#So yeah I suppose this is the name

[would-holden-caulfield-like-nge]

One of Gary's possible futures

So this is an idea we came up with on the Bully Discord, and I got a bit possessed.

Imagine: After the events of the game, Gary decides to give up on society entirely. And so he locks himself in his room. He spends his days on early 2010s internet, making uber edgy cartoons on Newgrounds.

I imagine he would be similar to Shadman and Emily Youcis (Alfred's Playhouse). Just spending all his time making stuff that makes it really obvious there is something wrong with him. I really do think he would love being on the internet, because he could spread his gospel to as many people as possible (and maybe get some admirers willing to feed his ego). Though, a lot of his stuff would probably be standard edgy schlock.

Of course, all of this would make him even more mentally ill, which would lead to him spending more time online, leading to a pretty vicious cycle. Even when he wouldn't be animating or talking to people online, he would be writing manifestos, or sometimes, reading the same few books over and over again. All of that on his bed.

If you wanna be optimistic, maybe he could turn things around and eventually become an animator at Nickelodeon or something. But that would require him to re-enter that gosh darn western society, which would be the last thing he'd want. Or maybe Jimmy could come stage an intervention for him, who knows!

Textless version of the first image

Gary's profile picture. Later on, I made the bright green outline bigger, so the picture would read better even when small.

[palskippah]

I LOVE BROPPY

*gives them babies*

[gongedtornado]

this is super rough but…. gummigoo’s mom interpretation

(more ramblings in tags)

finished interpretation here!!!

[umblrspectrum]

Can we get more of the murder drone x rain world au?

ok

[bandtrees]

they would get divorced in one universe just to find eachother in another one

alternatively titled: sometimes you're the level-headed token flesh-head impulse-control-and-polycule-member of a stubborn, eccentric, and hearty telephone-headed drug addict, and there's cruelty in the world you deem fit to suicidally fight, and that either goes about as well as you'd expect it to, or you learn about love and the value of your life and junk along the way

[moderndaypandora]

The LAYERS needed in a modern/human Dreamling au.  Some level of Endless family dysfunction, obviously.  Hob's family can be be dead or not, it's all good. Are they old enough to have individually gained the awareness they are off-puttingly intense and should hide it a bit at first, or still in that "no, why would I need to Elsa this" stage?

Option A is both of them trying to play it cool, like "don't scare him off" except they so badly want to go from zero to sixty.

(Death and Desire have ruthlessly drilled Dream with flashcards about how to react appropriately in situations.

Desire: it's your one-month anniversary, what do you do?

Dream: [hesitantly] NOT propose?

Desire and Death, conferring, because that's technically correct but the delivery was suspect.

Death, encouragingly: Good start. And?


Dream: a nice dinner and maybe a walk?

Desire: well done!

Death: and for a three-month anniversary?


Dream: give them a key to my flat.

Desire: [airhorn] NO. RED CARD.)

Option B makes them the classic anecdotal "my grandparents got engaged within seven days of meeting each other and still are happy together".

(Death, rubbing her temples: so you met this guy--

Dream: Hob

Death: -- Hob, and within 1 day you gave notice to the Registrar's Office and figured out the best day to get married. And Hob agreed to this?

Dream: NO.

Death: oh thank go-

Dream: Hob SUGGESTED this.

Death: . . .

Dream: are you going to be a witness or not?

Death, 29 days later in the Registrar's Office, to Hob's witness: Is he sane?

Johanna Constantine, drinking heavily from a large flask: unfortunately yes, by all legal definitions.

Death: fuck

Johanna: [passing the flask over] if your brother's even a tenth as intense as Hob, they'll be fine. Probably.

Death, brightening: Is Hob that bad?


Johanna: You know how sometimes you meet somebody and think "oof, they're a bit much, best give them a wide berth"?


Death: yeah.

Johanna: Hob's like a camouflaged hole in the ground of muchness. Except he's done the hole up all nice and he knows that sometimes you just want to be left alone in the hole to sulk and rattle the spikes for a bit, and occasionally get a F&M hamper tossed in.

Death: [hmmmmmmm'ing approvingly]

Johanna, morose: the bastard.

In the background, Hob and Dream are pressing their foreheads together and basking in each other's presence)

[cruel-hiraeth]

WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN ꒰ ajax tartaglia childe x reader ꒱

cw: a little angst, a little romance, a lot of ambiguity. wc: 777. notes: this is based on a prompt—childe x the last time you see each other, but only one of you is aware of the fact—suggested by my loveliest bitti @rabbbitseason and leigh @sugurei.

Snow flurries dot his lashes, kissing the freckles that dust his strawberry cheeks as he knocks on your door—nearly too short of breath for his dimpled smile to be convincing. While he knows the news (held it as a secret from you, one which putrefied and festered until it nearly rotted his organs), nothing could prepare him for this meeting.

The door creaks open. Behind it, your face is wan and drawn up, funerary. Once lively and headstrong, the sunny candlelight of your eyes—a balm that soothed his soul in foreign lands, an omniscient presence in his fondest memories—has been snuffed.

“I take it you’ve heard the news?”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Ajax doesn’t have a biting or witty remark; he simply stares at you for a beat too long, then nods. He wishes you would tease him, now, just like you used to. 

The scoff that leaves your lips is a comforting, familiar sound. Yet it’s ephemeral—over before he can appreciate it. He steps inside your room. 

A private dwelling on the Fatui base is sought-after, and your friend was able to pull some strings as a Harbinger to secure you your own space. Your quarters are exceedingly cramped, and have only the necessities: a standard cot, a wet bath, and a kitchen with a sink, a hot plate, and a narrow counter. There’s a table attached to a wall in the entryway—unusable during the lingering, frigid winters—accompanied by a pair of folding chairs. 

You treat him too formally, he thinks mirthfully, as you busy yourself brewing tea that he gifted you after a trip to Liyue. It’s your pride that keeps an appropriate amount of distance between your bodies, that firmly measures your tone, that keeps your heated glances brief. But it’s also your pride that drew him to you. 

(Ajax was never good at backing down from a challenge.)

Tears silently slip down your cheeks as you work with your back to him, swallowing any noise that threatens to bubble past your lips, though—unbeknownst to you—he understands what the telltale tremble of your shoulders means. With a delicate hand, you pour boiling water over the precious tea leaves and watch as they slowly bleed into liquid amber.

The quiet in your small home stretches uncomfortably thin. Words catch along the curve of your tongue and the tip of his; neither of you can vocalize your emotions. His boot taps against the floor, your fingers against the counter. 

When you serve Ajax his tea, his ultramarine stare pins you in place, unfurling your wings and your worries. He soaks in your watery gaze, and wishes (cruelly, selfishly) that he could revel in the beauty of your sorrow; perhaps he should—before it’s too late. But he can’t bring himself to hurt you further, no matter how desperately he wants to taste you, salt and spit and skin. 

“It’s just for a few years,” you reason aloud, absentmindedly worrying with the side of your porcelain cup—another gift from your companion. Your voice is thick with all that remains unsaid; it quavers.

“The Chasm is a treacherous place,” you say between sips of scalding tea that burns your tongue, “but I have faith in the Tsaritsa’s infinite wisdom. She will see to the safety of our expedition.”

No blade could cut through the tense air between you. Ajax clears his throat and musters a smile that feels like a lie. “It will be over before we know it.”

He reaches for your hand—palm upwards, welcoming—and you take it. The lambskin of his glove is soft, warm from the blood thrumming through his veins. You rest in silken stillness for a few moments, intertwined like that, chests rising and falling in unison. Then, he brings your hand to his lips, and brushes a kiss against your knuckles. It’s as brief and gentle as the flap of a crystalfly’s wings, yet the caress steals your breath—as does the flame-blue burn of his eyes. 

Before you can say anything (and before he does something he shouldn’t), he rises to his feet and grasps the doorknob. A rushed “I’ll miss you” is all he can utter before ripping the door open and slamming it shut.

Tsaritsa forgive me.

He repeats the words over and over like a mantra, tears blurring his vision, though the archon isn’t the one he should be asking for forgiveness; she’s not the one who is about to embark on a mission that’s as good as a death sentence. 

But you? 

Left to your fate, thoughts of what could have been prickle your flesh, steam curling up from the cup of Ajax’s untouched tea.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

For 00, how do you pronounce that??

I've been flip-flopping between 'ooo', 'double zero', 'agent double oh', 'zero zero', 'oh-oh', 'mother', and 'greenie gremlin'. Are any of those correct?

they're all correct though i generally go for ' zero ' or ' number zero ' for convenience .

not really sure about ' mother ' though . they're more like ' fucked up cousin ' .

[s735]

Here's my goober!!

He's my only Transformers OC at the moment, so I am quite attatched to the guy.

Here's some old full body pics from December

[television--addict]

WHITEBOARD WITH MY AMAZING PERFECT PARTNER @college-knockout !!!!!!!!!!!

Smiles agressively

I like only drew alan Becker art lmao

….

For one horrible second i posted this without the art in it.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

“That old reflex never died; the little pang of Don't go, just stay. Settle over me like the tide, cover me like a blanket, wrap around me like the sun. 

Don't go, don't go, don't go.” [x]

[galaxostars]

trick or treat? 🌺❤️

hi zar 🐍💚

don’t have much up my sleeve rn but since you asked, here’s some prongsfoot that I never posted bc …the layout is a bit messy and…makes my eye twitch, but well. it’s still prongsfoot so u might like it !!

[nightmarearian]

More Naga Odysseus and Poseidon👀?

ajdhjdbehfn tbh I drew this awhile ago (intended for a certain someone hi evergreen) but wanted to color it but procrastinated on that for like two weeks so here we are; hope you like it

don’t really have more ideas on Poseidon & Naga Ody interactions that baaaasically don’t boil down to this, though I’ve verrrrry open to ideas & suggestions :9

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (VI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here and this is part six💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Danny and Bart are bros now. The Speedsters chat about the horribly injured entity their kid has decided is like a...pet? Theydk?

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny wakes up to an unbridled wave of nostopdon’t.

…He rouses. His lungs flutter.

Danny flinches. 

There’s something— it’s large and it’s green in a way that humans are not and it’s taller and wider than Danny’s human and the space it makes in Danny’s senses—

The red human Danny is too attached to now buzzes to his bedside, spilling worrywor/rynerv/ous all over Danny’s section of this abandoned hospital. His muscles tighten up to compensate; and when the green not-human adult gets closer, Danny pushes himself forward on his elbows— closer to his vibrating human, closer to a defensive formation. 

The green thing moves and Danny can’t see the gesture. He bristles. 

And then

Danny’s skull spl

                                its

                                                down the middle. 

Everything hurts and everything is on fire. 

Danny screams. 

                        And he screams. 

                                                        And he screams. 

And—

Danny isn’t moving— everything else moves when Danny screams but he isn’t moving— the fast human has gotten even faster and they’re zooming through the building, through rooms and past adult humans that Danny has never seen, and all Danny can do is sink his claws into the human and hope that it stays. That Danny stays. In its arms, and not next to— that. 

The fast-buzzing human finds a dark room. 

It shoves Danny and itself inside. Good. 

They hide. 

Even better. 

Someone comes to the door, and Danny can feel the frigid heat of a blast forming in his fingers. But it’s only two of the humans Danny has already met. And another young human.

This one has light hair, he thinks. It shines in the light spreading out from the cracked doorway. 

They talk and they don’t crowd his space but to be honest Danny would rather they did. There’s something horrible out there, and he knows these humans aren’t that bad and whatever green thing out there certainly is. They should all be safe in this nice dark room. 

He makes a grabby hand. Come here. Get closer. 

…One of them does. Great! Danny gently bats at it with his knuckles until it joins them underneath the table. Danny puts the buzzing human in front of him and his new human behind him, so that he’s in the middle. There’s layers now. They can’t all get wiped out at once. 

Danny makes grabby hands at the other. It makes a huffy sort of vibration. Probably a laugh. Stupid. Doesn’t it notice that they’re in danger?? 

Danny whips a very sharp comehererightnowbetween them— not lashing, but not gentle. They are in danger. Come here. 

Thankfully, the last two obey—Danny’s pretty sure he’s being humored, but that doesn’t matter. Not as long as they’re all under the table. And safe.

The buzzing human’s anxious vibrations slowly move out into a slower, calmer boredom, and that’s fine, because boredom means that it doesn’t think they’re in danger. No one has found them yet and the humans are twitchy and nervous.

One of the darker-dressed humans says something. Danny can’t tell what it says, exactly, but he can turn his head to listen. The words flow around him like water. Someone else murmurs something else.

A human hand bats at Danny’s. Danny flinches. It—is it fighting?? Are they fighting??

They don’t start…hitting. But they keep batting at Danny’s hands, very carefully avoiding his claws, and—oh. They want to play. And they probably want to play quietly, so they’re being smart about not getting caught. Ugh. If Danny had his toys, they wouldn’t be so bored. This is almost worse than boredom.

…Fine. Danny’s claws don’t exactly retract like an animal’s, but they’re not so essential to his being that they’re formed and present all the time. The sharp shapes of his claws shift in the darkness, until they’re only blunt nails: suitable for playing.

All the humans make very excited noises under their breath. It’s all very interesting or something. It can’t be that special. Danny sees other ghosts reshape little bits of themselves all the time.

The quiet human in red gently lifts up Danny’s hands with its own. It gently tosses Danny’s hands in the air, so that they clap together very quietly once they fall down onto its own. Danny lets it happen. They’re this close to him anyway. They’re probably not a threat.

(The real threat is outside, anyway.)

Then his hands get flipped over. The human gently bats its hands against Danny’s, extremely careful not to anger him enough to claw. They do this a couple times before Danny figures the game out.

Oh. It’s a hand game—Danny even knows this one. It’s Ms. Mary Mack. The quiet one whispers the right tune under its breath.

Once Danny knows it, it’s easy to gently follow the motions. He surprises them when he knows the motions as well as they do; his wrists hurt when he goes too fast, or when the human kids do—when they push too hard, Danny makes himself intangible, to their delight—but he can be gentle, and eventually everyone else is gentle, and they carefully plot out Mrs. Mary Mack and a veeeery slow version of Concentration.

It’s all very fun, right up until the Large Green Not-Human pushes itself through the floor.

Danny pulls his hands back, unsheathes his claws, and shrieks.

Everyone yells and everyone gets closer—it’s a defensive formation and that’s good but it’s not enough if he needs space to help defend them—and everything is loud and upsetting and Danny’s already hurt but he can fight and he will—

—Apology, Apology— something whispers, infinitely quieter than the attack Danny had suffered.

He bolts upright. What? Oh, oh no. It wants to talk to him. Danny does not want to talk back. NonononoGoAWAY.

The giant green thing backs off. Danny gets a distinct sensation of —Questions, Answers— sent to him. The feeling is accompanied by a procession of Danny’s own memories: the stars from the base, the container he’d woken up in, his bed nest and all the waste in it.

Danny winces further back under the table. Just because he likes his cot and feels safe in it doesn't mean it isn't gross. It is gross. But everything is going to be gross until all of his insides are actually inside of him again, and not squished up in his more liquid form.

The quickfasthuman darts in front of Danny, as if it is going to be any defense against whatever this creature is, and starts yelling in its little human voice. Danny keens.

—Care, Concern— flows towards him. With it comes Danny’s memories of the buzzing human bandaging him, a flesh-tone bandage stretching across the hole where more of his nose ought to be.

…Danny stills. It’s. That’s.

It’s a very gentle emotion. Maybe the thing is…lying…? But if it was, Danny would be able to feel it. Right?

There are more thoughts and feelings that come by, first very quietly and softly, and then a little too fast to track as the being get ahead of itself. When Danny pulls away, it slows down, and the flow becomes manageable again.

The Earth. Green and peaceful.

Space. —Home. Home—

This base that Danny is on. On it are faces that the green being can see, that Danny can’t— but in its memory it shares, all of them are welcoming and friendly with…their coworker. This being.

(Is this an alien?!)

(The being pauses in its recollection. It feels distinctly —Amused, Amused—. And then Danny gets space memories!! Of Mars!!!)

He carefully eases his claws out of the carpet. Okay. This is pretty cool. Danny’s getting the hang of this.

He (thinks? Successfully?) bounces back a memory of his first room, his first shuttle model of the Atlantis, the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.

The alien (Alien!!!) treats him to a memory of his own offsprings’ resting places in his home. On Mars.

Danny doesn’t even argue when his buzzing human tries to pick him up. They can break formation. It’s fine. Danny purrs and purrs with his core. For the first time in months and months, someone can speak to him properly. Someone wants to speak to him.

What Danny thinks matters.

The stranger invites Danny into a mutual conversation, and Danny accepts.

Danny sinks himself into a memory of the earth, as seen from the upper atmosphere. The stars were all-encompassing there. He misses flying. 

The Martian sends him a memory of a crashed…

…Oh. Danny squeezes further under the table. That’s the Specter Speeder. From the stranger's eyes, his crash into the dirt looks so bad. That’s…that crash hurt him. He’s still hurt. Still so bad. 

Even the alien’s —Concern, Fear, Worry— isn’t a comfort. 

The Martian replays the memory of the bandaids again. And then a new memory: the laboratory where Danny woke up. 

The room was full of nervous humans in scrubs and lab coats, all of whom were nervous, nervous, fussing over problems like safe food and adequate oxygen and sanitary environment and please, please be okay. Danny’s empathy is limited to other empathetic beings, but the humans' thoughts and worried faces are bare and transparently clear to the alien. 

…Oh. 

Danny thinks of the young humans crowded around him, trying to keep him comfortable and safe, even when the alien knows that the humans know that he isn’t a threat. But that they worry for Danny anyway, because he’s scared and unhappy and in pain. 

Oh, Danny thinks. …Oh. 

[saturngalore]

she’s so darling to me honestly <3