Whoever it is that draws the Gamzee and pig comic, I love their style. The little kid Gamzee is adorable.
The pictures have the artist's name at the bottom of them, but I went and found the tumblr where that person posts their awesome comic things and non-comic things too anyway.
And I have her DA. I have known that artist for ages and never considered sharing her awesome art with you guys.
I will make it up to you by sharing
this.
It gets good at around the time the Village of Daves is introduced, which is pretty early.
EDIT:
This fic was written by anonymous
Dave has grown accustomed during his short life to horrors that would make far older individuals curl up and wail, quaking in mute paroxysms of terror and secondhand shame. He has suffered probing probosci, glassy stares, and a veritable ocean of plush rump. Such plushness, in fact, such rumps, in quantities of such Lovecraftian proportions, that lesser kids would be lost in irretrievable madness owing simply to the magnitude of the spectacle. So when he walks into the living room and sees Bro lying on the couch in nothing but a diaper, a pacifier in his mouth and a bottle in his hand, Dave hardly bats an eye.
"Welp," he says calmly, "looks like you're a baby now."
"Yup," Bro answers, spitting out the pacifier. "Ga goo ga goo goo."
"Shit. That's tough," Dave states levelly, opening the fridge and hopping aside to evade the shitty swords that clatter out in a deafening heap. "Are we out of juice?"
"Goo ga ga goo," Bro helpfully informs him, moving his arms without coordination, punching himself in the face. Despite himself, Dave admires the level of humiliation and self-harm to which the man can stoop in his ironic pursuits. On a theoretical level, it bespeaks dedication to precisely the extent that, on a practical level, it bespeaks unrivaled creepiness. "Ga," Bro concludes.
"You know babies don't actually talk like that," Dave tells him, one eyebrow quirking up. "Check this shit out." Curling up on the carpet, he moves his limbs around vaguely, gaze roaming the room. "Aaa," he begins flatly, "aaaoooo oouuuh. Aaaaeh," he continues, picking up a nearby smuppet and chewing on its little green foot. Briefly he considers where the smuppet could have been, the nefarious activities in which it might have been unwittingly embroiled, but rather than continue along this line of thought he bashes the puppet on the ground repeatedly without looking.
"A goo goo guh," Bro sighs, kicking fitfully.
"Awhaaa," Dave says pointedly, rolling over on his stomach. "Oh fuck, better flip me back, gonna suffer crib death over here." Not so much as a snort escapes Bro, as fully immersed in his role as always. "Ok, time to get back to dying of thirst," Dave mutters, standing back up and retreating empty-handed. "It's been real."
"Good try," Bro says coherently just as Dave exits the room. Dave half-turns to look back at the full-grown man in a diaper on the couch, eyes momentarily wide behind the shades before he remembers to stay chill. His mouth quirks up at one edge, easy and confident, as he turns to the hall again.
"Goo goo," he murmurs coolly, sliding his hands into his pockets before continuing valiantly onward through the gently rolling, ever-present hills of rump.
EDIT II:I just found
something.
“Fuck you,” Sollux replies as he puffs up slightly to make cushions. This is the most uncomfortable part of transforming into a chair, but he tries to put a brave face on, despite the fact that his face is now the upper part of a chair back. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“I’m bowled over that you don’t recognize me, lowblood!” Eridan declares, tracing his plunging but rather flat decolletage with a claw. “I’m obviously Troll Cinderella, otherwise known as Trollerella.”
“Oh,” Sollux responds flatly as his glasses clatter to the floor. “I’m a chair,” he adds, figuring that in his current situation he has less room than usual to mock Eridan.
(...)
Apparently the kinkmeme pumps out gems like these regularly.
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Topic: MSPA Homestuck (Read 5196947 times)