#hope y’all are okay

[rockstarvenus]

My deepest condolences to every American out there, I really hope you guys make it through these next years

[shaakyhaands]

Ah, nothing like smoke fog and a red moon to make you feel like it’s the end of the world.

[wwinter-wren]

Can we talk about this reply because it has me in tears

Sometimes you look away from discord for ten minutes and come back to whatever fresh hell is going on here

[actualori]

happy (very late) birthday empires smp!!

(this ended up taking thirty hours and forty minutes)

close ups and alternate versions below!

[babyboywilson]

it’s something so innocuous. old yet new.

the box on top of the drawers is filled with things dean has collected over the years. old cassettes, keychains, lock picks.

but that isn’t what catches cas’ attention when he opens it. tucked in the back right corner of the box, a flash of silver glints in the light.

cas picks it up, letting the weight fall into his palm. dean’s old ring. cas couldn’t remember the last time the hunter had worn it… it must’ve been years ago now.

“hey, that’s where my ring went,” dean says, dropping his chin onto cas’ shoulder and reaching over to pluck it from cas’ hand. “I thought I’d lost that on a vamp hunt years ago. don’t even remember putting it in there.”

cas watches, something in his chest tightening as dean slips it back onto the ring finger of his right hand where he’s always worn it. “might be good to wear it again for a change, now that we’re hunting less,” dean grins. the grin falters when he catches the pained look on cas’ face. “hey, if you don’t like it I can-” dean starts to say, moving to take the ring off.

cas shakes his head, moving to interlock their fingers. “dean,” cas says. a single word, yet it fills the air between them with a longing that dean can’t describe.

slowly, cas moves to slides the ring off of dean’s finger and snags his left hand.

dean watches, mesmerized, as cas moves the ring onto the ring finger on his left hand and then trails his fingertips over dean’s knuckles.

the weight of the action settles into dean’s heart. cas has to know what that means… right?

“looks better now,” cas murmurs fondly, glancing back up at dean with a softness that makes dean’s knees feel weak.

“yes,” dean replies. the double meaning of the word is pressed against cas’ mouth as dean leans in to kiss him.

[legolambi]

shoutout to this gross sofa

[skullinacowboyhat]

master and apprentice // parent and child

[notherpuppet]

PLEASE READ MY FAQ

It’s at the top of my blog and it’s big n red!!!

It’s also linked here!

lol okay thank you ❤️

[rainyraisin]

Blue Stray on the brain…

First of prolly like. A billion pieces of fanart I want to draw for @tumble-witch ‘s Bread Girl AU!!!! I wanted to post a bunch at one time but I am so impatient lmao ITS BLUE STRAY HOURSSSS‼️‼️

Gotta draw Golden Beetle next I am 3-1 on Marinette vs Adrien drawings my boy needs some love 🙏🙏 (Im just a sucker for angst)

Went. Insane in the tags bc that’s the best way to yap 💖🌸

[ttbret]

As someone who worked on the show...and is a huge fan of TLT... please enjoy the fact your art has been shared with a (albeit small..cause discord group buddies) group of artists from the show 🖤💀🧡

Stop, I WILL actually cry

[sunnysidesevenup]

probably the worst time to post this since both of you are busy but alsjhsnshgshs I will do it anyways and then immediately pass out. @theolivetree123 @jovieinramshackle

I couldn’t get over the idea of Iso realizing he’s played himself with the whole dream demon bit 😭 so I had to draw smth

[an-unexpected-sideblog]

In the LOTR books, Frodo hands Aragorn’s crown* to Gandalf at the Minas Tirith coronation. In the Jackson film, it’s Gimli. There’s plenty of good Doyalist explanations for this change, but please consider my Watsonian headcanon based on the following facts:

- Gimli is kin of the King of Erebor, and must accordingly be a high-ranking representative to have been sent to the Rivendell council meeting

- Gimli is the only dwarf at the coronation

- Thus, by rights, it would probably be more politically polite for Gimli to stand off to the side looking regal and official - the way Legolas does with a small group of (presumably) Greenwood elves

- A foreign noble handing off the crown could be seen as politically dicey at best or insulting at worst, to either or both parties

UNLESS (unless…)

- Consider that there hasn’t been an actual king in Gondor for nearly one thousand years (!!)

- No Steward would have worn the kings’ crown

- You gotta put something official on the new king

- Doesn’t that crown look an awful lot like the guard helmets? Not particularly ancestral or ornate?

My headcanon is that Gimli forged Aragorn’s crown himself. His smithing would be unparalleled by any Man in Minas Tirith, and he likely insisted on offering the work of his own hands to Gandalf/Aragorn as a proud craftsman! That would be his honor to provide and present such a gift for his friend.

(*In the books it’s stated that the previous Gondorian king left the crown in the royal tombs before he went off and died in battle, so later Faramir could pass that same crown to Aragorn. Known jock King Ëarnur sounds too impulsive to do that to me, but regardless, that’s official book canon! And ofc Gimli doesn’t even hand the crown off in the books, so this is all just Movie Conjecture.)

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

bangtan boys in turtlenecks (10/??) ↳ cr. 0613data, dwellingsouls | bonus striped sope for @raplinenthusiasts:

[starrylevi]

Just another short and cute comfort drabble 💝

“C‘mere, my love.” Levi beckons you into his arms and you comply, crawling into bed with him, letting out a sigh as you put your head on his chest.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks you as he rubs your back through the fabric of your t-shirt.

“M’just tired.” You mumble onto his bare chest. You lift up your head a little so your chin is resting on his skin. Your eyes meet his sliver-blue ones. “I’m always tired.”

“Hi ‘tired’, I’m Levi.” Levi responds with a hint of a smirk.

“Did you just-“

“I did.” He gives you a small nod and more of a smile this time.

You chuckle a bit, shaking your head. “That was terrible.”

“But it made you smile.” He reminds you as he continues to rub your back.

“Well, I’m glad you got what you wanted.” You playfully roll your eyes.

“The smile wasn’t for me, my love.” Is all he says in response as his fingers slowly trail down your back, his touch a comfort like no other.

[frescoisnotinthemilitary]

The Way of Another

Tags: MWIII SPOILERS, Angst, Major Character Death (implied and mentioned), Swearing, Simon is in denial of his feelings, resurrection??, will add tags when I think of them

A/N: Sorry for literally vanishing off the face of the earth. I’ve been cheffing it up over the last couple of days. This is proofread by me but unchanged. As AO3 tags will read, no beta, we die like men. For anyone waiting on the second chapter of Sweet Tooth (I see you), I’ll do my best to get that up next week (as if I haven’t been saying that for six months). Life has fucking sucked for the last few months, and I’ll leave it at that. I’ve already written too much here, so without further ado, I’ll just get to it.

This is like chapter .5, by the way. Y’all have been waiting weeks for me to post again, so I figured I owed you something. I hope this is sufficient until I can get myself to write something more

He never believed he’d adopt another’s mannerisms. Slip of the tongue, really. Kyle was getting on his nerves. He couldn’t have helped it. 

“C’mon, mate. Just take it off, let me see you!” Kyle urged, leaning over the back of a rec room recliner. “We’ve been working together a long time.”

“Oi, away and boil yer ‘ead.” Teeth clenched, nostrils flared, eyes widened. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself, almost crushing his sandwich in his fingertips. “‘M sorry, mate. I didn’t mean”–he paused. “I don’t know what I meant. Just fuck off, yeah?” Brown eyes met brown eyes, and understanding threaded itself in the needles of the gaze.

Kyle pressed his lips together, inhaling sharply. “Yeah, sorry. Shouldn’t have pushed.” He glanced down at his hands, nails picking at his torn cuticles. 

It was pitch black when Simon awoke. He cracked his folded legs out of the fetal position and rolled onto his back. Chilled sweat rolled off his forehead, sinking into the pillow beneath his head. There was no shine in his eyes now—shadows swallowed any midnight glow that might’ve made its way under the thick door. 

Simon. 

He sat up, brushing a tickle of the quickly-drying liquid away from his eyebrow. Rubbed sleep from his eyes and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, whose aged springs creaked for help, to no avail. His phone screen read 02:47. Large fingers nimbly turned the knob on his bedside table, and a warm glow flooded the room. Darkness retreated back to the corners, freeing him from its hold. 

It was silent, with humid air stifling in the small space. Simon’s socked feet padded across the floor and he pulled the door inward, flooding the room with cooler air from the hallway. He stepped out onto the tiled hall, wishing he’d put on sweatpants, but persevering. 

The base was dimly illuminated only by the soft bluish light from the moon that filtered in through the windows, a glow that guided him through the well-worn twists and turns of labyrinthine corridors. He finally stepped into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed but more alert. He drifted around the room, eventually stopping in front of the coffee maker. 

The drawer under the counter protested ever-so-slightly as Simon pulled it open, finding the darkest blend he could think of. The jar was half-empty, the way it had been left. He grabbed a spoon and dumped exactly three spoonfuls of the grounds into the coffee filter. No more, no less. Simon carried the empty coffee pot to the sink and filled it to the line, then brought it back and poured the water into the corresponding area of the machine. 

The lid closed with a pop that almost made him start. A monotonous beep filled the room for a moment, then ceased, and Simon resided in silence again, until the soft gurgle of the coffee maker began.

The warm, rich smell inundated the space, flooding his senses-

Thought you didn’t like coffee. 

“Johnny.” The blond man whipped around, tearing his tired eyes open and searching around the empty room. A breath of warm air ghosted over his ear, taunting him. “Please don’t leave me again,” he whispered to no one. 

The coffee maker droned its harsh song, alerting Simon to the accomplishment of its task. He turned back, eyes downcast, and poured the dark liquid into a mug from the dish rack, not filling the cup fully. It steamed lazily, the only movement aside from him in the shadowy space. He stirred a spoonful of sugar into the bitter stuff and took a burning sip. The way he’d done it. 

(Tagging my dear friends because you all haven’t heard from me in a while: @kaeriustehe @forsaire @tapioca-milktea1978 @losersimonriley )

[saturngalore]

the universe of saturngalore 🪐🌈