I like stuff and you have to deal with the fallout

NOT a minor.

[notquitekris]

I will never forgive the plurb for what they did to Kusimayu

[cocaineskinnycom-deactivated202]

vomit on his bed and then leave

[notquitekris]

TV Girl lyrics

[mlpqueer]

love yourself!!

[sugar1th]

mourning krusie

[phight-club]

I made a collage to commemorate Dan and Phil’s second coming out 🖤🤍🖤

[notquitekris]

Figuring out how I like to draw Sammy Sam… first pic middle, and second pic middle are my favourites. Last pic is me messing w/ my look outside sona.

[brickday]

honestly, there's so much to look forward to regarding ntbts/zapruder. upcoming magic gathering movie, the vice drug movie, dvd release with commentary, season 3, potential season 4 (please), potential movie sequel somewhere down the line maybe? "GET EXCITED! IT'S REX MANNING DAY!" AND ALSO JUST READ he's got an upcoming comedy project safdie? supposedly? he is booked and BUSY

[notquitekris]

Schedule for next three days:

> release movie

> get married

> best friend’s birthday

[notquitekris]

Being scared and being brave are not mutually exclusive. In fact, most times they’re conducive!

[notquitekris]

Have we all been watching Jerma play Look Outside?

[notquitekris]

Flash is enabled.

[notquitekris]

Doodles found while deleting procreate shtuff

NO TWD SPOILIES PLZ & THX

[notquitekris]

Deleted some procreate stuffs and found this Widow’s Bay comic I totally forgot about 😭

[timetojointheclub]

Excerpt from my new fic!

Male!Reader/Tom Loftis

Wc: 1,200

“What’s next?” 

“New Year's Eve disaster, nineteen sixty-two.” 

Your eyes light up with recognition. “I know that one! C’mere.” You tap his shoulder and take the lead, and open a door just a couple of doors down. You open the door to another identical room and enter a bathroom. “Here,” You kneel on the floor next to a grate where voices whisper through. 

“Make room,” Tom grunts as he tries to fit on the floor next to you. He manages to squeeze in, his body on yours. Your faces are inches from each other, breaths mingling. You manage to press record and aim it at the grate. 

“Listen.” You whisper. He leans in with wide eyes. 

“Four,”

“Three,”

“Two,” 

“One!” The voices chant and cheer, but the cheering abruptly ends with screams of terror. Then they fade out. It’s so strange; it sends a thrill up your body. 

Tom’s wide eyes shift from the grate to you, disbelieving. His brows knit together, and he frowns, “That…That was real?” His body is tense and hot, and he gives off too much heat—or were you just that out of practice with being alive?

Back to Tom, the voices are real, but you shrug to keep him calm, “Dunno, but it’s creepy, right?” 

“Yeah…” He sighs. It isn’t long before he wriggles out of the spot and back out into the hallway, crossing that one off the list. 

You’re right next to him, camera in hand, looking back at the recording. “Which one next?” You ask. 

Tom puts the notebook into his back pocket. “How’d you know about that one? You come to the Inn often?” 

“That sounds like the start of a bad pickup line.” You grin; Tom laughs almost like he’s surprised at himself. “My dad told me a lot about the folktales on the island.” You scratch your face; you can’t remember his face. “Fishermen, they have a lot of stories.” 

“Your dad’s a fisherman?” 

“Was.”

Tom tilts his head and catches your eye. “Oh, sorry.” Only then do you get a real good look at Tom Loftis; he looks most certainly tired, though he has a frantic energy about him. His clothes are nice, if crumpled. 

“It was a long time ago.” You smile. “What’s next on the list?” 

He stares at you a second too long, as if noticing something about you, hopefully nothing too revealing. He snaps back to reality: “John Reynolds, dumbwaiter.” Immediately, you wave that notion away.

“The dumbwaiter's broken. That one’s boring anyway.” 

He splutters, “Okay, Mr. Expert. Dead Man’s closet then.” 

“Lead the way, Mr. Loftis.” 

“Ugh.” He pushes off the wall and walks away from you. Leaving you to trail behind him, you decide to record him opening the door and stepping inside. As he turns to close it, he shakes his head. 

“Are you gonna come with me or stand there and record me?” 

“You think we can both fit inside there?” 

“Are we doing it or not?” 

“Fine, fine.” You briefly wonder how this is going to look, Tom talking to himself and the invisible cameraman. You wonder if maybe even a little whisper of your voice would leak through in the recording. Probably not. 

Tom leaves the door wide open for you to step inside. Once inside, Tom realizes how truly small the closet is, and you can see the regret washing over his features. 

“Okay, I see what you mean now.” He says as the door shuts behind you. 

There are cleaning supplies on the shelves on either side of your shoulders; there’s a small bulb light hanging above your heads. Its weak glow creates harsh shadows at the edges of the room. And Tom is right there, only an inch away, looking up at you with uncertainty.

Thankfully, the camera hides your face. “Say hi to the camera.” You say, dragging your words. 

He isn’t very amused but waves at the camera anyway. Before he looks behind you, “Did you shut that door?” He asks. 

Now that you recall, you didn’t even touch it. “...No. I don’t even know how it closed.” You can see panic enter his eyes. 

“It’s fine; we’re fine, Tom.” You think. You’ve never actually been in the closet; you never had a reason to. “Look.” You stop recording and hand him the camera. Shuffling your way backward, you blindly search for the doorknob, jiggling it side to side, but it doesn’t budge. 

“Fuck.” Tom groans. 

You try again and fail. And Tom starts to freak out, shuffling toward you and reaching for the doorknob himself. He backs you against the door. “Are you claustrophobic or something?” 

“No, I just want out.” He jiggles the doorknob a little more fiercely, and the door shakes behind you. 

“Well just—” You don’t even get to finish your sentence before the door pops open easily, and the force of it throws you backward. You go weightless for a few seconds before you hit the ground, the weight of another man on top of you. 

Having lungs is great until you get the wind knocked out of you. The air gets punched out of your chest, and you wheeze as Tom groans above you. The weight and warmth he gives are so strange, you forget people could feel like this. 

With hands on either side of you, he cages you in, those wide eyes of his still panicked. 

He gasps as he scrambles off of you. “Sorry!” 

You’re left on the ground trying to get the air back in your lungs. You audibly groan, “Shit, Tom.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” He holds out a hand, and you take it. He hauls you up to your feet. 

Your back aches slightly. “We can cross that off our list.” You say as you lean against the wall, catching your breath.

“Too bad we didn’t record that,” Tom says. You can hear the smile in his voice. 

You can’t help but wheeze out a laugh. Once you’ve caught your breath (still feels weird). Tom leans on the wall across from you, staring at you. He squints, “What?” You ask. 

“...Nothing.” 

You hum lightly; you assume it’s to do with your appearance. Visage- something could be wrong; you could be talking, but your mouth would be out of sync. Maybe you’re out of focus, blurry. 

“What’s next?” 

“Killer clown.” 

You frown instantly; you hated that guy. He was always walking around in the fucking clown outfit. Trying to scare everyone else at the Inn—well, everyone else who would come out.

“No…Let’s not—” You say, but the lights in the hallway have already turned off. That familiar dread fills your stomach. Your head drops with your hands on your knees: “Fuck.” You say under your breath. 

The lights come back on, and an incredibly ordinary man in work attire is at one of the doors with a suitcase next to him. You want to yell at him to fuck off and leave Tom alone. But when did William ever listen to anybody? He probably doesn’t even remember you. 

“Oh!” Tom shouts in surprise, “Who are you?” He not so much asks as accuses. 

“Who are you?” William asks back. He follows his familiar script. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[notquitekris]

YESSSS READ THISSSSS

[tveducator]

Being a Matt Johnson oldhead is crazy. I was in the goddamn mines. I was sending my friends links to the internet archive and scraping the ground for old YMS videos. I was Wii Shop Wednesday. And now its on hulu and my mom can watch it. What a world

[thegrimreaperofdeath]

went from ntbts being on google drives and internet archive to Hulu. this is so crazy

[killl-ka]

Kris and The Soul if they were fungry