#this isn’t my best work

[rekistar]

oops forgor to finish this when i was meant to but i made tsukasa birthday art!!

mb gang i was meant to finish this on the 18th (17th for most ppl) and now it’s the 20th… oops! i was too busy getting gems to pull the tsukasa birthday cards >.<

[treatsf]

Scout was screwed. Royally fucking screwed. Hands were shoved into drawers, frantically searching, shaking, sweat dripping down his skin as he desperately looked for his next hit. He knew he had to have some of it somewhere, he knew that because he needed it, because he couldn’t live without it, and if his past self left him empty handed again he might just strangle himself to give some sort of point because damnit he needed to be more prepared for these kinds of things. He threw whatever was in there out of the compartment; he threw books, he threw pencils, he threw stickers and pieces of paper and rolls of bandages and cords and needles and syringes until he dumped out the entire drawer and found nothing. He was beginning to panic, beginning to panic more than he already was before, because that was where he always hid his stash, that’s where it had to have been, and if it wasn’t there then it wasn’t anywhere and he couldn’t possibly be out because he was sick and he hated being sick and he needed to be normal and he needed to feel good again and he—

There. It was right there, in the next drawer down, a tiny ziplock bag containing all his hopes and dreams, everything he ever lived for etched into the powder held inside the plastic. He could tell there was none left for a second hit, and after this he was screwed, truly screwed: none of this frantic searching bullshit would be able to save him. But fuck if he cared. Fuck if he ever cared. Because in that tiny pouch contained his ticket to happiness, his ticket to success, his ticket to everything that would make him whole again. He would be normal. He needed to be normal, even if just for an inconsequential blip of time.

Snatching it like a falcon pouncing on its prey, he opened up its insides, hand fumbling for his spoon and his lighter before he grabbed a syringe and his cord and wrapped it around his arm. He had stolen the thing from the Engineer while the man was in one of his sporadic bouts of slumber, none the wiser to what was going on, and while of course he felt bad he knew he was doing it because he needed it so maybe it was okay. He had a bag of cotton balls he used when he wanted to be careful, when he wanted to inject the right way, but injecting the right way didn’t matter to him at that moment so he didn’t. Setting everything up was quick. It was easy. It was fine. He was going to be fine. He had a syringe full of euphoria, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

However, for just a moment, he had a sense of clarity. He was broke, ass broke, and after this hit he didn’t know where he’d find another one. Their paychecks came in 5 days, and he couldn’t wait it out for 5 days. He couldn’t be sick like this for 5 days, sweating through his clothes and shaking and yawning and sniffling and sobbing and aching and feeling like utter shit. He had just emptied out one of his drawers, and what if someone decided to come in and saw all of it, saw everything out in the open like that, with him in the center of it all? Were his doors locked, were his windows locked? Had he made any noise, any sounds, any smells? Shit, was he addicted?

But fuck, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because as soon as that needle was thrusted into his arm, as soon as he pulled the plunger until blood pooled in the syringes barrel, as soon as that brown tar entered his veins, he was in heaven. A smile danced across his lips, a heavy one, a droopy one, and he fell onto the bed, ripping the instrument out from his flesh, body too numb to remember where it went. It was like he was back at home, back in his mothers arms all the way in Boston, held and coddled and wrapped and swaddled like a baby, told it was all going to be okay. He didn’t have any more money and he was out of smack so if he couldn’t find a way to get more fast he was fucked and if that happened his coworkers were bound to realize something was wrong soon enough, but none of that mattered. None of that mattered because he felt good. He felt great. He felt like nothing could ever touch him, because up was down and left was right and water was red and fire was blue and the devil was good and god was bad but fuck, he felt amazing. None of it mattered.

@gravitytrips

[lycierce-moved]

i’m. thinking about them really hard rn so take a wip… this fic was for kinktober and now it’s almost december and im 6.5k words in and it’s not done. Fucking dies

[jadewolfy]

so..

I think…

that even though I haven’t played a lot of it, I’ve played enough..

and have the right to do my own art…

Of my little lamby

What’s he lookin’ at?

[thin-izzy]

When Did Animal Crossing Villagers Stop Being Our Friends?

Originally written for Wings Newspaper December 2021, revised in August of 2024 

Animal Crossing is one of Nintendo's most successful franchises. For those unfamiliar with the series, Animal Crossing is a life sim game where the player moves into a new community,, and is tasked to make friends and plant flowers. There is quite an interesting history of games in this series with the first Animal Crossing game being released in 2001, Animal Forest, and the newest game released in 2020, Animal Crossing New Horizons. New Horizons is a brilliant expansion onto the series, but as the landscape of the video game industry has changed since 2001 not all aspects of the game have been able to keep up with players expectations.

One of the main criticisms of the game is the villagers' lack of character and connection to the player. Many players feel that the role of the villagers has been belittled, from complex friendships with players to repetitive dialogue and pantomimes of catching bugs or fishing. In past games, it would take time to befriend the villagers, if you overstepped a boundary or disappointed them they could yell at you or refuse to talk to you. Yet as of the newest game the villagers have extremely two-dimensional personalities often repeating the same lines of dialogue and offering little to nothing to the player in exchange for their participation. Yet what these critics and players seem to neglect is the shift in the games dynamic as a whole. 

New Horizons gives the player more control of their land than ever before, with terraforming they can literally move mountains. The goal of the game has shifted from making friends to make your island look good. As this shift happened the villagers became less and less important to the gameplay and more like decorations for islands, mere objects to sit on our pathways and give us laundry machines for no reason. This transition to focus on customization has been happening since the release of Animal Crossing Wild World in 2005, but now in New Horizons this shift is at the expense of the villagers; it has become a major drawback to the whole game. Although Nintendo has tried to amend this issue through adding more villager interactions in updates the villagers lack the personality they has in previous games.

[scribe-of-death]

Good Men are Bad Men who Still Have Hope

Good people and bad people.

One side or the other.

We are all just people, and all people have their troubles.

[isawhitney]

There’s a girl in my attic - or so I am told

By the spectre that lives on the stairs -

Who delights in disturbing my vampire bats

And perturbing my phantoms with glares.

She’s most sullen and pert, my grim reaper asserts,

And the poltergeists all are in tears.

The living room ghoul’s in a sulk on the rug -

What a pity, my poor little dears!

Perverse, perverted noises pervade the whole house,

Interrupting our gibbers and groans

With a chorus of ecclesiastical rock

And a choir of light baritones.

I have tried several times to ascend to that room

And to beg her to let us alone,

But the door has a crucifix nailed to the front!

I mean, honestly? In my own home?

Oh, I don’t know just what’s to be done with that girl,

For her habits and mine can’t agree,

So perhaps I had better pop down with a letter

And ask Vlad or Carmilla to tea.

[oatmealdoodles]

they are literally THE step sisters ever

Also technically after pride but whatever

[royaltea000]

nooo don’t hurt him he has a baby to feed 😭

[gh0stlyscooter]

desertduo for y’all

Initially posted this on Twitter months ago and than forgot to put it here :’]

Reblogs are Appreciated !!

Individual frames below the cut

[krustykrabfunfair]

friendship between two drummers with glasses can be so beautiful

[goodluckbabeheffron]

when your pretty princess energy is so strong that david webster decides you must die

[pedrospookie]

it seems that the eldest daughters of tumblr all want Joel Miller to come and take care of them (dear god, please please please, my soul needs it). this inspired me to start writing a couple of little Joel tales but until then, i thought this might tide us over.

someone (I think it was @itsokbbygrl ) said in the tags that Joel is a fixer and is def into parental issues and i literally cannot stop thinking about that— cause you are RIGHT.

it’s not my best work but alas!

Joel Miller x eldest daughter!reader imagine

nothing wild, mostly fluff! Joel soothing an eldest daughter’s nervous system one day at a time.

Joel would wash the dishes every night just because he knows how much you hate washing the dishes. It’s the least I could do, darlin’ he’d praise, taking immense pride in seeing the relief fall on your face.

Joel would kiss you just to kiss you; in the comfort of your home as you pass in the hallway, or out at the stables while caring for the horses, even at the bar in front of all the folks who know you. It was his small way to show his unconditional love and appreciation for you. He’d spend all day kissin’ you if he could.

Joel would take the time to rub your feet and ask about your day. His genuine curiosity about the townsfolk you encounter or the adventures you have brought a warmth to your chest as he works on the knots along the arch of your feet. He would always remember the little details of where you’ve been or what you’ve seen, or the names of the people you mention in your stories. Joel wasn’t perfect and would often get confused between Jess, Jessica and Jessa, but he certainly would do his best to keep it all straight.

Joel would listen and hear you. If it was important to you, it was important to him. He didn’t care if it was about how you admired the pretty pink colour of the flowers you passed by on patrol or how you had to remember to mend your socks later. He listened and cared. So much so, that whenever he could, Joel would bring home a small bouquet of said flowers for you after his patrol.

On bad days, Joel would be there. He would hold you through your big, ugly feelings, and tell you that it is okay and that he’s got you. Joel would force himself to stay calm and to speak softly to you, keeping his own panic and worry at bay. He would tell you that he was proud of you and your “smarts”, and that the only thing that matters is that you made it back home to him. He would slowly and gently wash your body and hair clean of all the blood and guts from the nearly failed patrol, and would mend every scrape and wound, sealing each one with a kiss.

And on the nights where you were plagued with terrors, the kind that woke you in a panic, the cold sweat glueing your hair to your neck and forehead, Joel would be there. To hold you and coax you back to sleep, rubbing soft circles on your back, and softly murmur that it is okay, that you’re safe.

In the mornings, you always woke to the smell of coffee wafting it’s way into your room. Joel always made sure to wake up before you, to let you have those extra few minutes in bed because he knew you needed them. He’d greet you with a big smile and a kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were back in the early days of your relationship. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, he would say as he placed your meal in front of you. Joel never let you leave the house without something warm in your belly.

Joel knew that you were more than capable of caring for yourself. Hell, you had survived 20 years in that hellscape overrun by infected, raiders and god knows what else. You had told him time and time again, often through gritted teeth, I’ve got this. I can do this myself. I do not need your help. Can you just let me handle this, please!

Slowly, yet surely, with patience and kindness, Joel slowly broke down your walls until you were ready to let him in. To accept the peace and love he had to offer. Joel is not a perfect man, but he tries. Which is more than most. He tries his damnedest every day to keep showing up for you the way he knows you deserve. To show you and make you feel the love, peace and respect that you deserve. And that? Well, that makes Joel feel a deep sense of joy that he hasn’t felt in years. He will gladly do it until his dying breath and that is a promise he will never break. The easiest job he’s ever had was lovin’ you.

tagging some folks who may like this (if not/tags aren’t your thing, just tell me to buzz off! I wont be offended!): @slimybeth69 @itsokbbygrl @mrsmando @evolnoomym @sanarsi @marilovespedro @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

[starryemeralds]

ad astra per aspera 🌠

[Image description: it is dusk, and Mabel and Ford from Gravity Falls are wearing witch hats and hanging by Bill’s statue in the woods. While holding a puppet of Stanley, she does an impromptu eulogy for Bill, dramatically saying, “Goodbye Cipher, you are dead. Blown up in my Grunkle’s head. Too much power hurt your soul. Reincarnate as a vole. Amen.” Ford laughs in response. End ID.]

here is a textless version:

and the pages this is based on!

[11syrups]

“You believe me like a god, I betray you like a man”

[enrapture]