#anyway go sleuthing!

[mannequinswithkillappeal]

assad zaman as "prem"

[naffeclipse]

had an idea of the vigilante finding a baby left at the boys's front door

at first, they’re unsure, but they decide he's too cute to give up

I love this so much, you don't understand!! Ah! Look at that little guy! How could the vigilante say no to such a cute face? Oh, I love how you capture the vigilante's reaction to the baby!!! I'm obsessed!

Oh, the vigilante would love to knock on the door with a big smile and a baby on their hip, and greet the detectives with "Congratulations, you're the fathers! And it's a boy :)"

Sun and Moon are very concerned about how the vigilante came to have a baby in their possession. Once they explain that, hey, they found the kid on the detectives' doorstep, they just happen to not be breaking in through their apartment window this one time, the detectives are quick to go into childcare mode!

The vigilantes will have no idea what they're doing, but they have two expert partners to help them learn the ropes of raising a little one.

[kandidandi]

@naffeclipse so uh-

[jonathanbyersphd]

You know how in Scooby Doo Zombie Island part of the setup is that Daphne & Fred are traveling across the U.S. filming a show about finding a real ghost? That but Nancy & Jonathan

[duskvortex]

I played AI: The Somnium Files recently and I can't stop thinking about it, currently playing through nirvanA Initiative

have some Aibas featuring Kuramon

[sovaharbor]

my mom constantly complains that i'm really hard to buy presents for and it's like......am i though. am i really. i don't think i am... i think if she paid literally any attention to me/the things i like it'd be really easy, actually. but what do i know man...

[bushia]

this day is endless, I need my pathetic men to kiss

[kingdomoftyto]

I mentioned the other day that my brother is reading Problem Sleuth but didn't explain why

He's been trying for years to get me deeper into Star Wars, which has been basically his biggest fandom obsession since he was a little kid. I enjoy Star Wars and have seen all the movies but have been dragging my feet getting into the extended universe stuff because there's just so much of it and some of the shows sound more interesting to me than others

So the other day he proposed a deal: if I would agree to catch up on all of Star Wars, then he would finally read Homestuck.

That... seems like a pretty fair exchange to me.

Anyway I now have a file on my desktop titled "StarWarsHomework.txt" that lists every show or movie in chronological order. I've already watched the first 3 episodes of Tales of the Jedi. Next up, Phantom Menace rewatch.

[zincbot]

my favourite problem sleuth moment was probably all the ace dicks fusing to make. regular ace dick. and he just closes death's door no problem

[holydramon]

I want to be at home playing digimon right now so bad orz

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I love investigating things that don't matter. I've used my sleuthing skills to figure out who has me for Secret Santa for like 5 years. Right now I'm trying to figure out who all of the office staff applicants are for the summer camp I work at. I have 6/7 confirmed, just waiting on confirmation from one person and then I'm set. A surprising amount of people texted me back immediately at 1am.

[noonaishere]

I just spent all day working on some manips for my fic...

You really have to admire the dedication of making these things look realistic, since there's no app or online template to make them.

Did I say "dedication"? I meant "madness".

[dreamlanderin]

Dean's baby (Dean x reader)

Summary: After a long day of research, you go bother Dean in the garage.

words: 2.7k

Warnings: none

The bunker’s garage. Dean is under the hood of the Impala, a socket wrench in one hand, grease smudged on his forearm. His muscles flex subtly beneath his t-shirt with every movement, the faint sheen of sweat catching the dim light filtering through the room. The scent of motor oil hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of tools and old leather. The rhythmic clinking of metal echoes softly, grounding the space in familiar sounds of work and grit.

You wander in, your footsteps light but still noticeable against the concrete, the echo bouncing lazily through the garage. Boredom clings to you after hours spent in the bunker.

 The day had started off normal: wake up, polish some ancient weapons down in the bunker, make breakfast, and check the news for any strange sightings. One report caught your attention, a possible wendigo sighting. You never liked those. They always made your skin crawl.

That’s where you’ve been for most of the afternoon: doing research with Sam. Well, mostly he’s been doing the actual research while your mind drifts elsewhere.

Honestly, you’re a little annoyed with him. The younger Winchester and his big, stupid puppy-dog eyes. And that hair, god, that hair. Always falling into his face until he sweeps it back with that effortless little motion, usually when he’s frustrated or deep in thought.

You’d caught yourself staring, a lot.

Anyway.

You spot Dean, engrossed in his work in the garage, and smirk to yourself.

"Hey, grease monkey," you call, leaning against the workbench with a lazy grin.

Dean doesn’t flinch. His arm tenses as he tightens something under the Impala’s hood, the movement drawing attention to the way his shirt strains slightly across his shoulders. There’s a faint sheen of sweat along his forearms, catching the light just enough to highlight the grease smudges marking his skin. The garage hums with the familiar scent of motor oil, metal, and leather, a warm, grounding smell that feels like him.

"If you’re here to help, there’s a rag over there. If you’re here to annoy me, the exit’s where you left it," Dean mutters, not bothering to look up.

You smirk but don’t move. "Why not both?"

Finally, Dean ducks out from under the hood, giving you that half-annoyed, half-amused look he’s perfected over the years. His eyes meet yours, sharp and clear, but your mind has already started drifting, back to where you spent most of the afternoon.

Research with Sam.

You were more focused on how easily he navigated the endless pages of lore and obscure texts, piecing things together faster than you could even process. It’s annoying, how effortlessly smart he is, how his mind seems to work ten steps ahead while you’re still trying to catch up.

You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but sometimes it does. Not because he makes you feel small, Sam would never do that, but because you wish you could keep pace. And honestly, it’s a little embarrassing how often you find yourself nodding along, hoping he doesn’t notice when you’re completely lost.

Dean's voice pulls you out of it. "Aren’t you supposed to be helping Sammy with the case? Or did you solve it already while staring at his hair?"

Your cheeks heat, but you roll your eyes, playing it off "Sam’s doing his super-sleuth thing," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "I was starting to lose brain cells watching him cross-reference, so I figured I’d come see some manual labour”

Dean smirks, turning back to the engine. "Well, you came to the right place. Watch and learn, kid. This baby’s a masterpiece."

"Masterpiece? It’s stuck together with duct tape and prayer."

Dean freezes, socket wrench in hand, and slowly turns his head to glare at you. There’s that dangerous glint in his eyethe one that usually means you’re about to get roped into cleaning weapons or organizing the storage room. But beneath the mock offense, there’s humor simmering just under the surface.

"Careful," he says, voice low with faux seriousness. "You’re walking a fine line."

You hold his gaze, arms crossed, trying not to let the corner of your mouth twitch. Dean’s like that, a mix of sharp edges and warmth that sneaks up on you. He acts tough, all bravado and snark, but you’ve seen him stay up all night patching Sam up after a hunt, or quietly fixing the broken lock on your door without ever mentioning it.

"Relax," you tease, nudging the Impala’s fender with the toe of your boot. "I know she’s your baby. I wouldn’t actually insult her… to your face."

Dean’s glare narrows further, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. "Good. Because this ‘baby’ has more heart than most people I know. You’d be lucky to be half as reliable."

You snort, shaking your head. "She’s lucky to still be running at all."

Without missing a beat, Dean grabs the dirty rag from the workbench and flicks it at you, the grease-streaked fabric catching you square in the shoulder.   

"Hey!" you yelp, recoiling with a laugh as you swat it away. "Gross!"

Dean grins, clearly pleased with himself. "That’s what you get for disrespecting the queen." He tosses the rag back onto the bench like nothing happened, already turning his attention back to the Impala.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, brushing off the faint smear left behind.

"And you’re still standing in my garage," Dean counters, leaning back under the hood. "Which means you’re fair game."

"Yeah, yeah." You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the grin tugging at your lips.

Moments like this, easy, light, and a little messy, are the rare ones you tuck away for later, because you know they don’t come around often.

It’s strange, really. How easily this life found you. Or maybe how easily they found you.

Meeting the Winchesters hadn’t exactly been planned. You stumbled into their world under circumstances that could generously be called chaotic, one wrong place, wrong time situation after another until suddenly, there you were. Tied up in the mess of hunts, ancient books, and things that shouldn’t exist outside of nightmares.

But somehow, instead of leaving you to deal with it on your own, they’d taken you in.

Dean likes to act like you’re a pain in his ass, but he’s the one who never lets you drive anywhere alone. The one who shoves a gun into your hand and taught you how to shoot, even if he complained about it the entire time. And sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking, his eyes soften, if only a little.

And Sam, Sam’s different. Gentler in his approach, but no less protective. He’s the one who stays up late researching the things you don’t understand, explaining it all in that calm, patient way that somehow makes you feel a little less out of your depth, even when you know you’ll never catch up to him.

They don’t call it family. Not out loud. But it’s in the way Dean knocks your boot off the workbench with a muttered "Get your feet off Baby," or the way Sam always checks to make sure you ate something after long nights.

It’s quiet, unspoken, but you feel it all the same.

You let out a breath, still leaning against the workbench, watching Dean work. "So, what’s wrong with her this time?"

Dean shrugs, wiping his hands on another rag, his muscles moving slightly with the movement. "Nothing serious. Just a tune-up. Gotta keep her running smooth." He glances over at you with that smug, gruff look, eyes gleaming. "Something you wouldn’t understand, what with you not knowing the difference between a carburetor and a spark plug."

You gasp, hand to your chest in exaggerated offense. "I know what a spark plug is! It’s the… sparky thing."

Dean freezes for half a second, staring at you like you’ve personally insulted his entire existence. And then he barks out a laugh, loud and unapologetic, shaking his head. "Sparky thing. Yeah, okay. You’re a regular gearhead."

You roll your eyes, stepping around to the other side of the Impala and leaning against the fender with a lazy stretch. "I’m just saying, for someone who spends hours messing with this thing, you could at least upgrade to something newer. You know, with Bluetooth. Or seat warmers."

Dean’s hand stops mid-wipe, and he lowers the rag slowly, fixing you with the kind of glare that suggests you’ve crossed into dangerous territory. "Seat warmers? Really?" His voice drips with disbelief, as if you’ve just suggested painting flames down the sides of the car.

"First of all, seat warmers are for wimps. Second, this car’s got more soul in her headlights than any of those plastic toys rolling off assembly lines. She’s not just a car. She’s family."

"Right…." you say, holding back a laugh. "The Impala is the real Winchester sibling."

"Damn straight," Dean replies, his tone serious.

He goes back to tightening a bolt, his forearms shifting with the motion, tense and controlled. There’s a natural ease to the way he moves, like he’s done this a thousand times, every motion instinctive. His t-shirt pulls just slightly across his back as he leans over the engine, the faint sheen of sweat from hours in the garage catching the low light.

You try not to notice, but it’s hard to ignore the quiet strength in the way he works, strong hands, calloused and capable, making even the smallest task look deliberate.

For a moment, the only sounds are the soft scrape of metal and the rhythmic click of his wrench, and you find yourself lingering longer than you meant to.

You tilt your head "You really love this car, huh?"

Dean glances at you, his expression softening slightly. "Yeah, I do. She’s been through a lot with us. Hell, she’s saved our asses more times than I can count."

He pauses, rolling the wrench absently in his hand, eyes flicking over the engine but not really seeing it. His voice drops, quieter now, like he’s talking more to himself than to you. "When everything else goes to crap, at least I know she’s still here. Still running."

For a moment, the weight of his words lingers, heavier than the air thick with motor oil. You catch the flicker in his eyes, the kind that doesn’t need explanation. It’s not just the car. It’s everything she’s carried him through.

The unexpected honesty catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t have a snarky comeback. You watch the way he absently runs a hand along the edge of the hood, fingers tracing the curve like it’s second nature. You can’t help but wonder how many nights he’s sat in the driver��s seat alone, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

"That’s... kinda nice," you say quietly, the words feeling too small for the moment but all you can come up with.

Dean straightens, shrugging it off almost immediately, like he didn’t just crack the door open to something more vulnerable. His eyes flick back to you, the faintest smirk returning to his face. "Yeah, well, don’t get too sentimental on me. Next thing I know, you’ll be asking to drive her."

Your eyes light up, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Oh, can I?"

The shift is subtle, classic Dean, slipping behind the wall the second things start feeling too real. But there’s still something lingering in the way he watches you

"Not a chance in hell."

"Come on, Dean!" you whine, stepping closer. "Just once! I won’t even go out of first gear."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the P with exaggerated finality. "This car’s got standards."

You pout, leaning against the Impala dramatically. "You’re no fun."

Dean raises an eyebrow, and walk’s round the car towards you: leaning in a little closer, his teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m plenty of fun. You just don’t meet the qualifications for the VIP package."

His voice drops slightly at the end, smooth and full of that effortless confidence he carries around like armor. It’s the kind of line he throws out without a second thought, but it lingers longer than you expect, heating the space between you just enough to make your pulse pick up. You tell yourself it’s just the closeness, the warmth of the garage air, and not the way his eyes flick over you like he’s enjoying your reaction.

"Wow," you say, tilting your head with a mock-offended scoff. "Now you’re just being mean."

Dean chuckles under his breath, shifting back a fraction but still well within arm’s reach. There’s something easy about the way he leans, like he knows exactly how to walk the line between playful and challenging.

"Mean?" he echoes, standing upright and planting his hands on his hips, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to be noticeable beneath the grease-smudged fabric of his shirt. His gaze locks onto yours with that familiar intensity, the one that’s half teasing and half something else you can never quite place. "You just called my car a sparky, duct-taped death trap. You’re lucky I let you breathe near her."

You know he’s joking, mostly. But there’s something about the way he says it, the protective edge creeping into his voice like he’s daring you to insult the Impala again. You’ve seen him put himself between her and danger more times than you can count.

You laugh, holding your hands up. "Okay, fine. I’ll leave your precious car alone." You step back, your grin still in place. "But if you get stuck in a ditch again, don’t call me to push."

Dean snorts, shaking his head. "Like you could push anything heavier than a shopping cart."

His voice carries that familiar roughness, laced with amusement, the kind that makes it impossible to take him seriously, even when he’s laying the sarcasm on thick. You roll your eyes, pushing off the Impala with an exaggerated sigh.

"I’ll remember that next time you need me to help save your sorry butt," you shoot back, already heading toward the door.

It’s the kind of banter that feels second nature by now, the words rolling off your tongue as easily as breathing. But just as your hand brushes against the doorframe, something tugs at you to glance back.

Dean’s still there, leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed, watching you leave with a half-smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes follow you, not in a way that demands attention, but in that quiet, lingering way of someone who’s gotten used to having you around. Like maybe he notices more than he lets on.

Your grin softens almost involuntarily, the sharp edges of the teasing fading into something quieter. "Besides, you’d miss me too much”

Dean raises an eyebrow, but there’s no denying the way his eyes warm just a little. He doesn’t say anything, just gives a short, gruff nod like that’s answer enough.

And it is.

"Thanks, Dean”

Dean rolls his eyes, picking up his wrench again. "Yeah, yeah. Get outta here”

You giggle lightly as you disappear down the hallway, your footsteps soft against the cold bunker floor, Dean’s eyes trail after you. He shakes his head with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Seat warmers," he mutters under his breath, glancing at the Impala like she might somehow agree with him.

The sound of Sam’s voice drifts faintly from the library, calling your name, probably to drag you back into research or help with whatever case he’s buried in.

Dean’s smile fades just slightly, not gone, but dimmed, like someone turned the dial down a notch.

His hand lingers on the Impala for another beat longer than necessary before he shifts his weight, rolling his shoulders as if to shake something off.

He ducks back under the hood, wrench in hand, and mutters under his breath, "All right, Winchester. Get a grip."

But even as he works, his thoughts are still trailing after you, following the soft echo of your laugh down the hall.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Please be nice it was my first one, any feedback would be appreciated ;)

[elodieunderglass]

The notion of Scary Go Round being adjacent to Homestuck...I think you shifted my reality.

(In reference to this post / my tags)

Ok not to sound totally old-fashioned but this was not in a thematic way or anything!

Back in the day I used to like Dinosaur Comics. At the time, I would read webcomics by sitting at a computer in the morning and checking the ones I kept up with, like a newspaper. I regularly read Dinosaur Comics (updated daily i think?), XKCD, Gunnerkrigg Court, Scary Go Round, Questionable Content, and that sort of thing. Sometimes there’d be updates to other ones I liked, like Buttercup Festival or Hark! a Vagrant. It would take ten minutes, and that was Morning Computer Time.

At the time webcomic artists all knew each other, and the old-fashioned desktop computer browsing design meant that you were looking at them on a big screen, which meant the sidebars were visible. The sidebars would contain links to all of their friends’ comics or recommended comics. There would only ever be like 20 links max. so every day you would read Dinosaur Comics and could, from there, click the sidebar in the left to get to the creator’s own favorite comics. Dinosaur Comics was a good day’s starting point since it linked directly to pretty much all the webcomics I listed above.

(I’m sorry if I’m over explaining or under explaining this.)

(This was before social-media-ized internet was popular, and this was just how you read stuff.)

There was also something TopatoCo / a guy called Jeff who had his own webcomic that I read sometimes, but more importantly he was a central point that sold merchandise for a bunch of these comics, and I bought a Jonathan Colton t-shirt from him. He sold a line of Problem Sleuth/MS Paint adventures stuff and I remember this coming up suddenly in advertising newsletters I got I think. problem sleuth went from 0 to 60 very quickly, but I never really understood it.

Anyway, MS Paint adventures was linked in the sidebar of a lot of these comics!! The people in these circles really hyped it up. and I did read Problem Sleuth, dutifully, but it bored me. Then the same guy started posting his next work, Homestuck. I read the first few pages as they came out and then stopped clicking it. It just wasn’t for me.

So it isn’t so much about them being adjacent in any way apart from Ryan North, the guy who ran Dinosaur Comics, having a sidebar on his website labelled something like “the girls” with his recommendations for other things you might like, like Scary Go Round - XKCD - MS Paint adventures.

And I was literally there dutifully looking at the first page of homestuck before all the homestucks read it, admittedly going “oh nah this ain’t it”, but, like. I was there. I was standing next to the impact crater.

Like every day I would check on my friend T Rex and look directly at a link that led to the homestuck website and check on my friend Buttercup Festival instead. Then I would turn off the computer and be done with computer for the day.

It’s very weird to realise that this is not how people use the internet any more.

[naffeclipse]

ghghghrhrhrh goes insane goes feral and starts biting this, ahhhhh! I can already feel how much I'm going to explode over this. The shadowy silhouette with the hazy smoke and his yellow eyes piercing the dark is *mwah*

Thank you so much for sharing! ♥

Im on the final push for the Trapped animatic ive been working on, so to keep up motivation im going to post teasers every few days...

Mr. Sleuth Jesters

@naffeclipse ohoho there are so many frames that are really cool and i want to share them so bad but alas i will start with the simple ones.

[keys-hellscape-1020]

dick grayson and you on a mission but him and the reader are trapped in a very narrow room so they have to navigate the place with their bodies pressed against each other (established relationship)

A/N: Mmmmm this is a scrumptious idea nonny, hope you don’t mind but I made it fairly short.

Dick Grayson x gn!Reader

Content warnings: VERY brief mention of alcohol, grinding in a perilous situation, let me know if I missed anything

————

The mission had gone to shit embarrassingly quickly.

It was supposed to be simple. Dick was going to go to the Iceberg Lounge for a fun night of drinking with his longtime partner, you. That was your cover anyway. In actuality you two would sneak away from the crowds at the first chance and sleuth around for anything that might prove solid evidence for the case you were trying to build against The Penguin.

Simple right? Well it was, truly, until you had suddenly discovered that you’d been leaked faulty intel. Now you were stuck in The Penguin’s office, and instead of it being deserted there was the sound of the villain himself right outside the large wooden doors, causing a solid pit of anxiety to form inside your stomach.

Thankfully, Dick isn’t paralyzed by fear. He grips your elbow tightly, pulling you after him as he pulls the doors to an old wardrobe open. He all but picks you up in his haste to get you in the wardrobe, a quiet “Shit!” hissing out from inbetween his teeth as he carefully moves in and closes the doors behind himself, just in time for The Penguin to come barging in, loud yells accompanied by a chorus of a vase smashing.

As your adrenaline wanes and you relax just enough to take in your surroundings you notice your position. There’s just enough light to make out Dick’s silhouette, he’s hunched over you in the tight space, one arm supporting his weight above your head, the other wrapped around your waist protectively as he furrows his eyebrows at the shabby wooden doors in concentration, like that would protect the two of you any better.

His face is, at most, two inches from yours and you can feel his breath ghost over your lips at every shaky sigh he slowly exhales. Your hands are on his pecs, your fingers gently trailing up and down the soft fabric of his shirt as you admire his physique. You’re so enchanted by him it’s not until he carefully shifts his weight that you even notice he’s slotted one of his legs between yours.

You barely manage to suppress a soft gasp as he suddenly presses his leg to the one place you know he shouldn’t be touching right now, and yet all the same you don’t ask him to stop as you softly rock your hips against his thigh. You’re so caught up in your moment of pleasure that you don’t suppress a gasp when Dick tightly grips your hips.

“I think it’s safe to go now.” He mummers right up against your ear, the skin of his lip grazing your flesh causing a shiver to run up your spine. “Unless you don’t want to.” As he trails off he catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth and pulls gently, ripping a soft, breathy moan out of you. You grip his shoulders tightly as you attempt to center yourself.

“W-We should go.” You eventually stutter out, reaching for the door. Just before you’re able to push it open however Dick grabs you hand and places a sultry kiss against it, giving you a wink that leaves you weak in the knees as he hopes out of the wardrobe with a swagger that you want to slap out of him. He stands to the doors of the office with a smirk and a teasing “You coming?”

Oh you’re definitely coming.