#really nuts

[fanatic-r3d4ct3d]

I think you said before that in your lobotomy corp au Buck used to be human before becoming an entity (sorry if im remembering wrong). Would the incident that caused that perhaps happen to be related to a certain brainiac or was it entirely unrelated? Either way it'd be cool to know what happened!

YOU DID REMEMBER THAT RIGHT DW!!!. he did used to be a human!! He worked in the records department along with Brian actually! Now did it involve a certain brainiac! Mostly! more so a indirect reasoning but it still SURE DID INVOLVE HIM. Lobotomy Corp features specific abnormalities that aren't like others. being items. the items typically benefit the facility and can be used for a lot of things and most importantly cannot breach. Abnormality buck works in a bit of an odd way due to his creation. He's not a human anymore and he's not fully an abnormality. He is an item abnormality infused onto a human host. The item in question being a slot machine [very creative i know] that as employees would give different benefits or cause a bust and give debuffs. The more times used in the day the higher the rewards get but the higher the debuffs get. (Breaching abnormalities, causing ordeals(another in game mechanic) causing agents to loose all their sanity points and what not.) with that little blurb written. Brian and Buck both worked in the records department. Now at least in my own little Hc, Brian doesn't exactly like noise when working and typically gets really focused on what hes doing. Buck has his own ways of working that lets him get things done but not so quietly. the two argue a lot with brian being annoyed and with buck being pretty just chill about it and finding it more so funny then anything else. Eventually Brian suggests he go work with an abnormality O-09-777, an item referred to as Everything Slots. (abnormalities all have a number and a name, most of the ones ive showed so far I've made names for! i should make a master list at some point ) Buck takes him up on the offer and goes and works with the machine. Now working with the machine he hit a lucky streak. It kept paying him out well, Performance upgrades, More energy for the facility(What the company is trying to get from the abnormalities) different gear department wide boosts. HE REALLY didnt pay attention to how much he had been pulling that lever and before he knew it the machine sealed his fate with a bust. Rather then breaching other abnormalities or caused a facility wide meltdown. It took Buck as a human host making him part of the machine. AKA! giving him his iconic slots for eyes visor and slowly turning other parts of him robotic. He sometimes will leak oil. Now the facility didnt lock him up on sight seeing he remained........Most.... of his humanity...minus the sanity point downgrade and how quickly he seems to go insane. They let him resume his records department work with the only requirement of someone has to be watching him at all times. that someone being Brian due to the fact he was the one who suggested he go to the slot machine in the first place. Brian got a lot more rude towards Buck after the incident and mostly everyone else...though in reality he feels really guilty over the whole thing and he's angry at the fact that Buck is just...oddly ok with the fact he's partly an abnormality now. he really wishes he could go back and never have made the suggestion. and buck was then sense known as O-09-1-777. Everything slots. though he gets very annoyed when he's called such, preferring his name.

(take the oldd doodles of the lad. he has no really proper ref minus just me doodlin....if its not here then im still adding it via my phone i typed this >_<)

[tomatoluvr69]

Loving golden age hip hop and also soul/r&b/vocal jazz is so rewarding because when you’re listening to something from the 60s/70s and suddenly a weird time fluke occurs and you’re transported unexpectedly into a hip hop song you’ve heard 10000 times. This is such a cool experience it blows my mind every time

[muppet-hell]

Four person Casper fandom going crazy right now

[rillils]

not me casually leafing through some screencaps and randomly realizing that the bartender in catfa also happens to be pre-serum steve's body double, thus making this shot:

the perfect rendition of what steve's before/after pics would have looked like side by side (and steve's leaning over a little, so he's actually slightly taller than that)

and it truly sinking in how fucking nuts it must have been for bucky to see THAT when steve found him lying on that table

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

[ningadudexx]

I love these ominous snake people

[linhzard]

steady breathing now, jojo!

(this is a redraw hehe)

[dappermouth]

We're so back!! Tapestries are available once again, now at my print shop. Same quality and sizes as I had at Society6, only this time I'll be fairly paid! Gratitude to all the folk who continue to support artists <3

[antisocialxconstruct]

do you guys know about exploded skull taxidermy

[meltedmush]

I did a bunch of SVSSS doodles to cope while I was in the 2ha pit 😭

[flwrkid14]

Had the silliest idea while making breakfast.. what if Damian’s Favorite Brother is Tim, but for the Dumbest Reason...pancakes

My idea is that Tim is Damian’s favorite brother, but not for the reasons one might expect. It’s not because of Tim’s skill, his smarts, or his ability to stay three steps ahead in every fight. Nope. Damian’s real reason for favoring Tim over Dick, Jason, or even Bruce is much simpler.

It’s because Tim makes the best pancakes. Like, legendary pancakes.

Not even kidding.

One morning, Tim casually whips up a batch of pancakes in the kitchen—y’know, because Alfred’s off running errands and the rest of the family doesn’t know the first thing about breakfast beyond opening a box of cereal, and Tim's been feeding himself since he was six. So Tim steps up to the stove, and bam—fluffy, golden stacks of heaven.

Damian, who never really cared for breakfast, takes one bite of Tim’s pancakes and is sold. From that moment on, he’s obsessed.

“Drake, you will make me those pancakes again tomorrow."

And Tim just blinks, completely confused, but shrugs it off like, “Uh, sure?”

The next morning, Damian’s right there in the kitchen, bright and early, waiting for his daily dose of pancake perfection. By the third day, he’s even dragging a chair next to Tim, watching like a hawk as Tim cooks, making sure he’s using the right ingredients.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Batfamily is just like, “Really? This is the thing that bonds them?”

Tim, being Tim, just rolls with it. He doesn’t ask questions. If Damian wants pancakes, Damian gets pancakes. He’s just trying to survive his new role as “Pancake Master.”

But Damian? Oh, he’s serious about this.

Damian tells anyone who will listen that Tim is the only one who knows how to make breakfast properly. He’ll give the other brothers side-eye anytime they dare to suggest they could cook for him. Even Alfred raises an eyebrow, but Damian’s already set: Tim’s pancakes or nothing.

What’s even funnier is that when Damian gets pissed off at anyone, he refuses to eat their cooking. But Tim? Untouchable. The one person who can screw up as many times as he wants and still be in Damian’s good graces—because those pancakes? Irreplaceable.

So, while the Batfamily argues over strategy, patrols, or who gets to drive the Batmobile, Damian's priorities are clear:

"You’re all amateurs. Drake’s the only one who makes pancakes worthy of the Wayne name.”

And now, Tim’s been promoted to Damian’s favorite brother for the silliest reason imaginable. But hey, if the key to Damian’s heart is pancakes, Tim’s got that title locked down.

[carterrdraws]

i just think the Rem and Ripley comparison is really fun

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

The Pump

For the last few days I’ve been playing around with an idea.

What if I had access to a pumping machine? 

It consists of a long rubber tube, a tank, and a foot pump, not unlike a bicycle pump. 

The tank is full of solid lard, or melted butter, or perhaps even cake batter shake. 

I’m seated beneath the machine, with the pump next to my right food. I can easily operate it with a forceful stomp. I cannot stop imagining snaking the tube down my throat. It chokes me slightly, but I get used to it. My lips struggle to contain saliva that spills out as the tube rests inside me.

There is a rubbery taste and texture, not unlike a mouthguard or a bottle. It’s a bit squishy, but stout. 

I press the pump. It shoots solid lard quite suddenly down the tube and into my belly. The long hose stiffens for a second, I cough and stutter, maybe even a heave. Then it’s over. 

One pump makes me comfortably full, like I am satiated. A bit woozy perhaps and certainly distended, but not so full I cannot function. 

A second pump almost instantaneously fills me to my greatest desires. So full I cannot stand without immense difficulty. So full I cannot manage any breathing beyond short, labored panting. So full my gut is noticeably swollen. So full I am having trouble thinking straight. So full I am starting to feel sluggish, tired, lethargic. 

I taste nothing but plasticky rubber, my own drool, and maybe the occasional lardy burp. There is no mess, no leaking, no waiting, no swallowing. The whole operation is only 1-3 minutes. This gives me plenty of time to lug my prize somewhere where we won’t be disturbed. 

How many times a day would I use the pump? I can easily envision myself pulling out the long tube. Struggling to get up from the chair and stumbling to my bed. Pinned by my extensive filling. Passing out and digesting it all over a few hours. 

Would I walk right back over? A little heavier, a little dumber, a little hungrier? 

Would I use the pump enough to make it take 3 pumps? 4? When would I stop? 

What if someone else was there to manage the pump? What if they kept pumping? What if they too, wanted to sit in the chair with the tube? What if I just kept pumping?

What if I get really fat? 

I’m so terrified by my answers to these questions. Access to this pump would ruin my life. I need this pump. My gut needs this pump. 

I’ve thought about this for days, almost a week. I’m embarrassed.

I’m desperate. 

[vaguely-concerned]

you ever think about how the horrific thing dorian almost had done to him... is exactly the thing iron bull went to the reeducators to beg them to do to him. yeah. me either. for ten years straight now. what the fuck. wanna be my narrative foil dude. we could fuck about it if you're game and single

[bakudekublogblog]

katsuki has to be quiet and stay calm to keep control of his heart problems.... control your heart.... CONTROL YOUR HEART PART TWO??? hori you're so brilliant

[buckera]

we talked about Eddie holding Buck's hand, but not about the gentleness of his other hand on Buck's ribs and I'm crying into my pillow as we speak