#twomp wall

[an-theduckin]

Update on the twomp wall ! I love how most of them are just normal cute drawings/masks and then there's just ma boy Stanley chilling

[sharkieshark]

Help

[w1tchcr4ftt]

the the freaken

flowr !

[happystarzarchive]

howwas argos so fucking chill about the tatt;le flower butcherinmg his message . if that thang told my boyfriend 2 his Face that i wanted 2 smell him i wouldve killed myself

[idkwidatp]

i need (want) recommendations in a kinda specific way

i really like over the garden wall, coraline, jack stauber, the world of mr plant, all three tim burton stop-motion animated films, and heathers are there any other shows\movies similar to these that are definetly horror but also don't have *too many* jumpscares or gore, its more about tone or character designs? im also okay with gore if its just blood anything more than that and i will hate it.

[mangomoody]

HE RESPONDED

[hypno-tist]

Hyperfixation unlocked

[robby-bobby-tommy]

I continue drawing sketches and coloring them. Still sorry for Mr Plant's petals, I used my old pallet for this one too.

I decided to draw some of my favorite background characters. This cloud fella is so cool, I love them. Also Dream Co is a very interesting concept. If I understood correctly, Telly has somehow broken a wall between a dream and reality. For Mr Plant was sleepwalking and punched his own tv, but somehow Telly died or was punched anyway. I love this little details in Twomp.

[xxcrimsn-yanderrexx]

Warning: Religion mentioned

(I was literally having a bad case of shower thoughts while I was in the shower a few seconds ago and just have to share them bc I'm concerned for my own well being-)

So, ya know how Christians exist and how they look up to God?

Well...

What would the characters from TWoMP be considered?

Gharavians?

Bc would Ashur be their God?

Do they go to church or would Ashur's apartment/ whatever he lives be their church?

He didn't die on the cross, he died on the fanart wall.

Actually, no. He died on that one fanfic-

^iykyk, ig...

(I'm sorry if this somehow upsets anyone that's religious. I'm not religious myself, so I'm not sure if this was offensive or not. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF IT DOES COME ACROSS AS OFFENSIVE!)

Next shower thought:

So we all know what swifties are, yes?

Fans of Taylor Swift

So, what about TWoMP fans?

Twompies?

Fuck it, that's what I'm calling my moots.

Twompies.

Nothing can stop me.

Me to the people that try to stop me from calling my mutuals "Twompies":

[xr0tt3nxfl3shx]

👁💊My Medicine is underdeveloped and my Amygdala won't work.💉👁

Twomp[AU] fanfiction + art !! Pertains to the events in this post. [No beta we die.]

⚠️‼️TW: VOMITING / OVERDOSE / SUICIDAL IDEATION / UNREALITY / CORRUPT MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM / GENERAL MENTAL ILLNESS THEMES‼️⚠️

A/N: i didnt wanna mention it tbh but just in case, ive been down the chemical consumption road 3 times, an i mention because i know the internet has opinions on mental illness in writing. But ive been there myself. All up close and personal like. so i think i can speak on it (dont castrate me)

POV: 👁Argos👁

I scratch at my skin in the dark of my room as if that'll hold in the tears from spilling over my burning red cheeks. The feeling of rage and overwhelming depression clash within me, and leave me to switch every few minutes between cursing the name of every therapist who ever told me that "I'm not even trying to get better" and crying over the idea that they might be right.

My heartbeat is so vigorous that it feels like at any moment the tendons will tear away and my heart will burst in my ribs. How could anyone say that to me? I seethe and hiss through my gritting teeth. Why can't I get better? I cry enough to fill an ocean and nearly drown in my tears.

I should be able to control all of this by now, I'm not a child. Yet, I can't stop thinking about putting the heads of those who hurt me on a platter. Or banging my head on my bedroom wall hard enough to dull the heartbreak. My eyes are running dry from all the tears, I've been at this for a while. My head is pounding from the adrenaline. All reasonable thoughts are drowned out, with intrusive and irrational ones taking the place of my internal voice of reason.

I can make it better, I can make this better. I just need to try a little harder! Just.. go a little further. These feelings, it's just a chemical imbalance right?

I'm running out of options, types of therapy, pills, at this point I might as well just get a lobotomy. I'm sure my therapist would like that.

There's still time to make this right. I don't have to end my life to end my suffering right?

I can prove them wrong. I will prove them wrong. It's just a chemical imbalance. I just need to fix it.

I rummage through the medicine cabinet above my bathroom sink, overlooking the blood crusting around the drain. There has to be something in here that can make my head stop pounding or my thoughts quiet down if not for just a little while. Maybe everything all at once? Yeah that should do!

Laid out in front of me on the cold tiled floor of my bathroom are various pill bottles. The amount of pills actually in them is varied, they like to switch my meds every other week it seems. I try to be hasty with this, pouring out a small handful of gel capsules into my hand. Each one smooth, glossy, and slightly cool to the touch.

You know, I've been here before, and typically there's some survival instinct in me, paralyzing my hands before I can do any damage. But all I can feel is anguish. And anger. And there's no more room for self preservation in me.

I take my first dose before I can come down from my emotion fueled adrenaline rush. Quickly now don't let the self preservation come back. I take my next dose of a new pill type, a tablet. It was a bad idea doing this dry but oh well!

Before I know it I'm slumped against my bathroom door, unable to continue my self medication on account of the mounds of pills I dry swallowed having begun triggering my gag reflex. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about this, but it had to be done. My therapist is always urging me to take steps in the right direction!

(Though admittedly he never mentioned which direction is the right one.)

I make it back to my bed, dragging my feet and leaning on the wall for support the whole way. It's not even five minutes in when I start to feel the effects. I probably should've eaten before taking my pills like the instructions say.

This is different though, I feel my connection to reality slip right through my jittery fingers. Like the shadows in my room are divulging their presence. Like they are reaching out their hands, ready to take hold of me, pull me in and make me one with unreality. An emptiness overcomes me, something I've truly never felt before. And it's the strangest thing, because simultaneously I've never felt more alive in my life.

Everything is really funny, I've never noticed how funny everything is up until now. Every little unorganized thought that pops up in my foggy, spacing-out head manages to get a strained laugh out of me.

Visual snow floods my peripheral, the colors of the world begin to become one with the static in my eyes.

Ah, I remembered what I was going to do in here. I need to call Mr. Plant. I need him to know that I'm going to get better, and how much I love him of course. Oh he'll never understand just how much I love him! I love him to death, haha! Literally.

I dial in the number. Moving has proven difficult, like trying to control a vehicle while tired and out of it, or in my case trying to control a vehicle through the most debilitating brain fog I've ever experienced. The disconnection from body and thought is almost calming.

The ringing of the phone is such a funny thing as well. I could lose myself in the methodical rhythm and loose vibrations running up my hands- oh look here he's answered!

"M‐r… plant! I ha-ve.. s o me thi.. ng to tell you."

I am fighting to get the words out. The weak sounds I manage to get out of my raspy throat come out in uneven tones with jarring stutters. Why is it so hard to speak?

"I took.. a lot o-f... my me-ds. Ha-ha!" He hangs up immediately.

Is he not happy for me? It wasn't long before I heard sirens closing in. Did he call the cops on me? That's no fair, no fair at all.

I've never been rolled into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher before but there's a first time for everything I suppose. It's too bad I'm too out of it to really experience it.

In the ambulance is when the first wave of nausea hits. I could barely even feel the EMT insert the IV or hear when they asked me questions.

———

The heart palpitations do their diligence distracting from the perforations left in my arm from the injections of various medications and the IV drip.

My respiration is just as irregular as my heart's chemical damaged rhythm. I feel like I'm drowning in this heavy air and it feels like the knots in my stomach have spread to my heart. This pain is so unbearable that I feel the need to crave it out of myself with a blade.

The world is doubling- no tripling, blurring, and mushing together all at once. I can feel the hum of the fluorescent hospital light buzz through my head. The scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilized equipment is evident throughout the cold medical facility.

By my own hands I've made my body a place unsuitable for living. I've "almost drugged myself to an early grave" as the hospital staff keep reminding me.

Speaking of body, I can no longer tell where I end and the wires of the EKG machine begin. Neuropathy has set in and nerve sensation has dulled for the most part, except in my stomach and heart where it hurts the most of course. But me and the machines they have me hooked up to might as well be one as long as they are taking the place of my dysfunctional body systems.

When they run the EKG scan, which they do about every half hour, they ask me to stay as still as I can, but it's hard to control the shaking when I don't know where it comes from in the first place. I'm by no means cold, or if I am I really can't feel it.

Have I mentioned the shaking? The tremors? I need to grow accustomed to the flavor of raw stomach acid soon, because that's all I've been throwing up anymore. It's all that's left.

The nausea begins to build all over again, like my stomach is writhing and contorting in my torso. I can feel the knots being tied. Over the next few minutes it builds and builds, I'd do anything to stop the encroaching bile now. The nausea completely overwhelms my senses right before another round of the most violent retching I've ever experienced. Accompanied by the most awful squelching and splattering sounds as it hits the rest of vomit already resting at the bottom of the bag.

I feel like I'm nearing being turned inside out everytime it happens. And I've filled yet another vomit bag. This isn't going to stop for days as the doctor told me. I doubt I'll get the luxury of unconsciousness.

The activated charcoal they gave me to drink is like this black sludge, "slow and steady now, don't drink so fast you throw it all up but not so slow that you succumb to the consequences of your own actions." Well maybe that's not what they really said but it's how it felt. I can tell the staff are judging me, I just know it! They think I deserve this.

At least the charcoal is cherry flavored.

My many eyes dart around the clean and pristine hospital room erratically, glancing off in every direction. I don't want anyone to look at me anymore. I can't stand the buzz of the lights and I can barely bring myself to move enough to blink. Or even move enough to breathe. I am much too dizzy and light-headed to even consider standing up. I'm so dizzy I could swear I'm phasing in and out of my body. The only thing keeping my consciousness bound to this body is the unending pain ancoring me in the reality of my situation.

It's growing increasingly unbearable.

Above all else I am losing my mind trying to figure out where I went wrong tonight. These chemicals were supposed to fix all these feelings. The pills were supposed to fix me. My psychiatrists and therapists all told me that I'm sick, disordered, and all I needed was to buy a few more medicines.

It must be my fault, it must be if hundreds of milligrams of mood stabilizers can't just make it better.

Tell me, anyone tell me, why I'm so useless that I can't even help myself?

Why am I so worthless that my medicine won't work on me?

I am almost entirely suspended in unreality. The prozac, olanzapine, mirtazapine, and everything other useless drug they gave me were meant to cure me. I've tried everything!

I've done the very most I can to try and make the bad thoughts quiet down. And are the thoughts that tell me "I'd be better dead", my own thoughts, or a symptom of one of my diagnoses?

Is the reason I'm like this the same reason I don't deserve love, or do I not deserve love because I'm like this? I want to get better. I swear I really do.

So why does no one believe me?

"Sir, you have a visitor." The nurse informs me in a harsh yet hush tone.

The words barely make it through my chemical head. I'm practically catatonic in this hospital bed. But when I do process them I pray to every divine that it is who I think it is.

Red petals on the top and bottom, two yellow petals, one pink and one blue. I was right!

I can't believe he came all the way down to this void to come see me. I really thought he'd stay home. I don't think anyone or anything could possibly understand the pure desperation I feel coursing through my veins. Right alongside the saline they're using to flush my IV of course.

My boyfriend entered my hospital room, #34 I believe, I saw when they rolled me in on the stretcher. Tears well up in my dried eyes, I couldn't feel enough of anything to cry while drugged out of my head but seeing him, well, I need him more than I have ever needed anyone before.

The look on his face when he saw me is one I didn't know he was capable of, pure horror even. I must look horrible stained with my own bile in these itchy hospital scrubs. He is quick to clasp my hand in his and rub along my knuckles and the back of my palm. Through the blurred vision and tears I can't even make him out anymore but I don't need to, I just need his touch. I need it so badly.

I have no depth perception at the moment, or hand eye coordination, and again everything is quite blurry so it was mostly unintentional when I pulled him in by the sweater. He leans into me and wraps his arms under my upper back, holding me against his chest.

He's warm against me, holding me gently in a hospital bed. I can't feel much at all other than the pain, his warmth was the only other sensation I could pin down in my head. It was such a harsh contrast from how I normally see him acting.

With him so close I can't tell where he ends and I begin this time. Even in one of my most painful moments, I feel a familiar comfort in my palpitating heart. He's the only thing keeping me from going entirely mad. He has no idea what I'd give to melt into him right here right now, become an amalgamated abomination of our half hazardly bonded flesh and bone. I'm afraid I'd ruin him and all his perfection with me and all my misshapen and grotesqueness.

I am especially disgusting as of now, making him worry about me like this. Can I not be horrible for just one second? Selfish, that's it. I must be selfish. I take another go at speaking a moment after we pull away. All I can muster is an apology that comes out more like a pathetic stammer through my tears.

The way his cold gaze met mine shook me. I've never seen real tears stream down his face. He looks so... distraught. Its like he's looking right through me and simultaneously looking directly at me. And on top of everything I've never seen him sign so frantically. He rarely signs at all.

"Please don't be sorry."

…

"Don't strain your voice."

"Just stay right there, okay? Do you need anything?"

"I'll get you anything, I'd do anything for you."

I knew he cared about me, but I guess I never realized just how much. Or maybe I just forgot. How horrible am I?

Is it possible I'm actually worth something to him? Worth enough for him to call me an ambulance, worth enough for him to comfort me in the hospital bed, worth enough for him to cry over me?

Was I really worth staying with all this time?

My thoughts are interrupted by another round of retching, it seems those knots in my stomach weren't just anxiety. Mr. Plant holds my hand through it. I'm gonna be here a while, I know that. But he's here with me, and from the looks of it he isn't leaving my side anytime soon.

I'll make it out alive, not for myself, just for him. And for the possibility that maybe he needs me just as much as I need him. I wish my mind wasn't so scrambled, so I could find the words to express just how much I love him.

I love you Mr. Plant.

[reiningsoral]

introduction post (finally...)

'ello, im reiningsoral, any variation of that is fine to call me (rein, soral, reining, ect.)

moodboard/doodle reqs are open!

end of post image creds: theriotype userboxes polytherian userbox indoor cat userbox

about me:

pronouns: any! including it/its and all neos, anything is on the table

theriotypes: red fox, black bombay cat, crow

im an artist, i mainly draw my ocs but i do sometimes make fanart of various fandoms, (some of) the fandoms i am in are:

mcyts/minecraft toh riordanverse hermitcraft/life series dhmis gravity falls doctor who heathers mlp welcome home scp spiderverse tmf assassination classroom nimona scott pilgrim twomp GOmens dead boy detectives

quirks:

i have a couple writing/text quirks: i use a lot of comma elipses/regular elipsies, i use a crap ton of text shortcuts n abbreviations, i use a lot of tone tags (minus "/hj" i have many passionate posts about why i hate the half joking tone tag), and i use more emoticons than emojis (i rly like :] and :3).

i cuss a lot, like, a lot a lot

i have ADHD (therapist diagnosed), anxiety (officially diagnosed), and probably autism (self diagnosed)

i say "i love you" a lot, if that bothers you just lmk i wont say it when talking to u

im bi and aspec, non binary, and just generally very queer.

fantasy world masterpost linktree

writing tag: #sticky-note stories art tag: #the refrigerator poetry tag: #the writing on my walls *scheduled poetry will be tagged with "poetry list" as well

DNF:

homophobic, sexist/mysigonystic, transphobic

anti-therian and anti-furry

generally just disrespectful about things you disagree on

if you refuse to use neo pronouns or it/its prns

if you hate one someone for something they cant control (their gender, race, sexuality, identity, ect.)

if you are a zionist or support Israel

if you think that physical nonhumans are invalid

NSFW/kink blogs, i am a minor :)

proshippers/comshippers

this blog is a safe space for everyone <3

[mewiedragon]

DAY TWO OF THIS SILLY SERIES WHERE I DRAW TWOMP BACKGROUND CHARACTERS!!!

Here is the heart shop guy @worm-brainzz :]]]

From: Valentine’s Day with Mr Plant (First and last appearance)

Status: Dead, his decapitated head is hanging on Argos’ wall (AT LEAST IT WAS ROMANTIC-)

<- day 1 || next day ->

[an-theduckin]

MY FAVS OF 2023!!

Fav fanfic I've written:

- No more reminders.

- A day in the life of Mark.

Fav art I drew:

Things I made that I'm proud of:

- Mark and friends ask blog (it's literally SO fun yall I love all ur asks (except for that one 'Billy whys ur hand in Mark's ass' ask /j it still makes me laugh 😭)

-THAT FUCKIMG. BILLY HENDRICKS CHARACTER ANALYSIS POST. YEAH.

-Wide Billy /j /j

-making friends!! :D

-Argos, Mr plant, and Billy Hendricks cosplays

-The emoji squad thingy! Ik that blog has been inactive for a while now but I'm still very proud of it lmaooo

-Learning how 2 make dragon puppets. Ik I've only made 2 but like,, still proud of it yknow.

-That fucking twomp/maf shrine on my wall

Fandoms I was in (oldest 2 newest):

-Heathers

-The lorax

-Barbie movie

-Anything made by Ashur Gharavi

-The amazing digital circus

My loveliest mutuals!! <3

@machathecat @faenemy @appledreamers @baldselene @doinadigitaldnazing @labratgurlz @eyedrinktwomp @corrupteddoodles @thatfrogperson @sobeksewerrat @purple-scrunchie @xr0tt3nxfl3shx @pizza-feverdream @c0ff1ncl4wz @multieyedsimp @iwanttokmsbutimtoosilly @iwilleatyou-dontresist @uselesssnek @beebtlebug @l1minality @cringelordofchaos

Thanks for making 2023 better than it would've been without you, I love yall so so much <33

[kittzuxp]

Crazy twomp idea:

Yk how Argos interacts with the merch?

Well what if it wasn't ooc/4th wall breaking???

What if Argos just has/made Mr plant stuff for his shrine??

Headcannon of the day/conclusion: Argos made a bunch of plushies with every version of Mr plant (rainbow leaves, patterned leaves etc.) In his stalker era, and now he's selling them to people online (us).

Illustrations of this coming soon / Feel free to illustrate

[statictelevision]

Hey

@corrupteddoodles @an-theduckin @machathecat @devilish-parrot @eyedrinktwomp @worm-brainzz and any other mutuals or people who just want their fanart on my wall <3

Do I have permission from you to use your twomp artwork in my Plargos shrine?

It’s completely fine if not!

[icechippies]

The crossover you didn't ask for but are getting anyway!

Writing a DHMIS and TWOMP crossover has been on my list of things to do for a while now and this has been in my drafts for ages.

I'm not so certain about Red Guy's characterization and I didn't look at other fan characters because I looked at the DHMIS fandom once and saw some things I will never unsee (no offense to the fandom. I am glad you guys are having fun, it's just not for me)

Anyway, here you go:

He woke up in an uncomfortable plastic seat. One of many such seats occupying the area. There were other people around too, mostly sleeping uncomfortably in their own seats or watching the clock on the wall slowly tick the seconds away. A man with a teddy bear for a head snored in the seat next to him. Headache-inducing fluorescent lights buzzed in the ceiling louder than the flies that kept running into them with a repetitive tapping noise.

"Number 277,546?"

He looked down at the yellow card in his hand. It said 277,546.

"I think that's me."

The old lady behind the counter looked at him from behind glasses that sat too far forward on her nose.

"Give me your card." he handed it over and she punched a hole in it, adding one more small circle to the thousands of others that covered the ground like confetti and formed piles in the corner of the room.

"Go down the hall to the last door on your left. A member of the welcoming committee will help you fill out your paperwork."

"Oh, uh, ok, thanks." He wandered down the hall. His footsteps against the dirty carpet tiles were the only noise as the ticking of the clock faded away.

He had a complicated relationship with quiet. On one hand it was nice, certainly much better than loud, but he just couldn't relax when it was quiet. Quiet, without failure, always meant that something was about to happen, usually something bad. He much preferred something in between quiet and loud, like listening to his friends talk. It was far from stimulating conversation but they were rarely interrupted by anyone who might make things bad. All in all it was similar to his complicated relationship with dark.

He reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the open door way of the last office on the left.

There was a person facing away from him digging through a filing cabinet. They had long wavy black hair and a blue hoodie.

"Hello? Are you the welcoming committee person?"

The person in blue jumped a bit before pulling out a few papers and turning around with a big grin on their face.

"Hello and welcome to the void!"

They had a lot of eyes. He was fairly certain that most people didn't have more than two but this person had blinking white eyes covering their face and neck, even going down to the back of their hands. He was being looked at by all of them. Almost expectantly. Oh. He was supposed to respond.

"You have a lot of eyes." Wrong response.

Luckily the person was still smiling, "Thank you! My great great grandpa always said I had my mother's eyes. And my father's. And my grandparents', for that matter." they placed the papers on the desk and sat down, gesturing to the other chair, "go ahead and take a seat, I'll help you fill out these forms and then we can go find your new home. " they clicked their pen a few times before preparing to write on one of the papers. "My name is Argos. And yours is?"

"I'm- I'm not actually sure."

"Is that first name Not, middle name Actual-?"

"No, no. I don't know my name." now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure if he ever knew his name, or if he even had a name in the first place.

"You don't know your name?"

"I don't know, I'm just the big red guy I guess but that doesn't really work without the other two." He shifted in his chair awkwardly.

"I could put in a filler name for now and you could complete another form later to change it if you happen to remember your name or decide on a new one?"

"That works I suppose."

"How about I just put in first name Red, last name Guy?"

"Yeah, I like the sound of that, for now at least."

"Great! Now, the faster we get these forms done the faster I can show you to your new home."

"Just checking, there's not going to be any singing or anything?"

Argos furrowed his brows in confusion. "Not unless you turn on the radio or sometimes the television I guess. Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing." Red Guy made a mental note to never turn on the radio or the television, "let me see those forms."