#heheh i didn’t say that

[messy-crisantemo]

Have this spooky Genya for the spooky month 🤲

[jeena-says-hi]

Scar and Grian:

[kyurochurro]

LATE FOR CHRISTMAS!! But proud of this nonetheless, here’s my Christmas illustration for this year ft the animaniacs! Hope you’ve all had a wonderful holiday season!! 💫💗🎄

[obikinetic]

A shoulder to pass tf out lean on 💟

[chaoflaka]

Everyone when the Final War is over:

[littledreamling]

∇ - old age/aging headcanon (for dream and hob if they were human rather than immortal, i suppose)

Oh my friend, you have just unlocked a side of my mind that's rarely seen but so so feral!

From this headcanon meme!

I absolutely adore aging Hob and Dream. Even outside of a human au, I love the thought of them growing old together. Age continues to exist, even if the physical evidence of it (and indeed, the end result of it) does not. Hob still ages; each year that passes is another year since he last saw his mother, another year since he last rode a horse (he really wants to get back into that and keeps telling himself that this year will be the year, but it never is), another year since he heard his oldest friends' laughter. He feels the weight of his immortality every single day, and it's not an unbearable weight, but it hangs off of his shoulders nonetheless. Dream, too, ages. Perhaps not in the same way; his life is not measured in the same way as human lives are, he does not count each passing second as an added second to his never-ending, eternal clock, nor does he measure the length of the road behind him (or the road ahead of him) in human years. Yet he ages. If learning and growing and changing are all marks of growing up and growing old, then he is doing both. He was not always; for a long time, he had been stuck in time, neither adapting nor maturing in any conceivable way, but recent events (and a certain immortal mortal) have dragged him firmly into the realm of the aging.

And it's a good thing! Hob had learned the old aphorism long ago: change or die, and he had chosen to live. Living means changing; changing with the times, changing outlooks, changing opinions, changing biases. He is a master of change, moving from one life to the next with all the fluidity of a rushing river. His ability to do so is his aging. Likewise, Dream's willingness to, if nothing else, at least see Hob's point of view about change, shows his own aging.

But you didn't send this ask to hear me wax poetic about the philosophy of aging or changing, so here are my thoughts on old, human Dreamling.

Dream is a grumpy old man. He's the old man who worked every day of his life, without break or vacation, and his body is punishing him for it. He was definitely an artist of some kind, maybe a sculptor, maybe something else. It doesn't matter; at the end of his day, his knees click and his knuckles are swollen with arthritis and all of the muscles that had built up in his shoulders have languished in his old age. He can't hold a paintbrush or spin a pottery wheel anymore and it eats him alive with every sunrise. Hob, on the other hand, is the singular spot of warmth and light in Dream's life. Hob, a retired soldier, or maybe a life-long construction worker, has kept his sunny disposition (and, infuriatingly, his fit frame) into his older years. They're the quintessential grumpy one/sunshine one, though anyone who knows them personally knows that Dream has a soft spot for children, and for birds, and for anyone who has a story to tell, while Hob has a mean streak a mile wide if you get on his bad side. They spend their days sitting at the kitchen table, cradling warm cups of coffee or tea, or sitting on their front porch, cradling warm cups of coffee or tea, or sitting on a bench in their local park, cradling warm cups of coffee or tea. They always have warm cups of coffee or tea. They're well-known at the coffee shop, and Hob will recount the story of how they met in that very same shop loudly and at length to anyone who asks (and sometimes to people who don't).

On days when Dream feels as though he can't get out of bed, like his body is too heavy for the world, like his mind has fallen into such disrepair as to be unusable, Hob is the one who sits next to him, a warm hand on his shoulder, and affectionately calls him a drama queen. He'll roll his eyes at his husband's antics, but he'll bring him breakfast in bed anyway. And when Hob is haunted by old nightmares of a long life, not always well-lived, Dream will hold one of their countless books in long, shaking fingers, and he will read to his husband, poems and epic tales, and Dream won't tell Hob that he's not reading, he's reciting, because his quiver and eyesight have gotten so bad that he can't see the words clearly, but he knows them in his heart. And Hob won't tell Dream that he doesn't need to go through the trouble, that it's his presence that's grounding, not the words he's speaking; he'll sit in his presence and let the wash of words roll over him like a comforting tide, drowning his bone-deep anxieties. He'd listen to his husband read the phone book and still find enjoyment in that deep voice and the cadence of his tone.

And when they die, because they do die, they die together. Not in time, mind you, but in company. Surrounded by friends and family, the younger siblings of the Endless family, the children they adopted and the grandchildren, both blood-related and not. Morpheus dies first, his body breaking at the seams. He dies in his sleep, napping on the couch while Hob cooks dinner, and his last words are breathed into the quiet room, asking Hob for a blanket. The funeral is a somber affair, a solemn celebration of everything Morpheus had been; an artist, a husband, a father, a flawed man. The entire town attends, even those who had gotten yelled at from across the lawn or across the park (Dream had taken grave offense to anyone disrupting the local bird population, a story that gets told at the reception with teary eyes and wobbly smiles). When Hob gets home, their entire family is there, warm and laughing and joyful and he can feel his husband in the room, in the people they both had dedicated their lives to.

When Hob dies a week later, no one is surprised. It's his daughter who finds him, curled up on the very same couch, wrapped in the very same blanket, tucked lovingly around him, as if someone else had draped the quilt over his shoulders. She cries, because he was her father, and she loved him, and a part of her had hoped that he would be around forever. But there is a larger part, a much larger part, that finds comfort in the sight. Hob and Dream were never meant to be separated. Wherever they are, she reasons (because they were never a religious family), they are together. For now and forever. As they always should be.

[asteria7fics]

So now that chapter five is finally released, I can point something out about my fics.

I don’t create named OCs for any of my works. If a background or side character has a name, they are pulled directly from the show.

All of that to say… have you guys figured out who Cartman’s girlfriend is? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

[shower-phantom-ideas]

>:3 checkmate fuckers

[lunargrapejuice]

y’all wanna hear the song that’s been fueling my vamp!luc fic

[e77y]

Me today bc I’m gonna say hi to the horses

[talesofruby01]

When you’re an introvert with a guilt complex

Like, you don’t wanna do something, or you feel antsy because you’ve socialized too much, but saying no or leaving feels rude or might make the other person mad or feel bad, so you gotta sit there just dying inside-

[eggs-can-draw]

What if I used up all my art powers to make a fuck ton of art in one day, then queued it so that it looks like I post Art regularly? Hell I could probably trick myself into thinking I post art regularly if I do that lmao

[myarlert]

learned something new about myself today :) idc that’s it’s 11 am :) my future partner is gonna be thrilled with it tho 🫣

[rosicheeks]

Holy fuck that made me so hard

[writer-motivator]

im alive. and think, omg, BACK UP AGAIN ????? by that I mean… writing!!!! the past months…. Have been rough and hit a point where writing felt nothing to me and it was so bad I hated it! Cuz writing is such a big part for me… but while working on this bb project which I NEEDED to complete…. Wow I think I’ve gotten my love n passion and most importantly, WANT for writing back???? It’s so beautiful ahhhhh. Like it’s been a hot while since I sat down and thought about writing so conciously like this while Actually Writing and it felt so nice and so great. Especially when I wrote stuff that felt so so much oh my god. Like my writing heart/soul is SO DEF BACK n im so so so happy. Ready to get that writing log back and to get back in the game heh ^^

[moonlit--wonders]

i dream for a day when 9PM rolls around and i don’t suddenly become horribly depressed