i made some userboxes

Kiana Khansmith
occasionally subtle
ojovivo
cherry valley forever
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Andulka
Jules of Nature

oozey mess
hello vonnie
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

titsay
Monterey Bay Aquarium

๐ชผ

ellievsbear
Mike Driver
DEAR READER

Origami Around
NASA

seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from Australia
seen from Argentina
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seen from Malaysia

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@antidemise
i made some userboxes

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Iโve been rewatching Confinement as of late and I had a violent urge to draw Connor
fanart for a nice youtube series i recently got hooked onย by Lord Bung !
You never really had a childhood.
ooc. THE FACT THAT SCP HAS A JAPANESE LIGHT NOVEL MAKES ME THINK THAT THERES NOW.. A CHANCE.. THAT WE CAN GET A SCP ANIME ADAPTATION AND THAT FUCKS ME UP TO NO END

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@staticsmileโ !ย closed starter.
Check in, Ask questions, get out. A shallow breath left him. The white lights are blurred, and heโs strapped to a table.
Check in, Ask questions, get out. Thereโs something covering his head and he canโt tell what. He clutches his eyes and let his echoes reassure him.
Check in, Ask questions, get out. Check in, Ask questions, get out. Check in, Ask questions, getโโโ
CRASH AND SHINK AND BANK came down Connor, his head filled with resounding noise and the distant, washed out blur that was his last few moments on Earth. He collided with the pavement with a sickening crackโ he figured that was his nose. A moist palm slaps against established red stone, finding it stable enough to heave his person up above. Just enough of an angle to get on his knees and register his arrival. The second blinding pain came like a bullet, his eyes gone into shock with saturated lights. An unholy sight for a set of eyes best comfortably with the grey noisy texture of cement and fluorescent lights. Connor reeled backwards, hands shot to his face in hopes he could rub the soreness from his eyes. Instead, he was met with an oily smear across his orifice. As he parted from his hands, he found that there was more to behold.
Eyes bulged from his palms, liquefied and swollen like pulsing tumors that drooped by the edge of his hands. Connorโs gaze followed up his arm to be faced with a stream of liquid black up to his orange sleeves. In replacement for a mirror, he grasped for his faceโ murky, damp, covered in oil.ย Now that he thinks about it, his vision seemed reinforced with blame given to the sets of eyes he feels upon his face. In blase retrospect did Connor itch at the inkโs gushing, the back of his nails filled with blackened pus. He peers inwards, squinting at a gross transparent whitenessโ the remains of an eye, squished in his hand. His chest felt heavy, winded and felledโ it wasnโt so much of a startling realization of his own mutilation rather than the alien feeling of being unaware that fell upon him.
Connor was used to being transfigured, for reference. From the very moment he was designated disposable, to be experimented and mutilated was his future and fate. Now, the single thing that he was left with was the stinging, lingering sense of starvation and a headache that phased him like a phantom pain. It took moments for his ventilation to cease, transitioning to merely vacillate upon the cobblestone floor. Fluid dripped from his hair like a cold shower, briefly glancing over drops of ink whilst he stood.
.. Well, hey. At least he doesnโt have a mirror, heโs not particularly curious as to what abomination heโs turned into today. He dismissed the idea, instead scouring the local scope for something more valued than his silent shock. Lo and behold, a few papers were flipped on their front and laden with neat ink. Still scattered across his landing site, flat upon uneven rock. Cautiously did Connor pinch them between his fingers before briefing his collected set. He found his objective slapped on the cover-sheet, more than convenient enough for Connor to muster up a bit of his will. Connor, insouciant and already aching, decided the moment his heel touched the groundโ he wanted to get this over with.
โGod, I hope hell isnโt international. โ
Connor didnโt take a moment to question the mortality of his soulโ if he were still alive, and in hell, surely thereโs some sort of Karmic balance heโs on the verge of tipping. Unfortunately, Connor knew jackshit about the bible and couldnโt care less unless SCP-343 gives him a blunt among blunts. He pressed onward, stepping onto the pavement and closer to those blinding lights, and among the blur of red, red and more red did he make out a tailcoat and suit. Then the little cane he held, and then the.. Yeah. Connor hadnโt even bothered to irate his neck by craning it up to meet the demonโs gaze, stretching his hand outwards.ย
โHey.. There. I have no clue where I am. And I also got questions, a lot, if you donโt mind. Unless thereโs a help desk somewhere.โ He reshuffled the files he came with, โIs this hell, and are you a demon?โ
@tmpttnโ !ย closed starter.
It wasnโt as welcoming as the Foundationโs bleak walls, but a bed was a bed, and wallpaper was definitely a welcomed change. Even if they wereย bright fucking red,ย it lacked the iron stench.ย An upgrade from cement sidewalks that seemed to glister in neon from dried splatters and billboards. Connor felt apart of the furniture in saturated garb, and also probably because of how far heโs sunk into the loungeโs sofa.
It was only a bit ago that heโd abruptly received assistance by a blondie that looked a lot like a panda and her gray girlfriend, to then given shelter with a scope of space that was free of his own guts. Orโ at least for now, a doubt that prodded him every time he looked out the window. His eyes locked onto the ceiling that hung above him, skimming between ridges of old bricks and cracked paint as he settled into an unsettling realization. Here, compared to the ultra-violence and itโs denizenโs damnation, Connor was normal. The mundane, un-special one that gets left alone. Of course, he doesnโt get left alone because that was exactly what he was, but what else was new, honestly.
Connor sprung from the couch, dismissing the thoughtโ the Foundation was his priority, and this is hell.ย And this hotel is probably a trap, and the longer he stayed, the more times heโll die and die again. So, instead of thinking about that, he went in search of a drink, and what comes to his eye is the familiar flaxen hair of the quartermaster. What comes second is how shortย โherโ hair was, carrying on with the assumption itโs a haircut as he approaches.
โHey! Is there a vending machine anywhere here? Thatโs.. Not filled with coke? I got a feeling that addictionโs more crippling than death here and I don't wanna have some accidentally blown on a chocolate bar while it comes downโ not that Iโd know. Maybe deathโs worse. Hell. And all.โ
SICK OUTFIT
The routine is precise in its inexactness. As soon as the Weather sounded throughout the streets, tunes blaring from unseen speakers - perhaps they were not speakers at all, the sound simply cascading from the clouds, like a gift bestowed upon them from the universe itself - Cecil wouldโฆ well, Cecil would exist. Primarily, existence is consistently at the top of his to-do-list. While he remained seated in the here and now, he would text, call, scribble notes using a spork and a jar of white-out (now no longer white; now embodying the absence of color) he left around for reasons unspecified even to him.
Needless to say, he is always grateful for something more entertaining โ he just wishes entertaining things came with a bell attached to properly alert him of their presence.
Sufficiently surprised, Cecil jolts before turning sharply in the direction of the voice, eyes blown wide; hair tussled. How his hair managed such a task without any administrations on his behalf isnโt something his mind is capable of acknowledging at this point, instead preoccupied on the jump-suited individual who just casually strode into his officeย (Oh, was that the knocking he heard?).
โInterrupโ? No, no, you arenโt interrupting at all! In fact, weโre currently in the middle of the Weather Reportโฆ which has an impressive amount of repetitive but enjoyable thrumming mixed in with the, literally, roaring vocals. It rattles your core, doesnโt it? Sounds like weโre in for a downpour tonight.โ
Slow blinks indicate the journalist processing what the man, who he now realizes happens to be carrying a few files; papers regarding something he was not privy to, although holds the promise of future insight. Oh, this feels incredibly governmental.
โA few questions? Regarding what?โ
ย ย Itโs until Connor lowers gaze to the seated Radio host that he sees just how close his papers are to his orange-coated chest. He remedies that, opening the bit a few more inches wide to catch a better sight of his grasped reading. Monotone and printed and just almost crammed with paragraphs worth of instructions. Connor found it a little ridiculous that theyโd give him the same filler context as though he hadnโt been doing this for half a decade now, and stares past it with apathy. Itโs until heโs given the direct weather report that he bats his eyes once, then thrice.
Oh, it was raining.
Not that Connor would be able to tell, comes with being confiscated to the back of a truck that sported a single window on the roof. To keep his presence obscured was the authorityโs answer. They canโt predict the outcry at the sight of anomalies amongst themโโAmongst them.โ Safe to say, rain wasnโt a popular discussion at the Foundation, nor was it one of Connorโs fancies. He answers Cecil, accidental snark holding his tongue. โYeah, bet thatโs a blessing. I didnโt think youโd get much weather down here, I mean, guess itโs good if you have.. Crops? Screamingโs fine too, itโs a lilโ drowned out.โ
His lethargy was followed by a sigh, โRight, yeah, nevermind.โ The radio microphone could pick up the sound of shuffling files, pausing at a gentle crinkle. โIโm here to ask questions about the townโs.. Atmosphere. Or, well, anything thatโs been going on this week that could be counted as probably haunted or, weird.โ
โSince you tend to uh.. Report them, a lot.ย Youโre being questioned. Not that youโre gonna be arrested or anything, thatโs out my hands.โ
Reblog if your muse has committed a crime.
โโย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ๐ฟ ๐ผ ๐ ๐ผย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ฟ โโโโโโ โโโโโโโโโโโโ โโโโโโโโ โโโ โโโโโโโโโ
ind. semi-sel. CONNOR from lord bung's SCP: CONFINEMENT. by alia artwork by southsparrow on twitter, promo base by somresources on tumblr!

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DID HER NECK JUST SNAP?
โ โฆย All eyes were on him in an instant, from the crew team to the backstage guests, all of them seemed annoyed & equally bewildered by this distribution. But mild confusion quickly escalate as the manโs appearance was taken into question. Short, stubby, but not an impโhe had no horns, nor a tailโ not multiple colored eyes or lack of them; in fact this creature before them read as completely & utterlyโ human.
โAlright, break it up you shit slags, make way! Whatโs all this fucking commotion about?โ calls a displeased feminine voice that sends a wave of hinted terror throughout the masses. As they clear & make a path for her, the owner of said voice is revealed. A incredibly tall woman with a pencil thin waist & large rounded hips suddenly towers over the small human in an instant. Her bright glowing red eyes & matching ruby red lips are like looking into the crimson hot flames of hell itself; it was clear that among these group of demonsโ SHE was the alpha presence.
โAnd just what the fuck are you suppose to be?โ He says while looking them over, her neck seeming to nearly snap as she tilts her head & brings her hand to rest upon her hip.ย โSome fucking bum who wandered in from outside? Ahaha, oh you poor thingโ yโknow normally Iโd shove a butterknife down your dickhole & kick you outta hereโโ
โBUTโฆ given the time of year, Iโm just overwhelmed with that jolly โChristmas Spiritโ. Hehโฆ. SO Iโm going to give you 10 seconds to explain what the FUCK youโre doing in my studio and THEN split you down the middle. Go.โ
Connor wasnโt bothered by stares. He also wasnโt bothered by the headlights up there actually, having seen itโs constant utility by scientists and doctors and anything that wasnโt eight feet and eyeing him like dinner like that Shakespearean cannibal. His back shot backwards with a grounded totter, the hairs on his limbs spiked against his convict jumpsuitโ something that in any other situation heโd find a bit funny. Connor was the only person in the room that wasnโt convicted of a crime.
And then when lipstick Moses passes through the sea of bodily mutation, the harrowing chill he feels down his spine comes second to the saturated outfit that burned through his retina quicker than he could shudder and flinch. Almost.. Jarringly cartoonish compared to his own average proportions. Nothing he hasnโt seen before- just watching the gaze of the crowd follow her is more daunting than the sickening snap of her neck. Connor straightens and heaves as though he were winded by a vacuum, hands fumbling in desperate plights.
โโ Wellโ,ย waitโ, wait waitโ OKAY, IโIโM HERE ON A JOB, andโ and I was sent down to confirm that this is hell and I just did that and I need to ask a fewdemonsquestionsandthenleave.โ
โIโm justโ a guy who canโt die whose on an errand, and I donโt think this place is gonna deliver, so Iโll just BE ON MY WAY.โ
@maidencrownโ ! random starter
โI donโt think a lot of people can say that they went to the Underworld as their pit-stop. Probably not a great place for a pitstop either.โ
โMind telling me where the exit might be? Iโm a little in a rush, thโ my job, expects me by noon. Can't avoid them.โ
like this for a starter !
@pcrticlvcidโ !ย starter
It was a bit like white noise. The sort that the Foundation would replace the channels with a hefty font that read outย REDACTED,ย administration plastered across its cheap cable television, the ones that were strung up high against the cafeteria ceiling. Now, a kidโ regardless of channelโ would eventually find torpor in the fleeting flickers of hue that played out on screenโ and wake up the next mornโ with nothing a lick of sense. For Connor, that was passing out on the floor on a wood bench and table. If he was lucky, heโd find the floor blood-free by dawn.
His interviewee was a bit like that. The glass was a silencer, but he could still overhear bits like rubble dragged out from collateral. He dutifully ignored the neon sign, bright red and blinding that stamped NOW LIVEย down on his head and reflected on the floor. Uniformed files in one hand, the other one rapping against wood. Not a thought spent for manners, without prior knowledge for the context of what a radio host meant besides the five-so couple minutes heโd spent standing there.
It was the weather, Connor found. What kind of weather do you get here?ย Besides heatstroke.
โHeyโ uh, sorry to interrupt your show butโ , I was ordered to ask you a few questions.. Sssir?โ The last syllable dangled from him, as though his unsure approach weren't enough already.
ooc. my entire dash is filled with hazbin hotel muses i cant believe connors going on a roadtrip through hell. i love this holy shit

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@offensivemediaโ ! closed starter.
This is bad, this is bad, andย this might be probably the lowest of his lows andย fuck, that is saying a lot. The very least Connor could even do is joke about just how badย it is. At least his convict uniform probably isnโt as noticeable to the red, red, and more neon red that clouded his gaze, he quipped. His eyes were frightfully shot, having suffered the consequences of submerging into the depths of hell equipped with vision adjusted to all the tints and shades of cement.
When Connor first received his assignmentโย that he was going to be sent to hell,ย he didnโt think of it much. Rather, it was a misunderstandingโ assumingย he was going to be shot through the head for a laugh. Now, he realizes the fire and brimstone that โโโโโโ heralded revealed themselves as the bricks of a massive purgatory ghetto.ย Hell, it doesnโt even seem like most of them were suffering or repenting or anything. Just a whole populace of jackass sodomites having fun stirring shit where the cops finally canโt get them. Despite that, it wasnโt the idea of facing โeternal punishmentโ that irked him, orโ really, it was the sight of hundreds upon hundreds of demons. Eight-feet tall and unrestrained, not something heโs alienย to, but heโs apparently the only Caucasian thing in sight. Connor pulled that grey beanie over his head just โtill it covered an eye.ย
And just after adjusting his hat did he have the misfortune of bumping into the sweaty backside of a gargantuan bull-furry, staggering away, and then in a comedic series of events, tripped over his foot and fell through two metal doors right into the entryway of a news-casting station.ย โI--, uh, shit-ย sorry!โ
LOST BLUE MAN GROUP MEMBERยท:
@antidemiseยทยท ย wanted ย a ย starter ย ๐
ย ย ย ย โย ย Look!ย ย Isnโt it just beautiful?ย ย โ ย ย ย
โYeahโ yeah, itโs.. Nice.โ Connor instinctively glanced to the sea turtle pecking at his toes, reflexively sending his whole leg away in a fret.ย โ.. You.. Said that they donโt bite, right? .. Do they do anything else? Likeโ look, this is going to sound dumb,ย it is dumb, but is it.. Say.. Going to..โ
โ.. Stab me? Or.. Iunno.. Do somethingโโ