again, don’t be rude. there is a reason I said EDIT. as in, I’m not the one that made the original picture. Also the reason why I said “don’t repost please” is because I have paranoia. I don’t like anything happening with something I’m involved in without me knowing because it makes me NERVOUS.
people on tumblr are so fucking rude. They’re so accusative because apparently no one is allowed to make a mistake or make a request for their own safety. god damn. and people wonder why I dislike socializing.
Hey, you didn’t have to walk me home. Uh, there’s a killer on the loose. Remember? Besides, isn’t this what … you know? …… what … people like … us who have gone through what we’ve gone through do? … What is it? I mean, besides everything. [She wouldn’t of run away if it wasn’t for me, Jug.]
kastle halloween gift exchange: reunited after a long time for @thekastlediaries! This was going to be an actual and legit fic, but I panicked and couldn’t get it done in time for the deadline :D so it’s a drabble :D Happy Kastleween.!!
She feels bad for her lack of enthusiasm, but she’s been falling through like this for every passing holiday over the last year and a half. If her family was too busy being a family, back home, for her to feel disruptive calling in to pretend she wasn’t lonely and always tinged with a little bit of fear. If Matt couldn’t put down his … sticks and his masks and his ego for just a few moments to remember that there were people in the world, in the real world without the flames of hell’s kitchen and his growing list of super friends. If Foggy was too busy with work or with Marci or with both of them simultaneously, to give her a ring or a text about getting together. She felt a lack of energy to pretend away the day. After all, tracking down, following, and collecting information from sketchy sources and an abundance of overnight research on all of the wicked dark deeds of the baddest of the bad in Hell’s Kitchen was a lot of work. A lot of herself expunged throughout the days and nights.
So, she’d gotten through the work she’d wanted to (there were rumblings of the Russians trying to find their way out of the graves Vladamir and brother had found themselves in and rise back up) – wrapped alone in her office that she didn’t really deserve, with the purple string of lights the front receptionist had hung throughout the Bulletin casting a ominous hue over the files on her desk, all day. She’d bypassed all of her coworkers and Ellison in their ironic or silly or ‘scary’ costumes
(she’d seen far scarier things in her life, real things) and the bowl of candy set out by the front door for children who happened to stop inside and made her escape. She’d watched through the taxi window as they drove by the hoards of people taking to the pavement. The streets had been lined with excitement rarely felt in this part of the city, as of late. Kids bundled up in ugly polyester superhero capes and plastic werewolf masks they couldn’t breathe through – parents trudging along behind them yelling at them to slow down and wait for crossing. She’d passed teenagers doused in fake blood (not real, not real, not real for a long time), talking about how they could manage to sneak into the major parties of the night and Karen couldn’t believe, with the current state of the Kitchen, that parents would dare let them travel the streets so alone.
Eventually she’d made it into the familiar of her own apartment and thrown the couple of bags of candy she’d bought on the way home, on the table by the front door, along with her keys. Without Foggy around or Matt or anyone else she knew, she could allow her lack of enthusiasm. She could remember last Christmas and Matt’s need for a dramatic bombshell present instead of, say, some nice candles. She could remember this past St. Patrick’s Day and Foggy heading home with Marci before the night had even done. And so, she stopped pretending this was any different, turned on the television, ordered a pizza, and answered the door with each knock of little fists against wood.
And that’s where she’d been for the past hour – opening the door to little kids, smiling softly, and tossing pieces of candy into open pillow cases.
Karen reached out to pull the door open for the billionth time that night, bag of kisses clutched in hand, to her next visitor in the hallway. Her eyes traveled upwards, from where the children normally rose, over combat boots and black beaten gear. Past the haphazard spray of a white skull and up through the cuts on the top lip and eyebrow. No polyester. No masks. But, blood. Real, real, real. It’s been so long since real, real, real blood. She’s tried to avoid it. Tried to keep her promise. Only speaking his name or paying him any mind when Ellison had her on a story where she had to let him occupy space in her mind for a moment.
“Great costume,” Karen stared blindly, her voice carefully and thoughtfully dead of emotion. Frank did nothing but stare back, the tip of a word somewhere in his eyes. “So lifelike,” Karen continued. “The blood almost looks real.”
Karen grabs at a kiss and places it in his hand, before moving to close the door, “Happy Halloween.”
“–Karen,” Frank’s foot presses out to stop it from closing. It wouldn’t do well for her neighbors to notice that The Punisher on her doorstep wasn’t just a really fantastic Halloween costume, but the real thing. She’d already seen a few of them, little kid versions, walking around with little kid Spiderman’s and little kid Black Widows. The world they live in – she doesn’t know what her dad would say. And Karen feels like a fool when she does nothing but sigh, shake her head a little, and let him inside.
Finally done ;v;/ this took me a long time because I was trying out some new techniques and it’s the first time I’ve done a sort of scene in a while! But yes, this is kinda based on that one epic scene from Tales from the Borderlands~ What will Rhys choose?
reblog this and write ‘don’t repost’ in your language to help artists
i was thinking for pixiv artists etc, artists could put a page full of text saying ‘don’t repost’ in different languages as the second pages of a log after the cover. because
there are so many reposters who tell me ‘oh, i just got it off of the tag’ and don’t acknowledge any of the rules or what the artist says on their profile. some even suddenly don’t understand english after you comment that it’s your art, and some of them genuinely don’t speak it at all, which makes it hard to communicate. if it’s in the log, they can’t say that, more so if it’s in their language.
my point is, i’m planning to make a page full of all these different languages for artists everywhere to use freely, but i need people to help me out by adding this phrase in their respective language, like so:
Well done if you realised this isn’t my room at Durham, but my room at home! I’ve popped home from uni for a couple of days because I ended up with a chest infection. I’ve stocked up on hundreds of cough sweets, as I’m aiming to be back for Tuesday as trevs has got a Diwali formal, which I’m so excited for! I’ve also got my first formative essay deadline on Tuesday, so I’m hoping to get this essay finished by tomorrow. (Repost because I didn’t like the other photo lol)
you found someone new - threw me aside! someone to replace me! i’m not going anywhere. i’m a̻ͅl̙͕͉̩̯̞w̛̳͉̱a͓͍̺͔͈͠y͞s̖͈ there. a͎̣̳l̵̲̮̼̟̣͕w̤a̪͖̦͈̥͝y̢̝̲̞s̗͕̳̫ ̮͓̠̹͓ͅw̦͓a̡̙̹t̯̩̰͉̳͍́c̛͔͈̖̳̬̼ḫi͉̘̗̥n̪̫͉g̜̬͙͕͖̰. y̧̺͓̯̪͈o̡̗͍͇̝̙̝͈̦͜u͏̲̤̠̪̩̟͉͡ͅ ̟̩̝͕͝c͙̞̬̰̖̥͡͠a҉͉̗̱̗̠͔͕n̬͉̮̤̭͘'̩͚͓͈̞ͅt̨̯͚̼̗ ̹̼͍͝g̦͜e̤̜̞̹̬͚͜t̝̻̘̙̕ͅ ̢̳̺͉͕ͅṟ͔̩̬͇i̖͓͕͢͝d̨̧̥͍̖̱̭ͅ ̛̬̟̼o̢̠̭̤̣f̗͕͓͎́͝ ͏̹̀͝m͖͖͈̠̜ͅe̺̠͙̮͔̫̝̩̕. // antisepticeye