#happy losing!

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[isjasz]

Stellar death

[hinamie]

happy gojoday to all who celebrate

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Mike fights Moon at the Pizzaplex..

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

I spent all day on this, now I'm gonna go spend the rest of my Halloween with my family, I LOVE YOU GUYS, HAVE A GOOD HALLOWEEN!!!!!

I lost the ask this was supposed to be attached to :'(

Woah, actual communication??? Between these bozos?? More likely than you'd think 🙏

Previous!!

Next!!

First!!

[nipuni]

My favourite alien 🥰

A speedpaint video of this will be available at my Patreon on oct 1st! and you can find prints of all my work at my store

[chocobje]

This took way too long for a comic that's supposed to be self-indulgent and quick,, Apologies if the chat bubbles are confusing on who's talkin..

Anyway another comic for my AU! I'm not sorry for the lack of background cause I really wanted to just focus on the dialogue lawl

Extra doodles I did while making the comic if ya'll want some of it:

[ascensabyss]

[radio-ghost-cooks]

GUYS WE HAVE A FAKED COROCORO PAGE

WE'RE SO FUCKING BACK

[holyblanchett]

We could've had it all

[yashley]

#I just want to see Imogen happy

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Okay you can’t tell me that Vlad doesn’t have an organ somewhere in his mansion. Upon learning of this, Danny would teach himself how to play the Haunted Mansion theme on the organ and play it at 2am.

Vlad Masters is away on business in Gotham, and the Fentons are coincidentally there for a symposium on ecto-activity. So it’s perfect! Except he goes to the wrong house, er mansion.

Honestly, Danny thought it was one of Vlad’s many mansions. Scaring the old man is his favorite activity after all. There’s a higher amount of ectoplasm here, so it has to be Vlad’s place right?

When Bruce comes out (on one of his few nights off) and sees his carbon copy playing the organ, all thoughts fly out of his head. Danny finally looks up and also blue screens. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity until Danny’s cell phone rings (the ghostbusters theme??) and he panics. He jumps up and makes a break for the other door rushing through apologies “SorryWronghousegottagobye!” And runs out of the room. “Wait! Who are you?”Bruce exclaims as he rushes after him. They’re on the second story in one of the rooms he rarely uses. How did he know where the organ was? No matter. He’ll catch the kid on the stairs.

Except the kid is already almost at the bottom. How did he get down so effortlessly? The kid practically floated down the stairs.

Bruce gets to the foyer just in time to see the kid realize the door was dead-bolted in multiple spots. He won’t be able to undo them all before Bruce catches up to him.

He slows down and stands behind a pillar, assessing his next move. He needs to be careful here. This is a child after all, no need to spook him any more than he already has. He needs to slowly approach, and ask his questions.

But then the kid does the unexpected. After looking around frantically, he takes a deep breath. Two rings form around his middle and travel up and down his body. His black hair turns ghostly white. He looks back, almost directly at Bruce. His eyes widen as if he realizes he’s being watched. He whispers, barely loud enough to hear, “I’m so sorry, please don’t follow me.” Then, he backs through the locked door and vanishes.

[adoresia]

Bro how did I use up 30 tags already I didn’t even get to add my reblog tag 😢

01 :: KUROOS OUT THE WINDOW

wc 1.1k, mention of death sort of, sarcastic mention of fighting

series mlist | gen mlist

Tetsuro Kuroo had a recurring habit of inviting himself into your home.

It was often that you’d peer out your window in the darkest hours of the night and find a familiar silhouette staring back at you, tufts of messy black hair glowing brown beneath the streetlights. You’d learned that in their early adolescence, this too was common between him and Kenma (though it was more of a check up with Kenma than it was with you—the indescribable yearning for you his only excuse now, but he’d never admit that to you). Tonight was no different.

The soft tapping of pebbles against your window was a familiar pattern, the gentle brashness pulling you from the thoughtless daze you’d found yourself falling into. You’d like to blame it on the exhaustion that followed the day, but self awareness was something you’d always been mindful of, and you knew that this was a common occurence. A particularly loud clink against the glass was enough to snap you out of it entirely, blinking back into the current universe, the events happening around you. It barely took you a conscious thought to recognize the buzz of his presence, the way your skin prickled with conversance, a warmth creeping into the confines of your chest at the mere anticipation of his appearance.

Had you been another, you may have turned him away. You may have prioritized your slumber and curled into the softness of your sheets and relished in the moment alone, but you were you. No sleep left you well rested if not accompanied by the lingering bliss of his gaze, long after his laughter had faded as had his presence. So you kicked the laundry on the floor beneath your bed—the hushed reminder of the morning's chaos swept away until further notice—and padded over to the window.

Moonlight pooled into your room as you opened it, the soft blue tones illuminating its own section of the hardwood floors.

Kuroo stood on the grassy yard left to your home, smiling lazily at you from two stories down. The amber brown of his eyes appeared a dark, sultry espresso in the inky black of the hour, the corners of them crinkling in amusement as he took you in.

“Kuroo,” you greeted quietly, voice quiet as the distant sound of passing cars.

He gave a soft nod of acknowledgment, hands resting on his hips. He was clad in a baggy sweater and loose sweats, crinkled by the curl of his fingers and gently caressed by the growing grass at his feet. “Mind giving me a hand?” he took a step, only asking as he neared the wall, already hiking himself up onto the piece of roof that sat conveniently below your bedroom window. It seemed to be perfectly fit for Kuroo and the little routine the two of you had curated, and although it had other purposes you appreciated, this one had to be your favourite.

You placed a hand on his arm as he hauled himself through the sill, willing yourself to ignore the firmness of his bicep as it flexed beneath your palm. The hoodie made it easy to forget that it was Kuroo underneath there—all of him. If he noticed the way your eyes lingered where you touched he didn’t say anything, a bit preoccupied by the way he tripped and nearly collapsed onto your floor—almost bringing you and every valuable surrounding you with him. A small yelp of surprise echoed through the air, and you weren’t sure if it came from you or the boy to your right.

“Sorry,” he whispered, standing up more stiff than before. Hints of embarrassment were pulling at his face, but they quickly melted into his usual casual smirk, as if it was never there at all.

He parted from you, taking the few short strides to your bed and flopping down with an ‘oof’. Face down in your pillows, long limbs dangling off the edges in all directions, his cheek squished cartoonishly against the bed as he peeked out at you.

You joined him with a giggle, although you weren’t nearly as obnoxious about it, sitting on one of the few chunks of space not claimed by Tetsuro.

“You’re real loud. What if my dad came in here right now and kicked your ass for sneaking in, huh?” you teased, head cocking to the side.

He peeked at you, shuffling so that he was on his side. Grinning, he didn’t even give it a second thought before replying, “He wouldn’t. Your dad loves me.” For a second afterward, though, he faltered.

You didn’t even notice because it was annoying how right he was. You rolled your eyes, mimicking him childishly under your breath. Unfortunately, Kuroo’s ears were keen, his eyes narrowing at the mockery. His large hand came up and playfully nudged you, to which you responded with a soft push of your own. “Don’t play that game,” he sniggered, “you know I’ll win.”

You hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. “Okay, but if I accepted that, it wouldn’t be fun.”

His head tilted, and he shrugged passively. Pushing himself up with a groan akin to that of an elderly man with back problems, he sat next to you, legs crossed.

“…your dad does like me, right?” he backtracked, brows furrowing gently. The cause may have been sleep deprivation, but he almost looked like he lacked the confidence he always carried himself with.

“Of course,” you reassured him, although it somewhat pained you to admit. “Everyone likes you,” you muttered.

He perked up. “You think so?” he said, leaning in playfully, a little too proud. “Even you?”

You pushed him away with a scoff, but your lips were quirking up, and he saw right through you. Maybe at times, he appeared to be a jockish, cocky guy, but Kuroo’s many layers ran deeper than the veins in his skin. And he was sure you flowed through every one of them. He knew you.

“Okay, maybe you don’t like me,” he said, sarcasm heavily laced in his tone. “But I could make you if I tried. I think I could make you love me, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” you humoured him.

“Mhm.”

Speaking without thinking was a proclivity that would lead to your demise, you were sure. “Willing to bet money on it?”

In a way, he was offended that you were so doubtful in his abilities—and that this was a bet still able to be made at all, that there was a possibility of your victory. He ignored that part. “Of course I am. You really don’t think so?”

“Not at all,” you lied. “I’d like to see you try.”

In an instant, his hand was extended out between you, and when you looked up he was eyeing you like this was some sort of hustle. The warmth of his skin against yours was invading as he shook your hand, the deal sealed as he held it, encasing you in his grasp.

Just like that, the bet was made. Set in stone, a stick and poke digging into your chest—the black ink marking you from now until you were one day inspected at the morgue and identified by Kuroo being written messily within your chest.

“Happy losing,” he said.

Oh, but you already had.

Cigarettes out the window? No we have Kuroo’s out the window tf

Forgive me if this is ass, I’m sick + tired + in need of improvement

Yn stared at her wall for a good hour the next time she was alone wondering why she does this to herself

Self deprecation will actually kill her

Had this pre written in the drafts… now time to go finish hw and work on rqs 😴

taglist open (see masterlist for updated status)

@adoresia @kawoala @sahrii @angeleilee @gumims @cinnamxnangel @44twentytwo @bubybubsters @cherrysurf @s6rine @saintcosette @mayyhaps @jayathelostdragon @azinniyaa @lowkeyremi @nobodybutnnoorr @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @pookalicious-hq @straightforthefl00r @kissunday @evilari111 @towni3 @shoyosluver @sickpatientt @lizbix

[chloesimaginationthings]

What if Mike got the bad ending of the FNAF movie..

[kendyroy]

RYAN POSTED THIS BEAUTIFUL PICTURE FOR HUGH’S BIRTHDAY TODAY AAAAAAAAA

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.