#Normal again.

[ministarfruit]

amesame for the road

[spinecurlingmice]

ignore his clothes clothes r my worst enemy 24/7 they break into my house and start beating the shit out of me until im a bloody pulp blagh

i said that haji would tend to the church flowers like Once and havent stopped thinking about him doing the crk flowering animation for like. days now. so i decided to do something about it 😓 screenshot editors u r a different kind of strong ,,, this was agonizing figuring out what went where

waves at u @mars-ipan this isnt a usual thing but ohrr well... this guy has captured me he's so terrified of the world and i need to eat him alive ribs and all. tasty ! watching him just lose his mind is also amazing gguguhhh i love gay conversion 🤤💞 i love the affects i love the fact hajime is so blindly devoted i love that he doesn't really mind that everything else could be falling apart as long as komaeda gives him even a GLANCE. ggrrgghgh gurhhghghhhh... theyre soooo. im being locked in a cage and im pacing back and fourth like a rabid animal PLEASEEEEEEEEEE. the bait u set for this literally has me hook line and sinker im gonna lose it i dont think this is dfairrr.....

[zibanejad]

:)

[apollos-boyfriend]

shoutout to C418 (one of minecraft’s composers) for just fucking snapping recently on twitter

[bags-of-regret]

Oh god theres more

[mochasucculent]

The gang all together 👍

Sketch v final + refs below!

First pic was reffed from My Own Private Idaho, which ended up being a really bad idea because this focal length was ridiculous to try and flatten out and match with the others lol

Second pic was obvi The Pieta by Michelangelo, but shoutout to my partner for suggesting the role reversal cause I was initially gonna draw Viktor in Jayce's arms again, but having it the other way around gave me the idea for the last piece where they're mutually in each other's arms and on equal ground in the composition

Third pic was reffed from The Blossoming Of Love by Miquel Blay! Had to move Jayce's hand to Viktor's shoulder because he was too yolked for his arm to fit between them lmao

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[anna-scribbles]

so this summer i am nannying a 5 year old who loves miraculous ladybug (my dream) & every day she asks if we can play ladybug and chat noir at the park. these are some comics based on our various games<3

[justarandomart]

they are so normal guys

[corrodedparadox]

⚠️

[eridan-ampora]

i love it when characters are codependent. i love it when losing someone feels like losing a limb. i love it when two people "complete" each other so wholly and terribly that one can barely function without the other. i love it when the fear of losing the only person who understands them is so all-consuming they'll destroy anything to stay together, including themselves.

[hansoeii]

crowley

[chloesimaginationthings]

Purple Michael is the best FNAF Michael

[beif0ngs]

I’ve discovered a fourth principle, one that heightens all others. Sacrifice.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[zevrra]

—cherry red

virgin!choso who’s never even had his first kiss and he wants nothing more than to experience these uncharted waters with you and only you.

“stick out your tongue a little.” you whisper against his lips after a few heated moments of making out. he’s dazed, chasing after your lips, dark eyes full of lust glancing across your face; seeking for what you want. but he does as you say, letting you kiss him even deeper than before. moans into your mouth with a lift of his hips. already hard and needy. he wants you to touch him more and more, tight and stiff in the pants he wears.

“please. i can’t. i’m—“ he cries into your mouth as your palm finds the tent between his legs. you barely wrap your hand around his cock, stroking upwards towards the head, before he’s cumming beneath your touch. whines and thrusts into your hand that is still curled around him, stuttering through his premature orgasm.

he’s panting, mumbling a soft and sweet sorry, as he leans back against your couch when he comes down from his high. and the sight of him, messy and disheveled, is enough to keep your hand moving. faster and faster against his pants to stiffen him up and drag him into overstimulation, watching tears build at the corners of his eyes as he begs you to stop.

he doesn’t mean it. keep using him to your heart’s content. he fucking loves it.