#allnighters

[caelichythcat]

you did good! you can stop

[electricbuttermoth]

Best I Can

i will be wearing sunglasses when they pull the covers off my naked aught

[hinamie]

mentor

[rinoomi]

nightwing gojo !

[cimmerian1275]

*SLAMS DOWN* F E A S T!!! A sketchpage to cure boredom <3

Just ignore how my sketches look so clean, trust me. They STARTED OUT AS SKETCHES... But then i progressively got better at drawing them and my sketches got so clean that they became my infamous Glorified Sketches™.

And some separate shots w higher quality below :P

This all adds up to 16 hours of drawing over a few days C:

I have that dragon plushie irl, its just half the size and not as cool... Ill always find a way to include a dragon in my art.

Im definitely gonna do more later when i dont feel like sleeping the day away.

[sucresanct]

always thank your computers!!!

[kindest-little-fella-in-town]

truebeans fans who dumb down jancy into some stereotypical tropey blushy gay mess are the weakest link… like, come on. you KNOW that her autistic ass would be out there like:

[bananafire11]

Chocolate bun

[punk-rockrz]

holymother of gaod

[unbloodiedmartyr]

These were the silt verses, and here are our disciples in order of... well, whatever random order I decide to draw them in tbh

Tryna make a reference sheet for my character designs so we can get some consistency up in here!! Up top we have our S1 crew, as I envision them then, below, the government gang from S3. Coulda added Tainsely but idk what he looks like yet lol

[caelichythcat]

artistic symmetry

[oldsouloldlove]

Dancing with you is like finding my rhythm in life.

[pearsandrust]

hey can we talk about how one of mydei's boons in divergent universe is called "shield of triumphant return"? a title that literally goes against everything he's been taught? a shield over a lance; triumphant return over valorous death; protection over sacrifice??? a perfect representation of how mydei thinks life is much more valuable than his people make it out to be? hoyoverse. you can't do this to me hoyoverse. you. augh. hey can the writers let him be happy for once.

[vintage-tigre]

Susanna Hoffs, 1987

[y1naho]

Mafia Soukoku headcanon: Dazai does sleep (unlike how most fanfics write about him being an insomniac), but he definitely has some messed up sleep schedule.

Chuuya, waking Dazai up: It's time to wake up! Dazai, eyes closed: Whoever interrupts me from my eternal slumber shall be cursed- Chuuya: Fucking wake up, it's 6:21 am! Dazai: Too earlyyyyyy Chuuya: You went to bed at 5:12 am! Chuuya: Two days ago.

[carlyraejepsans]

Technically speaking, he was a light sleeper.

Which was just hilarious for two different reasons. One, he topped at twenty pounds soaking wet—and that was after he'd reached for the towel. The joke basically wrote itself. The other reason was, of course, that nobody believed him. Honestly, he could kinda get it. It's pretty hard for irony to escape him, even on a bad day. The way he saw it, though, maybe he wouldn't take as many naps as he did, if he just managed to get one to stick.

...heh, nah. Probably not. Late to rise, early to bed, makes a man lazy or clinically dead, or however the saying went. Still.

The kid stiffened against his ribcage and that was all it took for his eyes to fly open.

The popcorn ceiling of the living room stared back at him through the darkness in all its tacky glory. Now that's another joke that writes itself. It wasn't a movie night at Tori's without some comment about her taste in decor. That always earned him a round of groans. Or a halfhearted pillow to the head. It was one of his favorite moodsetters.

His hand dangled in the air at his side. Not on the floor. Just a few months earlier, that alone would've told him he wasn't in his room, but oh boy, had things changed. He had a bedframe now, not to mention enough self respect for one. AND fitted sheets—that was a lifetime first. You had to be careful not to fall off, but all things considered, it was the fanciest bed he'd slept on since he'd tried using his worker bonus at MTT's. If he risked falling off the bed now, he'd risked never finding his way out then. Not to mention the guy in the other room calling for room service the entire night. He almost retired the midnight snacks bit on Undyne out of sympathy the next time she came over.

Almost.

The kid's head twitched.

Right. Popcorn. Living room. Springy mattress. He didn't need to smoke a pipe to realize he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. Didn't need a goofy hat either to see that someone must've thought he'd make a good pillow. Go figure. He'd gotten real good at making himself look softer under his clothes, but still, it wasn't exactly the kind of magic a guy could keep up with his eyes closed and a pillow behind his head. He just hoped they weren't too uncomfortable.

He must've dozed off sometime after Papyrus left the house and Toriel turned in for the night, 'cause nobody had stopped by to throw a blanket over him. Most nights that would've been fine. Nice thought aside, skeletons didn't really feel cold "to their bones", on account of lacking all the soft and fleshy stuff on top of 'em.

Yeah, well. Most nights. Most nights he didn't have a human kid sleeping on top of him, either.

Sans looked down. He resisted the urge to blow a strand of hair out of their face.

Most nights, skeletons didn't have hearts beating against their ribs.

Ba-dum—ba-dum—ba-dum.

He would've asked them if it felt any different, having it beat on the other side of their ribcage, if they hadn't already crawled their way inside his months before.

Heh. Not like they hadn't done the same with everyone else. Or ever asked for permission, the little freeloader. But he supposed that part came free with being monsters. The whole HOPE and compassion and everything nice kinda shtick. As a rule, they were, uh, very prone to attachment. It was hardwired into their SOULs or something. Of course, he knew better than anyone that compassion had its cost, and he'd ran low on HOPE for a long, long while, but...

There was a ray of light coming through the kitchen at night like he hadn't seen in an even longer time. The kind with a moon and stars hung at the other end of it.

Yeah. Maybe he could afford something nice for once.

Frisk stirred again. He kept as still as possible as they wriggled around, pushing themself off of him—trying, he assumed, not to shove their boney little knees somewhere unpleasant.

Then they flopped to their side and fell to the floor with a thud.

See, THAT'S the kinda issue you don't have when you have no self respect.

Slowly, the kid got to their feet again. They stood perfectly straight for a moment, then took an unsteady step forward. Then another.

To call it "walking" would've been an act of mercy. It was more of an ambling. Maybe a shambling. Sans watched their journey towards the kitchen mentally listing of adverbs. Stumbling. Fumbling. Trailing. That one didn't have a mbl in it, points for originality.

Mostly, he was ecstatic. Nothing made for fun breakfast stories quite like sleepwalking. And well, he hadn't had one of those since Papyrus turned fifteen and stopped sleeping entirely.

When the kid finally reached the fridge, they all but shoved their head inside it. He heard them do... something in there. There were definitely teeth involved. He was about to ask them to bring some goods back to homebase.

The door of the fridge clicked closed.

He didn't.

Then, he almost made a joke about forgetting their headlights on, but thought otherwise. He was glad he'd left his own off.

Besides, it was the taillights that were supposed to glow red.

Eyesockets dark and still pretending to sleep, he kept watch as the kid turned around and retraced their shambling steps to the living room like a miniature zombie.

Halfway to the sofa, they stopped, making a small sound like a grumbling of annoyance. For a second their eyes grew even more unfocused.

"Sleep," they rasped out in a low, halting whisper, "I saved you a crick in the neck."

It took him a second to register that the kid wasn't talking to him. Mostly 'cause Frisk didn't speak. To him. Or ever.

By the time they reached their starting point again, his excitement had died off into quiet confusion and quickly curdled into caution. They stopped at the edge of the sofa and fixed him with a stare, looking at where they'd been sleeping before. Sans waited.

"I am not doing that," they rasped to themself again.

Then they climbed onto the other end of the sofa and curled around themself as small as possible. So tightly it looked like they wanted to tuck their tiny body into a ball.

When they stopped moving, they didn't move again.

Sans didn't lift a finger. His brain whirred in his skull, ready to chalk up the past few minutes to the sleepwalking and forget they ever happened. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling again, though, he couldn't shake off a wave of uneasiness; like he'd seen something he wasn't quite supposed to put together.

Any man would've spent the night awake.

He cast a glance at the kid, huddled in their corner. There was no heartbeat against his ribs now: something about the silence felt foreboding.

Sans closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later, of course, he was out like a light.