#and now it’s gone and I want to explode

[strawberrychampagneglass]

Love Me Not

WC : 1.5k (short, ik, but there will be a significantly longer second part. This is j to set the stage and keep you guys fed) A/N: woah it's been a busy couple of weeks. haven't really decided what to do with roses but we'll see, but here's a little mini-series inspired by the song "Love Me Not" by Ravyn Lenae. Stay safe, take care of yourselves, and i hope yall enjoy this little lead up

Pairing: Paige + Azzi Themes: angst, angst, angst, pining, hurt/little bit of comfort ig

Paige is sprawled across her bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She tries to convince herself that she’s desperate for a dopamine hit after a grueling day of physically and mentally exhausting conditioning, but in reality, she’s desperate for a distraction. She’s desperate for something to fill the Azzi-sized void in her heart, a void that has continuously fractured her heart for the past month. 

No, I don’t need you.

She knew the words she hurled at the brunette were deliberate, perfectly selected to leave a lingering wound. And God, it hurts. It hurts Paige to know how effortlessly she can break Azzi. The type of hurt compresses the blonde’s chest so much that it hurts to breathe. Hell, it hurts to think. 

Yet amidst her self-pity party, a small flame inside Paige that had subconsciously fostered into a flame, igniting every vein of her body, only fuels her frustration with the younger woman. 

She knew they had no title, no exclusivity, but when she saw her Azzi smiling at, talking to, touching, and kissing another woman at the bar, she lost it. She had exploded at her best friend. The second her words, laced with jealousy and pain, rolled off her tongue, she wished she had caught them and shoved them back in her mouth. The second she saw Azzi’s beautiful face crumble, her dark eyes, usually full of adoration for the blonde, suddenly filled with deep, gut-wrenching hurt. Paige wanted nothing more than to comfort the younger woman. 

But I miss you, come here. 

Her mind is full of her teammate’s urging to text the younger woman, to apologize. And Paige wants to apologize, explain, and hell, even beg for another chance. But at the end of the day, it made sense to Paige. It made sense that every time they watched a movie, Azzi was absent from the warm covers of Paige’s bed in the morning. It made sense that Azzi’s body was stiff every time they hugged as if reciprocating Paige’s hug was painful. It made sense that every time they fucked, albeit drunk and impulsive, Paige would always wake up to an empty bed. Her fingers hover over her keyboard before she sighs and drops it, opting to curl up under the comfort of her covers instead. 

Oh, it's hard to see you

Her memories replayed in her mind like the highlight reel she had made to recruit the brunette to UConn, the highlight reel that had meant so much more to both of them. It was the string that would tie the two together for the next four years. Every moment spent with Azzi, every touch, every stolen glance, and every whispered word begins to paint an intricate mural of PaigeandAzzi. But it’s gone now. She can still hear the laughter that fell from her lips so easily, replaying in her mind as an endless loop 

But I wish you were right here.

The delicacy of Azzi’s touch to ease her to sleep is gone, replaced by an unbearable silence. She knows better, though; there were no commitments, no strings, and no promises. But Paige had simply assumed that they would be exclusive with each other. Maybe that was the problem, why Azzi never stayed, why she always left before Paige could reach for her, before she could beg her to stay. 

Next to her, Paige’s phone vibrates, snapping her out of her trance. Before she can look, her heart leaps out of her chest, sparking the remnants of hope in her chest to life before she can check the screen. But when she does, her heart sinks into the chasm of her chest in disappointment. It’s a simple text from KK, asking where she is. In hindsight, Paige knows she was out of character today. Usually, she’s one of the last people to leave the locker room, opting to take a shower and joke around with her teammates before heading back to her dorm for the night. Tonight, however, she was the first person out of the locker room, barely acknowledging the presence of her teammates. Instead of answering the text, she lets her body get engulfed in a deep sleep.

***

When the door to Azzi’s room creaks open ever so quietly, she instantly sits up, her eyes wide and her body rigid. As soon as her eyes land on a tall, blonde woman in the doorway, her body softens instinctively. 

But this woman isn’t Paige. 

She misses the stillness of her favorite pair of blue lights that glisten with mirth whenever they find Azzi’s warm brown eyes. She misses the chorus of favorite giggles echoing off the walls in the middle of the night. Most of all, she misses the smooth texture of Paige’s soft skin that melded perfectly with the tips of Azzi’s finger. 

And Azzi knows she’s being unfair, but the idea of Chloe felt wrong. The green eyes were foreign, although they were sultry and sexy, they didn’t instill the same sense of innocent affection. The platinum blonde hair feels unfamiliar, it was straightened out and detangled to perfection, but it lacks the silkiness that Paige’s golden hair possessed. Chloe was undeniably beautiful, but she wasn’t Paige. She doesn’t have the irresistible charisma, the selflessness, nor the same, unmatched affection for her teammates. Azzi missed Paige, and as lovely as Chloe is, she can’t bring herself to love the girl. 

“Hey baby,” Chloe sing-songs as soon as her eyes land on the brunette. Azzi tenses at the use of the name, her mouth contorting into a frown. Digging her fingernails into her palm, she knows she needs to be honest with Chloe, tell her the truth and tell her that the last 5 weeks were a waste of both of their time. 

Oh, it's hard to leave you when I get you everywhere

When Chloe walks over to the bed, ready to embrace the brunette, there’s obvious discord between her body and her brain as she reciprocates the hug, melting into Chloe’s warm body. “Hey Chlo,” Azzi hums. 

But it feels wrong, and Azzi knows. It feels wrong in places she can’t pinpoint. What she does know though, is that she can’t give her heart to Chloe. 

***

When Paige’s shot bounces off the rim for the umpteenth time, she curses to herself, throwing her hands onto her face. It was a poorly chosen shot--a three heaved up a second too late, her view obstructed by an outstretched hand. But Paige’s body has been out of sync from her calculated instincts programmed into her mind. Every pass from Paige to Azzi was just a fraction off and led to a turnover or a missed shot. Their coordination was off, the once effortless and rhythmic on-court chemistry had become a stifling presence, a lingering tension that neither of them know how to ease.

As soon as she slumps on the bench, she buries her head into her arms, sighing for a prolonged moment. CD spares her a sympathetic glance before returning to Geno’s side, his voice gruff as he yells out plays over the chaos of practice. Jana pats her back in reassurance, muttering incoherent words that were drowned out by the sharp barks of instruction and clatter of sneakers against the hardwood floor.

Azzi, on the other hand, feels her throat dry up as she watches a carefully constructed Paige unravel in front of her eyes. The sight of her--head bowed, shoulders tense, completely shut off--sends an uncomfortable chill down her spine. Paige had been uncharacteristically nervous, lacking the confidence and fierceness that once twinkled in her now dull eyes. This wasn’t the Paige that could shake off a missed shot with a shrug and a smirk before running back on defense. This was a Paige that was breaking, every piece that made Paige Paige were beginning to fracture right in front of Azzi’s eyes. She forces herself to look away, running down the floor to the 3-point-line where she drains a 3 with ease.

After every mistake, a heavy silence follows, thickening the storm brewing between the two women. Neither of them acknowledge it, they don’t have a need to. It’s in the way Paige’s jaw clenches, the muscle flexing, or in the way Azzi’s hands hesitate, fingers gripping the ball a little too tightly. Their discomfort is palpable, infecting the rest of their teammates who glance at each other in horror. 

Paige doesn’t look at her. And maybe that hurts the most. 

Soon as you leave me, we always lose connection

By the time Geno dismisses them to the locker room, Paige is already turning toward the locker room, her head down, her strides quick and detached. Azzi wants nothing more than to reach out to the blonde and embrace her. Instead, she stays rooted to her spot, paralyzed under the tangible weight of their broken relationship. She watches Paige disappear down the tunnel, the space between them stretching farther than before.

[he4dlin3]

hey! can you please do a louis x reader where they’ve just gone public with their relationship and social media are being super mean to her etc so she isn’t sure they can stay together and there’s some angst followed by fluff

thanks!

“Love in the Limelight — L.T “

Pairing ; Louis Tomlinson x Fem!reader

Synopsis ; Louis finally goes public with his relationship, and his girlfriend faces relentless online hate that slowly wears her down convincing herself that leaving is the only option.

Navigation | Material List

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You had known dating Louis Tomlinson would come with challenges. It wasn’t just that he was famous—he was Louis Tomlinson, a member of One Direction, adored by millions, worshipped by fans who had supported him for years. You had prepared yourself for the scrutiny, the invasive questions, the inevitable comparisons to his exes. What you hadn’t prepared for was the sheer ferocity of the backlash when you and Louis finally went public.

It had been his idea.

“I don’t want to hide you,” he had said, fingers brushing against your cheek, voice gentle but firm. “I want to be able to hold your hand in public. Post pictures of us. I want to love you openly.”

You had smiled then, warmth spreading through your chest. How could you have said no to that? You loved him—deeply, fiercely, in a way that sometimes scared you with its intensity. So when he posted the first picture of you on his Instagram, you had thought it was the beginning of something beautiful.

Instead, it felt like the beginning of your own personal nightmare.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

You had expected some backlash.

You had braced yourself for it the moment Louis pressed ‘post’ on that first Instagram picture of the two of you.

It was nothing extravagant—just a candid of you laughing at something he’d said, your head thrown back, smile bright, eyes alight with joy. The caption was simple: Happiness looks like this.

You should’ve known better.

The hate started small—passive-aggressive comments, backhanded compliments.

“Why does he always go for girls like this?”

“She’s so plain. Like, I don’t get it.”

“She’s cute, I guess, but why her?”

“Hope she enjoys her fifteen minutes.”

You had tried to brush it off. You weren’t naïve. Louis had millions of fans. Of course, not everyone would be happy.

But then it escalated.

Twitter exploded with your name trending—for all the wrong reasons. A thread analyzing everything from your appearance to your past relationships to your fucking personality went viral. They picked apart your outfits, your social media posts, your job, your worth. Strangers who had never met you dissected your life as if they had the right.

And the comments—God, the comments.

“She’s ugly.”

“Why does he always date nobodies?”

“She’s just another fame-hungry whore.”

“Can’t wait for them to break up.”

“Dare i say Elenor was better?”

The worst part? They weren’t just words on a screen. They felt like knives, digging under your skin, carving away at your self-esteem with every passing hour.

You deactivated your Twitter first, but it didn’t help. The hate just followed you to Instagram. Your DMs filled with threats, with cruel jokes, with strangers telling you to kill yourself because you had the audacity to love someone they worshipped.

Louis, of course, noticed. He noticed everything when it came to you.

He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way you started leaving your phone face-down. The way you forced a smile when he asked if you were okay. The way your laughter, once effortless, now felt like something you had to work for.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured one night, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh as you sat curled up beside him on the couch.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He studied you, unconvinced. “You sure?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

He didn’t press, but the worry in his eyes never faded.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

A week later, you broke.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. You had spent days pretending, swallowing your emotions like poison, convincing yourself you could handle it.

But then you saw it.

A photo, an edited photo.

A split screen—one side, a stunning, airbrushed image of one of Louis’ exes, someone the fans adored. The other side, you. Unflattering, caught mid-blink, looking worse than you’d ever seen yourself.

The caption: He fumbled so bad.

Something inside you snapped.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, hands trembling as you stared at your reflection. And for the first time in your life, you hated what you saw.

The harsh bathroom light illuminated every imperfection, every flaw you had spent years trying to accept. Your eyes, red and swollen from holding back tears, looked lifeless, as if the exhaustion from the past few weeks had drained every last bit of light from them.

Your skin, usually warm and alive, looked dull and tired. The dark circles beneath your eyes stood as proof of the sleepless nights spent scrolling through comment sections, through hate-filled messages, through thread after thread of strangers tearing you apart like it was their personal mission.

You lifted a shaky hand to your face, fingers brushing over your cheek, as if touching yourself would somehow confirm that the person staring back at you was still you. But all you could hear were their words—cruel, merciless, repeated like a mantra in your mind.

You weren’t good enough.

Not for Louis.

Not for this life.

Not for any of it.

You gritted your teeth as the lump in your throat thickened. The weight of their words pressed down on your chest like a vice, squeezing until you could barely breathe.

You had tried to ignore it. You had tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, that these were just people hiding behind screens, people who didn’t know you, people whose opinions shouldn’t hold any power over you.

But they did.

Because you had spent your entire life trying to be enough. Trying to be someone worth loving. And now, here you were, face to face with your own worst fears, reflected back at you in unforgiving clarity.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe Louis deserved better.

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought, at the reality that no matter how much he reassured you, no matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful, that you were everything he wanted—none of it could drown out the deafening roar of the world telling you otherwise.

Your breath hitched as you pressed your palms against the cool porcelain sink, gripping the edges so tightly your knuckles turned white. A tear slipped down your cheek, slow and silent, followed by another. And another. Until suddenly, you couldn’t stop them.

You bit down hard on your lip, willing yourself to pull it together, to shove it all down the way you had been for days, for weeks, for ever since this started. But the walls you had built so carefully were crumbling, collapsing under the weight of it all.

The grief. The doubt. The unbearable loneliness of knowing that millions of people had already decided they hated you without ever even knowing you.

You sucked in a breath, but it came out broken, uneven, shattered by the sob that ripped from your throat.

You had never felt so small.

So unworthy.

So lost.

You felt like you were drowning in an ocean of people telling you you’d never be enough, and the worst part?

You believed them.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Louis found you an hour later.

You hadn’t meant for him to.

You had tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your tear-streaked face, willing yourself to just breathe. But when you stepped out of the bathroom, he was there—waiting.

His brows furrowed the second he saw you. “What’s wrong?”

Your throat closed up. “Nothing.”

“Love,” he said, voice impossibly soft. “Please don’t lie to me.”

And that was it.

The dam broke.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Louis’ expression darkened. “Do what?”

“This,” you gestured vaguely, your vision blurring with fresh tears. “Us.”

His entire body tensed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You let out a choked, humorless laugh. “I’m ruining you.”

Louis’ jaw clenched. “What?”

“The fans hate me. They think I’m some pathetic, ugly, gold-digging rebound. They think you deserve better. And maybe—maybe they’re right.”

Louis looked like you had physically struck him.

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped.

“Is it?” Your voice cracked. “Because I don’t think I can keep pretending like it doesn’t hurt, like it’s not breaking me every. single. day.”

Louis ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Who gives a fuck what they think?”

“I do,” you admitted, and your voice sounded so small, so defeated. “Because I love you, Louis. But I don’t know if I can survive this.”

His face crumpled, and before you could pull away, he grabbed you—hands framing your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as his own eyes shone with something raw, something devastating.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You can’t.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “I don’t want to. But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You don’t have to fix anything,” he insisted. “You just have to stay.”

“Louis—”

“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “You don’t get to say you’re not good enough. Not when you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You sucked in a breath, your chest aching.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you. And I don’t care what they say. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life fighting for you—I will.”

Your hands clenched into the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself in him.

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispered. “Please don’t let them take you from me.”

And that—that was what shattered you.

Because you weren’t the only one hurting.

Louis was, too.

And if he could fight for you, maybe—just maybe—you could fight for him, too.

You inhaled shakily, nodding. “Okay.”

Louis pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you thought you might break. But instead of falling apart, you found something else—something stronger.

Because love wasn’t easy.

And neither was this.

But Louis was worth it.

And maybe—just maybe—you were, too.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

a/n : hi, thanks for requesting and i hope you enjoyed this! i tried my best, my angst is a little rusty and hasn’t seen the light of day since my wattpad writing days 💔 😭

[arkofangels]

Chat, was I cooking or nah?

This is a small sneak peak into my next fanfic im writing and I need to know if im actually working with something, I think I didn't do too bad. But let me know in the comments what I should change!!!

The alley reeks of piss and burnt-out dreams. You’re halfway through lighting a cigarette—hands still trembling from tonight’s “meeting” with Fisk’s bookkeeper—when the first punch lands.

It’s not professional. No brass knuckles, no silent goon in a ski mask. Just a wiry man with bloodshot eyes and a switchblade, his voice cracking as he spits, “You got my brother killed! You let that monster walk!”

Ah. Right. Marco Spinelli’s case. The brother of the woman Spinelli strangled in a fit of rage after you convinced the jury it was “self-defense.” You’d sent flowers to the funeral. Fisk had laughed.

You don’t bother dodging the next blow. The knife grazes your ribs, but you’re too busy calculating: If I scream, will Fisk’s surveillance team intervene? Or will they let this play out, another test of loyalty?

The man slams you against the brick wall. Your head cracks against the mortar, stars exploding behind your eyes.

“You’re a monster,” he snarls.

You almost smile. If only he knew.

Then—a thwip of something slicing the air. A red blur slams into your attacker, sending him sprawling. The knife clatters to the ground as Matt Murdock pins the man with one hand, his other fist raised.

“Stay down,” Matt growls, His voice was deeper, rougher—a far cry from the soft-spoken tone you once knew.

The man scrambles backward, eyes wide. “F-Freak!” He bolts, disappearing into the maze of fire escapes.

Matt turns toward you, chest heaving. “Are you hurt?”

You swipe blood from your split lip. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He freezes. “He was going to kill you.”

“And?” You straighten your torn coat, fingers brushing the hidden tracker Fisk planted in the lining. Let him watch. Let him see how loyal I am. “Now he’ll come back. Or send friends. And I’ll have to clean up your mess.”

Matt steps closer, his mask doing nothing to hide the fury in his clenched jaw. “You’d rather die than admit you need help?”

“I need one thing,” you hiss, “and it’s not a blind martyr playing hero. Fisk’s trust is a house of cards. One whiff of you near me, and it collapses.”

He grabs your arm, gentler than you expect. “Let me take you to a hospital.”

You yank free. “Touch me again, and I’ll file a restraining order.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve bled worse for less.” You relight your cigarette, the flame trembling in your grip. “Go save someone who cares, Murdock.”

He doesn’t move. “Why do you let him use you?”

The truth claws at your throat—Because every scar Fisk gives me is a receipt I’ll cash in when I bury him. Because my sister’s kids sleep soundly in a house his money bought, and I won’t let them pay for my revenge.

You blow smoke in his face. “Better his weapon than his target.”

For a heartbeat, he looks like he wants to shake you. Or kiss you. Or both.

Then his head snaps toward the rooftops. “They’re coming. Fisk’s men.”

“Good.” You lean back against the wall, the brick biting into your bruises. “Let them find me like this. Gives the performance some… authenticity.”

Matt swears under his breath. “This isn’t a game.”

“No,” you say, smiling as headlights turn into the alley. “It’s a war. And you’re not on my side.”

He was gone before the black SUVs even hit the brakes.

Fisk’s enforcers swarm you, all false concern and veiled threats. “Who did this to you, ma’am?”

You let your voice shake. “Some lunatic. Thought I was someone else.”

As they usher you into the car, you catch a shadow perched on the rooftop—red suit blending into the neon.

You mouth two words into the dark: “Stay. Away.”

He doesn’t.

[cloudsoverheadgrassunderfoot]

I shared this with a friend who doesnt have tumbr and she had thoughts and told me to post them.

No. What it is is they are already aware bc of ties to the Russians, so orders start coming in and seem weird? But like ok, boss. Then, on an away mission, Teal'c spots other Taur'i masquerading as Jaffa. Teal'c recognizes one of them from that time Sam was stuck in a sub with them.

It leads to a special ops without SGC even knowing like the time Jack pretended to go crazy and steal tech to find the black market people.

Sam comes out of retirement to assist Cam, who is now in charge of SGC with why his away team has gone silent. They can't be dead, they're SG-1!

SG-1 goes to a friendly alien planet to find Danial and get his help since none of them speak Russian to decipher the recordings they got. Vala takes a break from whatever she pretends to be doing everyday to keep Danial happy and enters into the black market which is definitely the first time she has ever ventured in since forever and she only recognizes old contacts and their young children and definitely never done deals with them before. She learns where they are going and how they are smuggling things off the planet.

Meanwhile

Sheppard is straight up planning a civil unrest/coup with his team from Atlantis and they get distracted bc on Rodney's first day back on the station he accidentally releases a virus that locks it down. Again. And they spend the entire season trying to figure it out. In the finale the plots align and Atlantis has to gate to a third location to get a puddle jumper to SG-1 who then use it to explode the Russian space base.

China and France Decide they don't want to lose their share of the power of the gate and argue that it should be put somewhere neutral thus spurring a space race to build a moon base for the gate. It ends up being the downfall of Musk when he can't compete with gate tech adding to the space race.

still liking stargate sg1 in the year of our lord 2025 is such a trip because now i'm in a position to imagine how the sgc would function under a trusk (trumpxmusk) presidency

...and i thought Kinsey was bad

[emeritusterzo]

dreamer screaming in visceral agony then it cutting to raven’s devil promo is one of those wrestling things that is deeply engraved into my brain

[duusheen]

Where do you go If I don't love you anymore? 🎶

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

[eyesore-boi]

You think that you're alone but

We are waiting for you every night...

You're mine.

Close ups and other stuff below!

...so....10 years, huh?

I cannot understate how much FNaF means to me in my life, and yeah...know that sounds a b i t much considering it's the funny har har bear games, but lemme explain-

Truth is, i was actually terrified of FNaF when it first came out! I remember my first introduction to it was when i was having a sleepover at my friend's place and he was both playing and watching other people play the first game, and when i was watching it with him, i got scared and tried to avoid the game as much as i could, even claiming to hate the game despite just knowing the first game. I was young and was prone to sheltering myself from stuff i didn't understand, and that being the first scary game i've ever seen caused that reaction, but over time...that changed.

It happened when i was watching YT and clicked on a comic dub i never seen before, thinking it was an AU for a fandom i was in (probably Undertale i dunno), but lo and behold, it was actually a fandub/animatic for the missing kids incident, and that...peaked my interest. I got curious on how this scary game actually had an interesting story to it and not just some game that goes boo. So, soon after that, i decided to look up simply "FNaF Story", found the Game Theory videos, and...the rest is history.

I was amazed and hooked, got invested in how the games explained the story in ways i've never seen before, got excited when i saw everything click together in real time, and pair that with how i got into the series r i g h t when Sister Location came out, arguably when the lore really started to kick off, i knew there was no going back now. I stuck with the series since. I watched all the animatics and dubs, listened to all the songs, tried drawing the characters, made OC's, and even talked to other people about this franchise.

And now look- Not gonna pretened this whole time it's been sunshine and (Chica's) rainbows, especially in recent times. The drop off SB caused, the lore getting more and more complicated and convoluted, the divide between older and newer fans, being the founder of Mascot Horror (for every Poppy Playtime there i s a Garten of Ban Ban) and course the IRL drama, but in all seriousness...i still wouldn't trade it for anything.

FNaF, this series, is my very first experience connecting me with a community like this, both good and bad, helping me understand how to properly enjoy media and even learn/take things from it, and i think without it i wouldn't be in the fandoms i'd be in now. The scary, horror ones, the niche, hard to find ones, story driven, character rich, and of course...more importantly...getting me into Markiplier, which further influenced the "outside the box" kind of thinking cause my g o d for these two stories you need too-

And speaking of, because of those two stories, it lead to me branching out more creativily and even creating my own webcomic for an AU combining both of them, so regardless on how that'll go, i'm just glad this series has influenced me enough to create something for others to see, since that's all i ever want to give.

But really, this franchise will forever be with me, and though i don't always agree with all of it (i haven't read any of the books in y e a r s and i refuse to do so), it only makes some of the stuff it does do right completely worth it (like the movie, peak cinema), and for where ever this bear shaped train is going next, well, i'll be here for the ride for all of it. No matter how many burning buildings it goes through.

...oh and um- Right yeah. The actual art piece. Uh....it crashed multiple times when drawing it. It's even a miracle i was able to export it. I can't even open it up anymore. So even if i wanted to change anything about it, i c a n 't -

But still pretty happy with how it came together! Was run drawing these robos, some being kinda redraws from the past, while other's i've n e v e r drawn before, so that was interesting! But still, tried to draw the "main character" so to say from each of the main FNaF games, and just kinda be...walking along through the series, nothing too deep or complex, but still interesting enough! ....unlike the fnaf storyline cause g o d how many restaurants wERE THEIR S C O T T -

But for real this is going long enough, so ima head out and do my own FNaF related things thay you don't need to worry about shush *commits arson*

HAPPY 10TH FNAF BIRTHDAY EVERYBODY!! >:DD

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Jim wrote Claire a love letter before fighting Draal -

No he did not.

That was not a fucking love letter. He didn't even confess his feelings to her; he confessed that there are monsters that he had to fight. She didn't interpret it as a love letter, nor did she realize the monsters were literal instead of metaphorical.

That was not a love letter. That was a final message to the survivor. That was a suicide note.

[strawberryfaced]

I NEED. TO DO. OR MAKE SOMETHING. PLEASE

[scamperin-shroom]

I'll never get over this foreshadowing

The cliff she was on in her first dream during the pilot episode even matches when her arm broke on the Donut Planet

I love finding parallels like this

[sotogalmo]

7:57

Thinking of re-doing one of my old Omori aus (my "OHHELL" au)

Doing the same approach as my brother (Danny,, @dannybobany ) did for his au (Marzenie). Cuz- woah. Never thought of that actually, was doing the common switched roles for the au. But now I think I can just simply have Hero's headspace being more of an unfinished area?

Main stuff to know tho; ocean themed — mermaids (love/forsaken love). Slightly religious (church, and "perfection"). Others vs You (? Maybe?). Tradition vs New (can go well with the church idea!).

It was- mainly inspired by the song Love Ka? 👍 (But also also! Bathtub mermaid too!!)

[keeps-ache]

i need to walk into a field and just sit for for a while.. maybe forever hbfsh...

[piningpercussionist]

Fav hair color ramona has worn?

She kinda rocks every color she's come around sporting, honestly.

I guess I'm partial to the blue- she's had it for a while now, so I'm pretty sure that must mean something.

Although...

*Kim pulls out her phone and messes with it for a minute, before turning it around.*

This was also a really nice look, if you ask me.

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

what if I died