#ill get to this on my break probably!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

im so Normal. totally not shaking and crying rn

[linkedin-offficial]

various gaolers + lore art (hi flight rising tumblr)

[axoqiii]

Ooh, could you please do Huey, Violet, and Boyd hanging out in the Clean Environment palette?

im so sorry this one took so long !! here they are :P

[general-grey]

so.... who was gonna tell me that Lucio's masquerade costume was based on Raoul (phantom of the opera)'s masquerade costume

[pickled-flowers]

Please give me some good animal knowledge I need it dearly

[fleouriarts]

feeling bad about my art lately. will probably not post for a while. but i wanted to at least dump some stuff here before i retreat into my hidey hole

[crowchemicals]

PRANKMASTER 13

MORE REDRAWS ft my MC, Chloe this time.

[jacksprostate]

Part 4 (with links to the other parts)

The first thing I do is, I talk to the man who takes my sheets, with his scrapdog ears and eyebrows, and I tell him: address him properly.

The word spreads on its own. I remember, before I was used to it, that knowing lilt. Sir. It’s still present. Take your pills, sir. It’ll be alright, sir. Take your time recovering. 

Mills starts cursing at the staff. We pass in the halls, he yells at me, tells me to stop them. He’s not their fucking leader. Call off my dogs.

I smile, too wide. They’ve never listened to me, not really. Especially not on this.

I can’t help you. 

Naturally, he hates this. 

The second thing I do is, I ask for photographs. News clippings. Marla’s dildo was large, questionable, encouraging of disorder, and a choking hazard. Slips of paper are much more tolerable contraband. I’m given free rein, like one of Zimbardo’s incentivized guards. It’s a psychology experiment in a psychology experiment, and my psychiatrist is playing Jane Goodall. 

It’s arts and crafts, and all the attendees are either bruised or braindead. There is no one stopping me. I glue all my collected pieces together into the rough shape of a heart, like it’s Valentine’s Day, and I turn to Mills, trapped at the back of the room. He hasn’t seen a shred of what I’m up to. 

Something to remember her by, I say. I don’t call him sir, because I never have. I wonder if he knows this.

I see him look, more instinct than anything from getting layers of paper shoved in his face, and I see how he clenches his teeth so hard his jaw creaks. He rips the collage of his wife out of my hands, and I can tell, he hates me. Real hate, like he wants death to fuck my body until it’s not even for the worms. 

He can’t bear to destroy it, and now I know every time he looks at it in his room, he’ll be thinking of me. Funny how that works.

The thing is; Mills actually didn’t try to kill me this time, so I think I need to take it up a notch. 

I cross the cafeteria just so I can spit in his food. I piss on his door and get the space monkey janitors to leave it for fifty-seven hours. In group therapy, I take a page from Chloe and monologue about how the last thing I’d like to do is get my rocks off chemically unhindered before the seizure medications they’ve got me on arrest all of my brain activity altogether. A nice nugget for Mills to report back to Somerset about my proposed psychosexual obsession. I segue into discussing how I met Tyler, on the nude beach, grit all across him as he hauled pilings and sat with his bare ass in the sand. It’s the most I’ve ever said about Tyler. The group minder scribbles on her sheet like mad as I describe Tyler’s wet, blond hair. His minute of perfection.

And he still doesn’t try to fight me. I know he wants to. He wants to shake me by my throat and rattle me and slam my head into the ground until it splits open like a rotten egg. But he doesn’t, and he looks torn. Like he’s guilty. Like Tyler could ever really feel guilt. 

This is one of the things I want to complain about when Marla calls me. 

She still does. More than when she was alive. But she says nothing, and I can’t break the silence. I sit there, orderlies watching as I say nothing, she says nothing, just a whole bunch of dead air between us.

Ghosts were always calling for Marla, at Paper Street. 

Now I’ve got Marla’s ghost on the line and Tyler’s ghost in the flesh, and neither want to talk to me. 

We get locked up in supervised one-on-one again, now with both of us chained and one twitch away from a new addiction.

I ask Mills, did you talk to her enough, that last week?

Do you think she knew you loved her?

Do you think she felt loved?

Mills asks for the sedation, this time. Polite about it, like he’s not seething. Like I can’t see how his eyes have been only half empty most of these days, since I’ve managed to fill him up with rage at me. Folie à deux, I want it so bad. 

I am Jack’s crippling sense of rejection.

My stupid psychiatrist, he lets Mills amble out of the room and traps me in there. 

I’m corralled. An angel on either shoulder. All the staff who aren’t from the Project have stopped laughing at my jokes. My antics have not gone unobserved. I’ve been given my time to rein as the world’s most entertaining lab rat, and now this localized god wants results.

“What’s your goal here?”

Isn’t it obvious?

“No. Tell me about what you’re thinking,” he says. I look at him, and I see him, for the first time. Not disillusioned, not holy. Just a sniveling doctor with a penchant for human experimentation and the funding to enable him. 

How horribly average.

He says, “I understand this is difficult for you, but we really need to know what’s going on if you want to have continued support in this manner for your recovery.” Play nice, or you’ll lose your favorite toy.

I say, this has never been about recovery. It’s time we faced that, isn’t it?

This man, so used to my religious apathy, has never truly had a challenge. He looks pinched.

He says, “Of course I want you to recover.”

And I laugh, and I point out that we both know those outside these halls are more interested in what’s wrong with me than any semblance of fixing it. 

You’re not getting paid to drain the swamp in my head. You’re here to keep it plugged up, decomposing. We both know this, I’m just acknowledging it. I laugh.

I tell this little god, he can write me up in all his little acclaimed journals.

But don’t come to me, saying I have to play your little games or you’ll take Mills away. We both know you won’t. The day I give up, the day I become a real vegetable is the day your cash cow keels over. You’re not going to punish me. Not really. You’ll take away my jello, my oats, you’ll put me on lithium and clozapine and valproic acid, but you don’t really want this to end. You don’t want me to get better. You want Tyler back just as much as I do. You can’t do shit to me. I have nothing to lose.

You have everything.

Tyler’s words, back home in my mouth. They’re mine now. I get up and the orderlies flanking me do nothing. I look down on this small, small man, and I think, he has never known a bigger fish. He doesn’t even know the hands that feed him.

I’ve hit bottom, I say, and it’s not you who holds the shovel. Be grateful I let you observe.

[hollypies]

I lied. Death time

[craycraybluejay]

Honestly I think I do want to have kids someday. Definitely not bio kids but kids of my own all the same. Maybe just 1, maybe an entire 2.

I want to give the love and support that was not afforded to me. I want to watch them grow into amazing adults and know that I gave this child/these children the opportunity to live a good, fulfilled life. I want to instill in them my love of books; teach them important things like courage and bravery, kindness, respect, a sense of genuine wonder in a world so empty of it. I want to encourage their interests and pursuits and congratulate them when they work hard no matter the end result. I want to be the parent I never had, the best one possible.

I don't know where that fits into the rest of my life plan if it does at all. Idk. Sometimes when I experience something cool and whimsical I think; wouldn't it be awesome to share this with my own kid? A nice book or a pretty landscape or when I'm thinking about advocacy for good public schools. The thought creeps in, wouldn't it be amazing to keep even one person safe from the foster care system? Wouldn't it be lovely to have someone to nurture and support? Wouldn't it be awesome if because I was such a good parent my child lived a happy life where they felt free and safe to follow their dreams and be themselves and things?

[sporesgalaxy]

love trying to imagine new ridiculous ways for scrangle to make any sense in the world. my current best idea for violet is identity theft❤

[anxiously-sidequesting]

To me personally malistaire is the funniest and most pathetic villain wizard101 has ever had AND I MEAN THAT SINCERELY!!! Between doomed children who have been manipulated, groomed, and isolated into becoming products of their environments, someone scorned who has been punished unfairly by having your biological heart torn out your chest and turning your children and all of reality against you to satiate their own ego, a nonhuman entity so powerful and so clueless they unintentionally threaten the lives of everyone around them, Malistaire FELL DOWN BRO. Like yeah you're bitchless now. You and me both. Get in line. Everyone in this room is bitchless. We are ALL living that ✨💅🏾💃🕺 Single Life™. You are a middle-aged man. Cope

[iqmmir]

Hi im back . For some time

[risingsunresistance]

damn i kinda dont like it here anymore

[isa-ah]

been following you since PRE bubblegum karkat days and it’s been really nice watching you grow and heal and whenever i see you on my dash and think of your growth it reminds me of my own healing journey. i find that really nice

HAHA that was AGES ago dude. my god. i cant believe youre still around, that was like, the worst of it LOLOL weve both probably come a looong way since then, yeah. life used to be abysmal but now ive got my hubby and mother in law and were moving to nola next month so theres nothing to fear =')

[samamuri]

Behold!! This thing!!