#this is based on my pinned post

[dapper-lil-arts]

Comrade Twilight

[thebramblewood]

Exciting news: I now have a story page and a characters page! They're pretty basic at the moment, but I'm hoping to think of some fun stuff to add later. For now, you might find a few new nuggets of insight in the character bios! I just wanted a cute little hub for readers new and old to find everything they need in one place. Let me know if you think anything (or anyone) major is missing or if you notice any errors. Here are all the character portraits. Aren't they cute? And thanks to @buglaur for the incredibly easy to modify template!

[noliaert]

some fanart of THE vampire that owns the night🫰

[epicfroggz]

Inktober 2024 Day 6 - Love

And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again.

[hells-plaid-angel]

Dean had the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. After years of holding his breath as he drove through tunnels, he'd honed the skill, only gasping for breath when the Impala's windshield broke through the darkness and into the light. The habit had formed as a child but lingered into adulthood as most childhood fantasies did.

As a boy, his father raised him on superstition. If you made a wish when the world was swallowed by blackness and you could hold your breath until the end of a tunnel, that wish would come true. Over the years he'd wished for a hundred stupid things. He'd wished his mother was still alive, that he lived a normal life or that a pretty girl would look his way. He'd wished his father had been the one who'd died in the fire. He wished he didn't feel that way.

Once Dean had blacked out in the backseat of the Impala when driving the I-90 through Boston. He'd come to with Sammy squealing like a stuck pig and John Winchester cursing like a sailor. For the next year, being in Massachusetts made him feel light-headed.

Kids and old men are similar in their love of rituals. Dean was no longer a child, but he wasn't ready to call himself an old man. The ritual had changed over the years, but at its heart, it was always the same.

Dean found his new ritual each night he woke from a nightmare. That night, he found himself in the bunker. The image of his hands covered in blood lingered in the darkness of the room. He held his breath wishing for the dream not to be true. He only breathed when he switched on the lights and found his hands clean. In his dreams, Cas was always dying.

The nightmares weren't helped by the fact that the angel had died, numerous times. His sleep-addled mind took time to sort fact from fiction. Had Cas come back this time?

Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that death didn't always stick. Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that the universe liked to make him suffer. Both statements were equally true.

In the nightmare, Cas had died in his arms. He'd awoken, held his breath, switched on the lights and choked out a breath, which sounded suspiciously like a sob. When the drowning feeling reseeded he found himself exiting his bedroom, searching for the object of his nightmares as a drowning man searches for land.

Dean would never admit to himself he was looking for Cas, but the knowledge was there. There were many things Dean knew but wasn't ready to admit.

Dean found the angel in the library of the bunker, absentmindedly flicking through ancient texts and Sam's collection of trashy fitness and lifestyle magazines indiscriminately. A heavy weight on his chest dissipated. Cas looked up at Dean's sharp inhale. He could breathe again.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted, as though he were late to some prearranged meeting.

"Morning, Cas," Dean spoke, for lack of a better topic of conversation. He collapsed into the seat beside Cas.

"It's currently 3:15 a.m. and the sun isn't scheduled to rise until 5:25."

"Thanks for the weather report, buddy," Dean griped. His tone lacked the usual exasperated edge he used when Cas said something that struck him as particularly alien, which was often.

"How are you, Dean? You seem... unmoored."

People in the twenty-first century didn't use words like 'unmoored'. Dean knew exactly what Cas wasn't saying. Dean seemed upset. If there was one thing Dean didn't cope well with, it was being anything less than 'fine'. They were experts in each other's pathology, which would always feel strange. Dean wasn't used to being known.

"Can we talk about something else?" Dean had been working on the concept of denial. However, avoidance was fair game.

"If I'm going to be staying here long term, I want to buy better magazines," Cas stated, tossing the magazine haphazardly. He'd been staying for longer than usual. Dean kept feeling like he was holding his breath, waiting for the angel to disappear.

"We can drive into town come morning. Need to clear my head anyway."

"You haven't been sleeping well," Cas observed, his eyes shifting their attention to Dean. The blue-grey eyes said more than his words. His eyes were an ocean to an inexperienced swimmer. Not everyone could read them. Dean could. There was something more to them. A strong rip beneath steady water. There was a storm raging beneath the surface.

"It's creepy that you've noticed that," Dean remarked.

"You haven't been very quiet."

Dean wondered how much Cas heard. Did he talk in his sleep? Did he call out Cas' name in the night? Had the angel heard the moments of weakness where Dean had let himself muffle sobs behind his hand?

"This isn't changing the subject."

"I've been changing the subject all week. Evidently, it's not working," Cas' voice was resolute.

He and Dean shared their stubbornness, which always led to unproductive stalemates. They were two bucks with their antlers interlocked, starving and trapped in their own idiocy.

"The thing about being human, Cas, is that things don't magically just get fixed because you want them to." Dean rebuked.

"I'm aware, but have you actually tried to fix it?"

They were fighting. Why were they fighting?

"Talking never really solved much in my line of work. You know that."

"Is this about work?" Cas questioned.

They hadn't had any difficult hunts in weeks. Cas knew it wasn't about the job. He wanted Dean to know he knew.

"It doesn't matter what it's about. That's not the point. You don't get it." Dean felt the truth pushing its way up to the surface.

"Then help me understand."

"The problem —." Dean began before he felt anger or frustration choke the words from him.

"The problem is you keep dying."

He'd expected Cas to baulk at the confession. Dean wasn't one for sharing fears or feelings. What he hadn't expected was the look of horror that settled on the angel's face.

Dean scowled and scrubbed at his cheek, quietly cursing himself when his palm pulled back wet. Over the years, he'd gotten good at crying quietly. He hated that he was able to hide it from himself. Men didn't cry. Dean didn't cry. It was a lie, not so much a superstition, but a fable. A story he told himself.

"Dean I — I didn't realise my death... affected you so much. I apologise for the oversight," Cas spoke slowly, as though deliberately choosing each word with care.

How the hell could Cas not know his death, every goddamn one, hurt Dean? Cas was family.

"Yeah, well, I pegged you for a lot of things, Cas. Stupid wasn't one of 'em. So just... Be careful. I'm going to bed," Dean mumbled, praying for a quick exit.

Cas grabbed Dean's arm as he passed, stilling him. Dean felt the restriction return to his throat. He held his breath. He wished Cas knew what he meant without having to say it out loud.

Neither man spoke. The silence stretched long and loud between them. Cas clung to Dean's arm like a dying man to a life raft. For his part, Dean was just trying to stay afloat. Slowly, almost imperceptibly so, Cas' palm slid down to hold Dean's hand. Dean let him, which was as good as a confession.

There would be no confessions. A confession implied guilt, something that Dean had in droves, but not about Cas. It wasn't a lie so much as it was a fable. If a story was told long enough it became history.

He and Cas were still in the dark, biding time between apocalypses. He wished that when they finally found themselves in brighter times, there would be no need for confessions.

[chelireads]

“-We talk of four grown dragons ridden by four grown people. - Rhaenyra spoke, cutting Rhaenys off. - What do we have? We have three very large, very formidable, ridden by yourself, my prince, and I. And then two other large dragons ridden by boys. 

-Sons to the Rogue Prince. - Lord Bar Emmon said. 

-Boys. - Rhaenyra said. - Eleven and twelve. Oh, I know they are eager for it, they are Daemon’s children so I would expect no less, but it will not happen”

Excerpt From

The Blacks & the Greens

@sweetestpopcorn

Stormcloud: That can’t stop me because I don’t understand the common tongue 🐉

[staypuff]

ok i wasnt going to do anything but i found the anniversary number too topical. so here take this thing i scrambled together real quick. miserable 50th crash day for mr kranken

[lucienarcheron]

lucien very capably weaving a flower crown and elain being like “………. someone cooked here…”

Elain sitting here trying not to be too obvious about how hard she's thinking about his fingers doing other things to her body.

She's just pretending his little chuckle wasn't what caused goosebumps to appear all over her skin. Pretending she wasn't thinking about wearing only the flower crown he was weaving in her hair while they did unspeakably filthy things to each other.

Pretending she didn't want to jump his bones and feel those fingers digging into her skin. Elain pretended and pretended even as Lucien worked a little slower, making the beating of her heart go wild.

And though Elain pretended...her mate knew exactly what was happening. And Lucien knew exactly what he was doing 😌

[cathalbravecog]

scenecore misty back at it again!! + a speedpaint! :D

it wasn't meant to be a youtube link, but uploading the video file itself won't work, so apologies about that i know youtube links are annoying on tumblr please don't kill me </3

[sentientobjects]

an assortment of object ocs :D

[sueske]

Kishimoto: I pay attention to angles and composition. The feel of the drawing and what I'm trying to convey is important. Sometimes I rework the illustration to find the perfect angles and points of view. 

Also Kishimoto:

[crispyjenkins]

FINALLY got you on my dash again, only to discover you've written an AC fic that you are giving us dribs and drabs of, heathen *shakes prison cell bars* please tell me more about "Miles" before I combust

HI UR MY NEW FAVORITE (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

  “Your name is not Miles.”

  Desmond tenses for a barely a moment before relaxing again, and doesn’t bother to look up from the hidden blade he’s tweaking to have a faster release. Even if he didn’t recognise the voice, the dark blur leaning against the doorjamb out of the corner of his eye would tell Desmond sure as anything who had come to haunt the armoury at his side. “Of course it isn’t,” Desmond eventually mutters to Francesco Vecellio, the only one of Ezio’s brotherhood to wear dark gray instead of white.

  Francesco snorts, eyeing Desmond from under the beak of his hood, Desmond’s own pushed down around his shoulders to better see by lantern-light. “You should have thought to pick a more common name if you did not want others to question it.”

  “ ’Should have thought to pick anything before I showed up.” He grinds his chisel a little deeper into the metal casing of his blade, and then nearly cuts himself slipping on it when Francesco gives a startled laugh.

  “You didn’t have one prepared?”

  Desmond blinks up at Ezio’s highest-ranked protégé, not sure if he should feel embarrassed or not. “I, uh. Didn’t think that far ahead?”

  And for someone who had managed nine years evading Templars and Assassins both, you’d think he’d have known better.

  The look Francesco gives him tells Desmond he feels the same. “You’re smarter than that, fratellino.”

  Desmond scowls. “Well, obviously I’m not.”

  “... You snuck into the main headquarters of the Italian Brotherhood in less than an hour and then fooled us all into thinking you were supposed to be here for nearly a week — Machiavelli isn’t sure even our Padrone could have managed that.”

  Swallowing uncomfortably, Desmond scoffs and tries to return to his hidden blade, but that still leaves his entire profile in view of Francesco’s far-too-discerning gaze. And he’s the only one other than Desmond to have been training for this since childhood: his observation skills are beaten only by Ezio, and even that is mostly thanks to his Eagle Vision.

  Actually, Francesco is a born Assassin, too, does he have EV?

  “Miles–”

  “Do you have the Sight?”

  They blink at each other, and Desmond isn’t sure who is more surprised by the interruption. Snarky he may be, Desmond has also had politeness beaten into him, and deference besides, and everyone in the Brotherhood had clocked it.

  “To an extent,” Francesco eventually admits, sounding puzzled, “Nothing so refined as il Padrone’s.” He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is... finicky, I can only use it while motionless, and it really only tells me if someone means me harm.”

  Desmond bites back the offer to help train his EV into something far more useful — it would never reach the level of Altaïr’s, or Ezio’s, or Ratonhnhaké:ton’s, because that had more than a little to do with Isu fuckery. However, the Levantine Assassins (at least until Altaïr’s death, though it was Al Mualim who started the practice) were able to train most initiates to have at least some grasp of the technique, as long as they had that genetics-dictated spark to start with. Desmond was lucky enough for his time in the Animus to awaken his own Vision, and living as Ezio slowly mastering it into Eagle Sense had improved it in leaps and bounds for Desmond on the outside, and prepared him for experiencing Ratonhnhaké:ton’s advanced form of it. Though that, and Eagle Sense, never actually awakened in Desmond Miles.

  But “Miles” hasn’t told this Brotherhood that he has Altaïr’s Sight, Ezio’s Gift, partly because Desmond forgot they didn’t know, but now it’s also an active decision, because it would without a doubt make them insist he’s Ezio’s son with even more conviction. And until Desmond has figured out what he’s going to tell Ezio about the whole time-travel–thing, he isn’t going to confirm or deny anything the other members cook up.

  Except Desmond watches Francesco tilt his head, and then his eyes burn golden for just a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  He’s smart enough to guess, but he’s also smart enough not to assume, and patiently waits for Desmond’s response.

  Ahh, fuck it, he’s already screwed up this whole identity thing by talking with Claudia (not that he meant to reveal so much to her but, well, she’s Ezio’s baby sister. And [redacted]. Fuck, time travel is so weird).

  He looks up from his carving again to flash his eyes right back, and is more than gratified to see Francesco glow a steady, deep blue. He tends to avoid looking at the Brotherhood with his EV, he’s too much of a coward to confirm just what they actually think of him, and he’s only looked at Ezio once, before they properly met.

  Francesco smiles in the shadow of his hood, seemingly pleased with Desmond trusting him with such a secret. “Does il Padrone know?” he asks without judgement, and Desmond winces as he looks back down at his tinkering.

  “No, I... I became so used to it that I didn’t think to mention it, and then it had been so long that it was... awkward?” He chuckles nervously at admitting such a weakness, especially when he’s pretty sure this is the longest conversation he’s had with Ezio’s star pupil. He has double blades, for Christ’s sake, despite not being a Master Assassin.

  Oh. Is Desmond jealous of Francesco? Hm, something to think about.

  “And then you did not want the others gossiping,” Francesco agrees, nodding like that is the obvious conclusion. Desmond still doesn’t relax, but he’s glad he didn’t have to spell that out for him.

  Desmond scratches the bridge of his nose awkwardly. “I’m not Master Ezio’s son, but I don’t think any of our siblings would believe me if I tried to tell them that.” And hadn’t finding out his real parentage been an absolute trip; he’s still scarred mentally and physically from it. Which reminds him, he should respond to his mother’s last letter before she begins to worry about him taking too long.

  Having a mother to care about him is... still an experience he’s getting used to. It’s only been, what, two years since he found her again?

  She had glowed a blue so dark it was almost black, a colour Desmond hadn’t seen even once in either of his lives, or the lives he’d lived in the Animus. He knows she kisses her letters before sending them from the indigo left behind like lipstick.

  ... Which is also how Desmond found out he had progressed from Eagle Vision to Eagle Sense, which was also the point he realised he hadn’t told Ezio about his EV in the first place.

  “I believe you.”

  It’s said so simply, Francesco even gives a little shrug, but Desmond whips his head back around and is... absolutely floored. As dehumanised and used as he was in the 21st century, his little jaunt to the past has almost been worse, if he lets himself think about it too hard (and he never does). People don’t just... believe in Desmond.  Something must show on his face, because Francesco offers him a tight smile. Then, blessedly, he changes the subject and nods to Desmond’s hands, “What are you working on?”

-

[cat-b0t]

Thinking about hoffman holding that needle in saw 5 again. I think alot of people interpret that scene as hoffman wanting strahm to live and I agree to a point. HOWEVER. I think he wanted the game to be FAIR. He wanted strahm to have a FIGHTING CHANCE. He wanted strahm to trust him, to WIN his game, he wanted him to LIVE through a FAIRLY PLAYED GAME.

I need to lay down.....

[braveasnouns]

(pinned intro post!)

my names Al!

my answered asks are under #brave as answers (feel free to send me one anytime)

my (sweet tooth) fanfictions are under #brave as writing

my (sweet tooth) headcanons are here

my sideblog for sweet tooth gifs here

some of my interests:

- Sweet Tooth (the netflix show)

- Stardew Valley! leah is my wife forever and i also love shane as a character

- Newsies! pretty much all versions though 92sies will always live in my heart

- the Hunger games! i’ll probably post more about it when the new book comes out too

- just a lot of wlw media in general

- Generation loss!! i don’t talk about it much but i’ve been a fan since it was just a concept :D also just Ranboo in general

- lots of different music. some of my favorites are AJJ (hence the username), will wood, tommy lefroy, Iron and wine, hozier, mitski, leith ross, slaughter beach, dog, amigo the devil and adrianne lenker

- irl i love baking, fiber arts, plushies and reading

I mostly just post about Sweet Tooth (Becky/Bear is my absolute favorite) but i reblog things about my other interests and talk about other stuff sometimes <3

I have adhd and autism so i hyperfixate a lot and if something i say comes across wrong that's probably the reason. also im a lesbian and i don't mind any pronouns (mirror pronouns are cool!!)

[kheprriverse]

This month is my birthmonth (yay) so I'm giving y'all a 15% off discount for my inprnt store as well as my kofi shop that will last until October 1st!

☕ Ko-fi shop [Code: KHEPSEP15] 🎨 Inprnt Shop [Code: VCGQGW] -> Anything I get from this goes to CSP's 3.0 update, and extras will go into savings for a new pc, in case anyone was curious.

Do lmk if there's images I've posted in the past that you want as prints though, I'd love to add more!