The Platitudinous Place.
OKAY HERE HAVE SOME MORE SATYR/DEMIGOD!GAMZEE AND NATURE SPIRIT!KARKAT DANg!
First Installment: X
—
You don’t meet anyone as you flicker from branch to branch, searching for the plants you need[[MORE]]—you do see some humans, though, and in that at least fortune is in your favor.  You circle them and make the trees rattle and the roots writhe and they drop the deer they killed and bow in terrified reverence before leaving the clearing at a run. 
One of the local deities will probably end up getting the offerings for that, but you haven’t ever really enjoyed getting offerings anyway, so it doesn’t matter.  What matters if you have the flesh of a healthy young doe and you didn’t have to find one that was old or dying and take it back.  You cannot kill, and that makes getting fresh, tender meat really difficult sometimes.
You pull the body onto your shoulders over your wing joints (lucky she was small) and start walking again.  She’s not heavy, really—weight doesn’t matter to you like it does to humans—but you’re small for a spirit and the body is unwieldy.  So all in all you’re in a fairly nasty mood by the time you haul her back to the cave next to the river, with blood dripping down one of your shoulders and a bunch of plants in a bundle tied up under one arm.
It’s moved a little from where you found it; it’s half out of the cave now, dragging its bad leg and leaning on its good arm to bring its face down to the water of the tributary you made for it.  The wounds it left on the forest are already starting to heal—thank everything powerful and good your power to heal your land doesn’t depend on only positive strong emotion.  You know a lot of spirits whose powers work that way, and you would have no chance.
It startles when you get close, and looks up at you like it’s been caught doing something it shouldn’t.  It hisses softly—then as you come closer it retreats in earnest, pulling itself away from the water and starting to edge back into the darkness of its cave.
Well, it tries to, anyway.  Its broken leg catches at the ground as it tries to roll back, and it lets out a horrible sound and slumps again, breathing hard and fast through its ludicrous fangs, not looking at you.  You think maybe it’s prouder than you would have guessed at first—it ordered you around instead of asking you for things, and now it can’t bear to watch you watching it in pain. 
You don’t have a lot of patience for prideful beings.  You drop down next to it, grab a stick, and grow a skin of bark and wood around its broken leg.  It howls and tries to kick you with its other foot—you lash it to the ground with a thick root and burn the infection out of that bone as well.  It’s over in the space of a few breaths—you’re not kind, but you certainly aren’t cruel.  Its eyes are running, and it tries a baleful glare that just turns out furious and hurt. 
“Now stop trying to move and just let me take care of you, alright?” you snap at it, and it makes a whining, growling sound and howls a few choice words into your skull.  You sigh.  Yes, alright, maybe you could have handled that better.  “…I’m sorry.  There, see?  That’s what you do when you do something bad to somebody.  Remember that.”
It hisses at you, but it looks more sulky than furious now.  It’s eyes keep flickering past you to the body of the deer on the ground.
“How do you eat?”
COOKED
CHARRED FLESH 
OR RAW
MY PARTICULARITY GOES AS FAR AS YOU JUST GETTING THAT SHIT INTO MY MOUTH
NO FURTHER
“Okay.” You don’t like starting fires any more than you like trying to hunt down edible meat, but you are partial to the outcome—humans had a good idea when they came up with cooking flesh before they ate it.  But before that… “…what do you say when you want something?”
The response is immediate and unhesitating.
GIVE IT TO ME
“No.”
It blinks at you.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN
NO
“I mean the thing you say when you’re asking someone for something is ‘please’.”
It sneers—as well as it can with that lipless mouth. 
Gods
DO NOT
PLEAD
“Do gods want to eat?”
It huffs through its nose.
“Well?”
PUSHY
ALWAYS PUSHING AND PUSHING
YOU’LL PUSH TOO FAR 
YOU’LL GET TO THINGS YOU AREN’T OF WONT TO SEE
WINGLESS MOUTHFUL
“I can just eat this by myself if you would like,” you say pointedly, and settle down next to the doe.  You’ve got a curved blade—you draw it out of the air and set about cleaning the body.  “You’re not going to get any by taking cheap shots at my wings either, noseless.”
It looks vaguely affronted.
I got a nose
“No you don’t.”
DO SO
“And I’ve got wings!”
Broken ones
“Yeah, well, your nose is flat.”
YOU’VE GOT BLOOD LEAVES LIKE A FREAK
“Your blood is purple!”
It doesn’t answer.  It just lies there, making this hacking, choking sound.  You feel, kind of, maybe a little bit concerned and come closer, and it lifts its face up just enough you can see the corners of its lipless mouth drawn back, its round eyes crinkling up. 
It’s laughing.
You’re funny
I LIKE YOU
A fair bit more than I’d credited
PUSHY LITTLE
“No, okay.” You cut it off, and wave your bloody blade at it.  “—I’m not a ‘pushy little mouthful’ okay, I’m a nature spirit and you’re in my forest, so get that right.  This is my place.  And my name is Karkat.”
Karkat
FUNNY NAME FOR A FUNNY
Spirit
Well it’s better than him comparing you to some form of food at least.  You seek out the dead wood, pile it up and concentrate until they burst into flame.  It watches hungrily as you slice off thin pieces of meat and dangle them above the fire to sizzle and drip.  It smells amazing.  Even if you get nothing else out of helping this ingrate of a demigod, you’ll get a hot venison dinner out of it. 
“I bet your name is funnier than mine,” you say eventually, more idly than nastily this time, and make another smooth cut.  It smells like blood and cooking meat—the plants around you turn their leaves and beg and you chop of little pieces of meat and drop it to their roots, letting the rot creep into it.  Their roots curl around the food and they twine up towards the light.  “What are you called, then?”
It makes a noise in your head so sudden and loud and horrible you drop your knife and cover your ears with both hands. 
“What the—?!”
The noise stops.
You asked for my name
I GRANTED YOU THAT
“Well your name is horrible to listen to and it’s making my head hurt!” You rub at your skull—wow, humans sometimes have problems hearing the true names of spirits, but he really is from some bad stock if your head hurts that much from hearing it.  “I’m giving you a new one I can actually say without burning my mouth. What’s that word—yeah.  I’m going to call you ‘gamzee’.”
It cocks its head to one side and frowns at you with its eyes.
…GAMZEE
“It’s a human word for ‘goat’.”  It huffs through its teeth.  “Oh come on, it’s not like there are going to be any humans around to laugh at you.  You look like a goat.  You’ve got feet like a goat.  You called them your brethren.  So yeah, I’m calling you Gamzee.”
MORE OF YOUR KIND
Know the human words
THOSE WHO’LL SAY
He takes the name of an animal
 “Nobody is going to make fun of you for the name, great good growth.”  You roll your eyes.  ‘He’, huh?  Okay.  Well, you thought it looked like a male, but there’s no assuming.  “Okay then, Gamzee, all you have to do is ask politely and you get some of this.  Otherwise I’m finishing it off myself and calling over some friends who’ll be a lot politer about it.  So do you want some or not?”
He rumbles low in his chest.
…YES 
…please
You tear off a piece of the roasting meat and a branch of the mulberry you brought and hand them over.  He tears into them like he’s been starving for a season.
“You’re welcome,” you tell him—he ignores you.  Well, you’ll fight that battle later.  You glance up at the sky and snag a roasting slice of meat; it’s delicious.  The sun is setting through the tree trunks, and you can feel flowers and plants curling themselves away for the night around you.  “You want help getting back in the cave for the night?”
Gamzee growls.
WHY SHOULD I TAKE SHELTER
He sounds less angry in your mind now, at least.  The food seems to be making him sleepy; he picks up a branch of nightshade and chews on it idly. 
“I don’t want your horrible face stunting the growth of the new plants that I need to bring up to replace the ones you wrecked,” you tell him bluntly, and frown at him.  “…you should clean those cuts up before they get sick, too.”
He cringes a little.
Why should i
His voice is doing that thing again, where it goes a little bit soft, almost shaky.  He sounds very vulnerable when he does that, for all his ferocious snarls and his pride, and you wish he didn’t because it makes your stomach feel strange. 
“Because otherwise your face will start to rot and I’ll have to do what I did to your broken bones to your face.” You put a thick chunk of meat up to cook and put a few more dead sticks on the fire, so you don’t have to look at those wide, violet-gold eyes.  “…you remember what it felt like when I burned the sickness out of them?  You want that on your face and all over your back?”
He flinches.
No
I DON’T WANT YOUR CLAWS NEAR MY BLEEDING SELF EITHER
And then, soft again,
I don’t like things that hurt
“Nobody does.” You could go out hunting, but you don’t want to walk away from the fire—you put a hand to the ground and reach with all your might, and a soft stem of silver-green, downy leaves springs up between your fingers.  You pluck a few of them and hold them out to him.  “—here.  See this?”
He hesitates, then reaches out and takes the leaf from you, running his darkened, calloused fingertips over it.  His ears perk up. 
What is that
GROWN OUT OF DIRT AND ROCKS BUT SO SOFT
What kind of plant feels like this
“Human’s call it ‘lamb’s ear’,” you tell him, and his lipless mouth twists a little like he’s smiling.  “I can use that to clean up your face a little bit, and then you can get some actual sleep and I won’t have to deal with your face oozing all over the place because of all the foul things you got in the cuts.  Alright?”
He hesitates, then dips those massive goat horns in a nod. 
“Good.”  You pluck some more of the largest leaves—you have them growing almost as large as your hand—and dip it in the stream water.  “…sit still and don’t snap at me.”
His skin is cool when you touch it, but warmer around the cuts—you frown, and he whines when you dab at the place the middle cut splits deep into the bridge of his nose.  The skin there is dark and surprisingly soft, and you hate yourself for maybe rubbing your fingertips against the short, velvety fuzz of fur there. You hate yourself even more when his eyes unfocus a little and he leans minutely into your petting hand. 
By the time your careful wiping and scrubbing gets the worst of the crusted purple blood off his face it’s almost dark.  You give him some honeysuckle and the cooked haunch of venison and he slumps. 
Thank you
You jump a little and he seems to realize what he said.  He tenses up all over again.
WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT
“Nothing.”  Huh.  You didn’t even have to prompt him.  “Okay, big tough demigod, turn around and I’m going to clean up your back.  What did you even do to yourself?”
His ears flatten.  He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t complain either, just shuffles awkwardly around and lets you run trickles of water over the scratches and cuts on his back.  Those go by without too much of a hitch; they’re mostly on his shoulders and his spine, and he’s certainly not happy but he only twitches and makes little warning snarling noises when you have to lift his wild hair out of the way to wipe blood off the back of his neck (and Kanaya makes fun of you for your hair, at least leaves don’t work themselves into massive, unmanageable tangles). 
Then you wipe away a streak of blood on one sharp shoulderblade, and he tenses and shivers.  There’s a silvery scar patch of skin under your fingers, almost like a scar but smoother.  You poke at it again.  He growls.
“What is this?”
A brother can’t walk around all dressed up all the time
CAN’T GET HIS REVEAL OF HIS GODLY MIGHT SO SIMPLE NOW
Can’t carry around real wings in these tiny places
REAL WINGS LIKE YOU HAVEN’T GOT
But a body remembers where they’re at
WHERE THEY’RE PLACED WHEN THEY’RE GETTING THEIR REALNESS ON
And you’re touchin’ it awful familiar and you can’t comprehend
CAN’T BEGIN TO GET YOUR KNOWIN’ 
On how strange it feels to have your claws on the inside of something
THAT I DON’T FOR THIS BRIEFEST SECOND TRULY HAVE
You’re touching something that ain’t there
SO QUIT
“You have wings?”  You poke the spot again.  He growls again, louder.  “You can just…send them away and bring them back?”
You think I walk around with one face always the same
YOU THINK I’M BOUND LIKE YOU TO A SINGLE SHAPE
Brother this is not the face I wear alone
THIS IS THE FACE OF A GOD
“You don’t normally look like this?”  He shakes his head.  “Well what do you look like then?”
That face is mine
MINE ONLY
He lowers his horns, and even though he’s not looking at you the threat is clear. 
IT IS NONE OF YOUR BLIGHTED CONCERN
And just like that, the conversation is over.  You finish cleaning up the last of the cuts, making a bit of half-hearted effort of avoid the places where his wings aren’t, tell him to sleep on his side, and then curl up by the fire, pointedly not watching him.  You feel his eyes on the back of your neck, until finally his breathing evens out to a low, steady rhythm and you close your eyes and drift off, dreaming of flight.

OKAY HERE HAVE SOME MORE SATYR/DEMIGOD!GAMZEE AND NATURE SPIRIT!KARKAT DANg!

First Installment: X

You don’t meet anyone as you flicker from branch to branch, searching for the plants you need

Read More

image

Goodness, the Vantas love! XD  Okay, let’s break this down.

  • What they smell like: Saviors KK actually has a disturbing lack of smell.  Terezi will tell you he smells like ‘white’.  Just ‘white’. FuB KK smells predominantly like dirt and sweat and leather—he’s a mounted soldier, after all.  Spirit!Karkat smells like dirt as well, but also like that pre-snow smell you get sometimes in fall even though it’s nowhere near time for snow yet. U_U
  • How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Saviors KK sleeps however the people nearby sleep. FuB KK sleeps with his eyes open, actually, preferably in a corner or against a wall, diurnally to compensate for the enemy’s sleep schedule.  Spirit!Karkat sleeps wherever he wants, especially in trees.
  • What music they enjoy: Saviors KK does not have music exposure.  Anything with musicality to it is a fascinating new thing to him.  Screamo not so much. FuB KK only really has exposure to battle chants which are really not music at all, but music is not a priority in their country.  Spirit!Karkat likes to hang out and listen to humans when they sing hymns—the harmonies interest him.
  • How much time they spend getting ready every morning: Saviors: 0, FuB: 0, Spirit: 0. :T Unless you count, y’know, cleaning crabdad’s saddle or waking up Gamzee and getting him presentable or doing a preliminary scan for trouble in the forest. But personally, basically nothing.
  • Their favorite thing to collect: Saviors Karkat collects clothing and hoardes food.  FuB Karkat collects any spell he thinks might ever ever ever come in handy. Spirit Karkat collects…skulls, actually. :/ Small animals, big animals, birds, if he finds them he just picks them up and collects them.  Strange habit.
  • Left or right-handed: Saviors Karkat is ambidextrous.  FuB Karkat is a righty but he’s proficient with a weapon in either hand—preferably both.  Spirit Karkat is ambidextrous and doesn’t understand the concept of handedness anyway. XD
  • Favorite sport: Saviors: he doesn’t like sports.  FuB: storytelling (yes that’s a sport on the troll side).  Spirit: sports would be a thing except he rarely sees other spirits at all, let alone in groups big enough for sports. So none.
  • Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): Saviors: he will learn to enjoy sightseeing in the deserted places.  Old parts of town, quiet monuments, etc.  FuB: fighting the natives. 8T Spirit: not applicable, dudes.
  • Favorite kind of weather: Saviors: if it’s warm he’s on it.  FuB: thunderstorms. Spirit: the first chilly-warm days of spring.
  • A weird/obscure fear they have: Saviors: Being looked at.  He’ll get better, but he’s not used to it and it freaks him out. FuB: He’s afraid of having his sign back, even though he really wants his sign back?  It’s weird. Spirit: I honestly don’t know.  EDIT: no nvm he is very, very cautious whenever he has to make a fire.  The idea of it getting out of control is a major concern, to the point of paranoia. (GOOD THINKS, WHY ARE MY FOLLOWERS SO CLeVER)
  • The game they always win without fail: Saviors: once he gets the hang of his powers?  A lot of them. he keeps getting flashes of cards, strategies, everything. :D FuB: The DO YOU WANT A PIECE OF THIS HUH DO YOU I DIDN’T THINK SO YEAH YOU BETTER WALK AWAY game. Spirit: He doesn’t play games because he has nobody to play with. 
so - if it's okay to ask - what DID happen to satyr!gamzee? and is whatever-it-is that hurt him still somewhere in karkat's forest?
Anonymous

ask-splickedyverse:

THAT is a mystery and it is upcoming in another chapter or so. UwU I will give you this: his injuries come from two separate sources, but the thing that hurt him the worst is not from Karkat’s forest, just like Gamzee himself is not from Karkat’s forest. Both of the things that hurt him are significant characters.  The less serious of his injuries was inflicted by someone fighting (successfully) in self-defense. 

And that is all I will tell you at this juncture. :)

Figure y’all might want to see this. :D

bonez1925:

From this AU
Other Art here and here
Splickedylit’s Art and Writing are here and here (reading this will be worth it)

LOOK AT THE BABIES
Oh my goodness, Karkat is so done with your bullshit look at that precious unimpressed face I just want to squeeze him EEEEEEE Also ehehehe eheheh goat legs. :))))) Yesssss good. 

bonez1925:

From this AU

Other Art here and here

Splickedylit’s Art and Writing are here and here (reading this will be worth it)

LOOK AT THE BABIES

Oh my goodness, Karkat is so done with your bullshit look at that precious unimpressed face I just want to squeeze him EEEEEEE Also ehehehe eheheh goat legs. :))))) Yesssss good. 

okay so i've been finding a lot of emotional catharsis and just general good-feelingsyness from all your lovely gamkar paleness lately and i know you were nervous about today and i kept trying to think of something i could leave in your askbox to try and cheer you up like your stuff has cheered me? but i couldn't think of anything. so i hope just telling you is enough :)
Anonymous

It would appear that being stressed means I work on this AU, so in the wake of a stressful few days, have some more Satyr<>spirit shenanigans. =w=
Original Post: X
Previous Chapters: (I) (II)
AO3
—
When you wake up the next morning, he’s still there. [[MORE]]  And he keeps still being there, through the next day, and the day after that, and the days after that—when you work through the deer, as the forest he wrecked grows up and starts to lose its leaves in the cold, as frost starts to silver you and your forest as you sleep.  And you find out more and more about him as his bones so-slowly knit together and the wheals on his back gradually start to heal.  He takes to sitting outside the cave; he whittles away at strong, hollow reeds, binds them together and you discover he knows how to play pipes.  He makes an insulted noise at the suggestion that he might not. 
Nobility has to know it
“Killing, hunting, acceptance of sacrifice, and how to play pipes?” You nod sagely.  “—gods forbid you don’t know how to make bizarre aimless tooting noises through broken sticks. That would be uncivilized.” 
His snorting laugh interrupts his playing, and he kicks out at you with his good foot as you jump away.
You find out he has a clan; that when he calls himself ‘nobility’, he means it.  He talks in hushed murmurs about someone he won’t name, the only person above him; a king, a god, the one the offerings of the churches in the human cities go to.  You don’t go near the largest cities; he tells you never to go there, never to go to the place where the forest ends, because that’s where his people go, luring worshippers to the trees and taking blood sacrifices on full-moon nights.
You are starting to think he’s as close to being a demon as he is to being a god, but he never hurts you and he doesn’t even growl anymore when you have to touch his braced limbs.  He lets you clean him off when he starts to smell like unwashed animal and sweat, and after you bug him for a few days he even lets you undo the matted plait in his hair and take the worst of the knots out of it.  He makes strange, soft noises when you comb your fingers through it and twist it back into its braid, turns his head and nudges against you and you blink for a while, mystified, and then scratch behind his ears. 
He flops his entire weight down on your legs (OW) and goes limp.
It seems to make him feel good and it’s relaxing for you, and somehow it becomes a tradition for him to pull himself out of his cave and drop his head into your lap when you’re trying to meditate.  He picks at your leaves absently sometimes, like he’s trying to return the favor—until he finds out that the ones he ‘accidentally’ plucks out regrow instantly, at which point you have to start smacking him away because he enjoys that far too much and the last thing you need as the nights grow longer is a big balding patch of young leaves shriveling in the cold.
The humans harvest.  They leave traditional lavish offerings in the forest and you bring it back to that cave and stream and start a fire and you and Gamzee eat like lords under the falling red leaves.
And then one day, with the sun setting weak and gold through the trees and ice in the air, you come back and find him waiting for you, sitting up outside of his cave.
“Sorry I took so long,” you tell him, and dump a sacrificed wicker basket of rabbits and a sheaf of mulberry branches heavy with berries on the ground.  “There are horses running through my forest, the mountain god over in the east is missing the forest spirit for those trees on the slopes—” he’s just staring at you.  “…what?”
Come over here
“Can it wait?” you grumble, and reach out for the first rabbit.  They even cleaned it for you, sometimes you love having believers.  “I was going to start dinner—”
Come here
I need you to look on me.
…please
You have no idea what’s going on, but he said please.  You shrug and nod, drop the rabbit back in the basket and come over to settle down in front of him.  He looks jumpy—you’ve gotten very good at reading his strange face, and you can see the nervousness in his eyes. 
“Okay I’m here,” you say, and nudge one cloven hoof with your bare foot.  “What’s so important you can’t wait till after we eat?”
He doesn’t say anything.  He just takes a deep breath, and…
…and he changes.
His flat, goat-skull face shifts and morphs and the golden-red of his eyes lightens to pure, light gold.  The purple rings widen and the gold around his pupils shrinks to a thin ring.  The fangs recede as his mouth changes, half-hidden behind scarred lips, and his ears shrink, half-vanishing under his hair.  He blinks his strange new eyes at you and rubs a hand over his mouth, feeling out the new shape.
“…different,” he rasps, very quietly, and his voice out loud is so different from the voice you’re used to in your head you almost don’t comprehend that it’s him talking for a second.  “…told…dn’t…usually…like that…”
Great rotting hell.  “I,” you say, coherently. He’s looking at you, and after getting used to the minute changes of his still, unreadable face, it’s odd to see him look so nervous and hopeful and strange.  His noise is a little shorter, a little less flattened, but still flat and dark.  His fangs are still long and sharp, but smaller, over dark lips.  For a second you don’t know why his eyes look so different and then he frowns at you, worried, and you notice his strange, round, purple-gold eyes have short, thick eyelashes now, and under the hair that hangs in his eyes he has eyebrows.  It’s bizarre how much difference that makes.  “—I, uh…wh…what?” 
He tries to talk again and flinches, half-raising a hand towards his throat. 
I told you I didn’t usually carry a look so bent for terror
FACE OF FEAR AND FRENZY AND SACRIFICE
My god face
HAD TO KNOW I COULD LAY TRUST IN YOU BEFORE I LET IT GO AGAIN
Came back to what I look on when I see that other me in the water
FACE NOBODY KNOWS BUT ME
And now you
He sort of smiles at you, but he’s had that lipless, leering face on for a long time now and the smile comes out sort of rusty and crooked.  It still makes your chest seize up.

“So this….this is what you actually look like?”
“Other one’s…like…mask,” he explains, still in that small, rusty voice—he winces and rubs his throat with one hand, frowning.  
Rotting hells that hurts
“You should keep talking out loud,” you tell him firmly, and he groans and gives you the wide, sad eyes.  “—no, don’t do that.  You need to keep talking and get your throat working again.  I’ll help fix it when it hurts, you’ll be fine.   I…” your chest is locking up again, all strange and hot on the inside like it always seems to be when he does something unexpected like this.  “…I’m…you’ve never shown anybody else—?”
He shakes his head and then coughs and says, quiet and croaky, “…y’r…special.”
You sniff and your eyes are maybe prickling strangely and okay maybe your face is going red, nobody can prove anything.  He makes a coughing, rasping noise—it softens and smooths and oh.  So that’s what his laugh sounds like. 
“…come here,” you say, and lay a hand on his throat—and it’s stupidly touching that he just lets you.  Then again, you’d find almost anything he did right this second stupidly touching.  You forget about being touched when you close your eyes and concentrate on his throat though—you can feel the knotting and the rawness.  He keeps swallowing, trying to soothe the dry ache, and the cramps keep tightening.
He sighs as you reach in and undo the knots, like straightening a warped branch, and he gasps a little and coughs and then sighs in relief.  It’s strange to hear him sigh without the whistle of his breath through his fangs. 
“Karkat,” he says, and your stomach clenches up tight inside you.  You want…
…you don’t know what you want.  You feel…like you feel about your forest, this bone-deep defensiveness, a part of you, a need to fix and protect.
You shove that feeling as hard as you can to the back of your mind.
“Yes?”
He grins at you.
“I just wanted to say it,” he says, and leans down from his towering height to bump his forehead against yours. “Let a brother get introductions on—for real, for hearing.  Karkat.”
You eat your dinner with his shoulder pressed against yours and the firelight strange on his new face, and you fall asleep to the sound of his voice mumbling drowsy in your ear.

It would appear that being stressed means I work on this AU, so in the wake of a stressful few days, have some more Satyr<>spirit shenanigans. =w=

Original Post: X

Previous Chapters: (I) (II)

AO3

When you wake up the next morning, he’s still there.

Read More

bonez1925:

I hand’t done anything silly with these two yet. :)

I HACE RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY THAT AREN&#8217;T KEYMASHING
ALSO THIS IS NOW IN THE STORY BTW  AS SOON AS I SAW IT IT WENT IN THE STORY
SO

bonez1925:

I hand’t done anything silly with these two yet. :)

I HACE RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY THAT AREN’T KEYMASHING

ALSO THIS IS NOW IN THE STORY BTW  AS SOON AS I SAW IT IT WENT IN THE STORY

SO

bonez1925:

Demigod!Gamzee
Because of the latest installment of Splickedylit’s series.
Other Art here, here, and here

*HIGH-PITCHED EHTHUSIANTISCSCRE AMING*
*HELP ME IT KEEPS HAPENING SO MUCH ART FOR THIS SERIeS WAI*

bonez1925:

Demigod!Gamzee

Because of the latest installment of Splickedylit’s series.

Other Art here, here, and here

*HIGH-PITCHED EHTHUSIANTISCSCRE AMING*

*HELP ME IT KEEPS HAPENING SO MUCH ART FOR THIS SERIeS WAI*

kamaete:


"You don’t have a lot of patience for prideful beings."

[splicketylit] / [invincible summer] / [1][2]
pre-faffing about:


*STIIIILLLLL SHRIEKING*
wow · that background took way to long to look like such a pile of shit · oops this isn&#8217;t supposed to take place at sunset · with all those burny orange colors · oOOPS · not sorry · orange lighting is so fun to draw ·this is not how it went down · but almost like this ·
NONONONO NO IT&#8217;S PERFECT shUT YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE AHHH SUNSeT IS GOOD EVERYTHING IS GOOD THIS IS GOOD AND I LOVE YOU ALL and also WOW the leaves go down the back of his neck and onto his wings that&#8217;s rad and I am doing tha tnext time YES.

kamaete:


"You don’t have a lot of patience for prideful beings."

[splicketylit] / [invincible summer] / [1][2]

pre-faffing about:

*STIIIILLLLL SHRIEKING*

wow · that background took way to long to look like such a pile of shit · oops this isn’t supposed to take place at sunset · with all those burny orange colors · oOOPS · not sorry · orange lighting is so fun to draw ·this is not how it went down · but almost like this ·

NONONONO NO IT’S PERFECT shUT YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE AHHH SUNSeT IS GOOD EVERYTHING IS GOOD THIS IS GOOD AND I LOVE YOU ALL and also WOW the leaves go down the back of his neck and onto his wings that’s rad and I am doing tha tnext time YES.

Ask Box Headcanon night!

…that is to say, yours!

I would like to hear the ideas that you guys have about my stories.  The things you think someone would do or say.  How you imagine them when they’re drunk.  What role you imagine someone could play in any of my stories.  Who they might have a weird one-off fling with.  Who they might really get together with!  What is their weird turn-on? Do they like apples or oranges? Do they have allergies?

Even if you think you guys aren’t qualified to do this kind of thing, (but what if she already has something figured out for this?) at worst I’m going to go ‘oh hey, y’know, it’s actually kind of like (this) but that’s so cool that you thought of that!’ and at best, there are very good odds you’ll get the…

image

…SEAL OF APPROVAL and it’ll probably end up in the story somewhere. XD 

Hit me up?