#yall are too creative

[lover-of-mine]

their comprehension skills amaze me sometimes. @/_911bts made a whole ass twitter thread explaining what are different roles actors can have, and one of the loudest of those obsessed Lou stans came to the conclusion that they were right when actually the thread explained the opposite 💀

"So the @/collider article is legit. All of this what your stating makes sense...

[They @ another big BT/Lou account here, I'm not copying the user] that article may have some errors but I feel they did get the tea on Lou upgraded to recurring, we won!!"

then @/_911bts responded stating very respectfully that it's not at all what they were saying with the thread, and clarified that if an actor is getting promoted, there will be no doubt of that because ABC will let us all know. and soon they deleted that tweet (i'm guessing because they didn't want to start a ship war on accident or they didn't want that group of crazy bucktommys getting mad at them).

the point is they are still celebrating something that is not a win. it's not a loss either, it's just nothing. it's embarrassing at this point

anyway i'm not much of a spy (because i hate reading their tweets if i can avoid it) but if I can go by a name then i'm choosing carmen sandiego

Hello my love, welcome 🩷

I saw the explanation, it's close to the one I posted last night, but I didn't know they had replied him about it not meaning anything but they deleted it. It definitely would have started something, they pick fights with the 911news all the time so they're probably protecting their peace, smart decision. The fact that 911bts said that a promotion will be information with no room for debate via Deadline and they were ignoring that bit is so.......

[celestialalpacaron]

HERES THIS REALLY DUMB IDEA THAT’S BEEN LIVING RENT FREE IN MY HEAD AND I HAD TO SKETCH IT OUT SO FAST AHSJSKAKAKS

YALL know how like…Alastor has his little minion guys as his goons??? My brain said “I wonder what Husk’s minions looked like when he was an overlord….” And I WASSSS gonna give him little bunnies (hahaha magician motive) but they turned out too similar to Alastor’s so WHY NOT GIVE HIM SOME SEVERAL RIGHT (and left) HAND MANS HDJSKSKKSKASJA

Anyways DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH THIS INFORMATION :) 🩷

[djarinbabysnotes]

It's like 3 am and I'm fucking crying SOBBING at the last one..... Charlie CAULKS 😭

Charlie's photo ops at Indiana Comic Con, 23 March 2024

📸 via irishbirdyneedleworks, alexisturpin18, chris_pearson_828, dcrickmer, and batmannoah28 on ig

[final-act]

nosebleed

[dailypokemoncrochet]

[smiuffzo]

didnt plan on posting this today originally but decided that it actually fits really well with the beginning of the spooky season, so!

a fake doai movie poster inspired by posters for movies 'a short film about love' and 'on the silver globe', both by andrzej pągowski! and just for fun i also made a version with a shoddy polish title, how authentic am i right

[raineandsky]

This is for @pleasantkryptonitewinner who requested the New Better Villain taking on the villain's hero and gettin a lil too violent with it :) hope you enjoy!!

tw: implied violence, blood

The hero, for lack of a better word, looks normal.

The villain isn’t sure what he was expecting. Most people look normal. But all those years under a mask, a charade… it kind of became all that the villain could see him as. The hero. Even now, looking him in the eye as the person he is—really is—it doesn’t seem real.

That and, well— the villain can’t deny that he’s pretty alright to look at. That was certainly an unexpected twist.

The other villain—the bastard he’s cursed to work with, the jackass taking his job, his nemesis, his city—has the hero in a death grip. It feels like it’s all moving in slow motion. The two of them are tousling, kind of, as much as they can tousle with the other villain raining hellfire on a hero that’s well out of his depth.

It’s strange, that the other villain seems to be the outlier here. The hero and the villain have danced around each other for years. It’s been some sort of unspoken rule that they never quite hit hard enough to truly maim. But the hero came here, probably expecting the villain, expecting their usual song and dance, and instead got met with an entirely different tune.

Does the villain want the hero dead? Does he want their game to end? He doesn’t have time to decide.

“[Other Villain],” he snaps, “stop it.”

The other villain leans back, his fist still balled in the hero’s shirt, his other pulled back for yet another strike. “Oh, sorry.” His chest is heaving, as if he’s the one losing here. “You want a go?”

The villain doesn’t know what his answer would be to that. “I think he’s got the idea. Leave off.”

The other villain doesn’t move. The hero wipes idly at the blood painting his mouth.

Like a child asking a genuine question, the other villain simply says, “Why?”

“Because you’re ruining my fun.” True. “You’re taking over on my nemesis.” True. “You’re on my watch.” Half-true, without the supervillain to take charge. “I know this life better than you. Let me do my job and stop butting in.”

“You’ve been fighting [Hero] for years without any progress.” The other villain’s brow knits, genuinely confused. “I’m doing you a favour.”

The villain glances down at the supposed favour he’s getting. Blood splatters the hero’s face, deep crimson painting his clothes. Something of a black eye is already appearing, and the villain hates that noticing that means he also notices that the hero is looking right at him.

He’s not sure why it’s so off-putting. Should he have caused that? Does he want it to have happened at all? His emotions are clashing together in a horrendous cacophony and deciphering any of them is impossible.

“Let go, [Other Villain].”

The slight frown turns into something more hateful. “No.”

“Your violence isn’t welcome in this so-called partnership. Pull it together, or go tell [Supervillain] you ruined his plan.”

“You’re generations out of date, [Villain].” It comes out of the other villain’s mouth as a spit. “Violence is the way forward. I’m helping in ways you’ll clearly never understand.”

The villain isn’t entirely sure why he lurches for the other villain, much like he hasn’t been sure of anything since the hero showed up here and ruined what was already a fairly shitty day.

The other villain has his work cut out for him with an opponent that’s not already half-dead, it seems. The two of them land in a heap on the ground, the other villain’s grappling for his partner’s throat and the villain’s grip tight on the other’s wrists and the air disappears from the villain’s lungs and the world seems so far away and everything is muffled—

The villain gasps his next breath, scrambling away unsteadily. The world slowly comes back into focus, the hum of the city below and his own haggard breathing tuning back in. He swallows nothing, the feeling a sharp burn in his throat, and whips around to look for the other villain.

The villain finds him on the ground, unmoving, the lightest trail of blood trickling from his nose. The hero is sitting next to him with a battered road sign lying at his feet, staring off into nothing.

“Did—” The word hurts. The villain tries to clear his throat and only makes it feel worse. “Did you hit him with a roadwork sign?”

The hero huffs a sort of laugh that melts quickly into a cough. He doesn’t look at the villain when he says, “Think it was about time I hit him back, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t know you had it in you. You’ve never hit me quite that bad.”

The hero actually laughs this time, the sound choked. “You pull what he just did and I’ll consider it.”

The villain hums a sort of laugh as well, settling on the floor opposite, and the two of them fall into silence. They’re both too tired to say much anyway.

This is another strange experience. The hero and the villain usually fight and go their separate ways. This sort of… hanging out is new. Different—and thankfully not the type of different that got them here in the first place.

The hero smiles at him, and even through the bloody face paint and the blooming bruises, the villain hates that he still looks good. Looks normal. Looks like a nice civilian that the villain would end up curiously following for a couple blocks because his half-decent face caught his attention.

The hero is, the villain supposes, a person too. Another civilian that looked at the state of the world and took up a side, just like the villain did.

“Thank you,” the hero says through the daze of annoyance, “for saving me.”

“Eh.” The villain waves a nonchalant hand. “It’s not like you were going to do it.”

That earns another choked laugh. “Ah, you’re funnier than you like to admit, [Villain].”

The villain scoffs in offence and quiet falls over them again. “Thanks as well, I guess, for…” He gestures vaguely at the other villain lying next to them. “Hitting my colleague over the head with a road sign.”

The hero’s smile grows. “You’re welcome.”

The hero reaches for his mask, just as stained red and tattered as its owner. He turns it over in his hands for a moment, slow and thoughtful, before carefully putting it back over his face. “Back to the heroics, then,” he says lightly.

The villain nods, but he’s not really listening. He finds that, now he’s seeing the person he’s familiar with, he preferred the hero without his mask after all.

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up? 

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

-

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon. 

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth. 

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick. 

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it? 

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best. 

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again. 

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness. 

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes. 

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman. 

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop. 

Away.

All she needed to do was get away. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong? 

It didn’t happen this way. 

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out. 

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete. 

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose. 

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor. 

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?” 

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing. 

Away. 

She needed to get away. 

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away. 

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word. 

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass. 

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster. 

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” 

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something? 

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog. 

“Kendra?”  

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out. 

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight. 

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair. 

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally. 

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm. 

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.” 

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud. 

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook. 

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation. 

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,  

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble. 

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles. 

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths. 

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?” 

She was in the middle of dying. 

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now. 

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.” 

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic. 

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?” 

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up. 

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.” 

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away. 

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?” 

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little 

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?” 

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted. 

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room. 

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul. 

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms. 

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm. 

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm. 

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle. 

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her. 

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?” 

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static. 

“I need details.” He pressed. 

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.” 

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time. 

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.” 

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach. 

“Are we feeling more alive?” 

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side. 

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.” 

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.” 

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed. 

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered. 

“Then neither is yours.” 

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?” 

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly. 

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.” 

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.” 

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.” 

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.” 

“Positive?” 

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible. 

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed. 

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.” 

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron. 

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.” 

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep. 

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair. 

She was home. And she was safe.

~

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

[caelanglang]

hi there! I rlly like your fem!skk art and all that and I've seen the drunk fem!dazai art so what if it was switched around and chuuya was the one who was drunk instead? alternatively, what if the og skk duo met their genderbent selves?

i like to think she becomes bolder...

[cinnasalmon]

In case you wanted to know what Gale and Astarion look like in my "style" lol (go easy on me ok its my first time drawing them 😳)

For callmesimplyflo on Twitter! ❤💪

[the-broken-pen]

“I don’t need you.”

It sounded less grounded than the villain had wanted it to. It sounded like something someone had told them to say, and they were just repeating it with half hearted determination. They said it again, “I don’t need you.”

“No,” the hero agreed. They were grinning. “You don’t.”

The villain floundered. They, in all honesty, wanted a fight. To prove something, they supposed. That they really didn’t need the hero. That they weren’t in the wrong, here. “What?”

“I said,” the hero said slowly, and the beginnings of a grin curled at the edges of their mouth. “You don’t need me.”

“I don’t need you,” the villain repeated, and the hero nodded encouragingly. It just made the villain want to hit them.

The hero lounged against the doorframe, halfway in and halfway out of their apartment. And truly, that was the worst bit of it all—the hero wasn’t showing up outside the villain’s house, or driving by the villain’s work to see if they truly looked happier without them. But the villain was.

They wanted to scream, and kick, and throw plates onto the ground.

‘Leave me alone.’

But they couldn’t say that, because the hero had. They had cut contact and blocked numbers and ignored the villain’s car as it went by. Still, the villain felt haunted. As if they would never be clean of the hero, parts of their soul forever dirtied by it all.

The hero’s smile, and the way their voice sounded when they knew the villain would cave to their wishes.

They just wanted the hero to—

“Leave me alone.” It slipped out against their better judgement. From the way the hero’s grin widened, they knew it had been the worst thing they could have said.

“Darling, I have,” the hero said, their tone saccharine. Pitying. “You’re the one outside of my apartment.”

It felt like being burned alive, the frustration of it. The way it rose in their chest but had nowhere to go, leaving them shaking with nothing and everything trapped under their tongue.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that—“

“What, you miss me that bad? I thought you—“

“Shut up,” the villain snapped. The hero raised an eyebrow.

“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” They sounded pleased.

“It’s not,” the villain protested.

“I told you, you don’t need me.”

“I know,” the villain grit out.

“But you want me.”

Something in the villain’s brain stalled.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need me. You never have,” the hero said it like it was a fact. “You want me, though. Even as the sound of my name burns you, and the memory of me rots in your mouth, you’re going to want me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” The hero’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can go out to every bar in this city, kiss a hundred people who look like me and get just drunk enough to forget you’re not mine anymore—but you’re never going to stop missing me.”

The hero knew, of course they did, how hard the villain had tried to forget it entirely. The disaster they had become trying to be clean again.

“No matter how many shots you take to block out the memory of me, you’ll always be mine.”

“You’re insane,” the villain finally managed. The hero simply tipped their head to the side in acknowledgement. “That’s not-what’s wrong with you—“

“You’re the one who misses me.”

It stung, deep in the villain’s stomach. It took them too long to remember how to breathe—too long after that to think of what to say.

“If I’m lucky, I won’t ever have to see you again,” their voice quivered, slightly. “But knowing us, the next time we meet it will be in hell.”

The hero laughed and closed the door in their face.

The villain blocked them. Avoided the side of town the worked in. Moved three cities over.

It didn’t matter.

The villain could still feel the hero under their skin.

Later, whenever someone would ask, “Have you ever been haunted?”

The villain would think back to the hero.

And say, “Yes.”

[oddeyevibes]

"That doesn't sound like me"

"oh I would never do that"

"Why do I have a backstory"

Holy shit, what happened to roleplay and imagination when it comes to x readers?

"But I'm not from there" you are now bitch, get into character.

[kyuyua]

Posting some oldish sketchbook things since I haven’t been drawing anything new lately 🙃

[flos-obsessivus]

I'm back! (Maybe)

Hello everyone! I'm opening asks again since I feel bad that I haven't been posting lately. Though my creative block is still there, I'm hoping that by opening and answering asks, I'll slowly be able to get my creative juices running again.

However, don't expect much art, if there is, it will not be as refined as it used to be. At most, it'll be sketches, but perhaps one piece might get to the rendering phase, I can only hope that's the case.

But yes, ASKS ARE OPEN AGAIN!

[stealingyourbones]

Luke 24:46: “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead.”

Original Art and MANY other versions of my art below

[maroonmused]

happy 1 year anniversary to marvel’s spider-man 2, these games mean a lot to me and the insomniac spider-men have a permanent place in my brain and heart. this npc gets me on a personal level.