drwilder
Dr. Wilder
Hello, hello. I go by two names, either pluto or Wilder. I'm currently working on being an author for the SCP wiki. G'day.
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I have drawn Raspberry again. This time traditionally and, of course, rounder than a sphere (I can't draw perfect circles, so pretend it's round).
@thedeskofaltoclef More Raspberry because why not?
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Ciao!
I have come here to ask more questions, specifically about Raspberry. If you don't know who that is, that's okay! I made a post about her a few weeks (I think) ago. Anyways, I was planning to write a short story (or longer one depending on how I feel) about Raspberry.
If anyone who reads my posts would like to plug in an idea about what kind of story I should write about Raspberry, please leave it in the comments! (Or whatever it's called).
I'm still gonna write regardless, but having input from others is a great thing in my mind.
Have a good day, everyone!
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Random question, but what games do y'all recommend I get and play on the Nintendo? (Since my Nintendo Switch is pretty barebones right now).
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If you haven't checked out the trailer already, please do. It is amazing, and I love it. Unfortunately, I don't have a PC, but when I do get one, I'll definitely play it when it does eventually come out!
In less than an hour, it happens. I have been studying and researching the character of Alto Clef for over four years to the point I should have a doctorate in it.
Let's do this guys! The most lore accurate Alto Clef will be revealed from SCP Infohazard. Let's do this!
youtube
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I got this pink cat plush in a claw machine.
Its name is Raspberry Sugarplum, the first. It floats lazily in space, swallowing anything in its path, which includes planets, black holes, and quasars, as well as a few suns. Raspberry has similar mechanics to Kirby, as it can unhinge its jaw and create a powerful vacuum of air that can suck in virtually anything. However, its stomach appears to be the void to the naked eye.
I got bored and decided to draw it.
This is a lazy drawing, but I wanted to get a general idea of how I want its composition and anatomy to be.
@thedeskofaltoclef , I hope you don't mind me tagging you, but here's Raspberry in its glory.
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These emojis are super cute and adorable, I love them!
ight resized them
siiiiiiiiick
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Me on the daily.
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I find flower language to be a beautiful thing; and I love it.
The symbolism of flowers
Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.
Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!
Amaryllis: Pride
Black-eyed Susan: Justice
Bluebell: Humility
Calla Lily: Beauty
Pink Camellia: Longing
Carnations: Female love
Yellow Carnation: Rejection
Clematis: Mental beauty
Columbine: Foolishness
Cyclamen: Resignation
Daffodil: Unrivalled love
Daisy: Innocence, loyalty
Forget-me-not: True love
Gardenia: Secret love
Geranium: Folly, stupidity
Gladiolus: Integrity, strength
Hibiscus: Delicate beauty
Honeysuckle: Bonds of love
Blue Hyacinth: Constancy
Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless
Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom
White Jasmine: Amiability
Lavender: Distrust
Lilac: Joy of youth
White Lily: Purity
Orange Lily: Hatred
Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride
Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility
Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth
Magnolia: Nobility
Marigold: Grief, jealousy
Morning Glory: Affection
Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest
Pansy: Thoughtfulness
Peony: Bashfulness, shame
Poppy: Consolation
Red Rose: Love
Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity
Snapdragon: Deception, grace
Sunflower: Adoration
Sweet Willian: Gallantry
Red Tulip: Passion
Violet: Watchfulness, modesty
Yarrow: Everlasting love
Zinnia: Absent, affection
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I had gotten Dying Light 2 today, and I will admit, that I didn't think I would survive. However, afterwards I did.
Mind you, I took care of the ones in the far back as well.
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Men's mental health should also be talked about more. For all of the men out there, I hope your day is fantastic. For the women who think men aren't allowed to voice their feelings or just be human, for those women who tell men to "suck it up"; fuck you.
G'day.
Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.
Of fucking course
What sick bastard doesn’t
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@thedeskofaltoclef A quick drawing of Niko, who I'm sure is very fluffy and vocal.
Another drawing that I made. A bit rushed but I like the simplicity of it otherwise. This is a drawing of Niko, who is the best boy.
Apologies about the lighting, I took multiple pictures and this was the best one I got.
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Another drawing that I made. A bit rushed but I like the simplicity of it otherwise. This is a drawing of Niko, who is the best boy.
Apologies about the lighting, I took multiple pictures and this was the best one I got.
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A quick sketch of my lovely doctor, Dr. Wilder, aka Mia Wilder. I haven't made an official file for her on the wiki yet since I lack a computer, but I'll post tidbits of information here and there.
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These seagulls wouldn't leave me alone while I was shopping. I swear birds aren't even real.
(Sorry about the bad camera quality. I have an older Samsung device in which I plan to upgrade eventually!)
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@thedeskofaltoclef Tagging ya for this random tale about an anomalous cat.
Stewart the Tuxedo Cat
Today was like any other for Stewart. He was curled into a ball on his luxurious and soft cat bed, which had been large enough to fit a Labrador. He did not have to worry, as there was no competition for him. His owner, Margo Ruman, a sweet old 79-year-old grandma, always spoiled him rotten. Stewart was no ordinary cat, as he had intelligence onpar with humans.
Since it was around noon, he decided it was time for mayhem, which might or might not cause collateral damage.
Stretching his front and hind legs, he stood up, giving his fur a few licks with his sandpaper tongue to ensure he was presentable before trotting out of the living room and into the kitchen, starting with small damage first.
Hopping onto the granite counter, he strutted along like a model on a runaway, swatting at each kitchen utensil, which all met their demise by clattering or shattering on the tile floor. From the salt shaker to the napkin holder, nothing was safe from Stewart and his need for mayhem.
The open bag of flour was another perfect target, pawing at it and causing a dust cloud to fill the air, Stewart repeatedly sneezing for a few seconds before knocking the large four pound bag over. Curious about the soft texture, Stewart rolled around in it like a pig to mud, coating his black and white fur in white clumps of flour, his vibrant green eyes piercing through the white cloud. Shaking off what flour he could, he sneezed a few more times before exiting the kitchen, leaping onto the windowsill and using his paw to unlock the latch, opening the window and allowing him access to the outside world.
Margo was still busy with her daily crossword puzzles, so this was the optimal time for some fun.
Once Stewart was outside, he trotted along the slanted roof, scooping a few leaves out of the gutter to reach his prized possession, the holy grail—Mr. Squeakers. The sneaky cat had hidden a vibrant rubber ducky inside the gutter, where it would be stuck and hidden from the leaves, muck, and other residue that it collected. It was his good luck charm ever since he was a little kitten, and he wasn't about to stop using it now, even if it was for utter chaos.
Shaking more flour off his fur, Stewart hops down from the roof to the roof of the car before landing on the pavement of the driveway. It was sunny out, the sun beating down and quickly warming up his body. Thankfully, he had a short coat, so he didn't sweat all that much, continuing his journey down the driveway and into the neighborhood.
It was mostly quiet, with a few neighbors up and about. Some were at work, while others at home or doing other human activities. Stewart never understood why humans went so far to treat cats like him as their own child, but he also never questioned it much, as being pampered 24/7 wasn't something he was going to complain about. He knew that his brethren weren't as lucky as he was, but one day, he'd rule the world and declare humans treat felines as royalty. That's for another day, however.
Once Stewart reached the main road, cars zoomed by, stirring up the leaves and other debris humans often left behind, mainly plastic cups or emplty aluminum soda cans. Ditches were filled with muddy water, palmetto bugs floating around, some clinging onto leaves like a lifeboat. He avoided the puddles, trotting along the dry and smooth sidewalk, as the last thing he needed was to get dirty.
Stewart hated cockaroachs, wishing they had died out with the dinosaurs. He read that in a book at a library once that birds are dinosaurs. If he ever invents a time machine, he would like to prove the human scientists wrong, and then he'd be awarded hundreds of rubber duckies. It sounded a bit farfetched, but Stewart was not one to deny a challenge or give up easily, for the tuxedo cat would find a way to achieve his goals.
Upon making an unwanted detour due to the humans causing another traffic accident, Stewart has found himself deep within the depths of uncharted territory. Gigantic oak trees, brush, and other small critters inhabitated this forest. The housecat didn't know what it was, but a strange hum filled the air, a small and subtle vibration that made his ears flick in response. He swatted at the random knats and other pests that flew nearby, taking a chomp out of them and slowly reducing their numbers faster than pest control, surprisingly enough.
It began to rain, which was a good thing, as Stewart loved the rain.
The soft grass was now damp, the light drizzle overhead not being a deterent for Stewart, for he saw a clearing up ahead. A ginormous steel gray building sat in the open field, with large barbed wire fences and unmarked vehicles coming in and out through the electronically controlled front gate. It was unlike anything the tuxedo cat had seen before, and he couldn't help but wonder what was inside. His mind ran through the countless possibilities, each one better than the last.
He'd be really lucky if he found a rubber ducky.
Sprinting over, he stopped near the side gate on the east side, gnawing at the metal chain links and managing to tear through them, creating a small opening that he squeezed through. It was a tight fit, as some of the sharp ends of the link scraped against his fur, but the wounds ultimately were only superficial.
Stewart was a very sneaky cat, slinking around in the shadows and avoiding what appeared to be security guards doing their daily patrol. It would be fun to mess with them, but Stewart is a cat on a mission, and his search for the ultimate treasures overrides his wants to stir up chaos outside. The guards probably were dumb, considering they weren't paying attention to him grabbing the keycard from one of the guards pocket.
Once secured, he used it to get inside, crawling through the vent, which was a bit stuffy and cramped. It wasn't the worst condition Stewart had to suffer, but it certainly was uncomfortable, as he was a bit on the chunky side. Margo had gotten scolded from the vet before for overfeeding me with treats and food, but the old lady brushed it off since he managed to regain a healthy weight before the next visit.
Stopping at an intersection, he chose to go left since right is wrong and left is obviously always right. Stewart quickly found himself at a dead-end, with nothing but a sealed grate, which he used his heavy weight and force to break, plummeting to the ground and landing on something solid and warm.
"Ow! What the—" A short-haired blonde man squeaked, his blazing blue eyes piercing through his black round shaped glasses, gazing down at Stewart with confusion and a hint of anxiety. This was awkward and definitely not a part of the mischievous cat's plan.
After moments of silence, the man cautiously reached forward as if to pet Stewart, and the cat was not one to deny pets.
Once the man scooped him up, he cradled Stewart like a baby, much like his owner, Margo did, giving him chin scratches and stroking his soft furred head. "Hey there, little guy." The man spoke gently, smiling softly at him.
Stewart meowed loudly in response, reading the man's keycard, which read 'Dr. Simon Glass', and some other unimportant information beside the tan man being a psychologist.
'This is a trap', Stewart thought, narrowing his eyes at Dr. Glass suspiciously, which surprised the psychologist, who probably hadn't expected to be so greatly judged by a cat today. Without wasting another second, Stewart made his grand escape by pawing at Glass's face, knocking his glasses off before wiggling like a worm, weaseling out and dashing away faster than a cheetah.
He was too agile for the doctor, sprinting down the hallway at lightening speed and making a sharp right into a seemingly empty office.
Oh, how wrong he was.
There sat a short and pudgy tan man at the desk, his messy uncut blonde hair covered by a dark brown wide brimmed hat as he lazily strummed a ukulele. The small room smelled of expired maple syrup and gunpowder, causing Stewart to sneeze once before the man had swiftly grabbed him.
Despite his squirming and hissing, this man was undetered, plopping Stewart in his lap before beginning to stroke the cat's back.
"Damn, you're chunky." He grunts, a grin creeping up onto his lips as the tuxedo cat began to quietly purr, rumbling like a car engine. "That's okay, join the crowd, fella." The man's sharp teeth came into view, though it didn't scare Stewart, for he sensed this man loved chaos just as much as he did.
Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.
After ten more minutes of attention, Stewart decided it was time to leave again, though this time it didn't require as much effort, as the chubby man gently set him down without complaint, letting the chunky cat trot happily out of his office with his tail held high.
Luckily enough, Stewart hadn't run into any other humans. They carried all sorts of nasty germs, and he already had enough from being a housecat. You could say he was a germaphobe, which would be partially accurate, as on his own accord, he'd roll around in mud or flour. He was messier than a toddler at times, and while Margo was always annoyed by it, Mia never seemed to mind.
Mia was Margo's granddaughter. She was a janitor currently employed at an elementary school and made a fairly decent pay for her occupation. Whenever Margo had a dialysis for her type two diabetes, Mia watched over Stewart over at her apartment.
It wasn't until he came across an older man, his fair skin contrasting his deeply sunken black eyes. Stewart let out a loud meow to catch his attention, but the man simply walked by without so much as casting him a glance.
Stewart would not stand for this blatant disrespect.
And so, he had the bright idea to hook his claws on the man's pant leg, being dragged along like a corpse for a few minutes before the older man had picked up Stewart by the scruff, examining him with a blank expression.
"Very fluffy." He says monotonously before setting Stewart down and walking away without another word.
Stewart decided it was time to head home, swiftly exiting the facility and taking the same route back to Margo's house, managing to make it through the window right before six o'clock.
It had been an eventual day for the housecat, meeting all sorts of people and discovering a secret facility. Margo was currently in the kitchen making fresh penne rigatoni, the aroma of freshly baked bread and tomato sauce filling the air, creating a homey feel.
"Ah, Stewart! There you are!" Margo chuckles softly, gently patting the cats head. "I thought my granddaughter took ya. The Wilder name certainly fits you, rascal." She coos affectionately before going back into the kitchen, humming Italian tunes to herself.
Curling up onto his luxurious cat bed, he couldn't help but wonder what else resided in that facility. He'd save that for another day, of course.
Closing his eyes, he mewed softly, dreaming of chaos, which he'd do all again starting tomorrow morning.
Photo reference for Stewart:
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Stewart the Tuxedo Cat
Today was like any other for Stewart. He was curled into a ball on his luxurious and soft cat bed, which had been large enough to fit a Labrador. He did not have to worry, as there was no competition for him. His owner, Margo Ruman, a sweet old 79-year-old grandma, always spoiled him rotten. Stewart was no ordinary cat, as he had intelligence onpar with humans.
Since it was around noon, he decided it was time for mayhem, which might or might not cause collateral damage.
Stretching his front and hind legs, he stood up, giving his fur a few licks with his sandpaper tongue to ensure he was presentable before trotting out of the living room and into the kitchen, starting with small damage first.
Hopping onto the granite counter, he strutted along like a model on a runaway, swatting at each kitchen utensil, which all met their demise by clattering or shattering on the tile floor. From the salt shaker to the napkin holder, nothing was safe from Stewart and his need for mayhem.
The open bag of flour was another perfect target, pawing at it and causing a dust cloud to fill the air, Stewart repeatedly sneezing for a few seconds before knocking the large four pound bag over. Curious about the soft texture, Stewart rolled around in it like a pig to mud, coating his black and white fur in white clumps of flour, his vibrant green eyes piercing through the white cloud. Shaking off what flour he could, he sneezed a few more times before exiting the kitchen, leaping onto the windowsill and using his paw to unlock the latch, opening the window and allowing him access to the outside world.
Margo was still busy with her daily crossword puzzles, so this was the optimal time for some fun.
Once Stewart was outside, he trotted along the slanted roof, scooping a few leaves out of the gutter to reach his prized possession, the holy grail—Mr. Squeakers. The sneaky cat had hidden a vibrant rubber ducky inside the gutter, where it would be stuck and hidden from the leaves, muck, and other residue that it collected. It was his good luck charm ever since he was a little kitten, and he wasn't about to stop using it now, even if it was for utter chaos.
Shaking more flour off his fur, Stewart hops down from the roof to the roof of the car before landing on the pavement of the driveway. It was sunny out, the sun beating down and quickly warming up his body. Thankfully, he had a short coat, so he didn't sweat all that much, continuing his journey down the driveway and into the neighborhood.
It was mostly quiet, with a few neighbors up and about. Some were at work, while others at home or doing other human activities. Stewart never understood why humans went so far to treat cats like him as their own child, but he also never questioned it much, as being pampered 24/7 wasn't something he was going to complain about. He knew that his brethren weren't as lucky as he was, but one day, he'd rule the world and declare humans treat felines as royalty. That's for another day, however.
Once Stewart reached the main road, cars zoomed by, stirring up the leaves and other debris humans often left behind, mainly plastic cups or emplty aluminum soda cans. Ditches were filled with muddy water, palmetto bugs floating around, some clinging onto leaves like a lifeboat. He avoided the puddles, trotting along the dry and smooth sidewalk, as the last thing he needed was to get dirty.
Stewart hated cockaroachs, wishing they had died out with the dinosaurs. He read that in a book at a library once that birds are dinosaurs. If he ever invents a time machine, he would like to prove the human scientists wrong, and then he'd be awarded hundreds of rubber duckies. It sounded a bit farfetched, but Stewart was not one to deny a challenge or give up easily, for the tuxedo cat would find a way to achieve his goals.
Upon making an unwanted detour due to the humans causing another traffic accident, Stewart has found himself deep within the depths of uncharted territory. Gigantic oak trees, brush, and other small critters inhabitated this forest. The housecat didn't know what it was, but a strange hum filled the air, a small and subtle vibration that made his ears flick in response. He swatted at the random knats and other pests that flew nearby, taking a chomp out of them and slowly reducing their numbers faster than pest control, surprisingly enough.
It began to rain, which was a good thing, as Stewart loved the rain.
The soft grass was now damp, the light drizzle overhead not being a deterent for Stewart, for he saw a clearing up ahead. A ginormous steel gray building sat in the open field, with large barbed wire fences and unmarked vehicles coming in and out through the electronically controlled front gate. It was unlike anything the tuxedo cat had seen before, and he couldn't help but wonder what was inside. His mind ran through the countless possibilities, each one better than the last.
He'd be really lucky if he found a rubber ducky.
Sprinting over, he stopped near the side gate on the east side, gnawing at the metal chain links and managing to tear through them, creating a small opening that he squeezed through. It was a tight fit, as some of the sharp ends of the link scraped against his fur, but the wounds ultimately were only superficial.
Stewart was a very sneaky cat, slinking around in the shadows and avoiding what appeared to be security guards doing their daily patrol. It would be fun to mess with them, but Stewart is a cat on a mission, and his search for the ultimate treasures overrides his wants to stir up chaos outside. The guards probably were dumb, considering they weren't paying attention to him grabbing the keycard from one of the guards pocket.
Once secured, he used it to get inside, crawling through the vent, which was a bit stuffy and cramped. It wasn't the worst condition Stewart had to suffer, but it certainly was uncomfortable, as he was a bit on the chunky side. Margo had gotten scolded from the vet before for overfeeding me with treats and food, but the old lady brushed it off since he managed to regain a healthy weight before the next visit.
Stopping at an intersection, he chose to go left since right is wrong and left is obviously always right. Stewart quickly found himself at a dead-end, with nothing but a sealed grate, which he used his heavy weight and force to break, plummeting to the ground and landing on something solid and warm.
"Ow! What the—" A short-haired blonde man squeaked, his blazing blue eyes piercing through his black round shaped glasses, gazing down at Stewart with confusion and a hint of anxiety. This was awkward and definitely not a part of the mischievous cat's plan.
After moments of silence, the man cautiously reached forward as if to pet Stewart, and the cat was not one to deny pets.
Once the man scooped him up, he cradled Stewart like a baby, much like his owner, Margo did, giving him chin scratches and stroking his soft furred head. "Hey there, little guy." The man spoke gently, smiling softly at him.
Stewart meowed loudly in response, reading the man's keycard, which read 'Dr. Simon Glass', and some other unimportant information beside the tan man being a psychologist.
'This is a trap', Stewart thought, narrowing his eyes at Dr. Glass suspiciously, which surprised the psychologist, who probably hadn't expected to be so greatly judged by a cat today. Without wasting another second, Stewart made his grand escape by pawing at Glass's face, knocking his glasses off before wiggling like a worm, weaseling out and dashing away faster than a cheetah.
He was too agile for the doctor, sprinting down the hallway at lightening speed and making a sharp right into a seemingly empty office.
Oh, how wrong he was.
There sat a short and pudgy tan man at the desk, his messy uncut blonde hair covered by a dark brown wide brimmed hat as he lazily strummed a ukulele. The small room smelled of expired maple syrup and gunpowder, causing Stewart to sneeze once before the man had swiftly grabbed him.
Despite his squirming and hissing, this man was undetered, plopping Stewart in his lap before beginning to stroke the cat's back.
"Damn, you're chunky." He grunts, a grin creeping up onto his lips as the tuxedo cat began to quietly purr, rumbling like a car engine. "That's okay, join the crowd, fella." The man's sharp teeth came into view, though it didn't scare Stewart, for he sensed this man loved chaos just as much as he did.
Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.
After ten more minutes of attention, Stewart decided it was time to leave again, though this time it didn't require as much effort, as the chubby man gently set him down without complaint, letting the chunky cat trot happily out of his office with his tail held high.
Luckily enough, Stewart hadn't run into any other humans. They carried all sorts of nasty germs, and he already had enough from being a housecat. You could say he was a germaphobe, which would be partially accurate, as on his own accord, he'd roll around in mud or flour. He was messier than a toddler at times, and while Margo was always annoyed by it, Mia never seemed to mind.
Mia was Margo's granddaughter. She was a janitor currently employed at an elementary school and made a fairly decent pay for her occupation. Whenever Margo had a dialysis for her type two diabetes, Mia watched over Stewart over at her apartment.
It wasn't until he came across an older man, his fair skin contrasting his deeply sunken black eyes. Stewart let out a loud meow to catch his attention, but the man simply walked by without so much as casting him a glance.
Stewart would not stand for this blatant disrespect.
And so, he had the bright idea to hook his claws on the man's pant leg, being dragged along like a corpse for a few minutes before the older man had picked up Stewart by the scruff, examining him with a blank expression.
"Very fluffy." He says monotonously before setting Stewart down and walking away without another word.
Stewart decided it was time to head home, swiftly exiting the facility and taking the same route back to Margo's house, managing to make it through the window right before six o'clock.
It had been an eventual day for the housecat, meeting all sorts of people and discovering a secret facility. Margo was currently in the kitchen making fresh penne rigatoni, the aroma of freshly baked bread and tomato sauce filling the air, creating a homey feel.
"Ah, Stewart! There you are!" Margo chuckles softly, gently patting the cats head. "I thought my granddaughter took ya. The Wilder name certainly fits you, rascal." She coos affectionately before going back into the kitchen, humming Italian tunes to herself.
Curling up onto his luxurious cat bed, he couldn't help but wonder what else resided in that facility. He'd save that for another day, of course.
Closing his eyes, he mewed softly, dreaming of chaos, which he'd do all again starting tomorrow morning.
Photo reference for Stewart:
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Remember to take time for yourself periodically, everyone. It's good to take break for your mental and physical health!
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