#hence the blog and all

[dear-ao3]

Can you not post your f1 content elsewhere?

do you not know where the unfollow button is?

[the-real-gmail]

are there like. any un-taken gimmick blogs

i want to be a silly but i cannot find a company or anything that there’s not already an account for 😔

Oh, yeah, loads

Here's some email verse ones if that takes your fancy

For planets and other heavenly objects, I reckon anything that's obscure would be fine, maybe see about a moon of Jupiter or another planet?

Countryverse, I'm not really sure what's taken or not, but people don't seem to mind much at all if you make one for a country that's already taken

As for corpos, here's a list of corporations I've found online, and I've crossed off ones that I think have been taken already

If Macdonald's isn't taken, which I am unsure of, then I think that might be a good idea /nf

Anyway, have fun, and if you do take one that's already taken, I doubt anyone will particularly care

[originalartblog]

your skk is so real and true to me. like its Them

this is such a great thing to hear I'm ✨🥺✨

I like to think I can mostly keep them in a permanent "status: ????". is it romantic? is it platonic? could it be both at the same time? perhaps queerplatonic would be a better term? I don't know you're the reader you tell me. The important part is that they got each other's back and can be stupid together and perhaps get their dose of cuddling while they're at it because they need it. Whether they kiss or not is so secondary to me but I NEED them to yearn for each other's company in big and small ways both.

[askblueandviolet]

Macaque, you are a freeloader...

At least give The Mayor a kiss. 😗

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜

Previous 💙💜

Next 💙💜

[caluski]

today marks another birthday for this sweet, wonderful, kind, and amazing creature that goes by the name Żmija. nearly popping out in the fall, but with her heart as hot and impatient as the sun of july morning, she rushed for the last days of summer where she truly belongs - so of course, a summertime portrait it is :-)

wishing you the happiest and most love-filled of celebrations, @slavicafire -from yours truly and yours forever :-)

[pokemonpo]

the madohomu thing i drew that I’ve crossposted on several platforms so many times im sure people are sick of it already but I want to consolidate my madohomu stuff in one place so here it is again lol :’)) This time with a never posted before bonus- a non-cropped unedited version of the og for fun

[thegreatyin]

for the record this is my personal funny evil bat tierlist. i don't actually dislike any of the masters there's just some i think about/like a bit more than others

[ace-trainguys]

Old Art October - this is from May '22, I had some thoughts about putting Ingo and Emmet into SINoALICE.

Every character in SINoALICE is a twisted fairytale, and the woman here - the Little Mermaid - is no different. She just loves tragedies - the more miserable, the better.

Transcript under the cut

Little Mermaid: You have lost all memories of your home, except of a man who looks like you?

Ingo: That is an accurate assessment, yes.

Little Mermaid: (how miserable!)

Little Mermaid: What if you recover your memories upon finding that man's body?

Ingo: That... I sincerely hope that does not happ-

Little Mermaid: Oh! What if, due to a misunderstanding, the two of you fight? And it is not until he's dying on your spear, mouthing your name, that you remember?

Little Mermaid: What a tragedy that would be...

[rains-pace]

art fight dump !!!! didnt feel like drafting up nine different posts so here they all are in one place instead lmao

characters in order of appearance: venus belongs to @ssilentwillow parker belongs to ~alovestuck (AF) naoko belongs to @fghniki athens and ser belong to @jaspersketch yuri belongs to ~Tobago (AF) claire and anais belong to @acetoons torin belongs to ~HowlAashir (AF) merry and zachary belong to ~Andientart (AF) milo belongs to ~Alt_asher_art (AF)

[kappatengu]

a piece i drew for my sidebar! i've missed them both soooo much my scrunklies

un-colourcorrected ver under the cut

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[rxttenfish]

Hi hello I just wanted to say that I really really like your worldbuilding and art and merfolk and things like that. Where can I read more things you’ve written?

thank you!!!

realistically the majority of my writing is on my main blog, @royalreef, but this is not really ideal for reading, tbh. first of all, because royalreef is a roleplay blog, so what's on there is not only more unpolished and less put-together, but also what's on there is semi-dependent on other roleplay blogs interacting with me (i'm in a dry spell lately, so very little is actually being posted). it also pretty solidly shows my development cycle, so if you go too far back you start seeing things that aren't necessarily accurate anymore or which i've changed over time. most of it is a lot of scrolling and digging through stuff, and while i recommend finding my headcanon tag on there, it's still going to be a lot to dig through.

the much more favorable avenues are by using the #all the care guide says is 'biomass', #miravi.txt, #monster prom, #Monster Prom: Reanimated and #art tags on this blog, but not only is less here, but some of these tags are more or less organized than the others. biomass is my all-purposes posting tag, so you'll see a lot of random conversations too, and my miravi tag is solely focused on the ship, with worldbuilding being included but not the whole focus. in the case of monster prom: reanimated, its a defunct tag that i don't use anymore, but still has enough worldbuilding posts on there for me to point out.

the most focused avenue is my AO3, particularly my newest fic Caecilian, which focuses on the merkingdom and merfolk and that worldbuilding! the problem is that, by far, this has the least content of all methods thus far, and while i'm working on the second chapter as we speak, it's still going to be a wait between chapters (they're pretty long, as you can imagine from the subject!)

i have been considering setting up a patreon for more inclusive worldbuilding posts and being able to share sketches and concepts without worrying about them being polished, but as of posting this, i don't have a patreon up yet. it's in the future plans, but not right now!

and, of course, the easiest method is just sending me an ask of any questions you have! there's certain things i can't answer/won't answer publicly, because i'd like some things to remain a mystery until i can properly reveal them, but if you dm me privately and don't mind spoilers, i have no problem talking about them there!

[zosonils]

check out this baby sonic i drew

[charmac]

i don't think people hcing charlie as transfem are trying to dismiss the transmasc charlie hc! i think it's more of a projection thing for a lot of people, since i know at least a few of the main people who enjoy the headcanon are transfem themselves!! i don't think you have much to worry about in terms of people dismissing the tmasc or other genderqueer charlie hc anyways, since it's already much more popular! i think you're perhaps being a bit too critical.

I've literally never said anything like this at all, I think you've either misinterpreted something else I've said or have the wrong blog.

All of my Charlie gender-based posts or reblogs I've stated/tagged that I think any interpretation of Charlie's gender can make sense, be it transmasculine, transfeminine, nonbinary, agender, whatever you want.

I am one of the ~3 blogs that has access to The Bathroom Problem script and who posted and pointed out that you can make out/slightly hear the Joyce cuts in the episode itself. I would not have excitedly shared that for open-interpretation if I was "worried" people are "dismissing" transmasc Charlie headcanons. (Which, again, I've literally never said, but in any case, I believe it's valid for anyone to dismiss a headcanon they don't agree with, fandom is a sandbox.)

What I personally don't care for are genderbends and, almost by extension, analysis/meta on canon scenes that rename/re-gender the characters with no basis (or, one that comes off wrong). Both topics I've literally never publicly spoken out against here, nor have I said anything bad/negative to everyone who personally enjoys these things, so there is no way for me to possibly be "too critical" in that regard. I keep most of my opinions to myself and my close mutuals, almost exactly for what you're saying: I personally don't want to harsh or dismiss anyone's headcanons.

I have never said, and have never meant to imply, that anyone interpreting Charlie as transfem is attempting to dismiss anyone else's headcanon (which again would be a non issue to me anyway).

[lanaevyssmoved]

i honestly like trying to avoid knowing if someone’s a mutual or if they’ve broken mutuals with me because you don’t need to like what people put on their blogs to like them as a person. i’m always gonna treat people well no matter what our following status is and you can be friends without caring about what’s on their blog. i think if you want someone to piss off you block them instead of hoping they realised you’re not interested in talking to them because you’re not mutuals

[undergroundwubwubmaster]

I don't know if I have "active" followers here or anywhere else that might notice changes on my post schedule, but it might have become obvious that my art posting has slowed down to drip-feeding.

TLDR I've developed a pretty hefty boy of a burn-out.

I'm doing fine, i've been trying out different hobbies and i do draw as much as my energy levels allow me, but as someone who has pretty high standards for what deserves to be posted, it's nothing I've shown around.

Currently i'm concentrating most of my creative energy into client work and finishing personal art that's been left in wip limbo. I'm hoping to open up small scale public commissions later this year if I get everything else finished, mainly to see how well I can handle it. Can't promise anything though.

This was just a general update, for anyone who might care. I'm doing good.