Art Dump

has anyone realized how FUCKED it is that caine made zooble's room have 3 mirrors in it? when they literally have body dysmorphia? which means zooble is forced to look at themself

also a literal human mannequin like ohhh i bet thats GREAT to look at every day

art dump :) (small trypophobia warning)

Hi, I just saw your blog, I like the things on your blog

Oh thank you

lesbians 🔥🙏

This is Temperence and Pivver and they’re girlfriends :)

I miss when the creepypasta fandom was wacky and cringe and stupid. Nowadays it's all the realistic portrayals with them as twisted abusive psychos. I know that realistically that's what they'd be like but damn! BACK IN MY DAY we had the Cweepypasta series, the double rainbow jeff video, low fps mmd dance videos with like 6 pixels in total and the clothes and hair kept clipping through the body, amvs where it'd just be emo songs playing over a slideshow of fanart of the characters as hot anime boys with too much airbrush shading, the not like other girls memes, the abusive family y/n gets saved by the guy who murders her entire household fanfics, I MISS IT.

HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHERE WE CAME FROM?

REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE

Arcane fandom, I’m gonna tell you something:

VIKTOR IS A DISABLED MAN

Shocking, right? You know it already, right?

Then do NOT draw/write Viktor unless you actually want to draw/write a disabled man. This is not a negotiable aspect of his character, the same way Jayce being latino or Mel being black are non-negotiable.

If you do not want to write/draw a disabled character with all that it entails, you don’t actually want to draw and write Viktor.

And no, it’s not enough to draw the braces and cane like they are props or decorations, you need to have at least a vague understanding of what they are for and how his body works. If you are not willing to ask questions or do at least some basic research, write about a different character.

I am TIRED of your sports AU where he’s either able-bodied or you pretend he’s disabled but he still performs tasks that would be impossible for his actual canon disability. I am TIRED of your NSFW fanarts where his back is bent in ways that would be hard to achieve even for a very flexible able-bodied person.

I’m not saying your Viktor/Jayvik stories need to be about disability, but they need to be about a disabled man. This means respecting his body and representing it truthfully with its limitations. Which might mean that certain plots/tropes will not work for him.

If Viktor being disabled gets in the way of your story or your fantasy, either change your story or use a different character. And please ask yourself why you wanted to put him in situations incompatible with his disability in the first place.

I’ll never be the one to point fingers and call people ableist if they’ve made a mistake in the past. I just ask you guys to do better in the future and treat Viktor’s identity as a disabled man with the due respect.

what if instead of creepypasta it was called eepypasta and instead of killing people they just napped a lot

Achess, We All Fall Down.

A fanfiction about Alastor and his daughter:

TW for Alastor being dismissive, an abusive parent, and honestly just shitty.

“Pa- pa I can’t breath-“

“Oh quiet.”

Her father’s coat should’ve been loose.

He was much taller than her.

So why wasn’t it big on her?

Well, it was, everywhere except the waist. Her father had a weirdly proportioned body. His waist was so thin, you’d wonder how he swallowed food.

Compared to his daughter’s normal waist. So naturally, she was struggling to breath.

This was Achess. A unique, (and debatably ugly) way of spelling “Ashes”. No, it couldn’t be Ash, or Ashley, or Ayesha. It had to be Achess.

The entire cannibal town calls her “Ache” or “Headache”. Or if they’re feeling very fancy, “Miss Headache” was their go-to.

Even her father calls her Ache from time to time. Hm.

She got the nickname from being the Radio Demon’s embarrassing headache of a daughter.

Always causing trouble, and hanging out with the working class imps. Maybe it was the wrathian blood in her, hanging out with the muscle of hell, it must’ve made her think she was one of them. That’s what everyone in Pentagram City thought.

Her father, the Radio Demon, AKA, Alastor, tried to shelter her to the maximum. Choosing all of her clothes, not letting her make any friends, and god forbid having access to the brain rotting, evil internet.

She wasn’t allowed outside of the basement for the first 5 years of her life. It was torture. And even after, he would throw her into the basement as punishment. He only stopped once throwing her down the stairs caused her a ton of injuries. Shockingly, throwing a child down a staircase is actually not good for them.

At one point, she just kinda snapped. Started coming home late, participating in the small, meaningless yet unbelievably dangerous hell fights.

Actually, maybe they could be classified as wars. Who knows?

Well now Ache was 15, turning 16. Alastor wanted to have a dad and daughter day for her 16th birthday. He made her dress up in a black variation of his regular red coat. Of course she can’t fit in it. She struggles and grunts.

“Pretending like you’re dying isn’t going to make me take it off.”

She continues to struggle, ‘waisting’ Alastor’s time.

Angry, big black eyes look up at him. “Why can’t you just let me wear the dress you bought?!”

“It looks horrible on you!”

It didn’t actually look that bad. Alastor just didn’t like the way she looked in it. The red dress and wide brimmed hat made her look too much like…

…too much like Rosie. And he never really learned how to cope with her death.

She would’ve still been here if it weren’t for that disgusting imp she called her “current husband”. He found him, butt naked on top of a car, drunk off of his ass in the middle of daylight, snuggling a dead body. It was nothing new for Hell, but god, Alastor had no clue what Rosie saw in that man.

Alastor brushed out Ache’s usually messy hair, and put a bow over her head to hide what’s left of her snipped imp horns. Her big black eyes stare at the floor in defeat, her arms folded over her chest. Ache didn’t like Alastor touching her hair. It was the only thing she had control over. She got to cut it as short as she wanted, so she cut it short. It got to be as messy as she wanted, so she kept it messy. It could be as wavy as she wanted, so she waved it to the maximum.

But now suddenly, Alastor was under the impression that he could just… touch it. And style it how he wants. But she doesn’t do anything. She’s already occupied trying to keep from passing out, so she just lets him.

“You look lovely.”

He was finally done. He finally got his grubby little goblin fingers out of her black and white hair.

She doesn’t respond.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” His tone is happy, now that he has his way. He grabs her hand and drags her out of the house. Her head never leaves the ground.

Her invisible weights scream for her to just go lay back down, but that isn’t an option. She has to celebrate her birthday with her annoying and strict father.

Dragging her around Cannibal Town, they pass a massive house. A massive, abandoned house. What looked to be a once beautiful home was now rotting away, copper ceilings with holes in them, likely stolen and sold. Every window was broken, the pile of cobwebs and mold had a lot of house in them.

Every single week, Ache can smell a fresh scent of eggy rotten meat and iron. Every time they walk past it, she asks Alastor what’s up with the place, but he gives her a stern, tired look, with slivers of sadness in it, and doesn’t respond.

It was Rosie’s house. The one she died in. The one that her husband got to take after she died.

God… Alastor hadn’t seen her in months. Her husband got her all drugged up and hooked on all sorts of stuff. He wouldn’t let him talk to her, he was suddenly not allowed in the house.

And then he had been informed that she was gone. She took her own life, piercing her heart with an angelic weapon. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t get out of that relationship. She was so much more powerful than that imp. Maybe she just really loved him, and despite a decaying mental health, couldn’t bare to leave him. Who knows?

It’s not something he’s prepared to talk to Ache about. It’s a personal matter, so he just doesn’t answer.

He spots a tiny little cafe nearby, and drags Ache along. She grunts in frustration. Despite it being quieter than a pin dropping from the other side of the world, everyone nearby seems to pick up on it. Everyone in cannibal town can recognize that grunt. ‘The grunt of Miss Headache when she doesn’t get her way.’ Everyone looks Alastor’s way, with a look of pity. Anxiety would’ve stormed up inside of Ache by now, but she’s grown slightly thicker skin, and chainmail around her heart, so that anxiety slashes felt like paper cuts to her.

Ache was always considered a weight that Alastor had to carry by the public, but if it were up to him, he’d make her a carbon copy of him. But she can’t be that. She can only be Achess.

“ALASTOR!” The voice of an old woman could be heard from across the street.

“WHY DOES YOUR DAUGHTER SOUND LIKE THAT?”

…

Susan. Ugh. Ornery old bitch.

“Y’KNOW KID, WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE, I WAS SLEEPING ON ROCKS, USING MY AUNT’S SKIN AS A BLANKET, AND HONEYCOMB SLICES WERE MY TAMPONS!!-“

“Susan.” Alastor says calmly, across the street.

“WHAT?” “You-“

He sighs.

“-You don’t need to yell..”

“QUIET!” Susan shouts in response.

“SOMEBODY NEEDS TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO THAT KID’S HEAD! IF YOU WON’T TEACH HER TO BE POLITE, I WILL!”

“Susan.” He says again. Debatably calmer than the first time.

“FINE, WHATEVER, BUT DON’T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN SHE KILLS YOU IN 30 YEARS!!”

“Susan.”

And with that, she gives an offended look and walks away. God, Ache hated her so much. Clenching her fists in anger. She wished that somebody would just hit that woman with their truck. She unclenches one fist to fidget with her hand by snapping with her pinky finger, something she does when she’s stressed. Actual math goes on in her head of the possibility of Susan getting hit with a truck right now.

As if out of pure luck, she runs out into the street and actually gets run over with a truck. It knocked her over, likely breaking something, and then rolled over her. Susan screams in pain and agony. She sounds like a really old, loud door opening.

Alastor and many other people catch eye of this, but nobody helps, because nobody really likes Susan.

Alastor rushes Ache inside of the cafe he spotted earlier. He quickly finds a table booth to sit down at, while Ache throws herself into the opposite side of it.

What a lucky man Alastor is. He can fit into his clothes and sit down with ease. Instead of suffocating and needing to throw himself into chairs because he can’t sit down correctly.

Only a moment passes by, before both Ache and Alastor start chuckling. Chuckling turned into laughter. And with the help of Ache mentioned that Susan sounded like an old door when screeching, laugher turned into face scrunching, wheezing. Alastor has to keep himself from snorting.

A solid minute goes by, before the laughter stops. It’s followed by a moment of awkward silence.

That might’ve been the first time that Ache had ever laughed about something with her father. Huh.

A menu is put in front of them. Alastor picks it up. He’s not feeling anything fancy today, just coffee, black and bitter, like how he thinks coffee should be.

He hands the menu to Ache when he’s done. Looking through the menu, she finds her favorite desert, cherry pie. She could get a slice of cherry pie for only $5.

“Can I-“

“You are not getting pie.”

“Wha-“

“Sweets don’t make you thinner. You wanna be comfortable in my coats? You need to lay off of the sugar.” He says to his underweight daughter.

Alastor’s implication that she was getting fat makes her immediately cross her arms over her stomach. Her big black eyes stare at her knees, not wanting to look at Alastor and his piercing red gaze. When the waitress comes over and asks the two what they would like to order, they both order black coffee. The waitress then walks away, leaving them alone.

There’s an awkward and upsetting silence. Alastor’s comment really hurt. This was no innocent anxiety slash like the cannibal town community gives her, this was her father. He didn’t slash her, he stabbed her. Chainmail isn’t strong enough to protect you from a stab.

“Deer, it’s criticism. I’m trying to help you.” He says calmly, rubbing lemon juice into the wound. She wonders if maybe she IS fat. She doesn’t really know how to do a sword fight with her own father, so she keeps her sword away and accepts defeat.

“…I know.”

{.~.}

They’re silent when awkwardly drinking their coffee. Ache doesn’t even like the taste of coffee. Too bitter, and it makes her stomach upset. She’s never told Alastor that, because he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care. There are so many things the two don’t know about each other.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.” Alastor says to Ache, he sounds rather disappointed. She has to hold back from scoffing, or chuckling in disbelief. She looks at him quietly.

Alastor sighs. He knows he shouldn’t keep pushing it, it’s not like she ever responds. He assumes it’s just a teenager thing. He and his father had the same exact relationship when he was a teenager. It was *normal*.

Ache looks down at the brown, almost black substance. She watches the steam float and dance elegantly. An explosion can be heard in the distance. Typical hell stuff. But it was a big explosion. It caused the booth table to shake, knocking the coffee over.

It was headed for Ache’s sleeve. Scorching hot and would ruin her father’s coat. As if by force, she snaps with her pinky finger again. Just as the realization and shock kicked in, the cup stopped just as it was about to pour, and stood back up. Like nothing happened. It was physically impossible for that to happen. And yet, it did. Ache finally processed that. She wasn’t freaked out, more confused.

She sees Alastor starting. “Pa, I don’t know how that happened-“

“How what happened?”

Ache gestures to the coffee. “How it just stood back up before it could fall-“

“The coffee never moved.” Alastor replied calmly.

“…What- yeah it did, from the explosion-“

“What explosion?”

The two stare at each other in silence, before Alastor rolls his eyes and sighs. Now thinking his daughter was ill in the mind.

A now red in the face Ache looks down at her lap.

“I have something for you, dear.” Alastor speaks up.

Ache looks back at Alastor, watching him use his staff to summon a hole in the ground, one of his minions reach their hand up with a box.

It’s a rectangular box. A very skinny rectangle. Standing up, it would be a few inches taller than her.

He pushes the box to her side of the table, carefully. His smile seems somewhat genuine.

He can see her big black eyes looking at him in confusion. “Open it.”

She looks down at the box and takes the lid off.

Inside is a carefully packaged scepter. The head of it is has a checkered black and white pattern. It’s star shaped and has an eye in the middle.

“You’re welcome.” He speaks up, a shit eating grin still on his face.

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that pa… it’s just… I don’t want a staff. I don’t want to be like you..”

His smile doesn’t face, but the joy in his eyes does. “You’re kidding.”

“Pa… it’s-look-“

“I spent good money on it.”

“No.. it looks amazing but-“

“Y’know I was really hoping you’d show a little gratitude since it was custom made for you-“

“Well why didn’t you ask me before doing that?!”

“I can teach you how to use it. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna like summoning tendrils to rip people apart with…”

“Y’know what? Fine. You’re grounded.”

She looks at him, slightly shaking her head in disbelief.

“Pa… I’m not like you. I never dreamed of using a powerful staff to hurt people with…”

“So you would prefer to be weak?” Alastor responds aggressively. Before she can even respond, a man kicks the door open, which causes her to jump. He aims a gun at a waiter. “PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!” He shouts.

A few other guys bust in and do the same thing to other people. Gunshots can be heard.

Guns made of… angelic steel.

“Achess, get down!” Alastor shouts at her. She immediately gets down.

Alastor stands up and summons his black tendrils. He uses them to throw one thug against the wall, but the others point their guns at him.

“You all seem to be having a bad day. Let me make it even worse.” He says, the static in his voice gets even nosier.

But he’s stopped when a bullet is planted in his hand, making him drop his staff, and another in his foot, making him unable to walk.

“…Fuck.” He curses.

He falls over, the thugs corner him. He can feel his big fluffy deer ears push back to his head.

Ache sees the whole thing. Stressed, she’s about to watch the only parental figure she’s ever known die. She wants their guns to be unusable. She wishes they were just toys.

Out of stress, she snaps with her pinky finger again. One of the guys push their gun against Alastor’s head, preparing to pull the trigger.

“STOP!” Ache shouts.

“ACHESS, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Alastor shouts at her. But she doesn’t. Instead, she tries to crawl out and stand up, but is trapped by the tight suit. After struggling in it enough, she forcefully moves in it and rips it up, finally able to stand up. She can breathe so much better now.

She stands across from the thugs.

They don’t hesitate to try shooting her. But the guy who tries it fails. The gun is supposed to release a bullet, but instead it releases a joke flag that says “Gotcha!” on it. It’s a toy gun.

He looks at his gun. “The fuck…” the guy says.

“BOYS, SHOOT HER!” He tells the other thugs. But they try to shoot her and have the same result. One guy releases a dog’s tennis ball from his gun, and another releases paintballs. The paintball hits her neck. She’s in utter shock, and the thugs are extremely embarrassed.

The thug on the left tries to pull out a pocket knife, but a butter knife comes out of his pockets instead.

Another thug tries to pull out an explosive, but a bath bomb comes out instead.

All of their weapons were literal toys. They weren’t before, but they are now. Embarrassment flows through the entire group of men. She snaps with her pinky once more to test a theory she might have. Moments later, a part of the ceiling cracks and falls on top of all of them. Badly injuring some, and killing others.

The entire cafe is silent.

And then, a waitress starts clapping. More people start clapping, until everybody is clapping.

She’s not used to so much praise. She turns around to find herself face to face with her father.

He is unbelievably crossed.