wip ish

A little something something in honour of Jared-in-tight-Tshirts day

“Jesus, Sammy,” says Dean, “did that shrink in the wash?” It wouldn’t be the first time. Laundromats are always a slightly unstable quantity. Dean’s lost all kinds of beloved clothing over the years. (The Stanford T-shirt Sam mailed him during his first semester at college. A vintage Iron Maiden tour T-shirt he’d picked up for cents at a Goodwill in Philly. Shreds of pink satin, six months after Rhonda Hurley, pulled and pocketed surreptitious from a malfunctioning machine outside Cleveland.) 

Sam looks down at his chest, at the logo straining tight across the taut-pulled fabric. “No-oo?” he says. Dean raises an eyebrow. 

Two patches of pink blossom rosy over Sam’s cheekbones. “I went shopping,” he says, “the other weekend. In Kansas City. When I went to see that film.” 

“Yeah,” says Dean, carefully neutral. 

“Well,” says Sam. “The sales assistant. Uh. I did think it was a little tight but.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. The movement tugs the T-shirt even tighter, emphasising the curved lines of Sam’s pecs, the rounded swell of his bicep. “Threw it in half-price,” he mumbles. “Said it would be a shame.” 

Dean’s amused, mostly. Sammy’s taste in clothes is… idiosyncratic. He can’t imagine his brother in the kind of boutique that might sell him something like this. He tries to picture her, the salesgirl, heart-eyed over this big scruffy scarecrow. She was probably tiny, tiny and glamorous and young. 

“Lady-killer,” he says. 

Sam turns pinker, looks up to meet Dean’s eye. Aw, Sammy, Dean wants to say. He doesn’t quite understand how Sam can still be so clueless around women, so surprised every time he gets hit on. And it doesn’t sound like this chick was trying too hard to be subtle. Half-price. 

Then, “Who says it was a lady?” Sam says, and Dean’s world tilts a little bit sideways. The tiny blonde saleswoman in his head dissolves, resolving into a hard-bodied, chisel-chinned dude, a guy looking Sam up and down as he twists in the mirror. This isn’t. Dean doesn’t.

He blinks at his brother, open-mouthed, but Sam’s already shrugging, looking away. “Yeah, I don’t know. You’re right, it’s… I’ll go take it off.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says without thinking, his own cheeks heated now, tingling-flush with an indefinable anxiety. “Leave it, Sam. It looks good.” 

Sam wrinkles his nose. 

“Really,” Dean says. His eyes skitter again over Sam’s chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the veins that twist down his arms. “You look good,” he says.

Shout-out to all the ladies who:

-Are 20-30 something and are definitively women, but still feel like teenage girls

-Are having trouble reaching their full potential

-Feel so disconnected from themselves and their identity sometimes (or often)

-Crave big changes, but are totally scared to make them

…We’re all works in progress, we’ll never be done. Would you really want to have everything figured out already? How much fun would that be? As hard as it is sometimes, try to enjoy (at least parts of) the ride. Keep going, take a deep breath, and be nice to yourself.

you’re in too deep Bill

im kinda new to the whole Demon guardian au, but i couldn’t get the idea of bill and dot taking care of baby Mabel and dipper 

or in reality, dot going baby crazy over mabel while bill tries his best to avoid baby dipper but that’s impossible because ignorant lil’ dipper likes to snuggle with his triangle

this is what goes though my mind

mainly a wip, if i don’t doodle/sketch/whatever this i can’t sleep

Colored version now up :3

animated couple dancing wip because I’m so proud to love - and just as with animation and love alike, resilience is the best gift one could ask for