Yall really underestimate how much I'll love you forever even if we stop talking. I still think about my friends from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL and hope they're doing well. Everyone who has ever been nice to me, please know that you are a permanent fixture in the scrapbook in my head and I will turn to your pages and go "aw that was fun" and maybe even add a new sticker to the page because it reminds me of you. MWAH.
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Please don't kill off yn in ccrt. I'm really loving the characterization of them and the story and the fact they have siblings to take care of but if theres a tragedy ending i won't be able to read it anymore.
ok but what if I did something with this flamethrower I just found
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hm thinking about going through my art blog and reblogging some of my art from there
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see. i like drawing quackity with his camp t-shirt tied off/cropped because it’s silly. but in my heart. i will admit, in my heart, i have my Doubts…….. because really. i know i should have given that character design to roier.
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Any hints on what you’ve got cookin pls?? I can’t wait to see your more of your work!!!
My life has been utterly consumed by Barry Sloane, so this might not be what you're expecting but it's a small piece of my massive Joe Graves fic (and it really is massive. Its already 13k, no smut. Send help).
You expected stagnancy. Normalcy.
And then—
A flash from the corner of your eye. Two fingers jerking up once, flagging you down. The universal sign for hey, bartender, over here. You obey the command, painting an unnecessary smile on your face, one that rarely ever goes acknowledged, and turn to the man who waved you over, and—
Well.
He's massive. Different, but decidedly not out of place in a room that reeks of stale beer and lemon cleaner. He moulds to the shadows, sticking like glue to the crevasse in the corner.
Something about him prickles your skin. A break in the routine.
When you're close enough, he dips his chin. The thick auburn beard covering his face is rough and worn; it's unkempt, like his hair—moused, greasy—and his clothes—stained and wrinkled.
He's in a state of disarray. Chaotically unkempt, but the shadows under his eyes—tenebrism on breathing flesh—tell you, implicitly, that he does not care. A chiaroscuro in sabotage, he leaks ruin when you lean in with a tight, shaky smile.
No greeting. Just—
"Whisky. Two shots."
It's blunt. Unapologetic in this direct dismissal.
You're used to men like him sidling up to the bar, barking out their drink of choice without so much as a hello, lovely evening for it. This is no different from anyone else who sat on that same chair, ordered the same drink, and stank of the same corrosive rot.
Nothing different at all.
Yet, he leaks octane out of every pore of his body. The rust in his gaze is a warning sign: this is a man on the verge of collapse, and one less stable than Betelgeuse.
Your smile wobbles. "Sure."
He's dangerous. The hissing in your head say he's everything you should run from.
(Too bad for them, no one ever taught you how.)
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hello tumblr i honestly couldnt be happier that pharah is a confirmed lesbian LOOK AT MY GIRL
but it seems like some of u may have forgot that mercy literally watch pharah grow up,, erm
so instead of shipping her with mercy let's ship her with ourselves❤️🧡🤍🩷
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