#SORRY IVE BEEN GONE

[ziggystqrdust]

eventually you just live long enough to see the cycle repeat within your loved ones </3

[crashwow]

whos this strange guy with bugbo!? (my oc :3)

[lenoeninade]

Coffee Drinking Prick

(image quality will not improve if you click on it)

boo

artstyle change

[tincanfish]

Who you gonna call? >:) Poster for Better Call Saul! I had to do it for class, so I decided to have some fun with it

[reelsoup]

bubbline redraw

[formula-1-yapping]

Max if he wore armour:

(Found this in a uquiz. Idk who made it though. But whoever did credits to you!)

[zman80]

Corvette Trail

[blak-pawed-stuffed-lion]

Man, I don't think I've talked much about Megatron on this blog, if ever, but sometimes I am just eaten alive by brain rot when I think about what it means for Megs to actually openly show fear about Mnemosurgery. Like I made a comment about it once to a friend, and I think about it sometimes, how they hadn't seen it that way but, let me put it here: Megatron reacted that way because the only thing he's every truly been able to call his own is his mind. Even his own body has been used, destroyed, and rebuilt by those around them. The body he was born in was made by someone else, was designed to do a job, and in a way he would have likely been told his life was owed to those who made them. I have no doubts the functionists would have happily told cold constructed bots that they owed them their lives. Megatrons thoughts, his mind, that's all he's ever owned. He's never truly owned property in his life, never had a home, never had any belongings, and those he did would be given away for others to consume. His writing was passed in secret on data pads that he smuggled in the underground. Things that where impermanent. When they sought to erase his mind with Mnemosurgery, from Megatron's perspective, he was about to loose the only thing that ever truly been his own. And even after the war, his mind is truly the only thing that is his. He gives up his faction, his cause, his war. Even then, all of those things, could never truly be called his. Every ship he commanded, every fleet beneath him, could never be truly called his own.

But his mind, it remained. Between every body he had lost and every platoon he had seen come and go, every battle, every foe, his mind was the same one he was born with. And even that, inevitably, betrayed him, when he realized all that he had done, when the sudden clarity of his guilt struck him. But even still, he would never dare to give anyone access. Because it was his, and he's the only one who has the rights to share it's contents. This is the only thing he's ever had true control over, except for the one moment he didn't. The one moment where someone tried to take away the only thing he had ever been able to say, with confidence, he could call his own.

I think it's easy to forget sometimes that Megatron had never had the opportunity to call anything other then himself his own. He wasted his entire life fighting, so that he never even got to enjoy the simple nuances of life. Or maybe I just think to much about Megatron.

[kotasaskblog]

Waves from my containment box [aka the ask] HIIII INK WE FOUND YOUR CO-WORKER IN A BOX HIDING FROM A DEMON CHICKEN

[stevesbipanic]

My lovely B !! Congrats on 5k!!! For the prompt list: angsty number 29 :3

My lovely Basil <3 Enjoy ya angst.

29. Birthday

Wayne wasn't much of a birthday man. When he was younger they didn't have much money so birthdays were more of a kiss on the cheek from your Ma and a pat on the back from your Pa kind of affair. Once he was older it was just another day, until he got Eddie. Ever since the scrawny kid was dumped on his doorstep Wayne had wanted to make sure Eddie's face never looked as defeated as it had then.

Now birthdays were a wonky cake they made together with the flour they got from Mary down the path and sugar from Sara by the park and butter from Ruth next door. Birthdays were candles from the thrift shop on Main St and a gift wrapped in newspaper that Wayne had been saving for all year. Birthdays were hot cocoa and blankets and watching whatever film Eddie picked from the video store for his special day.

As Eddie grew he began blowing out his candles with the boys from school cheering him on cramped around their little dining table. There were more mugs of cocoa and another gift tied with string that the boys had all pitched in their quarters for. There was the pile of snores on the floor that Wayne would sneak past the next morning on his way to work.

When Eddie was 16 he told Wayne he didn't need a gift this year when the summer storms caused a leak in their roof. When Eddie was 18 his birthday was a road trip across state lines and ink across his arm that kept that big grin of his on his face all month long. When Eddie was 20 he told Wayne that next year his gift would be his diploma, he promised this time he'd do it right.

21 birthdays and Wayne was there for ten of them.

Today was Eddie's 22nd birthday.

Wayne woke up to silence, he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. There was no cake today, Mary had looked at him with those pitying eyes he'd been getting lately when he told her the flour wasn't necessary this year. Breakfast was black coffee in a single mug, no cocoa would be drunk today. The candles would stay in their spot in the kitchen drawer, too colourful for a day like today. The sunny weather that was typical for this time of year was replaced with rolling grey clouds. The blankets would stay folded on the couch, Wayne ignores the sticky note on the fridge reminding him to go to Family Video. Wayne got dressed alone, picked up the bundle of newspaper, and headed out the door.

The boys were waiting for him there, joined for the first time by new faces. Beside Eddie's friends stood a gaggle of kids who looked too old to be fourteen, the girl from the newspaper who held a taller girl's hand, Mrs. Wheeler, the Sinclairs, Ms. Byers, and a man who looked suspiciously like Jim Hopper, and Claudia Henderson. Most surprising was a young man who Wayne knew to be the Harrington's son.

The funeral was a quick and simple event, there wasn't a body to bury after all. All they had was a headstone that Wayne knelt before, the weight of the day catching up to him. Gareth sat beside him, the young boy placing a tape on the stone.

"We thought it was only fair that Eddie still got his present."

Wayne choked back tears as he pulled a pained smile and unwrapped the newspaper he'd been clutching as a lifeline. A small bundle of pins he'd been collecting from stores he walked by all year, his last connection to an alive Eddie. Before he had a chance to place them on the grave he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Wayne turned to see Harrington standing holding a pile of denim he'd recognise anywhere.

"I'm sure Eddie would've liked if he got to show those off Mr Munson."

Wayne took the vest from the boy, hands shaking as he pinned the pins on in the limited space left on the vest. When he was finished he drapped it over the headstone. A light breeze fluttered the material, it felt like a hello and a goodbye rolled into one.

"Happy Birthday Ed."

Prompt List

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2023 | Day 6 | The Bee’s Whumptober Masterlist

“Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

CW: li’l bit of blood, implied kidnapping, restraints

------------

Caretaker did their best not to cry out as they were forced to the ground by a kick to the back of the knees and a firm downward force on their shoulder. A fist tangled through their hair and pitched them forward, slamming their face straight into the concrete with a dull thunk and bright bolts of color momentarily crowding their vision.

“Glad you could make it, Caretaker.”

They pressed their hands into the floor to sit back up, but a hand squeezed their neck and held them in a forced kneel, head bowed so they couldn’t see past Whumper’s polished dress shoes. Whumpee stuttered out a weak “No, don’t!” somewhere in front of them. A foot nudged Caretaker’s head gently to the side.

“Thought you’d be more of a challenge to subdue, though.”

“Fuck you, Whumper, let me go.” Catetaker hissed. Then corrected, “Let us go.”

The shoes disappeared from their view as the hand holding their neck squeezed more, making the world spin around them.

“I will. Eventually.” 

Caretaker heard the telltale rattle of chains as footsteps meandered across the room. Whumpee growled as the pacings grew nearer to them, only for them to walk right past to a different target that Caretaker could only guess at. They lurched for the second time to press out of the death grip on their neck, only to be shoved further to the ground, so their forehead almost kissed the floor.

“I’d stop being difficult,” Whumper called idly as the ratted through a box of something. “Unless you want to be next on the chopping block?”

“Yes, yes, let Whumpee go, they have nothing to do with this! It’s me you want anyway!”

Whumper paused, as if actually considering.

“Mmmm��� After.”

“Wait, you can’t, please don’t, don’t–” Whumpee started gasping in distressed whines as Whumper sounded ever closer to Caretaker once more, before yelping out loudly by the footsteps taking a quick detour into Whumpee’s stomach and silencing them. Caretaker clenched their fists against the concrete, and the impeccably polished shoes appeared in their view again.

“I have something different planned for now. It’ll be fun. Let them up.”

The iron grip dug even more into their arteries and jerked them backward, so at least they weren’t lying prostrated before the madperson anymore. Who wears suits to a torture session? They finally got a good stock of the room they had been forced into: Prison grey cement walls, surprisingly well-lit considering the whole “torture room” thing. A cabinet of man-made horrors well within Caretaker's comprehension sitting to their right, and Whumpee chained to the damn wall across the room, half curled in on themself and staring at Caretaker with pleading tear-soaked eyes. Only a couple of bruises littered their skin, a single streak of blood running from their disheveled hair down their temple.

Then Whumper, crouched down right in front of them, looking expectantly into their eyes while holding something out for them to take. Their white dress shirt had its sleeves rolled up.

“What?” Caretaker spat, sizing up what Whumper was holding out. Some sort of camcorder. They had to manually unclench their muscles and instead glare daggers into Whumper’s soul, wishing they were sharp enough to kill.

Whumper shook the camcorder lightly and rolled their eyes. “Take it. I’ve been waiting just for you to do this. Fond memories and all. You’ll film the entire session, and if both of your friend and I aren’t in frame the entire time, or you stop it early, or god forbid you throw to camcorder away, I’ll up the ante accordingly on poor Whumpee accordingly.”

“And if I say fuck you?”

“Then I’ll kill them when I’m done.”

Whumpee’s face went ghost-white behind Whumper. To match Caretaker, they imagined. A chill ran down their spine. They searched Whumper’s face for any sign of a bluff, but their eyes hadn’t so much as twitched from the almost disinterested mask of vague amusement that marred their features.

Caretaker sputtered. “You’re joking. Or– Or you’ll do it anyway.”

Whumper craned their neck to look at Whumpee, and they whimpered, shuffling their feet on the ground and shoving further back into the wall as if they could phase through it with enough effort. Whumper turned back to Caretaker, brow raised. 

“You willing to take that bet?”

Caretaker turned their attention to Whumpee. They offered nothing more than a desperate pleading look. Help me. 

Caretaker swallowed. “Please, don’t,” they whispered with a shaky voice. “It should be me, please. Torture me, kill me. Not them. Not Whumpee. They’re innocent.”

Whumper didn’t move a muscle except to extend the camcorder further.

“Please, please, please!” they cried. They bowed their head and pressed their forehead to the floor, willingly this time. “Isn’t this what you want?! I’ll do anything, whatever you want! Just don’t hurt them, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything!”

No response. Then Whumper gently nudged their face off the ground and forced them to look up at them, though Caretaker still hunched before them. Whumper breathed out. A microscopic narrowing of the eyes. A dare. Caretaker swallowed. Closed their eyes as tight as possible. Clenched their jaw. And snatched the camcorder out of Whumper’s hands, holding it close to their chest.

Whumper hummed, a rare smile tangible marking their voice. “Good. Good Caretaker.”

[silveecat22]

Girl vash and kid wolfwood cause why not? (Aka lucky kid)

[sunrayretriever]

(heads up this video is quiet for the most part but i make a loud silly noise towards the end dont be frightened)

can you believe they just let me fly one of these right out the gate

[crusty-chronicles]

Bear with me y'all, I've been binging Jujutsu kaisen. And let me tell you GEGE WHEN I CATCH YOU-. I promise I'll bless y'all with some good food this week 🙏🙏🙏 Pinkie promise I'll make it 12,000 words.

And maybe I've been converted to a Nanami simp but shhhhhhh

[jelly-marmalade-jam]

Got some poprocks the other day ! ( haven't tried em' , I'm super excited ! )

[vampire-research-center]

Vladbat Caught in 4k