#people prolly will
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
cardi b slays im so glad she's speaking up because she's EXACTLY what we need! do you know how good this is! this will reach so many people who otherwise wouldn't have given two fucks
#palestine#ok it would have been good if she said directly free palestine ceasefire now but this is just as good#biden is insane#america is in shambles#so is the uk#1/3 of our kids live below the poverty line but we can fund war? bs#cardi b#idk much abt her honestly so if shes actually terrible dony cancel me#us politics#politics#celebrities have so much influence and this is how they use it#especially how she told off everyone focusing on celeb drama at time like this#people focus on celebs as a way to ignore important shit so if celebs are now saying no actually fucking stand up this country is on fire#people prolly will
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
his therapist woulda had a field day at their next appointment
#my art#doodle#fanart#resident evil 8#ethan winters#i think its so funny that he has a journal in re8. not only does he have a journal but he illustrates it. i dont know if capcom intended to#imply that ethan stops every now and then to jot down the horrors and the hour that the horrors occur my guess is prolly not#but now its there and it makes me laugh. i shouldnt laugh at his mental health journey but i am anyways#shoutout to people who journal i wish i was you but instead i draw a guy feelin my emotions for me#but im so happy the sun goess away at 5pm. truly immaculate. i miss snow. but we stay chillin#i made more dear diary doodles but these were my favs n they went well together#i changed the entry in the 2nd one though cause i thought it was funnier to me this way#i cut my hair too short again im not even sad about it anymore like whatever man#at least its out of my way. and my shower was SO fast i got to stand there 5ever and it was still only like 15 minutes#fantastic. there are so many joys in life. theres twice as many horrors but the joys are definitely there and they are definitely joyful#anyways thats the post stay warm n cozy out there gang
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Is it just me or was there little to no Halloween vibes this year. Like what do you mean Halloween is less than four days away. I've seen more Halloweenposting in like June than the entirety of October
#sp-rambles#Like I'm not even big into Halloween as a whole but it felt rather hollow and empty this year#Prolly 'cause of the US election stressing people but yeahh
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
5 more stars! :0)
#im prolly gonna set up an online account to sell these some day#slow and steady#ive been reading the tags and they make me so happy#i love that people are like me in some way and find joy from a simple star#enjoy the adventure#byebye 4 now#agere#age regression#sfw agere#kidcore#mine#transparent#transparent image#transparent png
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
happy pride to all queer children of immigrants
patreon
#muertodraws#queer art#queer comic#lgbtq#pride#trans artist#qtpoc#trans art#transgender#transmasc#mlm#if youre a queer child of immigrants you deserve free lifelong therapy#this comic was originally going to be a “i feel like a freak” cuz im trans and people dont know what to do with me#and then it turned into like. oh god this experience is compounded by your complicted relationship to uhh well#being mexican and a child of immigrants#i was originally going to add a quote from a jose marti poem but idk i didnt want this to get too long#i think if i did that i would prolly attract the attention of latine purists and nationalists lmfaooo#i already have people who dont even believe im mexican much less a child of immigrants much less a man#the most common hate i get now is that im a confused white woman gringa who isnt latin american#besides the transphobia im just like. have you ever heard of a diaspora#anyway#hope someone enjoys this
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
#for fun!!!!!!!!! btw!!!!! pls dont fight over a silly poll ok#the rest will be made next time and theyll be on my to do list just a lower prio#if cait gets a thirsty expedited gifset vi gets one too bc i will always be biased for them LMAO#also depending on what people pick the uhhhhh number of gifs will prolly change...... i think we only get to see her arms in act 3 so yeah#i'll always be a vi's ass truther tho lol#vi#vi arcane#arcane#arcane vi#type: polls
742 notes
·
View notes
Text
idk if this has been done before | insp.
#edit: i literally saw (and put this together) days after the tweet had been made so no it had not been before im jsut an idiot#i saw the stony one and immediately thought of these two bastards#i should prolly make a marvey one too now that i think about it lol#i love gay people#hangster#sereshaw#hangman x rooster#hangman#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#rooster#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake seresin x bradley bradshaw#top gun#top gun maverick#tgm#glen powell#miles teller#baby blurbbs
890 notes
·
View notes
Text
scenes that make me wanna eat drywall dust
#qkdraws#id in alt#haikyuu#kageyama tobio#hinata shouyou#tumblr can't even handle 4k images i had to compress this one. smh#did some layer fuckery to get the motion blur to work. the screenshots of this fuckery r kinda silly#this bitch rly is pieced together like a puzzle. kageyama himself is like.sliced in twain.#twain.that's a fun word#i've learned from past projects that blurring specific parts of an image is more complicated than just pressing the blur button#example: the blurring around lumen's hands in that suncaster pic of them all lying down in the grass#(i recognize a lot of people who will see this will see it in the haikyuu tag and have no idea who that is.roll w it)#the edges of her hands r still sharp in that image bc <3 i did it wrong<3#idk how to explain it but like#if u don't Also draw what's underneath whatever ur blurring it will not look right#especially if all ur colors r neatly snuggled up together and not overlapping (which i tend to snuggle them instead of overlap)#then the colors ur blurring have an empty Canvas Color beneath them that pokes out#this is prolly common knowledge to most people. in retrospect it seems like common sense. however (doesn't elaborate)
307 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤
Oscar Piastri x Reader “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” “You can’t tell people that we’re engaged like that.”
Reader and Oscar announce their engagement on social media through a hilarious (for them) prank.
I really hope this turns out okay, I've never done a smau before :D
instagram.com
Liked by yourBff, mickshumacher and 7,274,653 others
youruser We move on…
view all comments
yourBff that’s it! I’m taking you on a trip far away. → youruser ily
user wait what user where’s oscar? where’d he go? user haha, i’m scared. f1wags ‘we move on’ what dOES THAT MEAN f1wags im gonna lose me job 😭😭
Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 6,934,627 others
oscarpiastri Moving on…
view all comments
landonorris surely start a jpg → oscarpiastri no
user where is mother? user mother’s not even in the like nooooo user oh no. they have matching captions f1wags istg Oscar if you and mother broke up
logansargeant ayo? → liked by oscarpiastri
imessage
instagram.com
Liked by yourBff, mickshumacher and 7,274,653 others
youruser it’s been emotional
view all comments
landonorris answer my texts → youruser what texts bro? they’re all literally just “???”
user mother is making music at the cost of not dating oscar 😭😭 f1wags queen are you /j or /srs i NEED to know user no please not like this
logansargeant our boy is sorry, please put him out of his misery → youruser our boy? Far as i’m concerned, we don’t share a boy
user everyday I am reminded of everything wrong in the world user is no one paying attention to the grid’s comments? → user they’re as desperate as we are for info 😭 → user and logan’s comment? What do you mean you don’t share a boy?!?
Liked by landonorris, NicolePiastri and 6,934,627 others
oscarpiastri A lot of emotions this week
view all comments
landonorris Oscar please answer my texts → oscarpiastri the only thing you’ve sent me is ?????
user AGAIN WITH THE MATCHING CAPTIONS f1wags Hahaha Oscar I’m getting really scared now hahahaha user I’ve known not a single day of peace since Y/n’s first post
NicolePiastri what did you do Osc? → user NOT EVEN MAMA PIASTRI KNEW → user noooooooooooooooooooo
user hey god? I am NOT one of your strongest soldiers user guys neither of them have specified which emotions they’re feeling → user please don’t give me hope → user I’m too far in to believe that they’re happy 😭😭😭
imessage
instagram.com
Liked by youruser, oscarpiastri and 8,428,783 others
NicolePiastri Well this answers my question
view all comments
landonorris ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! → youruser this is so funny to me → oscarpiastri hehehehehehe
user EVERYONE CALLED ME CRAZY BUT I WAS RIGHT f1wags I can sleep easy now :’D user they’re laughing. WE SUFFERED AND THEY’RE LAUGHING
logansargeant okay, without me? rude. → youruser oh please, you would’ve spilt at first chance → logansargeant i don’t like you
user WARRRRR ISSSS OVERRRRRRRR user everyone say thank you Mama Piastri → user THANK YOU MAMA PIASTRI → user THANK YOU MAMA PIASTRI → youruser Thank you Mum ❤️😁 → oscarpiastri Thank you Mum ❤️ → NicolePiastri You’re welcome kids
AHHHH I hope you enjoyed! first time ever doing a social media au si I'm crossing my fingers that this was good 🤞
Let me know what you think, I might make some more depending on feedback but who knows
#formula 1 x you#f1 social media au#f1 instagram au#oscar piastri x reader#oscar pastry#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri smau#reader is besties with logan sargeant bc i said so#let me know if you liked this!#i'm so nervous about posting this for some reason#prolly my need to please people lmao
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
canis major
adler x bell!reader
summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3
tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k
a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')
Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.
Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.
The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.
Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—
The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.
The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.
But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.
He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.
Not like Arctic air. Not like—
The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.
But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.
The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.
He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.
And you step out of the car.
A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.
Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.
He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.
And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—
Bell.
It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—
—you feel someone watching—
—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—
Open the door, Bell, open the door—
—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.
The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.
There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.
You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.
Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.
The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.
And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.
You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.
You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.
Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.
But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.
And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.
But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.
Maybe, then, he’s a fool.
But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.
(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)
The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.
Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.
#im so nervous but like whatever 3 people are gonna see this so idc#i wanna write more for this but hhhh no pressure so prolly short snippets#just feels good to write something im proud of again after so long!!#my writing#my fics#one shot#adlerbell#adler x bell#russell adler x bell#adler x reader#russell adler x reader#adbell#cod x reader#cod cw#cod bocw#call of duty x reader#cod bo6#cod cold war#call of duty cold war#call of duty black ops#black ops 6#black ops cold war#russell adler#adler
336 notes
·
View notes
Text
the sleepy bbs :3 sam sleeping with a shifted darlin :3
at this point i feel like i should just tag her SHES BEEN GIVING ME ALL THE IDEAS RAHHFJKSDFHGKJF thank you @nicnebula for indoctrinating introducing me to redactedverse my motivation to draw has gone through the roof AND THANK FOR THIS IDEA ITS SO SWEET AAAAAAAAAAAA
bit messier but i gotta fix my perfectionism somehow so here you go :0
#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted sam#sam collins#redacted asmr#redacted darlin#my art#GOD I ACTUALLY HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO DRAW WOLVES AAAAAAA#the sam craze is still going i am not stopping anytime soon#irrelevant to drawing but today i just spent over 500 at an artist alley#hey guys just wanted to let you know my commissions are open!!#HELP#they genuinely are open though#once i finish my current comms i will prolly make a sheet#AND THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT GUYS AA#im glad so many people are enjoying my sam drawings :3
799 notes
·
View notes
Text
DP x DC Prompt #13
When Danny decided to move to Central City, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He just knew he wanted to move somewhere he could be useful.
He had been a vigilante for so long, he wanted to help people a different way. Working at the morgue was a way he could help souls find rest.
Plus, the forensic scientist (chemist?) he got to interact with sometimes was a nice benefit. Now, if he can just figure a way to ask him out and eventually tell him he's technically dead, he'd be set.
#finemeal prompt#dp x dc#danny fenton#barry allen#barry/danny#i don't know i just like putting danny with other characters#he's just so shippable#also i never thought about danny being a morgue technician before#he'd prolly eventually become a mortician#but like#i think it'd be his way of helping people find rest#maybe he'd help them find closure#whether that be because of how they died#or something they wanted to do before they did#danny at his core wants to help people#and i think this would be a neat way to do it
446 notes
·
View notes
Text
Found some old sketches I had for @llamagoddessofficials Coraline au along with some headcanons I had for Dart and Patch (also stuffing.. gore?)
Ft. A sexy Dart because I saw a fancy looking corset and put him in it and instantly regretted it (along with some ideas for his button eyes)
Also other Mc/Thread along with some sentences i thought of if I ever ended up writing that drabble (which I probably wont- rip)
#llamagoddessofficial#coraline au#You can see me slowly losing my mind as I make the guy who wants to probably eat my soul hot#like#ah yes#the consequences of my own actions#also practically fell in love with the concept of him using a curled needle as a weapon of sorts#like he uses it like a hook and it ensnares people#eheeheehe#now that I know a bit more about darts personality I’d prolly change the outift a bit#but i just saw a fancy corset and put him in it :3#I will admit that I found some inspiration for dart in the distortionist from that one GHOST song#Idk why I went with stuffing gore but once it was there that idea was here to stay in my brain#I remember wanting to post these for awhile but I completely forgot about them lol#as ive said before#i am a sucker for coraline aus#undertale au#leafs art#cw gore#gore
518 notes
·
View notes
Text
me omw to scare mormons out of a wendys!! 🍂🖤🍟
ootd from like 2 weeks ago and yes that really happened
#ootd#doodles#art#illustration#fashion#fall#autumn#autumn vibes#cozy vibes#self portrait#artists on tumblr#i havent done an ootd drawing in a while and i just wanted to Make Something#the mormons story: my friend and i stopped at a wendys and there were these two Stock Image Of Mormons dudes sitting at a table#and me and my friend are obvious gay and in different directions. you can tell we are Queers(tm). i look like This and he has#long curly hair and huge earrings. we are the poster children of what mormons prolly show kids and say 'these people are going to hell'#you'd think we had walked in holding signs that say WE LOVE GAY MARRIAGE AND ABORTlON with the way they stopped and started#muttering to each other while looking dead at us in the checkout line. like the entire time. and after a few minutes of whispering to#each other they pick up their food and book it tf out of the restaurant. still looking at us *as they go out the door*#it was so fucking funny. anyway then we stole their table#good! gtfo. i dont want cultists with my fries thanks#im glad my gay autistic aura is strong enough that i scare freaks like that by just Standing There thinking about a crispy chicken BLT#sounds like a 'and then everyone clapped' story but that really did happen to me and ive been laughing at it for 2 weeks now#what Isnt true is that i pulled a whole leaf out of my pocket. that shit was in pieces. and i dont know where it came from
142 notes
·
View notes
Text
seeing people say that future trio is oversaturating the fandom and its annoying and making them hate the game
#funnily enough i agree#the game is overrepresented considering its not that much of a jump in quality compared to others#the rest of the games have amazing characters too#i think it gets a lot of attention bc the sum of its parts is so strong#as compared to the other titles#where rt suffers froom 1st game of franchise syndrome#and 3ds games are underrepresented and brought down by certain decisions in story and gameplay#even if their stories have moments that hit much harder than anything in explorers#gates ending is prolly the best moment in the franchise i think#super has the most enjoyable gameplay imo#but gates gets forgotten bc of bad rep and gameplay#while super's overall story is messy bc its 70% its own thing and then gates ending reheated and with extra twist we need to explain#anyways i hope when people get tired of content of certain characters they mute or block people instead off disliking the characters#id be sad if i contributed to people disliking a good game or character
125 notes
·
View notes
Note
Just wanted you to know that you are genuinely one of the funniest people on the god damn earth, like every time I read through your blog I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, you understand Spider-Man on a fundamental level
thats because i am him?
#thanks anon#i love when people say i am very in character for spiderman because im genuinely not its so funny#but i appreciate it nonetheless#thisnis sweet <3 i love getting messages like this. i don't respond to them all because#theres no funny way for me to respond in character. and i dont like breaking character#but. feel free to keep sending them if youre ok w the fact i prolly wont respond its really sweet guys
358 notes
·
View notes