#anyways im so excited. btw
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sunoflegend · 1 year ago
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They fragging murdered my favorite sibling right off the bat.
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vanyafresita · 4 months ago
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IMAGINE YOURSELF.
TELL ME OF YOURSELF.
WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?
and here is some close ups from the still frames with no filters !
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theoldkyokodied · 2 years ago
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Uploading all my Tomgreg art at once from the past few week before season 4 hits, who knows in what kind of mental state i'm gonna be once it does :')
#tomgreg#succession#dont even talk to me i started watching this show when i had nothing to do at work and now i watch it with averiel my good friend averiel#and we are going to watch s4 together and i feel physically ill from bein so excited#so ya thats what ive been up to... anyway. i love these idiots they desever nothing but the worst (affectionate)#im also a tomshiv lover btw. im the one who yells 'THIS IS HOW TOMSHIV CAN STILL WIN' while they are actively losing on screen#thats the kind of person i am#dont look at me (lying on the floor)#okay i was not going to say stuff in the tags and let the art speak for itself but i NEED to point out details in the wine Painting..#i put a lot of work into that one. thinly veiled metaphors and symbolism yknow..#greg is gripping the stem of the wine glass with his full fist. tom and greg are dressed in the same outfit (sock garters included)#greg look appalled but he is not doing anything about the spill. tom is fondly pouring greg more and more wine. he is doing him a favor#i colored the red wine the same way i would color blood :) oh and tom is not really touching greg#only holding the chair in place. greg is making himself look smaller than he is like usual#oh and @ the person who said that it's the inverse of the tom and nate scene i love the way you think. i did not think of that before#but god. yeah. i actually thought about the scene change from when roman uhh.. christens his office in s1. the one with the coffee machine#i always go insane at that cut. this is not exactly the same since it's more.. about emotions but yknow.. it can be.. the same...
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neolxzr · 1 year ago
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OK so heres some of my favorite things that were talked about during the enter the florpus commentary thing yesterday:
one of jhonen's favorite things in the whole movie is the writing in zim's kitchen that says "do anything is real?"
they clarified specifically that gir was not lying and he did in fact eat a baby at the crazy taco
gir smells REALLY bad. theres like rotting organic matter in his body at all times. he stinks
zim's human suit is made out of actual human skin
zim is acting drunk on nacho cheese during that scene in his house because richard horvitz recorded it while drunk
they planned to have this whole thing with tak's ship only agreeing to go to moo-ping 10 because it knows tak is there. they wouldve shown her in silhouette during that brief explosion and she wouldve stowed away on the ship without anyone knowing and then wouldve shown up towards the end of the movie, but they decided to cut it out
zim did not need to frame membrane for a crime in order to get him into space prison and likely just tossed the guards like 5 bucks for it. its a shady place. they did specify though that if he did frame him for something, it would have been jaywalking
they pointed out during that scene where zim is celebrating peace day on dib's lawn that zim's reaction to seeing dib was very much genuine and that's just how his brain works. he is genuinely surprised to see him pop out of his own house. (they also described his reaction as like "being surprised to see your best friend")
the ham joke was ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL to the film and at some point jhonen remembered it and was like GUYS. WE ALMOST FORGOT THE HAM
there was supposed to be this joke where it cuts to and from gaz and dib in tak's ship and they would've had to stop at like a warp station or something and theyd be waiting in a long queue of spaceships and the radio is broken in the ship so theyre stuck listening to that one song. then itd cut to them like totally braindead drooling from listening to it for so long. and then a little later itd cut back a FINAL time and theyd know all of the words and both be singing along to it. but this was also cut out so only the last bit remained
when asked "who would win: minimoose or mrs. bitters?" the answer was along the lines of "neither, i think all of us lose in that scenario"
the tallest are just two dudes who happen to be the same height and therefore have to share the same job. they are not brothers and they are also not gay lovers ("as much as you want them to be, they are not. there is no love in this universe")
skooge is in fact alive and lives in zim's basement. they wanted to keep the number of "hey remember this thing from the tv show!" moments to a minimum so he was not mentioned in the movie. but he is there
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starry-bi-sky · 5 months ago
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Out of Context Danny Phantom Memes for a fic i haven't posted (yet)
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#danny fenton#danny fenton is not the ghost king#godling au#danny phantom#danny phantom au#clockwork#the observants#the fic is currently in the works but in the meanwhile have some memes lmao#danny phantom memes#very fond of that clockwork design btw. his eyes are my favorite part#you cant get mad when the usurper of tyrants usurps the tyrants. its in the name!!#the fic is a oneshot but its still a fic#Danny: off being a menace | meanwhile clockwork: ...Something Just Happened. Daniel--#anyways danny's got some beef and a score to settle wit da observants and they ain't gonna like it.#for everyones continued safety keep these two separated. but also for everyones continued safety please god do NOT separate them#danny: this is clockwork i've had him for a day and a half and if anything were to happen to him im restarting the apocalypse#clockwork: this is danny i've had him for a day and a half and if anything were to happen to him im killing everyone#dp au#giving danny long hair?? its more likely than you think#anyways fun fact in this au white hair as a ghost is extremely rare and is always tied to some form of connection with the timekeeper.#danny motioning to clockwork: this is my emotional support ancient of time and former tyrant titan king. he is also. my father figure#danny: titan king | clockwork: littlest usurper | danny:.... | danny: ...pfft | clockwork: :]#i love these two so much they're. so silly :)#i havent read a single dadwork fic so im going into this with no prior preconceived notions of their dynamic. so i am excited!
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ravioliet · 1 month ago
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me when i hit Olympia and Otis with my new gadget the keychain-inator that turns you into a keychain so i can cherish them forever
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ohmytiredheart · 6 months ago
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It's uncanny how much the FNAF lore actually makes sense if you look at it through the eyes of TMA
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intotheelliwoods · 1 year ago
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if I had a nickel for each rottmnt trend I set I would have 3 damn shiny nickels
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artem1sc0re · 2 months ago
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If I had a nickel for everytime I redrew this scene, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?
BUT WHATEVERRR, ITS JOSH!!!!
(I got given a compliment whilst drawing the first one so that’s cool :D)
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prxckedradiolove · 2 months ago
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HAHA JAILED FOR HIS CRIMES!!!!!! L!!!!!! HAHAHHAHAHHAHAH LOSER
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gorespawn · 5 months ago
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also while we're here i would like to share the two iterations of tumblr user gorespawn that have existed since i abandoned this blog back in like early 2021. Who wants me
#i grew my hair out so i could twirl my hair while giggling about bald men#and also t.o.p of bigbang#and short men i see at the grocery store who honestly make me feel light-headed with raw and unbridled Want#but that's just a joke. i am. Lesbian#''no ur not'' I AM#anyway i used to be so ripped and hunky but now i am frail and sickly#what getting a job can do to a mf#thankfully i quit my job last week YIPPIIIEEEEEEE so now i will work towards becoming an absolute hunk again#wish me luck#ALSO#if anyone is obsessed with me and remembers all my lore i used to be transgender and i still am like lowkey on the down low#but in a new exciting way#anyway i used to be a gay man and then a stone butch dyke (as seen above) but now im practicing being a girl#it is very difficult but it is also fun. ive never been a girl before so it's a lot#anyway i bought two super cool sexy dresses yesterday for the first time ever in my life#sexy dresses meaning up to my neck and down to my feet and past my elbows. kind of like a wardrobe straight out of the handmaid's tale#from (to quote my friend) ''*The* old lady store'' thanks man. well i think theyre pretty and its v exciting bc ive never been a girl befor#anyway#who wants me#i still use the name emil online btw and i honestly always will i think it's just so me and also i do still answer to he/him dw#in a man way not in a he/him lesbian way#''he's LGBTQA+'' what. all at once?#yes.#i have mastered them all i have collected all the genders and all the sexualities and ive never been ''wrong''#it just keeps switching. which is fine. well im a girl now. in a detransitioning man way. who is insanely attracted to men#but you will have to tear this lesbian label out of my cold dead hands#''you can't call urself lesbian if u have sex w men'' well first of all fuck you and second of all i am celibate so you dont need to worry#''what the hell are you talking about'' nothing. now look how hot i am#im just joking around i hope that's fine w y'all
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haunted-xander · 3 months ago
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LABRYS FIGURE CAME HOME TODAY HELL YEAAAAAAAH
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lucdoodle · 6 months ago
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guys I wrote a fic about Adam and Lute!!
Summary: Lute will always remember her first impression of Adam:
1- He was tall- no, not just tall, he was a giant . Effortlessly towering over everybody else in the room.
2- He walked with the confidence of a god, and tripped with the grace of a clumsy human being.
3- He was loud.
Or: Adam is being unusually quiet and Lute is determined to figure out why.
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nathandrakeisabottom · 5 months ago
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Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader
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Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)
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“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” 
Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can. 
But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality. 
“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in. 
“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”
And he’s right. 
You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved. 
Punishment, you convince yourself. 
Comfort, your better mind argues.
Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense. 
Even though he does.
“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”
And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive. 
“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”
You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.
And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down. 
But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.
Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself. 
“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will. 
Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights. 
Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite. 
Again— he likes being held down.
And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.
This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.
He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild. 
Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same: 
You always have an ulterior motive.
“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.
Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.
And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either. 
You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square. 
He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.
His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.
“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon. 
Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this. 
“Crap, that felt so fucking good.” 
Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it. 
But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling. 
This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.
But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:
“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”
Oh god.
The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea. 
He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.
But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!
But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.
When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it. 
Because it’s fucking electric. 
Shit. 
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips. 
It was good. It was a good kiss. 
Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss. 
And he fucking noticed.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’
But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.
Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. 
But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried). 
“...One more?”
You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.
There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.
But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.
“I’m just messing with you.”
And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling. 
The feeling is relief. 
Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder. 
Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.
You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.
“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”
“Aww, don’t say that…”
His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet. 
“I know I will.”
…Fucking brat. 
Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.
But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?
And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:
“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan. 
I won’t.
⭑⭑⭑
The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it. 
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too. 
…But for who? 
A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.
He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?
But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches. 
…Huh. 
That’s weird.
Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded. 
He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder. 
…What the fuck?
It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it. 
Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!
Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?
But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops. 
And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.
Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.
A mark of your own.
“ ...Shit.”
⭑⭑⭑
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skrunksthatwunk · 4 months ago
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ok soooo im like 5 episodes into dear brother and i need you guys to know how much i love rei so far if only for her staggering around like a rain-soaked stray dog just haggard and unseeing all the time. like we know very little about her thus far except that every scene she's in she steals the show by flopping and wilting all over the frame
#just like me fr perhaps#dear brother#oniisama e#idk what it is but shes so intriguing. mysterious shit-untogether lady#also i love everyone's beef so far like im completely hooked on the drama as camp as it usually is#like went OHH SHIT the second i found out the big three were on bad terms like ouhhh theyre fightinggg#and minako is profoundly real. the video essay that convinced me to watch this mentioned her encapsulation of quote#'every bpd feeling ive ever had' and as an outsider that seems right#school full of girls to study under a magnifying glass like bugs. girlbugs#this is an era of shojo im not very familiar with (ok ig all eras are like that but my knowledge of 70s shojo is like.#ok rose of vsailles over here and that tennis thing's over there and uh. yeah thats it)#and yeah ik the anime's from the 90s but it appears. to me. pretty married to more 70s aesthetics at least#ANYWAY kaoru ily we need a butch failgirl to shout these girls into line and shes balling too btw no way#and minako ily you're extremely real and a scene stealer and i need you to beat more girls up#nanoko im leering over your shoulder like a little shoulder devil bc i want you to be worse and im suspecting you're getting there#oh i forgot to say this part but i keep comparing it to utena#no one ive seen brings up db in their utena analyses as an influence so i have to wonder if 1) this is just more obscure#(if only for the western video essayists im watching) or 2) they share other common ancestry im not familiar with#once again i gotta watch rose of vrsailles for brserk reasons but also now bc of this#she's important she's influential etc etc#anyway yeah excited to get back to the mentally ill girl variety hour ✌️✌️#asuka rei#<- I FORGOT TO TAG IT WITH HER 😫😫😫
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synth-spinner · 1 year ago
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Woke up from a nap and dreamt that superior had 1 scene in spiderverse and almost lost my entire mind and woke up and went oh my god I have to doodle this
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