Send This To All Your Favourite Moots And Pass The Pumpkin Round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤

I. LOVE. THIS!!! THANK YOU I'M CRYING IT'S SO AWESOME!

Am I allowed to draw your suit-wearing sona with my suit wearing sona (the art urges are winning)

YES. PLEASE. DO IT.

Why? Why leave me with all of this?

Got bored so I drew:

@eeveelikessoda 's batim oc: Olivia C and @yourfavouriteboyrider

I'm not happy with how I drew Olivia, so one day I'll try and draw her again.

I don't know. You guys seem cool :)

HELL YEAHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS!! THE EFFECTS ARE SO GOOD! THANK YOU, CAT!!!

Very Normal Writer Guy, nothing to see here...

TW: Gore

The mentally unstable ghost boy belongs to the wonderful @unnoticedunawarestillhere

Hudson hummed in agreement, his eyes studying Ray.

"Will you quit being so nervous? I haven't even touched a hair on you," he grumbled. "Nor light you on fire." He pulled out his lighter, flipping it open and fiddling with it.

If Ray had heard any rumours about this man here, he wouldn't know Hudson committed arson. Twice.

"So how'd you meet Jack, mon ami?"

A young man approaches, offering a small smile.

“Hey, I hope I’m not interruptin’? I’m from the storyboardin’ department, I was told to grab the scripts…If they’re done, that is.”

“The name’s Ray, by the way.”

[hope you don’t mind the intrusion ~@w-graves-nook]

Mister Hendricks slowly peeled his eyes off his typewriter to look at the young man, tired brown eyes turning into mild distrust.

"Okay...? Hold on," the man muttered, having to hop out of his chair and search his lower cabinet drawers.

Finally, he pulled out a crisp file and gave it to the man.

"Here, most of them are finished, but there are some where you're going to have to fill in the blanks," Hendricks said gruffly.

"Hudson," the man pointed to himself.

Hudson if he actually went to The royal Canadian Air Force during WW2.

This would be the Poppy Field AU where Hudson actually survives the studio. No telling if he survives the war though...

Heyyy

This debate is fucking hilarious

Ok ok, so you drew this image

Me, my mom, and one of our friends are in a debate over what is wrong with his hand

His right hand looks backwards(no offense ment here...)

The friend agrees with me

But my mother seems to think he has 6 fingers...

She is absolutely adamant about him having 6 fingers and will not accept that his hand just looks backwards

This doesn't make sense to her...

Do you see what I'm talking about here..?

Do you, the original artist, think he's got 6 fingers or that his hands backwards..?

(again, I am meaning no offense here, I love your art style, I just noticed that his hand looks funky...)

I was rushed in the process and didn't actually think about it. He has five fingers, I was in a rush with the drawing because I had to host something for my family.

The hand's backwards. I don't know. I'm just tired. In the drawing I accidentally drew him with six fingers during the inking process.

Yay.

A gift for @bladevoyager using their Susie Campbell!

(Such a pretty silly thing :3)

...do you want some good old Canadian tap water? :3 ^ ^u

You have a nice OC. Very stylish. Very cute. I like. :3

*eats art* and tasty.

^ ^ aww thank you! *Watches you eat my art* ....do you want some hot sauce on that?

Discarded Letter

I think out of everyone and everything here, I'm the closest thing to looking "human", in some twisted way.

Catch me on my left side, you wouldn't think much. A short young man who looks drained, that's all. Sick, even.

Catch me on my right side and you wouldn't want to stick around. No one did, really.

It hurts. My teeth show through the gash and gore while my jaw is slightly slanted. My throat is a mess, inside and out. And my eyes...

I couldn't tell you where they were.

. . .

I've always been on the small side, there's no question about it.

I remember when I was little my mother would call me, "her little sparrow". Like I was weak. Helpless. But precious at the same time.

From the start, I wanted to prove her wrong.

And I think I did, honestly. But not without shame. Or guilt.

Or blood.

...

I remember how I was.

Witty, wistful, nostalgic and eager. Eager to help. Eager to prove what I was worth. Eager to look at the bright side.

What bright side?

I remembered when I went down hill.

I yelled at a friend who was only doing his job. He punched me afterwards. I hurt him with my sharp tongue and he hurt me with his fist.

I think a part of me wanted that. Wanted to be hit, to be hurt. As if maybe that could restore who I was.

Or could gain me a couple brain cells.

I remember how I would sneak off to the sewers, only to be met with welcome arms.

Even if I didn't always want them.

He was there to make me a cup of coffee when I needed it. To teach me melody and beats when I needed a change of subject. And to embrace me when I didn't know what to do.

I loved him more than my own father. And unlike my own father, he loved me back.

And then I pinned a knife to his throat. I asked if he trusted me, if we were friends.

I ruined it. I ruined his trust, I ruined our friendship.

He still loved me though.

I didn't deserve it though. It's not like I was actually his son.

...

I remember when she would comfort me, always treating me like she treated me when I was little. No matter how many temper tantrums I threw. No matter how many insults I spat. No matter when my heart beat had stopped.

She said she would share her heart beat with me. Her heart would beat for both of us.

Whenever I questioned her, she told me, "Because it's what older sisters do."

She said that a lot.

Even though it hurt that she wasn't really my older sister.

I guess she was just that kind.

And then, there was her.

Like the others, I didn't deserve her.

Not her humour, not her snappiness.

Not her kiss. Or her love.

But I wanted to deserve it. All of it.

His friendship.

His forgiving nature.

Her kindness.

And her heart.

I think I even wanted to deserve my father's pride or my mother's sweetness.

I mean, I don't think my father was ever proud of me.

Maybe because he just saw through me, even before I turned insane.

Maybe he was just that smart than everyone else from the beginning.

I got what I deserved though.

Blood, loneliness, wounds that never heal, headaches that never fade.

I'm finally as disfigured as my personality.

Happy Birthday, me. You did it.

Å̴̡̛̛̻͈̲̘̤͑̃̽̀̊̉͊̃̐͗͌̍͘͢͜͞n̴̸̸̢̨̛͍̞͉͖͙͎̝̬͓̤͖̘̪̮̿ͬ̏͊͂̋̽̔͐́ͦ̃ͤ̉̔͗̀̇̎̓̆ͅd͔̼̖̣̤̈́͌̈͋͛̆ͦ͑̋̓̀ͦ Ī̛̘͎̣͖̫̰͚̟͆͌͋̽͆̀͑͋̾̅͆͌̃͊̌̕͜'͓̝̭̅͆͛ͫ̚m̵̡̛̟̫̯̭̭̳̝̝̹̺̙̩͚̙̦̳̑͋͒̀̄̅ͫ͂͑ͤ́̀̎̈́̈͐̋̊ͤ̓̍ͦ̊̔͜͞ s̜̼̱̣̊̒̔̇ͨ̍͒͒͝o̸͖̹̰̦̩͓̭͙̠̖̬̐̋ͩ͒ͯ̆ͬ̓̇́̌̍ͪͪͧ̀͘͢͢͠͞ s̸̴̞͎̃́o̥͙̖͑̽ͨ̌͒r̷͇̻̺̦ͮ͌̅͑͆͊͋̑̑ͨ͝ͅ_̵̮̖̯̳̥͖̯̰̰̃̽̀ͨ̈́̋̒̏͆͊͒́͆͟͢͟͜͝r̹̻̽̑y.̷̗̺͈͌̄̀̈́̍̿͢͟

(For @thelocalmoth and for @creationandcalamityau who might so happen to recognise which characters are being mentioned ;) )