You Have Done Things Wrong Wrong Wrong Wrong

sirvolume:

libby is a nerd. pass it on

(Source: sirvolume, via princessturbo)

new icon woooooooooooo
~Rudy ))
"sweety no you're just gonna piss them off more"

"Babe, I got thisth."

princessturbo:

turbug:

"Guesth who’sth back~”

image

PT’s gonna cuddle the fuck out of you. She’s gon do it. 

He holds out hiS ROBOT ARMS. Yes, let’s commence the cuddling.

OOC
oo

monsturbo:

I’m sorry I’ve been pretty…..inactive on all my blogs.

I’ve just been kinda uninspired.

And that makes me sad.

I’m gonna try to get back into it.

Because I’m old and lonely.

~ Rudy

(Source: malwaremutt)

He frowned and rubbed his hands together, wincing as he scratched his normal palm with his claw. "Mmkay, I think I can work with this.." He grit his teeth and faint blue static appeared between his hands. He made a slightly disgusted face as he pressed his palms against the dusty carapace, trying to reach into the code of it. It took him ages to teach himself how to do this, and he still wasn't the best at it.

Somewhere, deep in the rotted shell, something sparks. Code flickers to life, broken and jumbled. It’s so badly damaged and decayed that the remaining systems continuously crash and reboot. There is very little to work with; a bit of cybug code and frighteningly little Turbo left. Just looks to be a mangled joke of a skin. The unlucky fuck is basically going to have to be built from scratch.

Having left the sugar coated game in a hurry, he hadn't anticipated that a few people would be less than happy to see him. He quickly took shelter in a certain bug's basement, spotting said remains of said bug rather fast. "...Oh gross, what the hell happened here..? Hold up... Isn't that Princess's mancandy?"

The cybrid had been down there for a good while; his crumbling corpse covered in a thin layer of dust. His abdomen was almost completely caved in, the pixels blackened with rot and a still lingering virus. From the looks of it, there wasn’t a whole lot left to him, but….maybe there was something redeemable there.

((who wants to fix this crumbling corpse now???))

He snarled in frustration, swatting at the bug's head with his unoccupied arm as his jaw split threateningly. He searched around in the different sections of code for something useful, maybe even taking a few of the less damaged segments and wiping them free of data, integrating them into himself to rewrite as he pleased. He withdrew his tendril from the wound, licking at the thick red that clung to and dripping from it.

The cybrid grows weaker as the virus rifled through his code, his body and mind glitching violently. He lays his head down, unable to remember why he was hurting, why he was afraid. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t recall enough to care. As his body begins to cave in under the loss of data, the last thing he can remember is how much he hopes ‘they’ will be alright.  He really wishes he could remember who ‘they’ are.

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