#a few per day

[gideonisms]

the apartment is a creature and she hates me

[lovealwayssay]

I just did some math and, if Cas is as old as the earth, his 12 years with Dean is equivalent to like 0.08 seconds in a human lifespan. That’s less than 1/10th of a second, shorter than the blink of an eye. He knew Dean for such a short amount of time compared to his entire existence and it was enough to fundamentally change everything about Cas and how he sees the world. That’s absolutely insane to me.

[nelkcats]

Scamming the scammer

John Constantine was the biggest headache Danny had managed to get, ever. After becoming King he did not think that his first task would be to solve the man's soul problems.

And it seemed quite incredible to him that the hellbazer would consider selling his soul as if it were a used car that he wants to get rid of to buy a new one. He was aware that he needed a soul, wasn't he? That it was not possible to buy a new one? Because he didn't want to be the one to inform him if that was not the case.

To top it off, beings from different domains within his kingdom came explicitly to claim the British's soul, which didn't even make sense, there were thousands of souls! Why did everyone want the same one? And why did he have to be the one to take care of it?

Completely frustrated, he placed all the paperwork for John Constantine in an empty room and locked the door. He smiled as he came up with a plan to improve the situation, it might be worth it.

That's how a drunk John Constantine found himself signing a dubious contract in exchange for the power to turn any liquid into beer, he didn't bother to read the contract, most demons just wanted his soul and this guy looked so human, with a presence so light it must be a minor demon for sure.

This turned out to be a bad decision when the next morning he found himself trapped in a room full of documents, the door locked. Taped to the door was a green note that said "Enjoy doing your own paperwork sir, I hope you're pleased with yourself", and well, maybe he should have read that contract after all.

[suntails]

(sharing appreciated, 🔗 below! 💛)

PREORDERS OPEN!!

my silver artbook will be accepting orders thru the end of september, i expect to ship during november so tell all your silver friends that food has arrived ✨ ALL ORDERS EXCEPT UK:

UK ORDERS:

[sleepsucks]

Hello! I really like your comics but I've been wondering for a while... What's up with their dates being about a year ago? Do you have a notebook to be able to remember all those details or were they actually drawn a year back?

I hope you have a nice day^^

heyya ! This is absolutely something that Ishould have made a pinned post to address waayyy back so i'm answering this in hopes of taking care of that later todayyyy

The situation with the fucked up delays in these iiiis mainly initially to do with the coloring of them -which i'm still foolishly holding on to-, where I started getting some delays in posting a few years back, and letting the gap grow; Until nowww where there's a backlog of over a year of comics that require being coloured and/or scanned

I'm still mostly drawing them as the days go though, aside from a recent big delay i've recently caught up on, I usually draw them at most a few days after the actual date ! I would absolutely not remember anything otherwise because my memory is terrible

[ponury-grajek]

kind of emergency commissions ;v;

every reblog is very much appreciated! thank you ❤️

[saint-ambrosef]

saying "it is not necessary to have sweets every day" should not be seen as controversial, but i have had people go for my throat for that take. its literally unthinkable apparently not to have a sweet treat on the daily (or multiple times per day).

i'm not saying "sugar bad" or anything, it's good to enjoy a little dessert every now and then. but i think a lot of Americans are so used to having a diet high in sugary foods, and it's so normalized and what so many people grew up with, that me saying "your kids don't need to have dessert every day" is accused of toxic diet culture mindset and depriving children of joy.

and the thing is, our sweets are really sweet. you don't notice it when you grew up with it, it just seems normal. but if you travel elsewhere or go on a low-sugar diet, suddenly our ice cream and cookies and donuts seem un-appetizingly overly sweet.

anyways i'm not saying don't give your kids dessert, but i think a lot of Americans underestimate how addicted they are to sweets. if the mere suggestion to limit the intake to once or twice a week gives you a knee-jerk reaction of fear/horror/disgust, "i could never! i earned this!", there is a problem.

[alienoresimagines]

Bucky, to Brady, drunk out of his mind: Huglin thinks he knows everything but he has no idea I'm in love with Buck Brady: You're in love with Buck? Bucky: Oops, sorry, my bad Bucky, leaning over to Buck: Huglin thinks he knows everything but he has no idea I'm in love with Buck Buck: You're in love with me? Bucky: Bucky: Where the fuck is Curt when I'm talking to him?

[a-s-levynn]

IV

[biweekly-metamy]

58. nuzzle

[89cats]

hope y’all had a safe and fun halloween 🖤👻

[nicomoon69]

the real way you can tell bernard is possessed is not by his freaky eye and leading a cult dressed in greek inspired clothing but bc his roots are showing. he would NEVER

[befuddled-calico-whump]

The Revenge Stream: Part One

contains: Vic Shepard, red room setting, whumper turned whumpee, violence, beating, noncon nudity/forced stripping, adult language, third person POV

next

•

Normally it's common sense to avoid random links that pop up in your inbox.

Everything about it screams virus, from the restricted sender, to the jumbled string of letters and symbols that make up the link itself, to the subject line, a simple “gift for you”. Normally, you'd delete it immediately. Maybe report it as spam. But something holds you back. A single line in the message body.

Anyone for vengeance?

You're intrigued. It's not the typical line a scammer might use. After a few minutes spent wrestling with your own common sense, you decide to do the probably stupid thing and click on the hyperlink. The pull of your curiosity is just too strong to be ignored.

The link leads to a simple website with a layout that's almost laughably bad. Any sense of design is nonexistent, and the sole feature of the page appears to be some sort of livestream. Its screen is dark, but the timestamp in the corner is moving. Whatever camera it's attached to, it's rolling.

What is this? You wait a minute, watching the clock tick upwards, but nothing changes. Silence and a dark screen. Definitely not worth the risk of a virus.

Just as you're about to call it quits and close the tab, the screen floods with light.

A gloved hand fills the frame, holding what looks like a lense cap, silhouetted against a background of barren concrete. As the hand moves away, the room comes into focus, revealing a figure at its center.

It appears to be a man, barefoot and tied to a chair. He's slumped forward, graying hair obscuring his face.

You know you should feel dread. Panic, even. But instead, your interest only grows, and you find yourself holding your breath as the camera steadies. There's a small pop, and the audio of the feed crackles to life.

“This thing on?” a voice says, its owner stepping into frame. They're dressed in light grey sweatpants with a matching hoodie, a white mask obscuring their face.  “We've got oh… fifty, fifty-five guests by my count. Seems like a good place to start.” They move to the man in the chair, taking a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, angling his face towards the camera. He's gagged with a twisted strand of cord, and his face is a bit cut up, but he seems alert. And pissed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Victor Shepard. If you're watching this, it's because he's fucked up your life in some way. Maybe he killed a loved one. Maybe he destroyed your company, or provided blackmail material that ruined your reputation. I dunno. Jack of all trades, this one.” They loosen their grip, and Shepard's head drops. 

“Point is, I'm here to make him pay. For you.” You can almost hear them grin behind the mask.

Your hands clench, eyes glued to the monitor screen. Fuck. This is a red room stream, isn't it? And a personal one at that. While this reveal should have you reaching for your phone and dialing 9-1-1, you almost feel… excited. You want to see more. Even if the link reaching your inbox was a fluke, there's no way you're backing out.

“Well,” the masked figure continues. “Let's get this party started, huh? What's up first?”

In the corner of the screen, a poll appears.

Strip him, reads the first option.

Rough him up, the second one says. A timer is kicking down beneath the buttons. Fifty-nine seconds.

Should you click one? Does it make you complacent if you do? You’d almost feel better if you didn't, like you're just an innocent bystander, watching something you have no real power to stop. And that makes it okay, right?

Before you can finish justifying it to yourself, the poll ends. ‘Strip him’ is the victor, fifty votes to eighteen.

The masked figure moves out of frame again, and you hear them click their tongue. “Hope you're not shy, big guy.”

When they move back into view of the camera, they're holding a knife.

“Gonna have to cut some of the ropes, but I'm not too worried about it.” They grab the camera, rotating it to face the rest of the room, and for the first time you see its other occupants, two figures clad in the same grey as the speaker. They're also masked, and each of them holds an assault rifle at the ready.

“Michael and Uriel over here got me covered if he tries anything. Really hope he doesn't though. I do wanna give you a show.”

As they spin the camera back around, you catch a split second glimpse of the speaker's working area. A slim laptop surrounded by what looks like a bunch of weapons and power tools. If those are all for Shepard, you don't doubt they will indeed be putting on a show.

They re-steady the camera and step back onscreen, closing in on the man in the chair. Their knife slides through the ropes around his chest with ease, and they fall to the ground in a heap. The figure shifts so they're not blocking Shepard from the camera's view, then begins a slice down the middle of his shirt.

They cut away the cloth—chest, shoulders, arms—before moving to his pants, but Shepard doesn't struggle. If anything, his body language seems calm. Placid, even, though when you catch a glimpse of his eyes you can see a sharp anger. You imagine the only thing keeping him in place right now is the gunmen on the other side of the room.

The pile of discarded scraps beside the chair grows, and soon the captive is stark naked. Under his clothes, his body is all lean muscle and old scars, the dark silhouette of some kind of bird tattooed on his chest. You don't doubt what the speaker—the host—said before. This guy seems pretty capable of ruining lives.

The host steps back, admiring their work. “There we go. A canvas at the ready. Shall we move on? What tool should I grab?”

In the corner of your screen, another poll appears.

Electric sander.

Switch.

Seeing an electric sander listed as a potential torture tool makes your stomach twist, but you can't tell if it's disgust or excitement that’s behind the feeling. Again, you only watch as the timer ticks down.

Three…

Two…

One…

To your relief, (or is it disappointment?) the switch comes out ahead.

Behind the mask, the host’s excitement seems to grow.

“Ohoho, we have a winner,” they say, and you hear a light clattering offscreen. When they step back in front of the camera, they're holding the chosen tool; a thick, stiff strip of leather, metal studding one end. They give it a test swish through the air. The sound gets no reaction from Shepard.

“How many do you think he's good for? The metal bits are gonna leave a mark.” The host moves behind the camera, and from their comments, you can guess they're reading through viewer feedback.

“Ten? I'd call that light. Oh, twenty five is more like it— a hundred?” They whistle. “Okay, that might be a bit high. The night is young.”

You scan your monitor screen. In the top corner, there's a little message icon, which you assume is how everyone else is communicating with the host. You briefly consider dropping a request of your own, but then they speak up.

“Let's go with fifty. Happy medium, eh?”

Your eyes dart back down, and you watch as they stroll towards Shepard, smacking the switch lightly against their gloved palm as they move.

“Brace for impact,” they say cheerfully, before cracking the implement across Shepard's chest. His head snaps backwards, a pained noise escaping him.

One. A giddiness is growing in your chest, eager to count down until the man's first scream. The host seems just as energized as you, attacking Shepard’s torso like they're beating dirt out of a rug.

Several seconds pass before they come to a stop, winded. Their arm drops, and they sidestep, letting the camera take in Shepard. His torso is covered in welts, bleeding in some places where the studs broke skin. Aside from a few pained hisses and grunts, he's been silent.

“Fuck,” the host says. “I lost count. What was that? Was that fifty? Forty five?”

They shake their arms, as if to loosen their shoulders.

“We'll call it forty.”

Snap!

The switch comes down, this time cracking across Shepard's face. You wince at the impact. That's gotta hurt. The host continues the attack. Their strokes seem slower now, not as sharp, but they're aiming high, striking him across the nose, cheek, collarbone. Forty eight actually drags a yelp out of the man as metal collides with a welt on his cheekbone, and your heart leaps at the sound.

Forty nine swipes the corner of his mouth, drawing blood, and then…

“Cincuenta,” says the host, letting the switch drop. “Not impressed, hm Vicky? We can change that.” They stroll to their workstation, and you hear the clatter of the switch’s metal tip hitting the table.

A moment later, a third poll appears on the screen.

Whip him, says the first button.

Cut off his tattoo, says the second. 

Holy fuck. That seems a bit extreme, but… fun? Maybe? The guy's a piece of shit, right? He probably deserves much worse. Right?

“Cast your votes,” the host’s voice rings out, and you watch as the poll goes live, the clock suddenly ticking backwards.

“What do you think will make him scream?”

•

[rainydaygt]

g/t tumblr roulette is opening the 'your tags' tab when you're following the #size difference tag

[jontaro-kun]

Okay now that the Olympics is dead and probably never coming back I need y'all to hear me out

[sanji-outfit-tourney]

Best Sanji Outfit Tournament Part 1 Round 1

(Click on the pictures for better views)