Hey guys , I painted Apple and Raven , made by egophiliac , yeah , I wasn’t autorized , but I had to paint these chibis , they just look soooooo cute ! and if you are egophiliac , please do more !!!!!! I need , more to paint , i’m going to paint Maddie and Cerise tomorrow
great job! but in the future, could you please ask permission first, and maybe link back to my original drawings? thanks!
A couple of weeks ago, we held a giveaway to coincide with the season two premiere of Gravity Falls. Things have been hectic but we did choose and contact winners. The grand prize winner was forevermoonstruck and will be taking home a Dipper hat, poster pack, and a personalized mystery prize! Two runner-up winners, sophiepines and acci-chan, will both be receiving a Dipper hat. Thanks for participating and be sure to stay tuned for future giveaways!
At five years old, Danny learned how to push himself on a swingset. His mother, with her hair larger than her head, sat him down proudly in the seat and watched him.
"Push me!" he told her, feet wiggling, pudgy hands clamped around the ropes.
"No honey, you’re going to push yourself." Maddie took the swing next to him. It groaned under her weight and creaked harder as she got it moving in rhythm.
Danny swung his small feet and jerked the rope. “I dunno how.”
Maddie dug her feet into the dirt to stop herself. She stood and moved behind her son, offering him a small nudge.
"It’s easy. Just swing, Danny."
At seven years old, Danny’s father introduced him to baseball. Jack had tied small cleats to his son’s feet, fitted him with a helmet much too big for his head, and set him in front of a plastic tee.
"This is baseball, Danny. You’re gonna be great at it." Jack plopped a yellowed and worn ball on top of the tee. Danny wasn’t watching. He had crouched and started pulling up fistfuls of grass from the lawn.
"I don’t wanna."
"Yeah you do," Jack answered lightly. He produced a bat from behind his back, immediately reclaiming his son’s attention. Danny put out two eager hands to take the prize.
Jack offered the bat, which Danny took in his elbows, halfway up the bat, and locked his fingers wherever they seemed to fit. Danny’s eyes focused on the bat as he jostled around against his chest. He lunged toward the tee, but with no success.
"Give it here, Danny. I’ll show you." Jack unwrapped his son’s fingers one by one, slid the bat from its elbow trap, and choked up on the grip. He crouched, and readied the bat over his shoulder. He released it, sending the poor baseball flying.
Danny watched, wide-eyed and mesmerized. “How’d you do that!?”
"It’s easy. You just gotta swing," he answered with a smile.
At fourteen years old, Danny lay panting in a puddle of his own ectoplasm. He looked up, making out only hazy shapes. One blue. One orange. One green.
He could hardly remember how it’d started, who’d been hunting who. His parents, him, the ghastly green creature that had brought them to their knees.
Danny blinked, setting his arms under his body for support. The shapes took on detail. He could see his mother backed into a wall, her foot jutting to the side in a way that suggested her ankle had shattered. Jack sat next to her with his thumbs pressed to the profuse bleeding that gushed from his inner thigh. The ghost stood above them, eight feet tall with its head cocked as it curiously surveyed the two injured hunters.
Danny tried for an ectoblast from his palm, but the effort made him dizzy. His hand only fizzled faintly.
"Jack, Maddie, run!" he wheezed. Danny clawed at the brick wall beside him and forced himself to his feet.
"Brilliant suggestion, wish I’d thought of that," Maddie answered, eyes glued to the towering creature approaching her. The sarcasm in his mother’s voice stung; Danny heard it so rarely. It was defeat. It was anger in the face of hopelessness.
Something glinted to Danny’s right. A dropped Fenton weapon. It was small, composed of only a handle, maybe six inches long.
He lunged for it, gathered it up in his hands, and fought to maintain his balance. “Hey ugly!” he shouted to the gooey threat, pointing the handle. “Get away from them!”
"Don’t bother Phantom," Jack muttered. He’d released one hand from his bleeding leg and slid his arm across the pavement to his wife. She took his hand and held it. "You don’t know how to use our weapons. You’ll just get yourself killed."
"Oh I don’t?" Danny flipped the handle over and dug his nail into the seamless hatch he knew would be there. It flipped open, and inside rested a small trigger. When Danny pressed it, it unleashed a torrent of energy that congealed into a four feet long pole, bladed at the end. It buzzed, dripping with green ooze that would likely kill him were he to touch it.
The new weapon had drawn the opposing ghost’s attention. It turned its wide, mucusy eyes on Danny and blinked. Its face was bug-like, laced with pincers that could cleave a human in half. A long snake-like tongue shot from its mouth, which Danny barely dodged.
Maddie and Jack watched quietly, intently. Jack’s protests had quieted.
"I actually know some p-pretty good instructors," Danny breathed out. He jumped into the air despite the pain that welled in his gut. "I know how to power these things up…and I know how to use them."
The bug-like creature had just enough time to stretch its jaw when Danny descended. The machete cleaved it straight down the middle, and Danny slipped through just in time to avoid its snapping mandibles.
The thing shrieked as it crashed into the ground,its head and torso peeled down the center. Its ectoplasm pooled on the ground, tongue flopping uselessly. Danny buckled to his knees with it.
"It’s easy," Danny panted. He thrust the weapon across the pavement to Jack and Maddie. it skittered to a halt by their feet. The ghost boy smiled up at them, "when all you gotta do is swing.”
When Amity entered its second year of ghost invasions, the Fentons created the perfect serum to destroy ghosts.
For the solid year prior, the two ghost hunters had hacked away at the town’s spiritual trespassers with the violent force necessary to wipe them out. They had bazookas laced with ecto-hazards, machetes coated in ectoranium, bombs that dissolved ghosts into oozing bits. The two hazmatted figures lunged and sliced and carved at ghosts, tore them to pieces, smashed them into goo. They lit up the streets with blasts of light, explosions, and screams. Ghosts were resilient, and it seemed gory, violent battles were all that would end them for good.
At least, that was the leading theory before Jack and Maddie Fenton discovered the cocktail that could kill ghosts with hardly more than a drop. A speck of this poison on a ghost’s filmy skin would end it. A small bit aspirated would dissolve it from the inside. It was almost laughably simple, the way ghosts buckled with the slighted bit of expsoure.
It was an easy, passive, failproof weapon that—best of all—was harmless to humans.
And they planned to unleash it all at once.
Deep in their lab Jack and Maddie had barrels of their new weapon stacked high to the ceiling. They built an atomizer on the back of the RV that would spray thick fog over the streets. They loaded darts. They coated weapons. They silently prepared to take the streets of Amity by storm, like exterminators to a nest of rats.
Before they left on their crusade, Jack and Maddie sat their two children down to explain the plan. They proudly swept blankets off their store, 20,000 gallons strong. They pushed bazookas into their children’s hands, which had been refitted as atomizers, and asked if the two would help their parents end all ghosts.
Danny looked on ashen-faced and trembling. His eyes fell to the sloshing liquid inside his gun. He clenched it, frozen, as though he’d been tossed an IED.
And then Jazz spoke. “If this stuff wipes out ghosts, what happens to Danny Phantom?”
Her father shrugged his meaty shoulders. His enthusiasm deflated a bit. “He’s a ghost too. Sorry Honey, but he’s gotta die with the rest of them.”
Maddie knelt and took her daughter’s hand, smiling. “It’ll be fine though. Once the ghosts are gone, we won’t need him.”
A sharp clack caught their attention. Danny had thrust his weapon onto the ground. He stood, shaking, and backed far away from the thing. His chest fluttered shallowly as though he were trying not to breathe.
Jack approached Danny. His face was knotted with confusion; his gloves dripped with the serum.
"Danny?" he asked.
Danny thrust a hand out to keep his dad from coming any closer. He watched the green ooze congealing on Jack’s gloves.
"Mom, Dad, there’s something I have to tell you…"
It took two weeks for the anti-ghost serum to degrade. The gallons that had been sprayed into the air now condensed as crystals in the street, much like road salt in the wintertime. The Fentons had assured everyone that the crystals would be swept away with the next rain, and they posed no threat to the environment.
However, with the crystals settled, the air had lost its toxicity. The goo of dissolved ghosts littering the street left a fair warning for any future invaders, but if ghosts ever did return to Amity, the spray would have to be reapplied. The Fentons were sure to inform the Amity residents of this, who’d grown too careless in the safety of their ghost-toxic town.
The Fentons were asked repeatedly why they didn’t just constantly reapply the poison, but they waved off the suggestions with small mutterings about cost.
More than once, the town council had offered to provide them with all the money they could need to fund it. But, the Fentons insisted, the council didn’t have the power to hand over that money. Only the mayor could offer that, and Amity Park’s mayor had died suddenly twelve days ago. He was quite young to have such a massive heart attack, but there was nothing to be done after the fact. New elections would take a while.
At the two week mark of the town’s ghost eradication, on the exact day that the last of the ghost-toxic serum had drained from the air, there came a knock at the Fentons’ door. Maddie opened it to two stiff, white-suited men who stared her down through dark glasses. They invited themselves inside without a word.
"Can I help you?" Maddie asked.
Jack’s head appeared from the stairs leading to the lab. He dusted off his hands and came to meet the agents.
"Yes," one answered. He produced a grainy photograph from his sleeve. It was black and white, bands of static ringing the image, at the center was the hazy shape of a ghost. "This was captured by a security camera outside Town Hall today. A ghost survived your ‘fail-proof’ extermination." He re-sheathed the photograph and pushed up his glasses. "And worst of all, it’s Phantom you let slip through the cracks.”
Something shifted on the couch to the agents’ left. A small boy with messy black hair looked up. He had an oral thermometer hanging from his lips.
The second agent spoke to him. “You shouldn’t be here child; this is important adult talk. Get to school.”
"He’s sick," Maddie Fenton ground out. "He’s been home a few weeks in fact. We think it’s Mono; so he is certainly not going anywhere outside this house." She passed along a knowing glare to him, and Danny shrunk back down without a word.
The first agent waved off the tangent. “Not important. We need you to respray the town. We can’t have Phantom continue to roam.”
"That won’t do any good," Jack Fenton answered. His back had straightened, and he towered over the two agents.
"Why not?" the second agent asked.
"Because Phantom is a special case. We were wrong when we predicted the serum would kill every ghost." Maddie spoke with a measured tone. Her tongue lingered on the word ‘wrong’, drew it out, emphasized it.
"Well, spray the stuff anyway. We already know Phantom is strong. Some bugs just need an extra shot of Raid to make them shrivel up."
Jack barked a laugh at this. He placed a hand on both agents’ shoulders and led them forcefully to the door.
"My wife already told you you’re wasting your time. We know Phantom better than you suits could imagine." Jack knocked them on to the sidewalk and set his hands on the door. "We could spray once, we could spray a thousand times, it doesn’t matter. Everyone dies- except for him. We think he’s immortal.”
Just filled out my health insurance forms!
yeah!!! fucking around with health insurance forms!!!!
I hate when people complain about “oh health forms are stupid they want my biological sex instead of my gender!!!!” or “they only have male or female!!!”
There’s a reason for that, you dumb fucks, and they’re referring to biological sex
Different health risks are present in different sexes, and whatever gender is in your head does not change the fact that if you were born female, you have a higher risk for certain cancers and osteoporosis, and if you were born male you have a higher risk for heart disease and often a shorter lifespan than a female.
In other words, your biological sex is an important factor in health and health insurance, and your special snowflake status doesn’t change that.
Coulda said it nicer but it’s true; it’s about health.
No. There gets a point where nice doesn’t work. There’s too many stupid ass angsty teens on here that are gonna get themselves seriously hurt or sick because they wanna be a special fucking snowflake. Lemme tell you a thing. Doctors don’t give a flying fuck what you identify as. All they want to know is do you have two X chromosomes or an XY? Because cancer and lupus and certain medicines don’t give a flying fuck what pronouns you use. This is about your fucking LIFE. stop being angsty for TWELVE SECONDS because when you’re in an ambulance or going into cardiac arrest or whatever the situation may be, it’s ESSENTIAL that you get your head out of your ass long enough to tell them your BIOLOGICAL SEX that you were BORN WITH. It literally may save your life.
This is so important.
Nine out of ten bronies are ass holes, not saying that you are, but most of them are. So that could be why your friend dislikes the term, and doesn’t want people to automatically assume you’re a dick because you use the term brony. -Fleur
bronies r so gross, i’m so glad i’m not a brony
I’m going to need some evidence on the “Nine out of ten bronies are ass holes” part.
9 out of 10 people who make blanket judgements about people who identify themselves as fans of anything are assholes.