thats nice of me

anonymous asked:

Little Rogue meeting Frosch for the first time? ;w;

> was supposed to finish a Gray/Lyon piece and a na//lu related thing

> posts more of this shitty au

I was gonna do this one in color but apparently I forgot how to color lately :’)

Your Worst Nightmare

Summary: Dan can’t sleep–he never can. And it’s thanks to the demon under his bed.

TW: uhhh scary demon shit. idk when @mangothatismelancholy was reading it she was legitimately scared so idkkk

Genre: angst

Word Count: 5k

(here’s a drawing @societyshottheunicorns01​ made!)

(and a drawing @haleykinz​ made!)

Keep reading

Nikola Tesla is the greatest b/c he loved pigeons and science and wanted to provide people with electricity at low cost but he was also lowkey trying to build a death beam. 

i hate it when people think our symptoms are fine when they’re Trendy and Relatable but then as soon as we show some sort of severe symptom they suddenly want nothing to do with us lmao

Replace Plus Extra Chapter 14: Christmas Miracles

What if the Generation of Miracles were Santa?
Kagami: *snore*

Keep reading

dan is staring at phil’s pastel ass

For Day 4 of @tazladyweek, Canon Divergence. Don’t get me wrong, I love NO3113 as a member of Team Sweet Flips, but I really want her to be able to go home and chill with her family as well, maybe have some fun being an auntie?

okay so i tried my hand at writing for the first time in Years and idk if it’s any good?? idk its just Neil being introspective more that anything, mostly about andrew,, idk,, pls be nice to me it been so long since ive written 


In his 19 years of life Neil Josten had concerned himself with one thing: survival. He knew the concept like he knew every ugly blemish that marred his torso, like he knew the insistent need to get out of there perpetually lodged in his throat, like he knew the feel of cold steel against warm flesh again again again. That is to say he knew what it meant to survive intimately so. Neil knew how to shoot a man to make him bleed out without fatality and he knew how to kill a man without leaving a trace. The snik of a lock successfully picked, the consuming smoke and fire in his lungs, in his throat, on his tongue, the ricochet of a bullet and the resounding finality of the resultant echo were all sensations Neil had familiarised himself with over the years. Fear was something that had woven itself between Neil’s fingertips, burned behind eyes and weighted down his tongue. Intimacy meant feeling his mother’s heartbeat roaring in his ears on those nights it was too close, it was the back of his mother’s hand and the side of his face when he looked too long, it was Lola’s breath on his neck, hot and heavy.

Keep reading