#who needs sleep anyways?

[hotgirlsreadsmut]

Should definitely be asleep instead Ima keep fantasizing about ✨him✨

[cheyandyukisystem]

More of OSDD SANS! Gave them some pins on their jacket, and a purple cloud necklace thing!

There are no thoughts behind those eyes... Or are there?

[limbel]

✨ werepire ✨

[lotus-pear]

HIII SORRY FOR NO NEW ART have some concept sketches for the fic i'm working on instead

[casdeans-pie]

Dean's ribs are aching.

He presses a hand against his skin, feeling the solid bones under his palm, and tries to imagine the ornate carvings running across them - remembers what the x-ray looked like. But his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, in the center of his chest, and the pleasant burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.

A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.

It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.

When he exits the room quietly, hoping to get some air and clear his head, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean yelps, then catches his volume, glances at the room behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Cas, for once, looks startled and a little guilty. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice rumbling quietly, "my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning."

"Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You were kind of loitering."

Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it looks almost human. "I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is" - he squints his eyes - "creepy."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "'Cause it is."

Cas frowns. "And I can no longer sense either of you due to your sigils, so..."

(Dean presses his hand to his chest, echoes of the pleasure-pain running through his ribs.)

Cas's eyes flick down at the movement, but snap back up before Dean can put a name to the expression that passes over Cas's face. "So I have been watching over you... both of you... from outside your room instead. While I still know your current location," he adds sadly.

"Keeping tabs on us like this is still creepy Cas," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. In fact, he's surprised to realise that he really doesn't mind the idea of Cas watching over him- them.

"I can no longer sense you," Cas repeats, more upset this time.

A blue neon sign for the motel shines from above them, casting a moody blue light over Cas - catching the tips of his messy hair, and lighting up his eyes so that they're almost glowing. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache.

Dean grips the shirt over his chest in a tight fist.

Again Cas's gaze flicks down.

"What do they say?" Dean says so quietly it's nearly just a breath.

Cas must understand what Dean means, even though what he said makes no sense, because he replies, "It means you are to be kept away from all the eyes of the Angels, and none have permission to know of your location or gaze upon you." Cas reaches a hand up, suspends it in the air, and then lets it fall back to his side.

Dean feels a pulse race through his bones as he impulsively reaches for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing it down firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.

"I give you my permission," Dean says quietly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them.

Cas's eyes are wide and Dean feels his hand shaking. "You..." he visibly swallows and licks his lips. "You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. And I know that means jack to symbols literally carved onto my bones, but it means you physically checking in with me if you want to know where we are - use your cellphone - and if I text you our motel room, and you're not, y’know, doing rebel Angel stuff, you can be our lookout." Dean feels silly all of a sudden and drops Cas's hand, stuffing his own into the pockets of the sweatpants he shoved on before he left the room. "And if I can't sleep, maybe we can talk outside again like tonight. Or whatever."

After a beat of pure silence the light on Cas's face from the sign seems to intensify and Dean can suddenly hear it buzzing.

The handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.

"I would like that," Cas rumbles, a gentle smile on his lips.

Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. "Okay. Well. Good talk. I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas." Dean doesn't want to call what he's doing running away, but he certainly does a good impression of it when he turns around and ducks back into the room.

A soft, "Goodnight, Dean," follows him inside before the door clicks shut behind him.

[coloredcompulsion]

Mithrun being a mostly autonomous disabled person with caretakers is incredibly important to me, building up routine habits in order to "fully function" while also still requiring help is so real tbh

[mossy-box]

[TW: slight blood]

Peepaw Leo sad hours.

[imaredshirt]

Give me a Stan who thinks Fiddleford doesn't know how to throw a punch, much less defend himself in a fight with your average goon, so one morning he takes it upon himself to show the nerd a few basic jabs and hooks and maybe an uppercut or two behind the cabin, because let's face it, there's gonna be a time when Stan can't be there to take a hit for the guy or defend his nerd butt. So he's gonna teach him some stuff for his own peace of mind.

Fiddleford just kind of genially goes along with it, following Stan around the back of the cabin and watching with hands on his hips and a smile as Stan gets into position.

"This is one of the most basic punches in the world, so pay attention, 'cause I'm not gonna show you again," Stan says, knees slightly bent and fists up.

Fidds nods. "You've got my full attention, Stanley."

Stan isn't sure if he's imagining the way Fidds is eyeing him up and down, but he automatically flexes his arms a little more than he needs to. Up ahead, Ford is sitting on a tree stump and taking samples of the air or something (Stan had stopped listening to Ford's explanation once his words went from interesting to Big Science Shit that Stanley Does NOT Care About) and he's watching them with this amused grin, rolling his eyes skyward when Stan won't stop flexing and showing his arms off.

Stan ignores him and rolls his shoulders before jabbing his fists forward in a quick one-two. "There - you catch that?"

Fidds has got his arms crossed now and gives Stan a thumbs up. "Sure did!"

"See, just like this," Stan says, and shows him again despite saying earlier that he wouldn't.

He shows him a few more punches, going over each one a couple times before telling the engineer to mirror him, even getting in close to adjust the guy's scrawny arms and balled fists. He's being real professional about it and everything and doesn't understand why Ford keeps grinning and shaking his head at them, which is making him a little incensed but he stamps it down because Fidds is watching him with this nerdy, dopey smile while letting himself be maneuvered around and he's gotta learn to defend himself 'cause Stan can't stand the thought of some jerkwad wiping that smile off the nerd's face.

"See," he says near the end of the lesson, tapping his fist right against Fidds’s chin. "Do it right and your fist'll hit right here."

Fidds tilts his head a fraction at the touch. "Well alright then, seems easy enough."

"Yeah, like I said, if you do it right. Gimme your hand-" he takes Fidds’s wrist and taps the guy's balled fist against his own stubbly jaw. "Right here. You got that?"

Fidds nods. "Sure do!"

"Good." Stan drops Fidds’s wrist and gets into position again. "Then come on - lay one on me."

Fidds pulls back and blinks at him. "Come again?"

"Hit me!" Stan taps his jaw. "Right here!"

The guy suddenly looks nervous and galnces over at Ford for help. "Hit you? Stanley, I don't think-"

This is what Stan means. Fidds isn't always gonna be able to look to him or Ford to save him. He gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought of Fidds facing off against some asshat on his own, and that alone is enough to keep him from letting the guys off easy, if only to get rid of the weird feeling. Maybe a bit selfish but he doesn't care.

"Ah, come on, one little punch ain't gonna hurt ya, Fidds."

"I'm not worried about me," Fidds says, and then frowns when Stan barks a laugh.

"You think you're gonna hurt ME?"

Fidds is still frowning when Ford calls over in an amused, warning tone, "This is not a good idea, Stanely!"

"Just worry about your air test or whatever and leave us alone," Stan calls back. Ford shrugs and scribbles something in his journal, and when Stan turns back to Fidds, Fidds is finally getting into position.

He looks unsure, watching Stan nervously as Stan stands before him with his arms crossed.

"Hey, not bad form - you ready?"

"Well, I suppose so," Fidds says, accent coming in a little thicker than before. "Stan, if you're sure, I should probably warn ya-"

"Don't tell me nothing, just punch me!"

Fidds presses his lips into a line and throws his fist - and jabs Stan on the chin just hard enough to tilt Stan's head half an inch to the side.

"That's it?" Stan guffaws and shakes his head. "That was barely a tap!"

"I don't wanna hurt ya!" Fidds says, sounding so conflicted that Stan gets this urge to pull him into a headlock and ruffle his hair and drive the worry away.

Instead he riles him up.

"Please," he says. "Fidds, look - one of these days I'm not gonna be there to take a hit for you, and then what're you gonna do? Just let some jerk punch ya around?"

Fidds looks slightly perplexed. "Where is this all comin from? No, Stanley, I am NOT gonna just let some jerk punch me around."

"Good! So you gotta learn to defend yourself!" Fidds still looks unsure, so Stan tries a different angle. "Okay, how 'bout this - what if some jerks are beating up on me and Ford, huh? You're just gonna let em?"

Fidds looks up. "What? No, I am not!"

"You're gonna defend us?"

"Dangnabbit, Stan - of course I am!"

"Not gonna let us get our teeth kicked out?"

"What!? No!"

"Then show me!" Stan slaps a hand against his own chin. "Right here, come on! I'm some jerk who just threw your friend Stan to the ground and I'm about to kick him in the gut, what're ya gonna-"

The blow lands hard. Stan's head jerks to the side and he's thrown off balance, and he sees actual stars before his vision clears again and he realizes he's crumpled on the ground. His head swims as hands pull him around onto his back.

"Mother o pearl!" Fidds gasps. He's got his hands on Stan's face, careful touch at complete odds with the punch he'd just landed in the same place. "Are you alright? I am so sorry! I hit ya and you weren't even ready and - you just got me so riled up and I tried to tell ya and I shoulda said earlier instead o just lettin ya show me all those moves, but I just wanted to, well - goddangit, Ford, this ain't funny."

Ford's laughing as he comes up behind them, looking down at where Stan is staring kinda dazedly up at Fidds, who's kneeling by his side in the cool grass. "We did try to tell him, Fiddleford."

"Tell me what?" Stan demands. His jaw is already aching but Fidds’s hands feel kinda good so he doesn't tell him to move.

"Fiddleford was a boxing champion back back in his hometown," Ford says.

Stan blinks. "Bwuh-?"

"Not much of a champion," Fidds says with a wince, but he's blushing a bit as he goes on, "It was never anythin official, but - well, I did win more than a few matches at some backyard parties, see, and - well, people usually don't think I got any hittin power or can defend myself, but my Ma's been all too happy to teach me since I was little, and-"

The guy's rambling, and Stan quits being able to understand what he's saying half way through cause the accent is coming in thick and Ford’s chuckling and standing there looking proud of his best friend and Stan’s a little worried that he's still jarred from the hit, cause when he looks at Fidds kneeling there, one hand one Stan's chest and the other bashfully rubbing his neck while he rambles on - he's still seeing stars.

Later, while Stan sits in the living room with an bag of ice in his jaw and Fiddleford sitting next to him, still rambling about all the times he'd knocked a few guys into the mud in some backcountry hoedown get-together or whatever, Stan can lean back and relax and grin, knowing Fidds is gonna be just fine.

He can't wait to teach him wrestling.

[tianhai03]

happy re4r launch day :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hey, I had a thought for the fantasy au! So on one of the previous versions of the WH website, there was a rhyme for the show that went:

A house is a place with four walls and a floor,

with a ceiling above and a lovely front door.

There's a bed to cradle you safely at night,

and windows to bring in the morning sunlight.

Your house is a mirror of just who you are,

A reflection that tells you to never stray far.

Which I thought might make a good incantation for when Wally properly summons Home (I can't remember if that's ever required for Warlocks but hey, it's still a fun poem regardless).

ohhhh this. i like this...

bonus og sketch! big ol eyes...

& no capalet because uhhhh eh nah and also i wanted Home's pendant to be on full display!

[alluralater]

as a lesbian there is something beautiful about the simple act of draping my body over another. as if i am the curtain, and you the stage. protection and safety. my breasts to your back. this is soft space, soft place. warmth on cold nights. you are humming your satisfaction against your forearms laid overtop each other. the tip of my nose grazing the back of your neck, silently taking in the smell of your hair. you can feel and hear mine brushing across your shoulders, murmur of sound. “can i kiss you here?” it is a hollow question to some but to me it is sincere whisper. i know that i could, i know you are patiently awaiting the press of my petaled mouth to the spot just beside the corner of your jaw and below your ear— but i want to hear you say yes. i want to watch your tongue appear to wet your lips as you allow me to worship this place where your love lies, and gives itself to me. trust that i will care for you, keep you safe. all you must do is tell me that i can. i begin the slowly building rise. kissing the back of your shoulder gently, affording you the pleasure of feeling the fullness there. every inch of you should know me, intimately. relaxed sigh of yearning in your throat. it is one thing to nurture, to care. to attach ourselves in all ways, and always. is this love? you taste of every sweet indulgence i have left out of my mouth for the past twenty years, for i have feared the ways in which it could rot me from the inside outward. is this love? to look down at you, feel your skin against mine, your heat and your affection and your vulnerability freely given to me, this must be— “yes. kiss me there. everywhere.” love.

[nelkcats]

Ghost children and the worthless treaty

The DC dimension had faced multiple dangers: invasions, threats, multiple ends of the world, demons. And yet what finally defeated the heroes were children.

The Ghost King was the one who took care of the children for the most part (because he understood them). Which was a terrible idea considering he was a teenager himself and all of his knowledge was pretty skewed towards his own children. Another thing to take into account: his two children were 24 and 14 years old (but not really? He said it was complicated)

So when the Justice League finally contacted him about establishing an alliance, the king gave them a test, that if they completed it they would establish a peaceful alliance immediately and he would owe them a favor. Danny didn't mind making alliances but he needed a few days off from his own children.

When they heard of the test, the heroes accepted, trusting in his abilities. Take care of children? Piece of cake, they had Young Justice and it wouldn't be much different. The king smiled with all his fangs and told them to take care of his children's friends as well. To which Constantine had a horrible premonition.

The League did not expect the problem that would be keeping "Dan and Dani" Phantom in check. Along with Youngblood and Klemper. The four of them much preferred Danny's care, and were not at all thrilled with the situation.

The appearance of the ghostly "teenagers" didn't make it any better, and Batman began to question if it was worth it. Dan Phantom claimed that it could be worse, since he was technically "grounded" and couldn't hurt anyone. Dani teased him about it.

Constantine knew it wasn't worth it.

[virtualpeople]

oh boy 3am! time to attempt to recreate characters from video games that don't even have a release date yet based on only a handful of slightly blurry reference pictures in the format of the sims 2™! yeah!

[prostocupoftea]

finally. i am free. now have this map part i was doing for whole of last month

more like last two weeks bc of how i procrastinated the shit out of it :')

also yes this is the same map as this post. ghfhgfdjh i hove their part so much go look if you haven't (which you statistically probably have)

anyways. *hypnotizes you into liking it*

Also woe! backgrounds under the cut! too much effort went into split second stuff so now you have to see it!

windows startup backround is... significantly lower-effort than other ones (: mostly bc it was made last and i got laizy, also bc i do not like painting nature

first one is now my profile top bc i like i so much

second was good to hide stuff in

and others are... there, i guess. my energy ran out for them unfortunately lol

[lilithofpenandbook]

Seriously how can M*r*uders stans like random Slytherins (who tf are Evan Rosier, Pandora (is that Luna's mum and why tf is she Evan Rosier's twin in half of these), and I don't even want to discuss Regulus) and make them Actually Misunderstood Good People Who Were Forced Down That Path when at least one of them *coughreguluscough* was obsessed with Voldemort

And then turn around and make Snape an awful person?

[luckkythirt33n]

at this point I'm not sure if it's brain rot or hyper fixation or both or a secret 4th thing

(I use men bcus writing them as men at this current moment)