Among Us Comics!! Some Are Based On Moments I Had While Playing ;)

I fully believe that if one of the other sides ever complimented Remus, he would just fall down dead on the spot

Tumblr,

Earlier today we announced to the press that we are running a beta test program for Post+, Tumblr’s newest add-on subscription tool. Post+ is a completely optional tool that will allow creators to make some of their posts exclusive to their paid subscribers. You can read more about it right over here on our @postplus Tumblr. This feature is being tested by a small group of incredible creators on Tumblr.

We want to hear about what you like, what you love, and what concerns you. Even if it’s not very nice. Tell us. We can take it. We WANT that feedback. It helps us make Tumblr better.

What we won’t ever accept is the targeted harassment and threats these creators have endured since this afternoon. These creators are some of the most talented people around, and all they’re doing is testing out a feature. These are the people who graciously agreed to pilot a program to help us discover bugs before we open it up to all creators. These are the humans who are testing a feature that we hope will soon help thousands of Tumblr creators feel empowered, get rewarded for their efforts, and find support within their community.

Our Community Guidelines are clear: Don’t engage in targeted abuse, bullying, or harassment.

Anyone in violation of these guidelines will be dealt with swiftly and will be forced to contend with the appropriate consequences. It’s okay to tell us how you feel. It’s not okay to bully someone because you disagree with their choices.

im bored and i have no shame so here have this entirely unedited draft that i’ll probably never finish

“You two don’t sit still much, do you?” 

Phil watched the two boys carefully. The taller one looks ready to bolt, or possibly attack Phil if it came to that. He’s wiry, barely an ounce of meat on him, fear poorly hidden by anger on his dirty face and a hand tucked into his friend’s. His clothes aren’t anywhere close to new or even clean. Phil took in the worn shirt and wondered if one of Wilbur’s old shirts would fit him. The little one looked a bit less world worn, if only because he’s less gaunt. By the way the taller was poised to react if Phil made some wrong move, he could guess that he must have been the protector. Phil wouldn’t be surprised if he gave most of his food to his friend when times were lean. 

The short one was looking at Phil with a politely neutral expression. It was a facade though, Phil realized. His eyes had a familiar observant intensity. Phil smiled, reminded of a boy with pink hair who’d looked at him the same way. 

“No sir,” the little one answered. 

Phil keeps his face even and lets himself be judged. The short one spares a glance at his friend, hardly taking his eyes off of Phil for more than a few seconds, and Phil watches the two boys have an entire conversation in front of him without uttering a word. He catches the head tilt of a question, and barely keeps from laughing out loud at hearing the little one mumble, “I can’t understand you when you look at me like that.”

Eventually, their conversation reaches its conclusion because now the tall one is looking at him with loaded and hesitant hope and the little one turns back to Phil with the air of a businessman. 

“Do you have anything that needs fixing at your house?” 

He doesn’t ask anything else. Not for food or shelter or even pay for the labor. And oh, Phil wants to pull them both into his arms and give them the chance to forget the ways they’ve learned to keep themselves alive. But he can’t. Not yet. They’re too wary, too tired now to accept the possibility of rest, so he pretends to look thoughtful for a moment. 

“The garden is about ready. Big harvest this year; I doubt I could pull it all in by myself. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He doesn’t mention that he has two helpers waiting at home, nor that age has never really made a dent in his ability. 

“We’re good with gardening,” the taller one says, finally speaking up now that Phil has apparently been deemed mostly harmless.

“Harvesting, at least,” the shorter one interjects.

“Yeah. Never could get anything to grow on our own, but we’ve helped with plenty of harvests.”

“That’s good. I can pay you and feed you if you’ll give me a little help.”

The boys’ eyes get a bit brighter, and the short one nods enthusiastically. 

“My house is this way. It’s a bit into the woods; can you walk that far?”

The tall one apparently takes offense to that, because he huffs and pulls on his friend's hand, speeding up and walking ahead of Phil towards the woods. The smaller one looks back at Phil, who smiles goodnaturedly, and then turns back to follow his friend. Phil follows at a distance. He won’t begrudge these two their independence. They’ve been through too much to be patronized, even by genuine concern for them. 

Soon though, they reach the edge of the woods and slow down, realizing they don’t know the way. They’re startled by Phil draping his cloak over their shoulders. He couldn’t help it; they looked so cold. And it felt better to do something instead of just wondering how often they slept outside in this weather. The shorter looked down in shock, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. The tall one looked at Phil with something between accusation and confusion. His eyes widened when Phil walked past, though. Phil smiled, a bit of mischief in his eyes as the tall one nudged his friend without looking away and suddenly there were two sets of eyes staring in awe at the large wings on Phil’s back. 

“It’s this way,” Phil said, gesturing for the boys to follow.

“You have wings!” The tall one shouted.

“Can you fly?” The other asked.

“Not here, the trees are too low. I’d have to go over.”

“You can fly!” That was the tall one again.

“Thanks mate, I noticed.”

He didn’t miss another wordless exchange between the two, but he didn’t bother wondering what it was about.

“What should I call you?” He asked, letting the conversation drift away from his wings. Surprisingly, the taller took no time to answer.

“Tommy. This is Tubbo.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo scolded, for some reason.

“Tubbo, huh?” Phil asked. 

“Sorry sir. It’s… Toby. My name is Toby.”

Tommy looked upset at that. 

“I can call you what you like. Do you prefer Tubbo?”

Tubbo looked surprised, but Tommy answered for him.

“He does.”

Tubbo looked at Phil apprehensively. Apparently deciding that Phil was being genuine, he nodded shyly.

“Tubbo it is then.” 

They walked for a while, Phil leading at little more than an amble, and the two boys trailing behind him, whispering excitedly and glancing at his wings, and sharing the cloak between them. 

They reached the house by the time the sun was almost down. The horses were missing from their small stable, which meant that techno and will were still out. That was probably good. Phil didn’t want to overwhelm the two boys. He ushered them inside, not missing how they were trying to hide their shivering, especially Tommy. 

“The garden is out back. We can work on it tomorrow,” Phil said.

“Tommy and I can work on it tonight if you want,” Tubbo offered.

“It can wait. We can have dinner for now. May as well rest while it’s dark.”

“What’s a fate worse than death? Continuing to live.”

and

“That was pain, this is suffering.”

i think are two of my favorite quotes from unus annus

His hands.

—

It’s such a small thing, hardly noticeable. Henrik’s gaze flicks over when he hears Jackie enter his lab, rummaging through his bandages until he finds a couple to wrap around his wrists. Jackie’s knuckles are bruised and bleeding, but his expression is stoic as ever, lips a thin line as he marches back out, probably going to wrap his hands up for healing purposes. Henrik watches him leave, wondering what triggered this bout of injuries, but he doesn’t follow.

He already knows Jackie won’t answer. He turns back to his work, figuring he’ll ask later, maybe over a cup of tea.

Jackie sits down in the living room to wrap his hands. Jameson is already sitting there, turning over a piece of wood in his hands, wondering what to carve next. He flicks his gaze up hopefully, wanting to move closer to Jackie and ask him for company, but Jameson says nothing when he notices Jackie’s fingers. They’re trembling lightly while Jackie wraps his knuckles up tightly, mouthing swear words to himself as he hisses back pain. Though his expression remains stoic, Jameson can see pain in Jackie’s eyes, so he lowers his gaze and turns back to his block of wood.

Maybe he’ll carve something later, or speak with Jackie when he’s not in a bad mood. He says nothing when he hears Jackie get up and storm away.

It’s a few days later, and Chase is sitting on the edge of Jackie’s bed. He’s rambling on about a project he wants done, while Jackie is typing out and organizing notes for him. Jackie’s always been the faster typer, but Chase stops briefly when he glances down at Jackie’s keyboard. Have Jackie’s fingers always been swollen? They look redder than normal. He opens his mouth to comment, but when he sees the impatient look on Jackie’s face, he dives right back into his ramblings, hoping to forget the brief but silent exchange.

He’ll worry about it later when they aren’t both in the middle of doing important work. Right now, he needs to focus.

Later that evening, Jackie and Marvin are lounging on the couch together. Laughing over stupid jokes, knocking back cans of soda and eating various junk foods. It’s a simple evening with nothing to worry about, until Marvin takes Jackie’s hand in his own. Not to hold, but to inspect. The mood shifts from light-hearted to more somber as Marvin falls silent, tracing along the many callouses along Jackie’s fingers, the faded scars, the bruises, healing cuts, and swollen pads.

How long had Jackie’s hands been like this?

His hands had been used for so much. Marvin sees Jackie grabbing at a falling Chase to save him from heights. He can see Jackie reaching a hand out to a lonely Jameson, who’s reaching back to take that offered friendship. Jackie’s hands prying a grief-filled Henrik away from a deceased patient, to guide Henrik away and pull him in for a hug.

Jackie’s hands have reached out to nudge Marvin into continuing his magic against all other odds, when reality should have had the magician sprawling back into oblivion. Jackie’s hands had always been there to hold him upright.

To hold all of them upright when they wanted to fall.

To hold the city in one piece, even without thanks for all the work he’s done.

Reaching for the most broken down person, always with a smile on his face, always with new scars on his fingers.

His hands have always been there, always a symbol of safety.

How had Marvin not noticed before? He glances up briefly to see Jackie watching him, an expression of melancholy on his face. He doesn’t need to peek into Jackie’s mind to know what the hero is feeling.

They both already know.

Silently, Marvin conjures up a bottle of lotion and rests the bottle in his lap. He keeps hold of Jackie’s hand, spreading the fingers out wide so he can start massaging them.

Silently, the others come trickling in, with snacks of their own, but the food isn’t what they’re focused on either. Chase is taking Jackie’s other hand in his own, giving it a squeeze before mirroring Marvin’s movements.

If Jackie’s hands can do so much for them, imagine what they can all do for Jackie.

“why are the among us characters wearing space suits in a spaceship?” have you not seen how much is wrong with the fucking spaceship

I was today years old when I learned that when you type “otp: true” in AO3 search results it filters out fics with additional ships, leaving only the fics where your otp is the main ship

The clock never stop for anyone

I never really make any unus annus drawing, so I thought I might as well make something before the time is no more

ghost Virgil w/ lil ghost sides 👻💜

A birthday message for myself, presented by mark

he’s so dumb I love him