck of brown sugar. Dean’s pulse jumped into his throat.

“Very good,” Cas said with the patient duty of one who was humoring him. “But it will taste much better when it’s baked.” His hand was still wrapped around Dean’s wrist, but Dean hardly noticed. All he could pay attention to was the soft pink color of Cas’ lips as he smiled gently. The dark circles under his eyes, indicating he should have gone to bed hours ago, but he didn’t. He stayed up half the night to bake Dean a pie. To do something kind. Just for him. No expectation in return, just the desire to give Dean a happy surprise on his birthday.

Dean’s eyes fell back to Cas’ lips. He knew they’d taste like cinnamon.

So Dean didn’t think. He didn’t let his doubts take hold. He didn’t allow his own self-destructive fears stop him. He just acted.

Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel.

The kiss was gentle at first, little more than a soft brush of warm lips. He felt rather than heard Cas’ stunned gasp against his mouth, and Dean kissed him again. Dean half expected Cas to push him back. To demand an explanation. To tell him he was wrong about what Cas wanted or how he felt. 

He also half expected Cas to dive in head first. No plan, not knowing what he was doing, only trusting blindly, the way Cas so often did. Satisfaction rumbled in Dean's chest when Cas picked the latter.

The fork they were holding clattered to the floor as Cas threw his arms around Dean with reckless determination. Dean’s bubbling laugh interrupted their kiss, but only for a moment. He gripped Cas at his waist, using the tie strings of his apron to pull him forward until their bodies were pressed together.

Cas’ lips were cinnamon sweet, his mouth warm and inviting as Dean slipped his tongue inside with a soft sigh. Dean let his hands wander, up Cas’ back, down his thick arms, carding through his hair, and soon Cas did the same. They kissed until the kitchen timer started shrieking at them, reluctantly pulling them apart. Cas’ hair was wild, the flour almost completely brushed out of it by now. His lips were wet and kiss-bruised, their lovely pale pink now dark. Dean knew he wasn’t much better himself. The front of his pajamas were now stained with cinnamon from Cas’ apron. He was almost certain there were floury handprints on his ass.

He beamed at Cas and reached for the oven mitts. “Time for the big reveal.”

The pie was burnt at the edges, imperfect and too full, with filling bubbling out of the slits and leaving sticky syrup all over the top crust. But Dean grinned at it like it was the most beautiful pie he’d ever seen. “Hey, when’s the next state fair?” he joked as he set it on the metal counter to cool and turned the oven off. 

Cas was staring at him with awe and disbelief and so, so much love. It twisted in Dean’s chest, warm and comforting and terrifying in equal measure, and for once Dean didn’t force himself to push those feelings back down. Cas loved him. Wholly, unconditionally, knowing everything that Dean had done, everything Dean had been through. He loved him through all of that, without any expectations beyond what Dean was capable of giving him. 

And at forty-two, Dean was too damn old to keep pretending he didn’t love Cas the same way Cas so clearly loved him.

He stepped in close. Cas raised his hands like he wanted to reach out and touch Dean again, but he hesitated, so Dean settled his hands on Cas’ waist and waited for Cas to rest his hands on the small of his back. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He watched the light in Cas’ eyes soften into something sweet and fond. “For the pie,” he added, the giddiness in his heart making it difficult to stay quiet. He cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s great. It’s…” But Dean didn’t have the words to describe how much it all meant to him. How much Cas meant to him. So he leaned in and kissed Cas again, slow and tender. He smiled when he pulled back, and the grin on Cas’ face made it clear he understood everything Dean couldn’t say.

Dean dragged Cas back to his bedroom, where they continued to miss out on some much needed sleep. Some things were worth a little sleep deprivation. But when Dean woke up on the morning of his birthday with Cas resting his head on his chest, looking soft and peaceful and warm, he decided this was the best part of it all.

The pie didn't make it past noon. Not with Dean insisting that it was his birthday and he could eat whatever he wanted for breakfast. And brunch. And lunch.

Sam complained that he didn't save a slice for Eileen, but that was alright. When she showed up that night for pizza and games, she came bearing a tray of rice krispie treats dotted with birthday candles. She didn't even make it all the way down the stairs before Dean wrapped her in a gleeful bear hug.

[wavyplastic]

Precious Metal

inspo’d by an anon/@panchostokes tumblr! i love the idea of greg eating overly sugary pancakes. i switched it up and made greg cook some disasters cuz i feel like he would lol. thanks for reading and happy love week! ❤️

sorry for any errors, haven’t beta’d yet.

———

Nick’s nostrils flared as a warm trail of sweetness danced into his bedroom. Feeling the emptiness of cold sheets on the bed, Nick let out a lazy yawn and grabbed the nearest pair of clothing he could find. It was a pair of briefs that clearly weren’t his; uncomfortably tight but too tired to care. The warm sugary scent led Nick into the kitchen where an anxious blonde moved awkwardly about.

“What are you doing?”

Greg gasped and almost dropped the pan he was trying to balance.

“You’re up!”

“You’re cooking?”

“I’m running a chemistry experiment.”

“You look uncomfortable.”

“So do you.”

“Fair enough, food scientist.”

Nick adjusted his pants with a grin and Greg flipped something that resembled pancakes into the skillet.

“Cooking’s harder than I thought. You make it look easy. And sexy.” As much as Greg tried to lift his spirits, they remained deflated like his pancakes.

“This isn’t cooking, Greg. It’s baking. Anyways what’s the occasion?”

“Happy Commercial Hallmark Day.”

“Didn’t figure you for such a romantic.”

“You turned me into one, you big softie.”

“Hey, I’m tough when I need to be.”

“Okay big man, here you go.” Greg slid a deformed blob onto a heart-shaped plate in front of Nick. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet so these are technically prototypes.”

“They’re great.” Nick pulled Greg into a quick kiss before searching for a fork. Greg knew the Texan was a sucker for sentimental gestures, and he wanted to make sure their first Valentine’s Day together was memorable. Even if they were both working and Greg’s mystery food was not fit for consumption.

Nick poured a little syrup onto Greg’s mistakes and bit down, his pupils dilating the second it hit Nick’s tongue. Any attempt to chew the sandy mixture made Nick want to dry heave, and to top it off, Nick was pretty sure that Greg had accidentally used salt instead of sugar.

“Awful, huh?”

Nick shook his head.

“You’re just sayin’ that.”

Greg studied Nick’s face but he was a master of hiding his emotions.

“Nah.”

Before Nick forced another piece into his mouth, Greg sniped a bite—immediately spitting out the offending trash.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You are such a gentleman. I think I love you.”

Nick swallowed the horrible grime lodged inside his throat and hugged Greg.

“I think I love you too.”

“Did you just eat that?”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to. Can you grab me some water?”

Greg nodded and fetched him a bottle, Nick downing half of it in one gulp.

“Feel better?”

“Maybe with one more kiss. And you have to eat another piece.”

“Done, and damn you’re cruel.”

Greg reluctantly bit into another blob and shoved the rest of it into Nick’s mouth with a sneak attack. The dough made its way into both of their mouths, making them cringe in unison.

After they shared a salty kiss, Nick squeezed Greg’s thigh thoughtfully. He pointed to the cabinets above the fridge and Greg allowed Nick to lead them there. To Greg’s disappointment, Nick just pulled out an ordinary box of cereal. Greg made a face that was quickly replaced with curiosity when Nick pulled a rectangular box out of the Wheaties.

“Hold up. Did you hide that in the Wheaties?”

“I knew you’d never look in there.”

“You’re a genius. And an asshole.”

Nick smiled sweetly, presenting a neatly wrapped package to Greg. Greg gently took the gift and carefully opened it, taking note of the heart wrapping paper Nick used.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.”

“Nick, no...”

Greg rotated the object in the light, fully mesmerized by its golden sheen.

“Don’t like it?”

“Nick, tell me you didn’t—spend actual money on this?”

“Well my parents know some people so I was able to get a good deal. Don’t worry about it.”

Greg was trying his best not to get emotional over a piece of metal but it wasn’t working. His voice sounded like a preteen going through puberty.

“1907 Saint-Gaudens Double Eagle. Nick, I...”

“Love you? Am forever in your gratitude? Know me so well? What?”

No words were necessary as Greg threw himself onto Nick, this time nearly taking him down in the process. Nick smiled and embraced the slim man who was complete putty in his arms.

“And all I got you were these stupid pancakes.”

“They’re not stupid.”

“I guess I do have one more thing. But...it’s more of a performance piece.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah. I can show it to you, but we’ll probably have to move it to the bedroom for the proper artistic setting. Plus the wardrobe for the performance is in there.”

Nick was starting to get the picture, but he needed to be sure.

“Can I get a hint for 500?”

“Give me an N, N! Give me an I, I! Give me a C, C! Give me a K, K! What does that spell?”

“Let’s go. NOW.”

Greg smirked, carefully placing his coin on the kitchen counter before grabbing Nick’s hand and dragging him into the bedroom.

READ ON AO3

[fridge-art-nick]

I've been watching the Dana Terrece (and Alex Hirsch) Charity Streams, and have been trying to along with them. Specifically, with the same prompts and around the same time. The first ones, I drew on my computer, because I didn't realise that it would be on a drawing tablet . . .

So! This marks part 1 in the Dana Terrece Charity Stream series (DTCS series for short) - The Ultimate OTP: Fiddleford/Shapshifter

The original:

And, my first piece:

Obviously, I realized I could draw better, or color better, if I drew through a tablet. I like my McGucket, but the Shapshifter could have been better. :(

- New version coming soon -