#maybe its lack of sleep

[comfortableinthesilence]

Life post re new job…

When I went for this job I was full of confidence in my skills and abilities, I believed in myself and my knowledge… 5 weeks in and I'm shattered…

I don't feel confident at all with the processes and systems, I'm struggling with learning them in the training format we have (a big teams call and reading a powerpoint/sticking to a traini g brief with no real world examples)! I’m overwhelmed with the amount of info we are having to take in on a daily basis and my head feels like its gonna burst. To top it all off I'm not gelling with my training team, people have formed friendships and connections, then there's me who just feels like a nuisance.

I was talking to my partner recently about how I'm a nervous anxious guy (especially in new/foreign situations) and its so much more evident when I look back and analyze things. Like in the early days of this job I sat on my own because of my anxiety, I ate lunch on my own (I still do now), I didn't engage or go for wanders with the group on my lunch. I opted to ostracize myself because that's what my head told me is best and now look at it. No wonder no one really talks to me unless its a question or technical help. I can say its because they are younger or just different but reality is its my own doing! I really am my own worst enemy and don't blame the team for not replying or engaging with my messages.

Its all just getting to me this week with the training load, the lack of support in work, the shitty thought that maybe all I was good for was being in my last role. That I should have continued to stay there like I had for the last 9+ years, miserable but at least I knew whats what, people wanted my help and I was needed. Where as now, I feel lost and alone in a sea of training packages and powerpoint presentations… I know i’ll bounce back from this and I'm sure I can do it, but right now as I sit here welling up, I just want to crawl in bed and hide from the world😔🙃

[hai-nae]

uno reverse

[icy-gendango]

Sometimes... when he misses him most, he'll pull out that old stuffed toy from their closet. Settling down on the balcony and talking to it just like he once did, a long time ago. Telling it all about his day, his life now outside the plex. Wishing he was there, wishing he was proud of how far he's come. Telling him about new songs and poems. Humming softly to the toy, watching the sun set. Describing the sky as the stars take hold above.

Sometimes, he wonders if his brother can hear him from somewhere, somehow.

[yesornopolls]

To all four straight people on this website, have you ever had someone (unironically) accuse you of being gay/bi/etc because of something completely unrelated to sexuality?

Like your favourite colour or the way you dress etc

[oscahpitlane]

Ty f1 for these delightful captions

[cconfusedkat]

You know something is Deeply Wrong with you when you get into a car crash and then immediately correlate your thought to, "holy shit. This is JUST like my friend's modern cotl au ?????"

[dickgreyson]

i want him carnally

[bananaguyboi]

I wasted my time writing a scene only to realize that I won't use that scene at ALL

FUCK ME, AND MY LIFE

[vibescornerr]

Hi Satou fans! ^_^ 🩷🩷

[dseval]

Realizing the CrossDust congregation is so seperated/disjoined to a point we all call the same ship different names. I've seen some call it Xcutioner, someone also call it Apostasy, I've also seen it being called Ebonfall? Which were all beautiful names... Befitting for CrossDust....

I think that we all also interpret CrossDust differently. And I think it's a good and fun thing. There's no standard/mediocre way to do CrossDust. Like how they may struggle with who they are— we, too, are on the journey of self discovery with them. Because we are special individuals who see the world differently from each other.

[asterdeer]

hmmm. i think i just realized I don’t like going by they/them anymore.

[angelbitezzz]

we be copin, lads

[dibbs-n-scribbs]

I need to make a Monk x Columbo crossover so bad its not even funny. They would contrast each other perfectly but complete each other in ways I can't even fully understand yet. I'm thinking it might be a Marty Eels situation where Monk isn't really used to someone upstaging him but it baffles him even more than Marty cause Columbo seems to actually be legit and know the detective lingo! However, even Monk himself probably wouldn't be able to tell whether Columbo's being true or not with his questioning tactics. Like yeah Columbo is mistaken as this and that all the time, but is he telling the truth? Not even Monk would truly know!

What would the case even be about? Surely it would involve someone who's rich and has a lot of power, as most Columbo villains fit that description.

And Trudy! I feel like the Trudy reference would be deep, maybe not 100 percent integrated into the plot, but definitely something that would possibly warm Monk up to Columbo and strengthen their partnership. (Now I hear there's an actual Columbo episode way later on that involves something happening to Mrs. Columbo, but if those spoilers I saw were true, then that'd also make their connection stronger - but I haven't gotten that far yet!)

How would the rest of the team feel about Columbo? Would they be impressed? Would they find him a little annoying cause of his bumbling nature? Would it be just like being with Monk? I think all this stuff is interesting to think about.

I spent last night rewatching this Columbo x Fraiser crossover comic dub (can't find who made the original comic but Jacob The Loofah did the comic dub on yt!) and I was just fascinated by it. Now I haven't watched Frasier but everything seemed to fit so perfectly, not to mention the drama and comedy was on point! To make a crossover comic so well, you could definitely see the hard work put into it! I want to be able to make something just as great, especially after its been a long while since I feel as if I've made something of quality. I'm far from being a writer myself, but I do want to make this project some sort of reality, truly. If anyone has any writing resources or know where to start with personal projects like comics or even animatics, I would really appreciate it.

[wmnylander]

now is not the time but nothing gets me more than an athlete being hyper aware of their own career mortality within their sport and adapting to it without complaint because they know it’s best for the team

[froggerland]

I'm really curious: What fandoms do you I was part of based on looking at my artstyle?

[prettyflyshyguy]

He's a monster, and he's hungry.

Wrote this over a few days because I'm. Not ok about this. It's on AO3, and under the cut cause it's a short one. Not super edited, just got desperate for more content exploring when Dean was a vampire and when I found none I was like "well alright. Guess I'll make it then."

“I can’t believe it.”

Dean paced the length of the hotel room, passing back and forth by the table where his brother sat, prowling like an animal in captivity.

“You just stood there and watched that freak turn me!”

He stared at Sam, hoping for a change in his reaction, a look of sympathy, an admission of guilt, some form of recognition that something fucked up happened in the alley. Sam’s face was blank, his heartbeat steady, and frankly he just didn’t seem to care. In fact, he hadn’t seemed to care about much recently. He was a cold, lifeless, empty husk and Dean was tired of it. His usual quips brought no frustrated response, no snappy replies, he was simply brushed off. There was no banter, no anger, simply complete and utter apathy no matter what he said. Sam had his moments, everyone did. Dean knew he had a tendency to push his luck, many people had told him this. But Sam was different, they were siblings. Sam putting up with him being an ass was just how things were, and would always be. At least it's how it should be. After everything they’d seen and done together… If Sam held any resentment, he’d have made it clear by this stage. He was a good liar, but Dean could always tell. They both knew each other too well. If he had any doubt something was off about Sam, it was quickly disintegrating as he stalked the room, watching him blankly staring up at him from the small table. Not even fidgeting in the slightest. 

They’d been pushed to their limits before, and Sam was always the first to speak up when something was wrong. 

“Dean.”

His lip curled at the sound of his name. It was so hollow. So static. It reminded him of school, when his teacher would check the roll call. It was an obligation and a requirement, not something done out of genuine care. 

He decided to push a little harder.

“I mean what the hell was that all about Sam? Revenge? To get me back?” he growled. 

“You know you’ve talked so much shit about me taking risks, is this all just some master plan to show me the error of my ways? A jab back at how you still, somehow deep down, think I’m Dad’s perfect son?”

He stood still, observing for a change in reaction. Dean desperately wanted to find a tiny shift in body language, a subtle twitch in his eyes or mouth, that sad glint in his eyes.

He breathed out slowly as Sam once again stared back with soulless eyes and a steady heart.

Not enough, Ok, he thought. He was an expert at this. Maybe Sam had steeled up after all these years. 

It wasn’t a completely unreasonable possibility. 

“I almost hurt Lisa and Ben, Sam! I came so close, I could have killed them and no one would have been there to stop me, but you were!”

He took a step towards Sam as he spoke, the venom of the accusation lingering in the air.

Sam breathed out and shuffled in his seat. Finally, a response. 

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

You calm down.

He took another step closer, noting the slight increase in pace of Sam’s heart. Progress, hell yeah. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips though Dean’s eyes were as cold as Sam’s.

“Oh, that's rich coming from you! That’s easy for you to say when you’re not being assaulted by noise like you went to the movies and an intern did the mixing.”

He took another step closer. 

The thrumming beat increased in speed once more. 

“Dean.”

“S’matter of fact,” Dean slid his fingers across the tabletop, tracing the grooves in the rough wooden surface, “you’re exceptionally calm given I’m now stuck doing a bad David Boreanaz impression for an indefinite period of time, with no guarantee this Campbell special will even work.”

He looked up from where his hand slid along the table to match Sam’s unwavering gaze. His brother tilted his head to look up at him as Dean hovered above, adjusting in his seat. Sam slipped his left arm over the backrest of the chair. 

Dean’s expression turned cold once more.

“And I’ve been thinking, Sammy. It’s ironic. Between that creep, you just standing there and watching, and…” jabbing his thumb back towards himself he gestured “... me…” 

Dean slammed his hand back down on the table, leaning in closer. The headlights of a car flickered through the slim gap in the middle of the window curtains drawn behind them. It reflected off of Dean’s eyes for a split second, making Sam flinch. It reminded him of the animals on the side of the highway, peering at them through the bushes before darting away when they drove late at night.

“Begs the question,” Dean continued. “Which one of us is the real monster?”

Sam swallowed. The first real visible sign of him showing some nerves. He’d finally cracked him.

“Since you can hear my heartbeat,” Sam spoke slowly, “what does it say about me now?” 

His tone was outwardly calm, but Dean could hear through him. 

“It says you’re shit scared, Sammy.”

Sam waited for a few seconds before opening his mouth to respond. Whatever he said, Dean didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze began to shift from Sam’s face down to where the light of the window caught the curve of his exposed bare neck. A pang of hunger swelled in the pit of his chest as the noise and light and intensity of the room faded away until all that was left was the steady sound of the beating, beating, beating. 

A sharp, intense pain stung the side of Dean’s neck breaking him free of the trance as he collapsed to the ground groaning and twitching in pain. Through fading vision he looked up to see Sam still sitting on the chair, slouching back, but holding a syringe in his left hand. The contents empty. 

“You… sonof-abich…” his words formed a slurry as his body went limp.

-

“Nice of you to join us Samuel.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sam’s showing me what all those years of boy scout training taught him to do.”

Dean sat on a chair, his legs, arms and chest bound with thick twine rope. Smiling at Samuel for a moment, he motioned with what little mobility he had in his hands to indicate. Samuel glanced at his brother with a questioning look.

“You did this?”

“He shot me full of dead man’s blood, and I gotta say, that’s one hell of a drug.” 

Dean’s tone was dry and unimpressed. Samuel assessed the room, looking as though he wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it. 

“Anyway you said you were getting something to help?” Dean’s voice broke the silence.

“This is help.”

Samuel pulled a glass jar out of a brown paper bag, setting it on the table. The contents was dark and viscous. It had sloshed around in transit, coating the airgap at the top of the jar. The light pierced through the clear glass and bright red light danced across the varnished wood tabletop.

“Wh- what is that?” 

“Cows blood.” Samuel said curtly.

“That’s help?”

“It’ll keep you alive.”

As he twisted the lid open Dean’s eyes flicked between the jar and the two men.

“Well can you at least untie me first?” he pleaded, his voice straining. 

The rope dug into his wrists and the thought of being spoon fed cows blood was sending his mind to a dark and violent place.

“Dean, it's just a precaution.” Samuel attempted to be reassuring. 

Dean clenched his jaw. Precaution for what. You weren’t even here to see Sam attack me.

“Oh cut the bullcrap!” Dean spat, pulling against the rope binding his arms and legs. “C three P O over here was a bit too cautious back in the alley and look where it got us!”

Samuel stared at him tensely. Dean winced as a spike of sound ringed in his head from a car horn outside. 

“Look I’m fine, Samuel. Really. Just untie me.”

The older man hesitated.

“Please?” Dean cracked a smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

Usually.

Samuel watched him carefully while he placed the jar lid on the table. The unmistakable smell of iron, meat and death began to waft through the room. He leaned into the scent as he realised just how hungry he was. How dry his throat was. How much the deep, dark red called out to him.

“Samuel I will kill you if you try and hand feed that shit to me.”

The older man raised an eyebrow in response, unimpressed, and picked up the jar.

“Wait!” 

Dean grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth as Sam called out from the other side of the table.

“One drop of human blood is enough, are we sure that cow’s blood is clean?”

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me Sammy…” Dean groaned.

Samuel paused, running it through his mind, blinking a few times, he contemplated the risk and the chance. Looking back, Sam shrugged silently.

“Sam has a point. If any human blood, from a cut or a scratch, got into this at the abattoir, you’re done.”

Dean ignored him and glared at Sam.

“God I can’t listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam blurted in frustration. 

“Your fucking heartbeat man! It's so loud, it's so monotonous it’s killing me! Look, Samuel, just cut this fuckin rope and hand me the fuckin jar.”

Reluctantly, and cautiously, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster on his belt. Staying as far from Dean as possible, he nicked part of the rope on Dean’s right arm just enough for him to wiggle it loose. Waving it in the air and stretching the fingers, Dean looked back to the two who were eyeing him off.

“See that wasn’t so bad now was it.” Dean’s tone was sarcastic and he tapped the armrest with his index finger.

“C’mon guys don’t look so nervous.  You can just drug me up again, it’s not like that's off the cards is it Sammy.”

Sam glanced away at the mention of his name, Samuel grunted in frustration as he reached for the jar and took a step towards the chair. In an instant the background thrum of his heart filled Dean’s mind, it was faster, full of nerves and fear compared to Sam’s horribly persistent flat tone. As he approached holding the jar out, Dean felt something shift under his lip.

“NO.”

His voice boomed as he jerked back in his seat, the legs scraping against the floor. Breathing sharply, he tilted his head down avoiding the stares of his associates. 

“Get away from me.”

Grunting and breathing through gritted, sharpened teeth, he glanced up. 

“Sammy, drop the machete.”

They’d both instinctively reached for their weapons. Brandishing them high, already poised for a clean decapitating swing. Dean growled and heaved deep breaths of air, flexing the remaining restraints. He could break free, if he wanted to. With one arm loose, he could easily rip the remaining rope off. He contemplated the thought, reveling in how powerful it made him feel. 

“Dean?”

Samuel’s voice snapped him back to reality. He’d placed his machete back on the table, Sam had lowered his but still gripped it. 

Dean extended his free arm out and flicked his hand towards the table.

“Just hand me the fuckin jar already.”

Samuel was quick to oblige, and quicker to back away once Dean had it in his grip. He tried to not dwell on the way his companions looked at his mouth instead of his face. He could feel the second set of teeth against his lips, his tongue. The smell of blood was suffocating him now, a mixture of alluring coppery tones and the stench of raw stale flesh. He wasn’t sure which was making him feel more ill. The pungent aroma or the fact he liked something in it.

“So you two just gonna watch like this is some sort of peep show or what?”

Neither responded, still fixated on his every move. Pulling a face, Dean limply held the jar up as it to toast before bringing it to his lips. Taking a tentative sip, he recoiled as blood spilt down his chin. Groaning and sputtering he violently spat it out.

“Augh, god this tastes disgusting–”

“I promised you help, I didn’t promise it’d taste nice. Now drink it.”