I’ve had an anon sitting in my inbox for a while who prompted me for some GamRose, and I admit I’ve taken a while to respond! My first thought was that they’d have plenty of common ground, since neither of their guardians were really, ah, present, so to speak, and my next thought, coming immediately after, was oh, they both have a pretty fucked up addiction, don’t they. I then thought “Lmao they’d be terrible enablers for each other that’d end up horribly” and THEN I proceeded to go “Wait that sounds really interesting though I wanna write that.” So, this takes place on the meteor in an “Everybody lives + Gamzee didn’t get the demonic puppet” AU, in which Rose and Gamzee are dating.

Thanks anon, and without any further ado:

There was an empty bottle next to an empty pie tin on the table no one sat at. In truth, they were not exactly empty, as much as they were empty enough. The final dregs along the bottle’s side were not sufficient to create any kind of meaningful mouthful, and the globs of slime smelling of sharp, acidic citrus on the tin’s base and rim were not worth the effort of scraping up. The wine left red stains on the wood of the table, and the slime was caked and brittle from drying. The objects had been abandoned for a long time now.

Long enough, indeed, for Gamzee to slowly start to come down from his high, and for Rose to slowly start to sober up. They were on a couch maybe five feet from the table, Rose facedown in Gamzee’s chest and Gamzee dry-eyed from staring at the ceiling, unblinkingly, for too long. His unkempt claws kept snagging in her hair, but neither of them wanted him to stop the soothing, idle stroking of her head and back.

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Proof I’m not talking shit:

I loved the Alice Games by American McGee, so I decided to draw Dr. Angus Bumby (biggest asshole villain EVER) behind the door of my room: He looks like (SPOILERS) ALice remembers him when he raped/killed her sister, locked her room, took the key to her room and set their house a flame.

His glasses and the key glow in the dark. “There are no centaurs in Oxford” is written above him, in colours, which are only visible in the dark.

He creeps the fuck out of my guests.