#And it might just be irony poisoning

[simcardiac-arrested]

i developed the fates and sep relationship way before i actually had to experience this first hand but like, i get it now. sometimes your mentor is not a parent or even sibling figure. sometimes they're barely even your friend. sometimes your mentor is someone you wish to never meet eyes with outside of work

[halfusek]

THERE'S SEVEN OF THEM NOW??

YEAH ToT

my friend bought me . the third one and after i finished it they instantly hit me with the seventh

so naturally i played them for less than 2 hours in less than 14 days and marked the gift as to be returned so that friend could do the refund process

i dont wanna be mean to people who genuinely enjoy it, all the power to you but oh my fucking god. as a game developer it just made me gnash my teeth and pull alllll my hair

[snekdood]

wish i could slap the apathy out of trans channers

[caruliaa]

girl u r so misery irony poisoned and playing further and further into tht mindset and spending time with people with tht mindset bc u blatantly hate being vulnerable and open to the point of pushing away someone whos told you time and time again tht its okay to be open and vulnerable with them and that theyd be with you as long as it took for you to be vunerable having lied to them by saying vulnerable things and acting vulnerable in ways u didnt even mean then taking them back after pushing them out of your life without ever having the courage to admit the obvious reason that its that you have issues with being vulnerable that you have to work on in order to have proper relationships with others its insane

[secret-covet]

73 + 77 (:

73. What’s something sweet you’d like someone to do for you?

I'd really like it if someone was just with me while I did paper work or studied. My #1 reason for procrastinating is that menial work is just so LONELY,, I'd love just having the company :(

77. What’s your opinion on age differences in relationships?

IMO its fine to want to protect teenage girls (including 18, 19 & 20), but at 21 women are fully grown adults with our own autonomy and I'll be damned if someone wanted to object to me being with someone 25+ just because "your brain isn't fully developed". I think its just overblown internet discourse cause rich boomers are creepy. Like if a girl wants to chase the bag she's in her right mind to do it at that age. I'd hate to be that man's kids tho

[drchucktingle]

a moment to check the gears and cogs

feel like i want to talk a little on the message of a recent post because i think it is an important point. when i say that you do not need to QUALIFY OR DEFEND your love of tinglers or my work in general, i am pointing out an interesting social anomaly that happens with my art and with queer art.

as an autistic buckaroo i notice patterns, and on social media i see them a lot. little phrases that come up again and again with my art. ‘yes THAT chuck tingle’ ‘its ACTUALLY good’ ’my favorite author i have never read’ ‘so bad its good’. these are always added after a POSITIVE comment about me

they also all have something in common. they are trying to distance the posters SINCERE JOY and give them an out socially. it is very very very subtle, but they are all saying ‘yes i like this but here is a sliver of acknowledgment that it is also weird or bad or ironic. in not REALLY fully in'

essentially these are added because it means the poster can escape their very real joy if needed. try applying these phrases to any other popular author. its much more subtle with the first two: ‘i liked all fours by miranda july, yes THAT miranda july. its ACTUALLY good’. what does this imply?

the other examples are a little more blatant but lets try them with other authors anyway. imagine saying ‘youre my favorite author i have never read’ to stephen king. would you EVER say that to someone? what does that imply? how about 'i love your books theyre so bad theyre good'. horrifyingly rude

lets dive into saying 'CHUCK TINGLE is my favorite author i have never read’ sounds unusual when substituting other authors because theyre usually not queer or autistic or making outsider art. to be blunt, why CHUCK gets it all the time is because it really means 'i like chuck tingle but im not gay’

while we have mostly culturally evolved past the idea that saying ‘no homo’ is some kind of joke, that FEELING is still around. it has just burrowed a little deeper. honestly it might never go away, or at least take centuries. remember these people GENUINELY LIKE MY BOOKS but feel they MUST qualify

should also be pointed out that LEFT and LIBERAL people are the ones who say this stuff to chuck. they do not MEAN to harm, and if you ask them directly how they feel about queer or neurodivergent people they would not express the same opinion as their subliminal comments might imply

the final elephant trotting by is while some of this is homophobia and fear of a neurodivergent other, it is also just plain old IRONY POISONING. its conditioning from being raised on an internet where sincerity was ‘cringe' and loving something was a weakness or joke. these problems work in tandem

so whats the point? what can we do? first of all, just recognizing these patterns is a start. i didnt HAVE to write all of this today but i think its important to be aware and to look inward and think about the gears and cogs that churn behind the things we say. NEXT step is trying to push past it

if you have done these things in the past, i want you to know i am NOT AT ALL UPSET. i am not mad or hurt and i do not think any less of you. you can trot by my side any day and you are trying your best to prove love. we are ALL just tryin our best, just consider this a friendly chat between buds

proving love can happen in BIG WAYS and it can happen in SMALL WAYS that we barely see. just take a moment and think ‘WHY am i saying this? WHY am i in this pattern to distance myself from outsider or queer art?’ a little moment of consideration goes a LONG way buckaroos. LOVE IS REAL

[alandia-wings]

first full moon / @wolfstarmicrofic / 662 words

—

Teddy Lupin is twenty-three days old the first time he turns into a werewolf.

He is his father’s darkest nightmare come to pass: newborn flesh and cartilage molded into animal by the violent pestle of the moon. 

(He is small. The change is quick. A wolf in baby’s clothing.)

The aftertaste of the potion burns the back of Remus’s throat like bile. He doesn’t believe in wishful thinking, or god, but for nine months he hoped and prayed for anything but this. 

The cub is too young to howl. Instead he whimpers pitifully, paws trapped in the sleeves of his babygrow, blue cotton patterned with sunflowers. Teddy’s mum picked it out for him. Now she is dead, Teddy is a monster, and the sleepsuit is a cage. 

(Not for the first time, Remus considers the irony of Wolfsbane: I am safer to others, and so much more dangerous to myself.)

The cub whines again, but more softly. A baby’s cry is its proof of life and Teddy’s has been stifled. Remus goes to him, the way he should have the instant the moon slackened its hold around his neck. He leans over the bars of the crib. Struggles with the fabric. Noses helplessly at stubborn clasps. Finally, seeing no other recourse, Remus sinks his teeth into the sunflowers and rips.

(Just like that, Teddy learns violence is part and parcel of being free, and the wolf proves an even worse father than the man.)

Thrilled, for his part, by the development, the cub sets to work exploring. He lifts a paw curiously and drops it, then another. Teddy Lupin is twenty-three days old the first time he walks, and his little mouth hangs open in wonder at his own existence. 

Eventually he pauses and looks up, awaiting further instruction, and oh, Remus doesn’t know how to do this. Teddy’s eyes are hazy but trusting, too newly formed to see the world clearly. Remus doesn’t dare do it for him; there is nothing he has to teach that he wants his son to learn. 

(In another world, they might have slept peacefully through this moon. The next one too, if Remus could afford more potion. Maybe all of them, now that the war’s done.)

(In this world, he will worry about his son every full moon for the rest of his life.)

In this world, there’s a knock at the door. Remus has terrible instincts; he freezes, and Teddy follows his lead—two werewolves, paralyzed like prey.

The Wolfsbane potion is more than 50% poison. This is enough to kill the wolf for a night and let the man take cover in its husk. Or so Remus has always thought. If it’s brewed and taken correctly, there is no more wolf in Remus’s brain.

It was not brewed and taken correctly, because the black dog is here and the wolf greets him at the door. Sniffs him cautiously. Leaps back and howls with recognition, delight. 

His human brain would think things like, oh, that’s Sirius. And, why on earth is he here? But the dog and the wolf, old friends together again, are unencumbered by such thoughts. 

The dog wags his tail and bounds over to the crib. With care but not hesitation, he grabs Teddy by the scruff of his neck and lifts him up. Delivers him to his father, then lies down to lick the fur between his ears. Pleased, the cub squeals with approval and leans into the offered touch.

Remus watches quietly until a wet nose nudges at his paw. His eyes meet the familiar grey ones of a boy who once, many lives ago, taught himself to be a dog. 

(It is still the only case he knows of a man becoming canine by choice.)

Fighting the desire to flee, Remus lowers slowly to the floor. Then, under the gaze of the first creature the wolf ever touched without causing pain, he moves closer and nuzzles his precious son.

[watcherintheweyr]

I saw a post earlier talking about how Alicent is not being rewarded by the patriarchy she has served so faithfully, and how the son she and Otto raised to the throne 'to protect his life in the way they knew they must' and I just... I have Thoughts so I'm gonna say em.

Alicent thought that by weaponizing the patriarchy against Rhaenyra and by serving it and it's goals, she'd be the exception to their sexism and disdain of women. She thought she'd be rewarded by signing with the oppressors and the oppressive system and it's values, and she's now facing the reality and the consequences of what's happened. And she's also getting a taste of the undermining and humiliation that she turned against Rhaenyra for years.

Honestly the fact that she even has a seat in the Small Council makes no sense at this point - it barely made sense with Viserys, given Alicent's views on women having power. That they should not have the power but should 'gently guide' those that do. In truth it's tragic irony and yet somehow comedic, seeing her realize that she will not be rewarded or exalted in Any way for all she's sacrificed and betrayed.

But also: Otto knew that Rhaenyra wouldn't turn on her siblings. He never really believed she would kill them. Those were lies he fed to Alicent that she in turn poisoned her children with in order to serve his ambition: which was originally to have his blood ruling on the throne but has become to have his blood on the throne as a puppet-king that he can control.

The MOMENT they moved forward with the usurpation, Otto attempted to have Rhaenyra and her entire family- including two toddlers- assassinated- the very thing he claimed Rhaebyra would do. Because he was never horrified by such a concept, and he never genuinely thought Rhaenyra was the sort to do such a thing. But he absolutely is- and entirely unprovoked. And yet somehow Alicent is shocked by this- somehow she never realized that to 'secure his succession, Aegon and his faction would have to do to the true heir and her family what she thought the true heir would do- which is either incredibly poor writing, or just blind, willful ignorance of what a usurper would have to do to stay secure from rival claimants.

Otto suggested Rhaenyra as heir to further distance Daemon from the throne (which was due to his hatred of Daemon, his knowledge that Daemon saw hom as he was, and his.. greed and possessiveness of Viserys, which was referenced now on s2e2 in how Otto spoke of Viserys, the man he puppeted, controlled, and manipulated for decades with total reverence.)- and because he thought she would be immediately displaced once his daughter gave Viserys the son that Aemma was killed for.

He never thought that Viserys would seriously hold her as his heir- and never thought she would be so difficult to manage or control, either. We see the horrified realization in his eyes in episode 2 when she shows him up at Dragonstone- that she is actually something formidable, that she just succeeded at something he did not- and saved his life from Caraxes in the same breath. That she, a girl, was taking this role as heir seriously, and that she might actually be able to play the part, and do it well.

So he made a new plan- to fill Alicent's mind with poison and lies about her once best friend, to ensure she would turn her children against Viserys' heir, and thus help him to further his goals.

But he miscalculated. Deeply. Because now Aegon's jealousy, insecurity, and hatred are running unchecked as he sits as the most powerful man in the realm. Now his grandson's depravity guides his choices, and Aegon's hatred and jealousy of Rhaenyra, his desperation for love and attention, and the power cirrently goong to his head... All are far stronger than any respect he may have once held for his grandsire- and his mother.

She betrayed and destroyed herself and Rhaenyra for nothing. She will never be rewarded for what Otto made her suffer or for what she did to disparage and demean Rhaenyra in the eyes of the men of the realm. She has served her use, as far as the men she thought to guide are concerned.

[harmonyckrs]

making (slightly rude) assumptions about you based on your favorite Strangetown sim

remade to be more organized

Pascal: You're probably gay, trans, or both. Probably a Nervscal shipper as well. You're responsible for the amazing art within the fandom, which makes up for your surface level, black-and-white interpretations of every character and the fact that you reduce Pascal to either a boyfriend/husband or an alien incubator

Vidcund: You're either a CallMeKevin fan, an irony-poisoned individual, or have him on your hear-me-out list. You probably also projected onto him to some extent, whether it's being an introvert or being on the asexual/autism spectrum. You also have a very mixed relationship with the PSP game and you want Dominic Newlow's head on a stick

Lazlo: Either a chill person who ships Cryzlo or a Crystal hater who secretly wants to date Lazlo and projects onto the person that they're shipping him with. If you fall into the first category you have amazing taste and you should be proud of yourself. There's a possible chance that you might be bisexual/pansexual

Tycho: Pascal fans but instead of creativity you have objectively incorrect opinions. You probably haven't played the PSP game and just got all of your info from the wiki or someone else who only got their info from the wiki talking about it. This is like saying your favorite Pleasantview character is Unborn Baby Broke. If you wanted green with no personality, pick a Smith at random instead

---

Pollination Technician 9: You like aliens and have him on a hear-me-out list. Also you're probably some variant of gay/bi even though he and his family give off very stereotypically straight sitcom family vibes

Jenny Smith: You are in desperate need of a hug or at least someone to vent about your problems to. She either reminds you of your mother or she's the mother that you wish you had. I'm going to also assume that you're either straight or have very basic taste in women. At least she's a healthy choice

Johnny Smith: You're a JRO or TankJohnny shipper, and the reason why it's almost impossible to search up certain sims for reference photos without seeing ship art of said sim with another character

Jill Smith: Not sure if I've ever seen a Jill Smith fan but you're probably pretty chill, minding your own business and enjoying the weird snippets of Jill's character that we got from the PSP game. You probably also like Buck

---

General Buzz Grunt: I'm so sorry for what you have to deal with. You all seem chill but I know damn well it probably gets annoying seeing your fave get slandered repeatedly over popular headcanons that get interpreted as canon. Congrats on still hanging in there

Tank Grunt: Golden child with anger issues and therapy who's possibly closeted to some extent. You also have a very conflicting relationship with your parents and people misunderstanding you

Ripp Grunt: You're probably not straight, dabbled in alternative culture but coudln't afford to actually give yourself an alternative look, and you probably played the other neighborhoods before

Buck Grunt: You pity him for being constantly overlooked and the fact that the Bus Driver won over him in that one poll. You probably also like Jill, even if you don't necessarily ship them

---

Olive Specter: You think she's iconic/a girlboss and probably wish you could be six feet under her garden as well, not in a suicidal kind of way but in a "I'd be happy if she was the one who took me out" kind of way. The Life and Death pack was very important to you, and you think about Ichabod more than the average person

Ophelia Nigmos: You pick your favorites off of personality and lore rather than on how fun they are to play. You don't need to tell me that she's actually the best character because "she's an alternative teenage girl with anxiety who lives with her serial killer aunt and twenty one ghosts" or that she has a tragic backstory

---

(to either of these three: You have a very mixed relationship with the PSP game because you hate what they did to the characters)

Loki Beaker: You love the "hate everyone but her" type characters and people who would sacrifice the world to save the one they love over sacrificing the one they love to save the world. You're probably also a fan of malewives and make jokes about his eyebrows

Circe Beaker: You love girlbosses, you hate Dominic Newlow and want his head on a stick more than the Vidcund fans, and you probably have a very mixed perception of Vidcund. You probably also enjoy a good masculine woman/feminine man dynamic.

Nervous Subject: A fusion of the Pascal fans and the Olive fans. You were super happy seeing the Life and Death version of Nervous but got super pissed when you found out that they named him Nyon. You pick and choose which parts of the lore to care about and consume angst for every meal

Atom/Ceres: You're here from the Sims 3 and a stickler for canon. Also unrelated but Atom is a really bad name for a child, dunno why they couldn't name Atom after another Roman god like with Ceres. They even double as planet names which makes even more sense for knowledge sim Loki, like come on

---

Ajay Loner: You love how little there is to him because you can literally just make him whatever you want and it technically still works because the lore never said that he wasn't

Chloe Curious: You love chaos and drama, and you're either some variant of queer or the type who wants a gay best friend

Lola, Erin or Kristen: Girl's girl, possibly sapphic. You're also more into career/drama-based gameplay than family gameplay, and you're probably not the biggest fan of Lola/Ajay

---

Bella: You love sim lore and you love Pleasantview more. You also get super hyped up anytime she appears in the background of your game. Anytime Bella appears in the background of your game you become that one picture of a wojak who's pointing at something in the background

Crystal: Lazlo fan and probably really chill considering you had to put up with the really bad interpretations of her that either reduced her to either nothing more than Lazlo's girlfriend or made her super toxic so he could either break up with or "fix" her. Barbenheimer was also very important to you

Abhijeet/Meredith: why

[communist-hatsunemiku]

I like to think Miku took over the internet and world with nothing but Her pure charm, but VOCALOID came out at probably the perfect time. A few years earlier and there might not have been a sizeable internet audience to become enamored with Her. A few years later and She would have risked being rejected by the irony poisoning that was starting to take hold of the internet. Of course we'll never know and this is all very unsupported speculation, but it just makes perfect sense doesn't it? She showed up at the right time.

[lovelynim]

Shocking, isn't it?

Genshin Impact - Scaramouche x Tartaglia

A/N: This was greatly inspired by @ikimaru's post. It's literally living in my head rent free, so I needed to do something about it.

Summary: Tartaglia is nervous and all that tension might ruin such a good moment... So Scaramouche decides to tweak things a little.

Word count: 1204 words

Warnings: Midly suggestive content, nothing explicit tho

Tartaglia's back hit the wall, with so much strength that it forced the air out of his lungs. And before he could recover, the assault went on. It was hard for him to stand on his legs, to keep himself together and not fall apart like a castle of cards.

“What's the issue, newbie? Can't keep up?” Scaramouche scoffed, taking a moment to laugh at his ‘comrade’.

To his and everyone's surprise, this wasn't a fight. However, Tartaglia couldn't help but to think that there was some murderous intent directed to him - but, if anything, those only made it more exciting. “H-hah, you sure aren’t… all talk, balladeer,” he gasped, wiping off a little drop of drool that was pouring from the corner of his lips.

Scaramouche clicked his tongue, amused. Despite their height difference, he was the one cornering Tartaglia against the wall. “Can’t say the same goes for you,” he teased, his hand reaching for the door knob next to them and effortlessly pushing it open. There was no need for words or gestures as they both already knew what to do. 

Tartaglia barely stepped inside the bedroom and Scaramouche was already latching himself onto him. The same hand that tightly groped his red shirt pushed him towards the bed, barely giving Tartaglia time to kick off his boots. Damn, this guy really was something else, Tartaglia thought, whining a little into their vicious kissing.

Scaramouche pushed him into the mattress, rubbing the corner of his lips with the back of his hands. “You look scared, did I go too hard on you?” He cooed, irony poisoning his voice while he started to shed his own layers of clothes. “I thought you could ‘take me wherever, whenever’, no?”

Tartaglia chuckled - hoping it would help him hide his uneasiness. He wasn’t so sure of those words anymore. “And I can, balladeer, heh…” That didn’t even convince himself, but oh well.

Scaramouche tilted his head, getting his knee on top of the mattress and slowly approaching the ginger. Tartaglia leaned against the bedpost and watched in silence, at the verge of cracking under the tension and the pressure. Now that it was really happening, could he sustain all of his claims for before? Despite his looks, Scaramouche clearly knew what he was doing and was going to do, while Tartaglia, on the other hand…

Before he could sink any further into these thoughts, Scaramouche straddled one of his legs. Shit, he was so close—

“Eyes on me, newbie,” the other’s voice broke into Tartaglia’s head. He had a playful, yet dominating look on his face. “You might learn a thing or two…” So cocky, Tartaglia thought, but he wasn’t in a position to talk back.

Sighing, as he was forced to follow orders, Tartaglia closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing the balladeer’s lips again. Their lips crashed into each other - without passion, but burning with desire.

Despite not knowing his “coworker” that well, here Tartaglia was. However, as inexperienced as he was, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug Scaramouche? Or just keep them away? What if he messed up? Archons, that would be so embarrassing, and what if Scaramouche spread that he was a virgin and—

“...hey,” Scaramouche sighed, breaking their kiss. He looked a little annoyed, but mostly because they stopped kissing. “What are you thinking about? Pay attention, damned newbie…”

Tartaglia’s cheeks flushed in a bright shade of pink. Did he mess up their kissing? He practiced for so long… “I-is something wrong?” Tartaglia dared to ask, his fingers digging into the mattress, tightly holding it.

“You’re too tense,” Scaramouche complained with half closed eyes. Tartaglia wished he could hear the other’s thoughts, it was so hard to read what he was feeling - his face always looked the same, he always seemed so angry. But, this time, he was sure he heard him… laugh. “Let me just…”

Scaramouche quickly reached for Tartaglia’s shirt collar and nearly ripped all the buttons open as he dragged his hand down. The cloth that was being held together quickly fell down Tartaglia’s body, exposing his body to Scaramouche hungry eyes. “Don’t worry,” Scaramouche muttered, gently cupping one of Tartaglia’s cheeks, leaning close to admire his nervous expression. His finger slid down Tartaglia’s jawline, lifting his face by his chin, “it will be fun…”

Tartaglia couldn’t say anything. His throat was closed shut and barely air was making its way through it. He could only watch and shiver, tensing in anticipation as Scaramouche pressed his hand against his chest and slid it down his body. “S-Scaram-”

Crackle.

…huh?

A small purple light came from where Scaramouche’s hand was. Tartaglia widened his eyes as small bolts of electricity surrounded the other man’s finger, crackling as he imbued his hand with electro energy. “W-wait, Scaram- ah!”

All it took was a single finger pressing into his stomach for one of the sparkles to shock him. Scaramouche grinned, letting the electro energy flow into Tartaglia’s body. “What's wrong? It doesn’t hurt, does it? Too much for you?”

��N-nohot reall- ah! But it- a-agh, tihickles..!” Tartaglia whimpered, pressing his eyes shut and clenching his hands into fists. It should hurt, he thought, but it didn’t. All he could feel was an electric pulse flowing, stimulating all his nerves at once.

“Oh, really?” Scaramouche feigned surprised, tilting his head slightly. Pressing his index into the spot just above Tartaglia’s navel, he began to draw little shapes: a circle, a star, a heart… all while sending little bolts of electricity into the skin. “Then laugh, newbie. And relax, yes?”

Tartaglia's body trembled with spasms, jerking his limbs in a weird way. It tickled so bad and it was just a finger, Scaramouche was literally toying with him, mocking, torturing even… but he didn’t dislike those ideas. Again, if anything, those only made it more exciting. “W-wahahait! H-hnngh! P-plehease! It f-feels wehehei- aHAah, c-cohome on!”

Scaramouche only smiled, his finger tracing each muscle of Tartaglia’s abs, moving to his side and then down to his hip. It tickled terribly, terrifically. The ginger curled his toes and giggled his free leg while the other simply trembled under Scaramouche’s weight. That sensation made him want to laugh, to cry, to moan. “S-stahahap, ahAHa, I-I’m seheher- AHAH!!”

Before he could protest any further, Scaramouche added a second finger, pinching a bit of soft skin just below Tartaglia’s ribs, rolling that patch of meat between his digits while showering it with electro energy. “You don’t sound like you want me to stop, newbie,” he whispered softly, watching Tartaglia nearly melt under his gentle-shock-treatment. 

“I think you’re into this, huh?” He teased, finally ceasing the electric flow. Tartaglia's body went limp against the bed, his head spinning and his vision blurry.

Tartaglia sighed, taking his trembling hand to his face, moving it through his hair tiredly. “Y-yeah…” He nodded, a shy smile spreading on his face and adorning it along with his flushed cheeks.

Scaramouche laughed, shaking his head for a moment and smirking back at his newbie’s messed up state. “I see,” he then moved his hands, holding both Tartaglia’s hips, “so let’s see how much you can take, newbie.”

Crackle.

[carlyraejepsans]

Ok im trying to make a character and really struggling to make them fit the vibe of undertale, do you have any thoughts on undertale's character design philosophy? or know anyone who does? tips? idk you know alot about undertale, im kinda at the design phase of "throw shit at the wall and see what sticks"

undertale character philosophy rule number 1) get silly with it. rule number 2) be fully, whole-pussedly earnest. do not half ass do NOT undermine your genuinity with useless irony it is the POISON of whimsy. actually no rule number 1) think of every possible wordplay you could make outta them. visual gags included, those are important. undertale is a comedy before being anything else. you know what these aren't in order of importance anymore, who care.

anyway, UT characters are all somehow stuck in their patterns and cycles. either through mistakes, through circumstances outside of their control, past trauma, regret, etc, but they're stuck in that. what breaks them out of that cycle is a crucial aspect of their personality and set of beliefs. keep that in mind while you brainstorm their backstory.

give them speaking quirks. you're gonna feel a little silly at first, but there's not one main character in the game whose identity you can't discern by their dialogue lines alone. no soundbit, no portrait, no context. the way they say it by itself is distinctive enough to make them recognizable. let that guide your writing process.

....ok just realized you probably meant character design as in visual character design. ok, new try: puns and double meanings and things that are not what they seemed at first sight. there's a lot of design repetition with alterations in undertale's NPCs; froggit and final froggit, the dogs in the guard, snowdrake and knight knight. see what aspects are kept and what is altered. remember: while the main characters skew towards more humanoid designs (bipedal, upright, 4 limbs, recognizable face), they all have extremely different body types, often simplifiable in a single geometric shape for the stockier ones (toriel, sans, box mtt being rectangular, toby saying how he wanted to make alphys look like a triangle), while the ones with more complex silhouettes get really fucking weird with it (papyrus is self explanatory, undyne's tall and gangly noodly shape). get creative and get diverse. consider buying the art book, even! i feel like that might be a good choice. have fun, hope this helped!! (very likely didn't lol)

[dykells]

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐀.𝐀

𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✷ she hopes im cursed forever to sleep on a twin sized mattress never graduating up in size to add another 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,1k ✷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢��𝐠𝐬: religion, homophobia n’ nsfw content

abby feels owen’s hand on her waist like a brick to her chest weighting her body down, it wouldn’t take much for the drowning to begin but your face across the room was both oxygen and the final anchor of her demise. she weighed her options as their personifications stood before her, father smiling brightly at the happy couple unaware his own daughter forced her chirpiness while she yearned in the deepest aching to be swept off her feet by the girl just a few away– who now refused to face her much understandably. you cursed her for inviting you to their preppy engagement party, cursed her for multiple reasons more, yet your heels stuck to the ground like they clung for dear life anticipating a plot twist shaped by regret.

“excuse me” she finally croaked out mid conversation, the place where her fiancé’s hand once held onto now burning her skin like a rotting poison. she wished to bathe herself clean in the rain like a baptism, wished owen didn’t felt like sin tainting her body from being with you, her holiest of experiences, wished she had not known heaven between your legs so she may live on her life guiltless and not as someone who has felt blasphemously like a god herself. your fingers brush past eachother as she walks up behind you and fireworks bloom from your fingertips like lily flowers at spring. lillies, her favorite, your perfume.

you follow her to the bathroom, breath unsteady, and regardless of how long the affair has been happening no familiarity prepares you for the crash of her lips against yours as you twist the doorknob. sometimes you think these moments might make you understand her, to have abby anderson’s tongue exploring your mouth, hands by your neck to keep you still, perpetual apple cinnamon smell, was nothing short of a religious experience. perhaps that is what the church brought out in her, this same inextinguishable fire at the pit of your stomach with understanding of icarus and his hope for the sun. if all sins felt this sweet it did not seem so big of a sacrifice to die for them– you’d die for her if asked.

“abs, stop” you whisper once her lips are on your neck, long wet kisses all across the exposed skin warming up your body from the winter cold better than any cloth could have, she’s hungry, biting you down and her fruity scent doesn’t let the irony of forbidden fruit to die on you even as she hums in fake confusion allowing herself more time in her feast begging it to cloud your judgement as it almost does “abigail, we have to stop”

“don’t do this to me” she begs, voice cracking “please don’t leave me, you’ll take all the sunshine with you and it’s cold, it’s a cold winter i need your arms, your limbs, your body, my sunny girl-“

“you’re getting married, abs” you sigh with the exclamation, it seems nearly as though you’ve just reminded her of it like someone who forgot to turn off the oven before they had left the house, someone destined for burnt flames, your reality scares her into kneeling submission and you’re laughing because it looks like a proposal and it’s absurd, her hands gripping yours, her gaze doe-eyed and unconditional. you are missing a ring but you see hers, diamond, and the ache doesn’t easen.

“you are everything that i want…”

“then leave him, abby. don’t sit on the dirty bathroom floor of a venue for your engagement party and promise me a love you are too scared to give me, i can’t keep excusing your cowardice for the sake of sanity. take off that ring and walk out of here with me, we’ll figure it out, we’ll be happy together, your winter won’t be cold”

she pretends to take in your words, analyse them as if her nights haven’t been filled with scenarions and possibilities all of which there is pain unbearable. you’re searching her eyes with a hope unbeknownst to men and suddenly you feel the line between dream and desperation blurring itself into oblivion. abby lets go of your touch and slides the ring from her finger out onto it’s demise on the tiled floor. you think you won. you think god exists when she locks the door behind you and presses you against the wall, believe he had heard your prayers once her fingers dip between your thighs. when she’s thrusting inside you, you cry out for god instead of her name, moan louder at the sight of her wedding band far away on the ground, feel your walls clenching around her digits and her warm breath against your neck, she’s mumbling so many i love yous you barely notice how multiple sound like im sorrys.

with your hands curling around her loose hair she gets sloppy, deprived, wants you to tug on her and beg for her mouth without needing the plead to taste you and you do so eager it burns her scalp. she’s back on her knees and she thinks for a moment not admited this might be her holy repent. tugging on your jeans till their ultimate glide towards the floor, shes sucking on the wet patch of your underwear as a tease, letting her senses flood of lillies and pussy. she finally pushes it aside and dives in, godhood in the shape of your swollen clit grazing her teeth, you tilt your waist to give her further access and there are stars and angels behind your fluttered eyelids.

she calls your her sunny girl as you rain down her face in white honey, her muscles spread your legs further apart and suck it in till it has destroyed her makeup, part of her wishes to leave this bathroom and still smell of you, part of her is scared owen might kiss your heavens from her tongue and catch it all. she’s putting her ring back on at your climax, and you’re confused and heavy breathing. a sob clings to your throat.

abby tells you all she’s ever known is the cold. tells you girls like her are unworthy of the sun. tells you owen is waiting and maybe you should leave. she doesn’t tell you she thinks god isn’t real once you’ve turned your back because he would never have created something to purely magnetic to have it ripped from her hands, she does not tell you the only thing worth worshipping is the gap between your teeth, the crook of your neck and the dimple in your cheek, doesn’t tell you she thinks hell is this. but she almost does. she almost does. on your way out, you just sob and hope she’s cursed. hope god is angry. think god is her.

© dykells twentytwentythree

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/779634954778935297/i-kinda-get-the-cultural-reason-for-things-like-a?source=share

In the show, that line is delivered by a black girl who is obsessed with magical girls, to a black magical girl.

If it leaves a sour taste in your mouth that a character is excited that not only is her favorite genre of fiction real, not only is magic real, but the magical girl who just saved her looks like her, that's a you problem. Specifically, it's you being unable to understand that for the character, this is really happening. "But I saw black magical girls in fiction a long time ago-" it's not fiction in-universe. It's real. Her dream person is real, is present in front of her, and is actively altering her understanding of what was once possible.

If my queer ass met a queer superhero in person who demonstrated actual honest-to-God superpowers to me, I would also comment on it favorably. Yes, I have read about fictional make-believe not real queer superheroes, but this would be a real person in front of me. It would hit different.

I don't know how to explain this to you, but the characters are going to react to what's in front of them with a level of awe you will not feel, because to you it's fiction, but the characters don't know that. If it puts a sour taste in your mouth to see a black geeky girl react happily to the thing she geeked out about for years happening in front of her... I'm sorry, but do you understand fiction?

I am dead serious with that question. You get that characters' reactions and actions are driven by in-universe motivations, right? You understand that they are reacting not to a media trope but to a thing that is actually happening to them in-universe? You understand that she doesn't know it's a magical girl show pilot, that she doesn't know anything is fictional, that she is being written to respond to something the way someone who's a magical girl nut would respond to it if it happened in front of them?

Because if you do, and you're still annoyed by it, I don't think magical girls are really a genre you should be watching. Lots of magical girl shows have civilian girls who are thrilled to meet a magical girl. "She's just like me!" is an incredibly common plot beat. (Again: meeting a superhero in-person tends to be a high point for people.) What, are you going to send in a complaint every time a girl gushes about a magical girl in-universe in any show, because you've seen magical girls before, so there's no reason to be impressed?

Genuinely I do not know how you watch this scene and come away with the take that it's uncool for a character who is obsessed with something to voice her joy that the thing is not only real, but someone like her is doing it. I get that Gen Z and Millennials are deeply irony poisoned and expressing that you like something is bad. Sincerity is bad, openly enjoying things is bad, to be cool one must be detached and uninterested, blahblahblah.

But if that's your preferred kind of character, magical girls are not your genre. If you're allergic to in-character reactions that make sense for the character because they're not like how you would react, maybe stick to Deadpool or webtoons where everyone knows they're in a webtoon.

Respectfully, I think this show's characterization is too complex for you to understand. You might want to go back to the MCU or something.

--

[shiki-jin]

liar ♢

kaeya x gn! reader, reverse comfort

somehow my period cramps turned into kaeya revcomfort. do not ask me how this happened. also you should maybe expect another kaeya comfort fic cause i have a separate idea id like to write ....

i should probably redo my masterlist actually it's getting kinda ugly (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

CWS — implied suicidal ideation (kaeya), some self-deprecation (kaeya), talks of death at the beginning, alcohol

—

he's a liar down to his very core.

he knows he is; he was born one, and he'll die one. it'll be written on his overgrown gravestone, he thinks. he finds entertainment in the thought; maybe having a grave covered by flowers and vines would be the ultimate irony. he is a destined sinner covered in lies and pretty deception, and so his death will be ugly stone covered with colourful, lively plants.

he's not dumb enough to think anyone will visit him. even his own brother hates him, and for good reason. still, he's foolish enough to hope you might pour a bottle of death after noon above his rotting body. to hope you hold him dearly in your heart, but not too close. he doesn't want to lose you like he lost his family because of his predetermined sins. he's scared of the thought that he might really break if you leave. that his heart might fall down and shatter, that you might look at him in disgust, rage, and betrayal.

your voice is the one to take him out of his drunken spiral. speak of the devil, he chuckles, not really listening to what you're saying. he wants to, he does, but he's downed a few too many bottles to make out anything you're trying to tell him.

even so, the vague comfort of familiarity is enough to tear his eyes away from below, and he turns to try and look at you. he thinks you're wearing the knights' uniform, and he absentmindedly wonders if you'd come to check on him right after you had to deal with overtime after your regular shift. he doesn't want to know if it's the alcohol or his heart keeping him warm.

he just knows it feels nice when you wrap his arm around your shoulder to make him lean on you while you walk him downstairs. it's not as nice when he can't hear your voice anymore.

he leans his head against yours, trying to get you to talk again. he thinks you give him an annoyed glance, but he hums, satisfied, when he hears you speak. he tries his best to not inconvenience you too much and to walk on his own, but when he keeps stumbling, he realizes he might've gone a little overboard with the alcohol tonight.

he feels bad for you, having to make sure your own captain doesn't die of alcohol poisoning after nearly every shift, even when it's well past midnight. being forced to walk — no, carry — him to his own home and put him to sleep, listening to whatever words his drunk mind wanted to get out.

it must be exhausting, he guesses.

he must be exhausting.

he sits down on his bed, watching you calmly take his jacket and shoes off. you follow up by setting all the little accesories he wears aside and similarly discarding all his clothes — well, besides his shirt and shorts. you stand up with his boots in hand, but he can't stop himself from holding onto your fingers desperately when he thinks you're about to leave.

he looks towards the floor. he doesn't think he can bear to ask you what he wants to if he sees you, so he settles for your shoes. he slurs his words, but he's being genuine now.

“don’t go.”

he sees your shoes staying in their place, facing away from him, like you're contemplating whether to give in or not, and he adds a whispered “please”. he feels warmth around his wrist, and thanks the god he doesn't care for that he can actually understand what you're saying now.

“okay. i'll stay.”

he hears you drop his boots before you undo the tie around his hair, threading you fingers through it carefully a few times. he's lifted and laid down onto the bed with a gentle arm around his waist. he swears the mattress dips down and that he can see you sitting next to him, but he can feel his fatigue catching up.

he gives your hand a soft squeeze, and when he closes his eyes, he gets one in return. it's the only night in weeks that he's gotten actual sleep.

when he wakes up, he knows he definitely drank too much. he groans lightly, feeling even shittier than before. not like he'd expected anything else. he tries to grab the clock on his bedside table, but feels something cold.

a water bottle. next to it, a box of pills. he can just barely make out what it says, and realizes they're to be taken during a hangover. he looks to his side and notices your slumped form, still sitting on the bed, still leaning against the wall, still holding onto his hand. you're breathing quietly, chest rising and falling lightly while he just stares.

he thinks it's an uncomfortable position to sleep in, but you seem so serene he doesn't try to wake you.

it isn't long before he gets nauseous again, and decides he should probably take the water and pill if he wants to keep admiring you. he swallows them without much complaint, turning back to you.

he thinks he understands why others love to love now.

he doesn't deserve it, and he's probably the person most afraid of it on the entire planet, but he gets it now. why poets write verses filled with endless praise again and again, why artists create paintings with the same muse over and over.

he grasps your hand just a little tighter, willing you not to dissapear. he leans in closer, eyelids drooping while he studies the structure of you.

kaeya alberich was born a liar. he will always be one, and forever be destined for loneliness.

but he doesn't care as much about what fate says when you're next to him. he doesn't care about the sins staining his soul as much when you care for him like this; like he's precious, fragile, worth something, anything at all.

he doesn't care about the deception and lies that bind him every second of the day, because right now, he isn't lying when he whispers a confession of love to your resting figure.

[drchucktingle]

reverse call out post

i have noticed that SOMETIMES it really bothers folks to discover i am sincere and not playing a character. that tinglers are deep artistic expression. i think it  because these few buckaroos are often kind and even politically left but had problematic ways just a few years back

these buckaroos are forced to confront their previous assumptions about neurodivergence and queerness, which is bound to happen as time trots on and cultural landscape evolves. but this sudden realization they have about themselves apparently MUST be ignored and pushed away

theres BIG TIME buckaroos on this very platform who publicly made fun of and gatekept my autism. these posts are STILL THERE. folks questioning my bisexuality. and these are buds who at one time worked with chuck and were pretending to ‘like me’ in way that i now see was irony

these are a previous generation of liberal ‘comedy forum’ buds who laugh and laugh at ‘ridiculous bad erotica’ and wrote as a money scheme. those who would later say with concern ‘chuck tingle is homophobic for making fun of queer erotica’. the same THEY might gleefully write

and i think their reaction is a way to deal with truth that THEY were doing these things ironically and have ABSOLUTELY NO CONCEPT that someone else couldve been creating joyful queer neurodivergent art during the same timeline with sincerity instead of irony.

so now as chuck gets taken more seriously they have to confront something. question of ‘wait, was i laughing at a real person the whole time? was i calling someone homophobic when in reality it is much more homophobic to MAKE that accusation, because queerness is not a monolith?’

old posts calling out chuck as fake, dehumanizing me, gatekeeping my place on spectrum of autism AND sexuality are still up. they wont be addressed because these folks cannot ever acknowledge they treated someones very existence as a joke. they will not admit THEY needed to grow

and honestly buckaroos, I FORGIVE THEM. nobody is dang perfect and the internet is swirling with irony poisoning. those folks on old forums were BATHING IN IT DAILY. it does not bother me because it is the past, but pondering on it during moments like this i am compelled to write

i do not bring this up to punish for past, but to hope buckaroos remember lesson in the future: you do not need to gatekeep. you do not need to make yourself the arbiter of others lifestyle and identity. you do not need to score online points as a way of proving your goodness.

proving love is complicated sometimes, and a big part or that complicated journey is accepting there are some unique buckaroos out there, buds who actually ENJOY making neurodivergent art and expressing their queerness in unique ways. who need time to learn THEMSELVES through art

it is my belief and suggestion that buds allow others this space. to accept them as they come. to TROT WITH THEM INTO THE FUTURE. thats a heck of a way to prove love is real. i think we can make this trot of sincerity together and DANG am i looking forward to it. LOVE IS REAL