#unnamed

[wouldyourecognizethisperson-poll]

[bluespider008]

Any name suggestions for our chopper mech? 😅

Edit: his name is now NOTAR

[amalgamcorps]

I FINISHED MY PRETTY PLANT <3 i was having fun coloring this playing with my funny brushes, weee~!! i went with one of the piranha plants from a paper mario game cuz i liked the colors… especially those purple teeth! wowza!! i need to get art of this guy soon…

[inprogresspokemon]

This unnamed Steel/Poison Eeveelution was inspired by liquid mercury and toxic industrial waste.

Named: ? (Steel/Poison)

#??? - On rare occasion, an Eevee can be affected by more than one environmental factor, and reacts to grow into a new, rare evolution. Eevee who wonder into polluted industrial zones or environments tainted by heavy metal runoff may evolve into this Steel/Poison-type Pokémon. Their bodies consist of a highly reflective, viscous liquid metal that ripples and drips with every movement. In spite of their fluid composition, these Pokémon are deceptively dense and incredibly resilient. They can momentarily liquefy parts of their bodies to slip through narrow gaps, evade incoming attacks, or reshape their limbs into bladed or spiked appendages for quick, powerful strikes. Contact with their metallic hide leaves behind a toxic, gleaming residue that weakens and poisons foes, making physical engagement a dangerous gamble. Despite their hazardous nature, these Eeveelutions have carefree and excitable personalities and are not prone to violence; however, their curiosity and affectionate demeanor can be dangerous, as they sometimes forget the risk their bodies pose to those around them. Responsible Trainers must ensure their Pokémon is well-trained and responsive to commands, especially in social situations. To encourage this unique evolution, Trainers may have their Eevee hold a Toxic Ingot while engaging in battles against Poison-type Pokémon.

Other dual-type Eeveelutions

- - - - - - - - - -

Follow for more Dual-Typed Eeveelutions!

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[warriorsproject]

Leafstar's Mother

[rockchomper]

[prettybabyyyy]

He pulls the lips of your pussy apart so he can lick his own cum out of your dripping hole. He spends what feels like hours down there thoroughly cleaning you up and taking advantage of the opportunity to get another taste of your wetness. When he softly moans against your pussy, it causes you to buck your hips into his face, grinding your cunt against his mouth.

He knows just what you need so he pushes his face into you until he’s practically inhaling and devouring both of your fluids. You never thought you’d get turned on from your boyfriend eating his cum out of you, but as his tongue unexpectedly prods your entrance and brushes past your g spot, your third orgasm of the night starts fast approaching and you cum with a scream of his name that takes all the air out of your lungs.

“Can’t let any go to waste” he grins, looking up at you after taking his mouth off your pussy, chin covered in the deliciously salty mixture of his cum and yours. You pull him in for a kiss, smushing your lips together so you can really taste both of your releases.

[mtsodie]

SB & homestar at a concert?

[poketaur]

sneepy poketaurs snuggle pile... ooohh.. gay gay gay gay gay gay.

[wouldyourecognizethisperson-poll]

[n30nink]

yur,,,,iii,,,,,

[literalite]

green orcs r cool but consider: fur

[inprogresspokemon]

This unnamed Ice/Ghost Eeveelution was inspired by the eerie shapes formed by frost and ice storms, the unsettlingly calm of icy landscapes, and loosely by the Yuki-onna legend of Japanese folklore.

Named: ? (Ice/Ghost)

#??? - On rare occasion, an Eevee can be affected by more than one environmental factor, and reacts to grow into a new, rare evolution. Said to haunt snow-covered mountains where Pokémon and people have perished, these Pokémon emanate an aura of deathly cold, sapping warmth and vitality from their surroundings. Their presence is often felt before they are seen—a sudden, unnatural chill creeping in as glowing spectral orbs flicker in the darkness. Their bodies are rumored to be hollow, a frozen shell animated only by the eerie energy that flows through them. Moving with an unsettling stillness, they prefer to stalk trespassers from afar, revealing themselves only in the moments before striking. Frigid air seeps continuously from the hollow hole in their chest, forming jagged spikes of ice along their body. The cold mist that surrounds these Eeveelutions drains the strength of those caught within, leaving them sluggish and disoriented. Those wishing to train their own Ice/Ghost Eeveelution must raise their Eevee in frozen landscapes while holding a Reaper Cloth; otherwise, they may have to brave haunted glaciers to find one lurking in the snow.

Other dual-type Eeveelutions

- - - - - - - - - -

Follow for more Dual-Typed Eeveelutions!

FAQ | Social Media | Pokemon Index | Commission Information

[everyoneisalittlesadalittlehorny]

You sit there, alone in the last row, or in the first row. Always alone. Hunched over. Vacant stare. People don’t even try to make polite conversation with you anymore. They just avoid you.

He sees you, sitting there. He has always seen you with your friends or giggling away with random people. To see you like this, was new for everyone..jarring for him.

He likes this new class. He’s a popular kid for once in his life. Who knew the coolest kid in university is always the nerd? High time! He thought to himself. You on the other hand, went from popular and happy to a shell of a person in a matter of weeks. It’s not like he didn’t try! He did. He would, every day if you let him. But you just brushed off his questions with ‘I’m okay. I just need to be alone for a bit.’

You- you woke up and did whatever you absolutely had to do and nothing more. You were skipping meals, sleeping whenever you could, your assignments were shit but it was all you could manage right now. You barely even registered the days passing. Your best friend, your only friend thought you were a burden. When asked why he wasn’t dating he said ‘i can’t, not while I still have her in my life’

You were so clingy and high maintenance that he couldn’t even be dating people. Being the sweetheart he is, he put his dating life on hold for you. You knew you weren’t meant to hear it and that he’ll never say it to your face- primarily because you’ll react poorly- so you spared him the trouble and distanced yourself from him.

You see him occasionally-everyday but you only register things occasionally. He’s happy. He’s popular now. They recognise his intelligence and your classmates and professors love him. He’s got many friends now, many women crushing on him, many people looking to hang out with him. He’s fine. He’s more than fine-he’s thriving…without you. You intend to keep it that way.

He keeps tabs on you.

Is she eating? He invites everyone to share his lunch, some of the older classmates force some food in you.

She skipped class again today. He asks a mutual friend to pass on his notes to you (but you don’t know that they are his notes)

What? She’s sitting where?! Alone? He finds an excuse to turn up nearby and keep an eye on you.

His friends know he’s into you and tease him about it all the time. He’s told them that you are not into him. They asked him, multiple times, to move on, to date other people and live a little. He can’t bring himself to do that.

No, I can’t. Not while she’s in my life.

He didn’t have to spell it out for them. He’s in love with you and he can’t move on. He does not want to. He’d love you forever if you let him.

[lilybug-02]

Unnamed. My favorite old OC, and my first. An experiment, not meant to live outside of a tube. He was used as a test dummy for the implementation of different animal limbs on living tissue.

I don’t know. His sadness has always been very moving to me.

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed PT. 4 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader)

Part one Part two Part three

TW: reader is pregnant, so afab, but gender neutral aside from that. Mainly canon compliant, lots of dialogue, not proofread, grammar mistakes, apocalypse shit, foul language (lemme know if I missed anything that needs tagged

Author's note: I'm pretty sure people don't enjoy heavy dialogue in fanfic, but I love it/love writing it, so you're getting heavy dialogue! (in the tone of 'you're getting SLACKS' btw) Also does anyone have name suggestions for the babe? I was going to go with Arlo.

He says your name, disbelief thick on his tongue, and per your request, he’s stalking towards you. Shane pulls him into a chokehold, making him grumble something about it being ‘illegal.’ Once Shane deems Daryl calm enough, he releases him, leaving Daryl muttering and mumbling as he walks off.

You start to go after him, but Glenn grabs your arm, shaking his head, “Maybe let him cool off?” he suggests, trying not to shrink under the glare he’s receiving.

“I shall do as I damn please,” you scoff, yanking your arm from his grip like it offends you, “and I am currently pleased to not go after him.”

Glenn snickers, rolling his eyes as he wanders over to where Rick and Shane are talking in hushed tones. It seems like they’re going back into the city for Merle. Which is stupid in your opinion; it’s Merle, why the hell would you want to waste time, energy, and supplies trying to get through the city for him?

The answer reemerges a couple seconds later, crossbow slung over his shoulder as he joins the group that now consists of Glenn, Rick, and Daryl. Shane seems utterly displeased with this and he shares that:

“That's just great. Now you're gonna risk three men, huh?”

T-Dog joins the group, arms crossed over his chest, “Four,” he corrects because he’s going to, apparently. He must feel guilty; he shouldn’t.

“Five, actually,” you add, joining the group because why the fuck not?

Everyone seems to be against that. Rick says no, Glenn says no, Daryl doesn’t say no, but makes some smartass comment, T-Dog doesn’t give a shit, and Shane shoots evils at you. Nasty motherfucker. 

“I’m going, end of story and anyone who disagrees can kiss my ass,” nobody argues further after that, so that’s settled. 

It takes mentioning guns to Shane on board with the overall plan, but eventually, everyone loads into the van. Daryl is very clearly the one driving, considering he seems to hit every damn pothole in the road--the man can ride a motorcycle and never hit a bump, but the second he’s in a car, it’s all over. 

“Ugh, fucking Georgian streets,” you groan under your breath, setting a hand over your ever-jostling stomach. Your little bug has been incredibly active these past few days, probably from stress.

“You’re not gonna hurl, are you?” Glenn asks, eyes flitting from your stomach to your face, which must have an unpleasant expression on it if he thinks you’re going to puke.

“No, I’m not going to puke, Glenn.”

“You sure? Does pregnancy make you nauseous.. Or something?”

“You mean morning sickness...?”

“Yeah! That!”

“No, dipshit, I don’t have morning sickness. I’m just not enjoying having my entire body tossed around because we’re hitting every godforsaken bump in this road!”

“Well.. damn. Apparently, your hormones are high,” he mutters under his breath and you have to resist the urge to slap him for that.

“Ok, one: fuck you. Two: double fuck you,” you retort, sideeying him because he might, possibly be a little, tiny bit right. Also, that’s rude to say to a pregnant person! 

Glenn sniggers, knowing he’s won, “My bad,” he raises his hands in mock surrender, avoiding your gaze, a smirk on his stupid face.

Silence falls back over you, which is fine, you don’t want to talk. You set a hand over your stomach, feeling little feet kick against your hand. It’s still weird feeling her kick; like, you’re growing a full-ass human in your body! And she’ll be here in three-ish months! Giving birth in an apocalypse wasn’t on your checklist.

“Why’d you come with us? I mean, you’re pregnant and risking your life for Merle Dixon, who you obviously know somehow, but I’ll ask about that later,” Glenn asks, brows raised as he looks in your direction.

“Ha! Yeah, no. I did not come with you guys for Merle. I’m coming because I want my car back,” you inform him, shaking your head like he’s crazy because he is. As if you’d break your back bending over to help Merle. 

“Oh, that makes it better: risking your life for a car instead!”

“Hey! My car is my baby. I can’t let her rot in the streets of Atlanta!”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your actual baby?”

… He’s got you there… “Shut up! Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Ohhh-kayyy.”

“What’re you naming him? Or her? Do you know the gender? It’d suck if you didn’t,” god, he never shuts up, does he?

“Yes, I know the gender, I’m having a girl. No, I don’t have a name for her; I’ve just been calling her ‘bug’ in my head.”

Glenn nods, then the van jerks to a stop. The three of you in the back all jerk around in the back, bumping into each other. You’ve barely got time to untangle before Rick is opening the back, momentarily blinding all of you. 

Everyone climbs out, recuperating themselves, rubbing spots from jabbed elbows and bumped foreheads. The others start arguing about which route to take, which would be easiest, yadda yadda. You grab your bag while they talk, walking off in the direction of the highway.

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

You turn around to find Daryl staring at you, a deep crease in between his brows, “Oh! You thought I came to help you find Merle?... Funny. No, I’m here for my car.”

It’s Rick that speaks up this time, concern furrowing his brow instead of general grumpiness like a certain someone, “You came for your car?”

“Yes, I’m here for my damn car, is everyone going to ask that?”

“Considering it’s a little stupid: yeah,” T-Dog answers, scoffing like you’re an idiot. 

“Ok..Well, fuck you all; I’m going now, you have fun risking your lives for Merle,” you flip them all off, tightening your grip on your bag straps. 

As you try to shimmy through the group, Daryl grabs your arm, yanking you backwards a little bit, invading your personal space.

“The hell’s your problem?” he hisses, tightening his hand around your arm when you try to pull it free.

“Other than the fact that you won’t let me go? I don't have one, thank. you. very. much,” you spit, ripping your arm from his hold, wiping his sweat off of your skin, “and don’t touch me again, you don’t have the fucking right anymore, Daryl. In case you forgot.”

You finally walk off, not catching the way Daryl’s ears redden or the way his heart rate sped up at the sound of his name falling from your lips for the first time in a long time.

-------------------------------------

It’s an easy-ish trek back to the highway; minus the three deadends, four blocks roads, and five zombies you had to kill. Easy-peasy! Now you just have to remember where exactly you had to stop on the highway. That should be easy too… Not like you used to forget where you parked in store parking lots at all. 

After for-fucking-ever, you finally find that beautiful specimen of a car. Who has a new scratch in her paint.

“Oh, my poor baby, did the mean ol’ zombies scratch your paint? I know, I know, they’re so mean,” you coo at her, rubbing your thumb over the tiny scratch. 

You hop into the driver’s seat, grabbing the keys from the front pocket of your backpack and inserting them in ignition, turning and…

“Yessssss; listen to you, Baby,” you groan, listening to her rumble alive with great satisfaction. You don’t have to walk anymore, hallelujah!

It takes some work, but you manage to wiggle your vehicle off the highway and down the side strip that’s relatively car free. The drive is nice, peaceful, with the sounds of Lady Gaga’s The Fame playing quietly; it reminds you of late night drives, when you’d pop the cd in during late night drives and Daryl would bitch and whine, but you’d catch him singing under his breath by Pokerface. 

You’re almost passed them, but you catch sight of a melancholic looking group of men trudging in the direction back to the camp. Merle must’ve stolen the car, that motherfucker.

“Who’s stupid now?” you ask mockingly, rolling the window down, a victorious smirk on your lips, “Get in losers, we’re going shopping!”

“Mean Girl reference, nice,” Glenn snorts, piling into the backseat with Rick and.. T-dog!

The passenger side door opens and Daryl slides in, avoiding all eye contact. He settles right in: arm on the center console, leaning back in the seat and staring out of the window like the brooding passenger princess he always has been. 

“Oh! I love Lady Gaga! Her music is lit, I used to listen to her albums on repeat while I was delivering pizzas,” Glenn says, singing, incredibly off-key, to Paparazzi.

“You used to deliver pizza before this?” you ask, looking at him through the rearview and he nods.

“I used to work at a church, lotta volunteer work,” T-Dog says because this is apparently turning into a share circle!

“I was a cop, but everyone knows that,�� Rick adds to the conversation with his father-standing-by-the-grill-on-bbq-weekend-flipping-burgers laugh.

Neither you or Daryl add to the conversation; you under the guise of being focused on driving and Daryl genuinely just doesn’t care. 

The drive is not at all silent; thanks to the three men in the back that are chattier than southern mothers come book club Saturday™. Arguments ensue when they find your CD collection:

“We should listen to Katy Perry,” Glenn's suggestion. 

“What are we, teenage girls? We should listen to The Killers,” T-dog, surprisingly. 

“How about Brad Paisley?” Rick, unsurprisingly living up the way you call him cowboy. 

“Gimme that damn thing,” Daryl grunts, reaching back and snatching the CD book out of Glenn's hands. 

He flips through the book with ease, remembering the way you keep them organized. He seemingly finds the disk he was looking for and pops out Lady Gaga, replacing it with the mystery music. 

Nickelback. 

He remembered. 

You'd always listen to Nickelback during drives; they have music for any mood you were in. 

“Who listens to Nickelback? Ugh,” Glenn scoffs. Maybe he really is a teenage girl. 

Everyone is singing along by Photograph, because nobody really dislikes Nickelback, they just say they do. 

Daryl's arm is resting on the center console and it's a herculean task to resist the urge to lace your hand with his the way you used to. 

Daryl's seemingly struggling the same, his hand twitching like he doesn't know what to do with it. He settles on opening the glovebox, rummaging through it. He finds something of his interest, grabbing it. 

“You kept this?” He asks, unfolding it, which you realize is the map you used on the way here. If you read into you, you'd think he sounded a little nostalgic, if not giddy.

“Yeah.. Turns out it's pretty helpful,” you answer, keeping your eyes straight on the road. Well, vague forest path. 

“Told you yer damn phone wasn't going to help you your whole life.”

“I never claimed it would! It was just convenient!”

“You didn't know how to read a map before I taught you.”

“Oh, bullshit! I knew how to read a map, I just didn't like doing it; thank you very much.”

“Oh, yeah, my bad,” he throws his hands up in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. 

That bastard, who is he to mock you? Asshole, “yeah, your bad.”

It goes back to silence and you don't remedy that. Then you realize it's silent, entirely. Ed, Edd, and Eddy have stopped talking too. You look back to find them all staring at you two, confusion and amusement written on their stupid faces. 

None of them have time to question the little spat because you're finally back at camp. You get the car off and make a quick exit from the car. You hear footsteps following quickly behind you and based on the sound, you’d assume it’s Daryl.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he sneers, grabbing your arm and turning you around.

“Not you, asshole; considering you don’t have any damn affect on my underwear,” you snap back, yanking your arm out of his grip, rubbing the spot like he branded you.

“Didn’t say I did! Yer being a bitch, what’re ya’ pregnant? Being hormonal as shit,” he mutters, very obviously being sarcastic.

 Aha! You fucking knew the bump wasn’t that obvious- small victories, people, small victories. 

“Yeah, I am, dipshit,” you blurt, dead-serious. He’s going to find out eventually, might as well be from you.

“No, you’re not,” he laughs, looking you up and down, taking an extra minute on your stomach.

“You’re not,” he repeats, laughing again, but it’s that sort of awkward, nervous laugh that people get.

“I am… She’s yours,” you whisper, lowering your voice. It’s not that you’re ashamed, but the entire camp doesn’t need to be privy to this conversation.

Daryl’s heart stutters in his chest, but he keeps his face impassive (or the redneck equivantly, so a little constipated). She. A daughter. He never had sisters; he’s less likely to fuck up a girl than he would if it was a boy. Less likely to turn out like his dad.

“Nah, she ain’t,” he shakes his head, running a hand down his mouth before turning around and walking away.

You stand there, totally shell-shocked. He just… walked away. You can feel your bottom lip wobbling, but you clench your jaw, refusing to lose any bit of your dignity. Fuck him; you don’t need that idiot.

“Daryl is your child’s father? As in: you raw-dogged with him?” 

You whip around to find Glenn standing there, looking incredibly concerned. Shit, he probably heard all of that then, sneaky little dude. 

“According to him: no, he’s not,” you say, pressing your fingers into the corners of your eyes, as if trying to cork your tear ducts.

“Well, screw him. I’ll be your baby daddy,” Glenn throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug.

That makes you snort, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a deep breath to recompose yourself, “Thanks, dude.”

The night goes on uneventfully: dinner is had, laugh’s shared at the campfire, and eventually everyone disperses to go to bed. You may or may not have cried yourself to sleep.

The second day is more eventful: Jim went a little cuckoo. That night is way too eventful: Jim was rightfully cuckoo. Ed got bitten (thank goodi-ness), but so did Amy, which was a little sadder. 

That morning, everyone (minus Shane, but his opinion is irrelevant) decides to roadtrip to the CDC. People compress into cars to gather more gas for the ride--you had to threaten murder against Shane when he suggested to leave your car--and on the road we all go.

The CDC is locked up, doors shuttered and an armada of zombies crowding the front door. The group packs by the door, banging against the door in hopes it’ll magically open. 

And it does. Of course it does.