#crazy form~

[woosansang]

top 10 kpop betrayals

[chloesimaginationthings]

I hope we see ghost kid Charlie in the FNAF 2 Movie

[ato-dato]

Go on, burst every one of his bubbles why don’t you

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Suddenly, bell bottoms aren't so bad

Bonus sketch, because I had to vv

"Stop checking out my assistant, Stanley."

[mxmarsbars]

the girls, the gays, and impulsesv :D

(or pics pack. or the heartbreakers. or gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, girldad.)

[macbethz]

Brother I can understand him more than you could ever imagine

[azuneekun]

Opinions on Caldarus?

i like him a lot.

[lazyveran]

the scene where jinx reads out the letter to vi is so so so important.

vi's idolised vander her entire life. he's her shining example of what to do, her golden heart, everything she was supposed to be and symbolise. and since his passing, it's been nothing but clawing her way back to his image. to his final words, to all of it.

only for jinx to take up that mantle. for vi's lurching attempts to make things right landing her as an enforcer on the other side of the river. it's why vi, despite not trusting jinx an inch, still goes with her to find vander. because vander was everything to vi, and if she can find him and make that right then maybe things would be okay. in everything else, her stinging failures and misery and loneliness, maybe saving vander would save herself too.

and then she finds the letter. the letter from vander to silco - silco, who vi sees as everything that went wrong. all the bad awful shit, why she lost powder, why she lost jinx. the reason why she went after her sister to try and stop (kill) her. and the letter is asking silco for forgiveness. forgiveness. and it all clicks into place.

because if vander, good and right vander, wanted to forgive silco, then whats stopping vi from forgiving jinx?

[seong-star-hwars]

Ateez as tumblr posts - part 4/?

Crazy Form Edition part 1, 2, 3 Bonus!: the moon

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I cannot wait for this Stan to reconnect with his Ford.

I still haven't figured out HOW exactly they'll meet yet, but I do think that Ford would ATTACH himself to Stanley and talk his ears off forever when they eventually get comfortable :] and Stanley would listen because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S HIS BRO HE HASN'T SEEN FOR 40-ISH YEARS, HE MISSED HIS VOICE. Nonstop certified Yapper & Listener relationship <3

Stanley looks dead faced because of his ingrained poker face, but he's thouroughly enjoying it, even if sometimes he has no idea what the fuck Ford is saying. He never interrupts him though, since he knows people usually ignore or interrupt him mid-talk already. So sometimes Stan gets stuck in awkward situations where he has to leave or do stuff, but also doesn't have it in his heart to stop Ford and extract himself out of a (one-sided) conversation.

[nunutiny]

💙

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Story #2

I remember asking my mom once, if her dad had gotten ornerier as he'd gotten old. I'd heard about that happening, and it would've made sense for him. He was already the orneriest old cuss I'd ever met. Couldn't even imagine him being grumpier than he was.

Instead of answering the question directly, she told me about what it was like going to church with him as a kid. Their church was a small Mormon ward out in the sticks of Colorado, and he served as their Bishop - mostly by virtue of being the only one willing to do that much unpaid work. He was also the ward pianist. He actually liked playing piano, and he liked having an audience, so it was more or less understood that he was willing to be the bishop in exchange for being the pianist. 

Which could've been a good trade, but there were a few problems.

The first problem was that Grandpa Dale played every song at about triple speed. He was a deeply impatient person, and that extended to how he played music. The second problem was that he had a bad habit of cursing under his breath. That would've been a scandalous  enough habit for a Mormon bishop, but was made much worse (and also much funnier)  by him being pretty damn deaf. So what he thought of as "quiet" cursing under his breath was more of just a verse hoarse way of yelling. I only visited him for a week or two every summer, and I still learned most of my bad words from him. 

So every Sunday would start with a quiet prayer, and then Bishop Grandpa Dale would go to the piano, sit down, and play the nightcore version of Praise to the Man. He would occasionally play other hymns, but he really, really liked that one. This would continue until he hit a wrong note, which was basically inevitable because his music philosophy was that if he could play a song flawlessly, it was time to play it faster. So he'd play until he hit that wrong note, at which point he would scream-whisper SHIIIIIT and, because he did not actually read music so much as memorize it, the only way he'd be able to get his rhythm back was by going back to the start. 

If it was a good Sunday, he could get it in two tries. Some Sundays took as many as five. 

I learned two things about Grandpa Dale from this story. The first was that he could play piano. I'd never actually seen him do that before. Still haven't, come to think of it. Second was that the man that I visited once a year, who always seemed on the verge of exploding, who scared the absolute dickens out of me, was actually the chilled out version of the man my mom grew up with.

And it helped knowing that, actually. I'm actually a pretty anxious person, and my mom is, also, a pretty anxious person, and as a teenager we'd sometimes get in these doom loops where we'd wind each other up until our springs cracked. She'd be worried about me growing up to be happy, and I'd be worried about letting her down, and my worrying would make me unhappy, and my unhappiness would make her unhappy, and we'd just kind of dissolve into these anxieties like cotton candy in the sea and become totally unbearable to be around for a bit. Then my dad would sit us both down and very politely tell us that we were being crazy. He had this quote how being sad that someone else is sad that you're sad is the emotional equivalent of being a Klein flask and that at some point you have to just say I am allowed one (1) single layer of emotional recursion, at most, and ideally zero. 

And it was always kind of embarrassing and silly, but when I was tempted to be more upset with my mom about it, I could remember the piano story and go: Sheesh. She has more of a right to be anxious that I do. For me it's really just genetics, but she grew up with the Cactus-Killing Gopher-Smasher. A whole 18 years of that. I spent two weeks every summer with that guy, and I love him, but I always came home feeling like I'd survived something. She's a trooper.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Phone guy was wild for saying that to Michael..

[balimaria]

The closer you get to the light...

[making-eggs]

the sass is killing me

[chosisbox]

Sun god personnification and his small wooden boat.Png