#long ass tags dude

[mblue-art]

once again i was fueled with coffee (did not sleep the whole night) but this time i doodled college au to cope bc ofc i did (also did not feel like sleeping wooo)

[pixlokita]

How many years has it been tho

[tokyoteddywolf]

Not me debating writing an Aventio fic based on a book I really loved... urgh-

I got Aven recently and just finished his arc in Penacony and I am incredibly bored! I wanna write while I have the energy...

Lemme know if I should :p

Basic premise is its based on a book called Written In Red, which I feel absolutely fits Aventurine??? Look at the book first, give it a read, and tell me the main character doesn't remind you of him. I will go feral.

Anyways if you don't, the premise of the book is that the main character, a blood prophet who is also a slave, escapes and runs away from captivity to a town in order to hide and live amongst sentient predators called "Others", basically ancient as fuck monsters that can swap between animal and human forms. Others actually do prey on humans, but it's modern times and they have a begrudging agreement to coexist with humans because they make decent stuff that the Others can't create. The main character ends up living among them and figures out herself, while also teaching the Others some new things. It's actually a nice book in my opinion.

I'd have to reread the book but yeah. That would be the very basic idea. I already have a character list of who is who lmao.

I wouldn't make it a carbon copy of the book though, not with the characters I have in mind, but it would be a similar plot at least. Consider giant wolf Ratio, everybody, that's all I'm giving you.

So...

EDIT: Holy crap that's like 50 people and it hasn't even been a day-

Here you go ya feral bastards jesus-

Warnings for gore, violence, blood, people get torn apart and eaten you have been warned. (Can only be viewed if you have an account)

Enjoy

[canyourscienceexplainthis]

Re-watching kinnporsche and bruh Vegas and Kim are playing chess while everyone else is playing strip poker like these guys are strategizing and scheming and everyone else is just getting naked

[spider-man-2o99]

so, then, what IS up with miguel o’hara’s moral backbone?

lol sorry if y’all’re sick of my 2099 soapboxing. anyways.

while i understand where the reading of “miguel is a morally bankrupt evil scientist and his spider-man is just a violent shitheel” comes from, i just... really can’t ever get behind it, based on what we see in the text of SM2099 v1 (1992-1996) itself.

like, don’t get me wrong-- from our first introduction to the guy, we very quickly learn that he has been a cog in the machine for one of the 2099 imprint’s Big Bads, the ruthless megacorporation in charge of the United States’ East coast: Alchemax.

..but. like.

the whole point of his origin story is changing that. the initial catalyst for his Spidering--getting roofied by Tyler when he tries to quit his job--would not have happened if he had no moral compass to speak of.

narratively, it’s less that miguel himself is changed, after he gets his powers, but that his perception of the world has changed.

just-- just bear with me, yeah?

see, for a lot of his life, miguel was a perfect cog in a shitty machine, and he did everything he was expected to without even thinking to stray from the path set down for him by his biological father and by alchemax overall.

and, then, suddenly, that’s all ripped from him in an instant. and miguel’s left floundering in the water.

he’s no longer on the winning team-- more than that, he realizes that he probably never even was on the right side of things, to begin with.

miguel o’hara’s most-quoted line is his response to the infamous “great power,” bit: Great responsibility? No. With great power comes great guilt.

he’s repressed, and he’s a hypocrite, but a guy can only turn a blind eye so far when something he knows is wrong is happening right in front of his face.

as soon as it’s even suggested to him, he immediately steps out of line and tries to put his foot down on absolutely not using a human test subject for his personal spider-man project. when stone brushes him off and makes them go through with human testing anyways, and then the subject dies, miguel doesn’t hesitate to turn up his nose and walk out right then and there on the spot.

his reward for it, of course, is an ice-cold dose of Reality.

from there, his blinders get pulled harshly off his face, and mig realizes that he really doesn’t want to keep being the person that he has been. his life has been wasted sitting idly by and letting bad things happen because all he knows is helpless compliance, right up until he goes and gets himself The Fly’ed into spider-man.

and once that happens, and he Realizes it, he starts to fight back.

that’s how the run is kick-started, in the very first three issues!

the first ten issues of spider-man 2099 (1992) follow miguel stumbling from a very sheltered life, having been thrust head-first into navigating a world that is not only deeply, deeply unjust, but also wants him very, very dead.

he don’t got a dead uncle to motivate him! all he’s got it his own fear and an inner desire to use his new abilities to try and make the world a better place.

hell, the first time he put on the costume, ol’ miggy boy wasn’t even doing so for the purpose of becoming a superhero in his off-time-- it was just an old spare in his closet that he threw on in a desperate attempt to Not Fucking Die as a bounty hunter tracked him to his home.

it’s only later on, after he’s had time for it all to sink in, that miguel realizes that he can actually meaningfully help the people who had been cast aside by the same society that had previously lifted him up above them.

as much as he whines and bitches and moans about it, he never seriously considers throwing in the towel and hanging up the costume for good. he may hate what has happened to him, but he never once seems to hate what he can now do with his powers, vis-à-vis challenging injustice.

mig’s often stuck between a rock and a hard place, what with the kind of world he lives in. it’s why he don’t work well when he’s stranded away from his dimension. peter can get his villains locked up just fine and dandy, but miguel’s world isn’t like ours like that. it’s brutal and it’s very very much established across the imprint that earth-928 (marvel 2099) is a kill-or-be-killed place to live.

despite how people harp on him not having a no-kill rule, miguel honestly hasn’t even killed enough people to count on one hand; the first was completely by accident, even, and the second told him to his face that if spider-man let him live he’d just keep being a cannibal gang-boss because no one else ever has or would try to oppose him.

is killing people the answer? not if you have any other option. but. mig ain’t a friendly neighborhood superhero. he’s just doing what he thinks is right in the moment while scared absolutely shitless for his life most of the time.

now, i don’t mean to defend his every action--miguel o’hara isn’t a saint, and, good god, but he’s made some questionable choices--but. at the end of the day, he’s still shown throughout the run to be trying to be better.

and, i dunno. maybe i’m just a sentimental little sap, but a story about somebody who finally “wakes up” and struggles to build a life worth being proud of after years of having shut down from heavy early-life trauma? that hits, man.

hits real close to home, to be honest. learning to Live after so long simply Surviving is fuckin’ hard, man.

[ghostydrawsstuff]

Meet the artist

So hey, hallo, it's me your local ghost!

I'm a hobby writer and artist with lots of silly thoughts and random fixations. This is one of my multiple blogs, but it's kinda the only one I'm really active on.

I mainly use she/her and they/them pronouns but you can really use any, I'm fine with it.

Asks are open again!

This is also an ask blog, characters you can ask at the moment are:

Slenderman

Trenderman

Splendorman

Offenderman

Me

Lia (an oc of mine)

You can find the ask rules here ↓

I will try my best to answer quickly and draw some silly doodles of the characters answering, it's great fun for me :3 (and I just have to talk about them and my thoughts)

I mostly post art and asks, occasionally headcannons and short oneshots. I am not a native english speaker so I will make mistakes, hope you understand! I am also still very much trying out different things for my art style so it will change occasionally.

My ao3 account is Ghostie_haz_Insomnia, I also have a Wattpad account but I am not very active there and do not plan to be again, in my opinion that site is slowly going to shit. However if you do want to check out my stories over there my account is Justanidiotwriting.

I also have a Deviantart, I'm not the most active over there, my user is JustAnIdiotDrawing.

I'm currently knee deep in the creepypasta fandom and fixated on the Slender Brothers if ya couldn't tell already haha. My birthday is on november 12th and I will be turning 16 this year! :D

I tend to use tone indicators, usually when I'm unsure if what I mean isn't clear for the one I'm adressing. Anyways, list of some of my tone indicators that I don't often see these used or use them myself wayyy too often.

/con = confused

/p = platonic

/j = joke

/s =serious

I'll probably add more in the future.

Anyway whenever depression gets the vest of me I will stop posting art daily, but luckily those periods aren't too long or at least not too bad for long (got that behind me lol). Also might have autism, it runs in my family and my therapist said that it's pretty likely I have it too.

Humor is a great defense mechanism just as over sexualizing yourself, I take no criticism thank youu /j

Also random fun facts about myself:

I ate a lot of weird things as a kid, like "how tf did I survive??" Kind of weird stuff. Glowstick liquids and buttercups being just 2 examples.

Thought I was trans for a while.

I have over 1000 hours on the sims 4, no I don't recommend it. Now I gotta get back to finding a better mod to kill my sims with!

[spaciebabie]

i see a picture of springtrap and and i get so obnoxiously horny that i thinkl i have couviod

[fitpacs]

.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

I want to thank Misha Collins for inspiring me to do things that, for legal reasons, I cannot disclose online

and no, this is not a joke. Misha, through GISH especially, showed me not just the power of art-as-activism, but what creative modes function best in that setting, and how to organize and lead such efforts.

what I've done with that knowledge, again, would be legally dangerous to admit online

but I'm so happy I know how to do it. I've become a leader in my community, and a supporter of large and powerful movements.

specifically, those spaces know me as an artist. an artist with endless and diverse creative ideas, who knows no fear, takes no shit and is especially good at resistance and point-making via "funny" and lighthearted art.

would Misha approve of what I'm doing?

most likely, FUCK no he wouldn't

he's made himself damn clear where he stands on this stuff, even via silence alone

but I have him to thank anyway.

[hydrasango]

catch me regretting up my vatwr whats up guyz

[queerdiazs]

happy fuck it friday 🔥

i was tagged by the lovely @wikiangela, @giddyupbuck, @try-set-me-on-fire, @eddiediaztho, and @jeeyuns <3

i’m at work and on my lunch break 37 minutes late so pls ignore the formatting issue and just enjoy how fuckin soft this is 🔪🧡🫶🏼

Eddie nods, giddy. “Yeah, Buck.” He sees the crackly smudge of chocolate on Buck’s face and smiles, terribly fond. “C’mere.”

“Huh?” Buck asks, confused, but he steps closer nonetheless. “Oh.”

“You’ve got something on your cheek.” Eddie grabs a clean rag, runs it beneath the faucet until it’s warm, and gently rubs Buck’s cheek until the mess is wiped away. “All done. Your pretty face is clean again.”

Buck stares, bug-eyed and slack-jawed and a little silly. They’re close—so close Eddie can see the freckles across Buck’s nose and cheeks and forehead, a whole galaxy of orange and brown and red. Eddie wants to count them like Chris wanted to count the stars when he was younger. The pink blush is back, rosy and bright. Eddie wishes he knew what it meant.

He sniffs. “Let me grab Chris and we’ll head that way.”

Buck blinks, finally, and says, “Okay,” in a quiet, soft voice. “I’ll get my shoes and wait for you two.”

eddie you fool you KNOW what it means!!!

anyway i’m tagging @housewifebuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @wildlife4life, @watchyourbuck, @thewolvesof1998, and anybody and everybody else 🌙💖🫧

[orchidyoonkook]

(The tagged post was super long so I'm just gunna make a new one, I hope that's okay!)

Thank you for the tag @loki-wants-an-army!! I'm super excited for this!!

Last song: Ptaha Fred by The Unsleeping

Favorite color: Yellow and purple!!

Currently watching: Chicago Med, House, and The King's Affection

Last movie: Fully watched??? uhm...either Zombieland Double Tap or Elemental

Currently reading: I have three books I've started in the last year and have been trying to finish, but life. And one more I'm rereading because the sequel comes out in a couple days.

So: Midnight Sun by Stephanie Meyer, Crescent City: House of Sky and Breath by Sarah J Maas (fav author) and Renegades by Marissa Meyer.

Then: Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yaros (READ THIS PLEASE ITS SO GOOD)

Sweet/spicy/savory: YES. No. Yes.

Current obsession: orange pekoe tea, gouache painting, frogs, and yellow furniture

Last thing I googled: fear of long words

Currently working on: TWWWBAATTA 6, ideas for other members, finishing moving into my house, finishing my crochet sweater project, finishing my commissioned crochet blanket project, and job hunting.

tagging: the lovely @violetsiren90 @katykatmeow @leohatter @here4kpopfics @petasse02 @remmykinsff @heroinanne and @hoseokhasmyheartxx plus anyone who wants to join, of course with no pressure

[zillyhooveseternal]

omg lesbians are real??!!!! (they are!)

(way) more under cut :-)

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[reinabeestudio]

you stop shaving as a woman and people just dont know what to call you anymore huh

[syn4k]

DEPRESSION IS SO FUCKED UP I WILL BE OUT HERE LOOKING AT THE CLOUDS IN THE SKY WITH A GENTLE BREEZE IN MY FACE AND THE AIR FILLED WITH THE SWEET PERFUME OF SPRING AND I WILL REGISTER THAT THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL AND I WILL SAY, OUT LOUD, WITH MY MOUTH, "DAMN IT IS PRETTY OUT HERE." AND MY BRAIN DOESNT TAKE THE DAMN CUE TO TRANSLATE THAT INTO ANY EMOTIONS EVER. IVE BEEN DEALING WITH THIS SHIT FOR AT LEAST FIVE YEARS NOW. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL DUDE????? WHO SANCTIONED THIS????????????