#i feel like this is a low hanging fruit sort of joke but i drew it so here you gooooooo

[mikimuun]

[kyuriman]

Mini adult cartman fanon design rant that is strangely tooooooo serious below

I guess just because of Cartman's sociopathic nature and ability to seemingly sway ppl always made me think he had to have some sort of decent hygiene (or at least the ability the understand how his looks can alter ppls perception aka: putting that good boy sweater on when he wants to sway kyle) ... That on-top of having two parents that are most likely considered "not-ugly" at bare minimum is why I just don't think young adult Cartman would look excessively ugly or disheveled (maybe teen Cartman would be appropriately teen greasy) but young adult Cartman would not look outright unkempt or ugly (I ignore post COVID corrected future because un-housed Cartman was just low hanging fruit).

Idk this might be the minority opinion but when I see ppl draw fanon older Cartman as super ugly and greasy and disheveled in comparison to the others (ie: he's like the only one) than it just gives off a feeling of a fat caricature. Like they can't conceptualize the idea of a bad or mean fat person that isn't cartoonishly exaggerated. These types of designs are especially prevalent with sp fans that either dislike Cartman or completely ignore his existence which generally makes me feel like it's either a hatred of fat people or an inability to not associate morals to looks.

Like I said this before I think but it's so obvious that in canon the sp kids and adults think Cartman is ugly because he is fat. It's not uncommon for ppl to not be anything more than skin deep (anyone who is or was fat knows that a lot of ppl cannot see past weight and therefore can barely even acknowledge your facial features without seeing fat first ie: "omg you look like "insert fat celebrity you look nothing like") and I think Cartman being a bad child with a shit personality makes ppl (both in sp but also in RL) feel especially justified to bodyshame and associate looks to morals 🤢🤢🤢

Like yeah T&M drew Cartman as a fat adult that is implied to be ugly (before post COVID) but you gotta remember these two often go for low blows and a lot of that is fat jokes and implications of fat being ugly. There is a reason the "successful" Cartman is skinny and a corpo and the "failure" is fat and a blue collar worker. It's an easy joke.

Btw this isn't me policing ppls works or anything at the end of the day if you want to make the single fat character look like an anthropomorphic hippo in comparison to everyone else that's well within your right... I would just hope ppl take into consideration a fat fictional characters other attributes and lore when wanting to seriously make depictions that don't come across as "fat is gross" to other viewers.... Even if you use the justification that the character is bad.

This is excluding ppl who make art that is intended to look like realism or purposely off-putting (ie stylized that way)... This is also excluding ppl who draw acne or double chins (I don't consider these things ugly they're completely normal). I am talking about the ppl who draw Cartman as distortedly ugly in a very ooc way and everyone else as uwu anime characters with little to no distinct features that could be socially considered flaws.

[ashtraythief]

This is kinda a weird question, but isn’t it strange that we all love fan fiction and reading romantic plot lines in them and smut and all of this but our favorite show is Supernatural, which is just this story about platonic love? I think that really drew me to the show, I’ve never seen a show that focused so heavily on platonic love, not romantic, and made that the same focus of the entire show. It’s so lovely to see. Did that draw you into the show too?

Ah, yeah. Fandom and their endless quest to make everyone bang and/or fall in love (which I say lovingly, because so do I). And I don't think it's a weird question at all.

Honestly, I started watching Supernatural for very shallow reasons. It was recommend in the “ridiculously attractive people” category of a streaming site :D The pilot was way too scary for me though and so I quit again. But then a while later, I was watching Leverage on TNT and that ep was followed by Playthings. We left the TV running and I just… got sucked into it. Obviously, I had no idea about the context, only remembered the pilot vaguely, but boy did I fall in love immediately. With them, their relationship, the humor, the love and I went right back to the beginning and forced myself to put on my big girl pants and suffer through the scary eps (yes, yes, I know, they’re not that scary, I’m a wuss) and I was so gone on them, it was ridiculous. So yeah, it was the abscence of romance i guess, because I did fall in love with their relationship. In which Playthings truly is a magnificent gem even among the riches of season two.

I think if Sam and Dean’s relationship were romantic (if they were an unrelated het couple because let’s be real, nothing else would have been on network TV seventeen years ago), I think I would have been almost as enamored. Though I don’t know how to build a relationship like that without their past. It would have needed to be grown up together in some kind of way. I think their relationship would be compelling either way, but it is definitely more compelling for not being romantic. For one I think because romance is the default setting for the all-encompassing, soulmate-type relationships, and also because it’s just so unusual? Like even for one of those fated soulmate romance stories, Sam and Dean are still weirdly intense. They’re just more. Unhealthy, codependent, whatever you want to call it, but it makes for good stories. And I think that’s beautiful.

As for why we make wincest…. Well, the shallow reason is that they’re both beautiful men and it’s fun to imagine them bang. And sometimes you gotta be shallow. But also it just seems…. logical. They want to share everything (they do almost share everything, I mean consider what they know about each other’s sex lives and how they enable each other, like Dean wanting Sam to get laid to cheer him up or Sam wanting to drag Dean to a strip club to cheer him up, like they know sexy times can make you feel better and since they can’t provide that themselves they try to find ways to at least facilitate the happy-making sexy times), they are incredibly intimate anyway, there are many instance where they are jealous of romantic partners/friends and there is an exclusive claim on the other that’s rarely relinquished. Honestly, sex is probably the only facette of an intimate interpersonal relationship that’s not covered due to the whole being related thing, but fandoms love to break taboos and explore all sorts of boundaries in transformative works, and wincest is truly the most low hanging fruit of them all. It’s right there. Dancing out of reach. The show itself plays with it, both as jokes when people mistake them as a gay couple or when Sam and Dean use couple-coded language for each other, like when Dean asks if Sam wants a divorce when they’re fighting. They also made actual wincest shippers canon. Like, I was an innocent brofan of the show when I saw The Monster at the End of the Book, and bam, wincest in my brain, like a lightbulb went off and it took up residence there because it just made so much sense. In more serious themes, other characters comment on how special or twisted their relationship is, both friends and villains alike, they sell their soul for each other (or at least try to in Sam’s case), they do or attempt to do unspeakable things to save each other, they are canon soulmates, they have an extensive repertoire of love language and love acts to show their love for and knowledge of each other, they have a whole you-are-the-most-important-thing-ever thing that goes down in a fucking church, I mean, the show makes it abundantly clear that Sam and Dean are it for each other. And so I think that it’s very natural that people go with the wincest. Even though we have to take the incest hurdle, but hey, fantasy is for the dark, transgressive stuff, right? 

At the same time, it is refreshing that the show doesn’t center romance when almost all other shows do, and I think it’s one of the reasons people do enjoy it. And once you have the magic of Sam and Dean, whether you ship wincest or not, you don’t want them to mess with that so you want the non-romance thing to stay (unless you want a certain ship to go canon of course). In conclusion, wincest just makes sense, on every level really and we just creatively want to explore that in fun ways while keeping what’s great about canon in the show. The true art of shipping, I think.

[krethes]

@wolfstarmicrofic July, Day One: fruit

More firefighters? Obv. It's a long, hot summer! (Brought to you by dumb sleep schedule and a dubiously functional brain.) Little backstory prequel.

"You're kinda reaching for low-hanging fruit there, aren'tcha, Sirius?"

Sirius snapped out of his perfectly-normal and not-at-all weird daze—no, not a daze, a...a casual examination. Assessment. A look! It was a look!—and glared at James. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered darkly. He wasn't reaching for anything. He was just sitting there, checking the hoses.

James cocked an eyebrow at him. "So I'm imagining the "please, God, fuck me, new guy," look on your face?"

"Careful, Jamie, or your missus will hear you thirsting over new guy."

James smacked him in the arm and the sound drew the attention of Lily and new guy. Lupin. Lily looked annoyed (but that was sort of the baseline wherever Sirius and James were concerned), but Lupin have Sirius a little smile and he felt his face heat up.

"Thought so," James hissed, snickering when Sirius missed the rebuttal swat. "Dating in the workplace is a bad idea."

Sirius blinked. "You're joking."

"Why would I joke about that? It's messy, it's complicated, and if you break up, you could jeopardize the safety of the team!"

"Oi, Lieutenant! Potter says dating in the workplace is a horrible idea!" Sirius shouted, not looking away from the mounting horror on James's face.

"Is that so?" Lily asked drily.

James sputtered and jumped to his feet, dumping the coil of hose into Sirius's lap. "That was taken out of context!" he insisted. "Besides, we're not like, dating."

Sirius cringed. God, he could just not keep his foot out of his mouth. He could feel Lily's glacial stare and shivered where he sat.

"Is that so?"

"Uh...fuck. I mean, God. Oh shut up, Black, I will make you run drills all fucking afternoon!" James snarled. "No! What I mean is, Lils, is... we're soulmates." Sirius watched James take Lily's hands in his. "That's different. We're not going to break up. You and me, babe."

It really shouldn't work. Sirius had watched Lily shoot down even the smoothest, slickest suitors without batting an eye, but she apparently had a James Potter-sized weak point, and defrosted under his declaration.

Everything else fizzled out like television static though, because the new guy was coming over, and he dropped down next to Sirius, and he took the hose from his lap, and his knuckles brushed his fucking thigh and Sirius's heart stopped. But the man carried on like it was nothing, the tiniest of smiles on his mouth. His perfect, kissable mouth.

"Do you agree with him?" Lupin asked.

Sirius glanced back at where James was still pouring on the charm to dig himself out of the very deep hole he'd dug, and nodded. "Yeah, they're soulmates. They deserve each other."

"No, about dating in the workplace."

Sirius whipped his head around so fast his neck popped. "I mean...it really can be kind of a dumpster fire," he admitted after a long pause, wherein he kicked himself about half a dozen times.

Lupin leaned back on his hands and cast his golden eyes Sirius's way, and Sirius couldn't help but admire the long line of his body, or think that blue was definitely his color, or that his shirt would definitely look better on the floor. His floor. He stayed there for a few beats before getting up, leaving a waft of his deodorant and whatever shampoo he used in his wake. "Good thing we're firefighters then," Lupin said, winked, and walked away to rejoin Lieutenants Evans and Potter.

Sirius watched him go, helpless to the pull of his fan-fucking-tastic arse in the uniform trousers, and swallowed thickly. Low-hanging fruit might be easy to pick, but it was no less sweet...

[cryptid-bloodhound]

The Phantom Agony

So, this was totally for @ajays-lullaby​ for that music ask game and uh...it got like wayyy longer than intended. So rather than put it all in the ask (bcus I can’t put a read more in there i don’t think??) i decided to make a separate post. Otherwise yall would h a t e me for the clunky ass text. anyway, hope yall enjoy! <3

Characters: Wraith, Bloodhound

Notes: It’s a total supernatural/fantasy AU. Ghost!Wraith (aka Wraith!Wraith bcus i think im funny) and Monster Hunter!Bloodhound. It can be platonic or romantic if u squint depending on your preference. Wraith has no memories, mean voices, and bad anxiety. she just needs a hug.

Read On: Ao3

Random Song Selected for the Prompt: Monster - Starset

“My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul Who knew the emptiness could be so cold? I've lost the parts of me that make me whole I am the darkness I'm a monster“

Deep in the wilds forgotten by time lurked the shadow of a woman lost to despair. It was a desolate place that reeked of woe. What life had once flourished there had long since been chased away by the tormented entity. Trees stood barren and brittle, casting long, gnarled shadows in every direction like greedy hands. Nothing but cold dirt and stones pocked the ground. Everywhere else in this forest was thriving and beautiful. Everywhere except for the den of the Wraith.

She could not remember anything; not her name, her age, how long she had been trapped here, or where all of this anger came from. It was as if she simply came into being one day full of anguish and hate. There was an endless aching in her skull in the form of callous voices. They're insidious little whispers just at the furthest reaches of her mind, tempting her with memories she could never quite grasp. Try as she might, they always seemed just out of her reach. It was maddening. She wanted to know who she was, why she was stuck here, why everything hurt, hurt, hurt-

She could recall voices, though.

So many voices.

They scratched aching grooves into her nerves when those harsh tones rose in her mind. What they said, she couldn’t catch but it filled her with a God-awful dread. Always the same voices, always the same tones.

And she could remember pain.

So much pain.

Like torn sinew and choking breath, it crawled through the ghost of her nerves. Over and over and over and over. She just wanted it all to stop! 

There had been a fear so strong in those lost memories that it branded her soul. She could still taste its acrid flavor like bile on her tongue. How utterly cruel it is that she can taste nothing but her fear. Her fear and her rage. She was but a phantom of suffering, wailing pleas and profanities into the deep, yawning abyss around her. She would grip her head and scream, scream, scream for help but no one ever came. No one that stayed, that is.

At first, she did not know what she was. Not until some hikers crossed her path, that is. They walked into her grove, a light and joy in their eyes that made her ache. She called out to them but they did not answer. She walked up to them and asked for help. Still, they did not answer. They walked around her sacred area with wide eyes, remarking on the eerie feeling all around, pointing out the oddly dead foliage, and joking as if she were not there. An ugly, pernicious feeling curdled her gut at the callous display.

Then, the man let out a loud, sharp laugh and a spike of utter terror pierced her to the core. It echoed like a record stuck on repeat in her head. That sound was so very much like the one in her sparse memories. Had she a breath, it’d be caught in her throat. Instead, that cold fear twisted and turned inside of her. It thawed and melted, kept heating up until it boiled over. This... This was one of them. All of her pain and dread and hate spewed forth like a volcano and she positively erupted. With bared teeth and clawed hands, she rushed forward. Her presence was felt like a harsh gust of wind - the herald of a coming storm. 

She could not feel her strikes land but the fear in the couple’s eyes and red lines forming on his face let her know that the manifestation of her wrath could certainly be felt. Nature trembled and bowed to her unearthly power as the people skittered over themselves to escape. The Wraith went to take chase but was held back by an unknown force. No matter how hard she pulled at the unseen tether or beat against the invisible wall, she could not leave. Those voices in her head wailed with gnashing teeth, hungry for vengeance. They were left to starve.

From that revelation came a cruel, aching bitterness. There were people out there who took her life from her. They twisted her into some sort of monster and she was stuck here, forced to live in damnation because of it. That bitterness and agony swelled like a balloon. She would chase away any who dared enter her grove because having them there was just another form of torture. She wanted to speak with them. She wanted to feel the warmth of another’s touch, a caring embrace, something . But she was denied even that simple kindness. It was the low hanging fruit she simply could not get. The oasis just beyond her fingertips. And just like the old Fox’s fable, she grew sour over that taunting temptation. It was better to push them all away than to be tormented even further. 

It was better to be alone than in agony.

She could not recall how long it had been since the last person fleed from her territory. Time seemed so very inconsistent to The Wraith. Hours, days, years. It meant nothing to her. So she stalked her lonesome grove with a void in her soul that would not leave. There were times she regretted chasing all who came here away because this desolation felt too close to torture these days.

Hadn’t it always?  

She pushed those prodding little voices back as hard as she could. There was no use wondering about ‘what if’s and ‘I should have done’s. This is the path she chose and she will stay to it with her chin up and the fierce conviction that was undeniably all her. No amount of longing or rapacious voices will make her backpedal. What’s done is done, after all.

So, when the day came when an oddly masked figure approached her grove she beat back those feelings of yearning and clamped down on the ache inside of her. The Wraith would chase this one away just like all the rest. They would simply walk by her, taunt her with the life she’s been denied, and dangle comfort like a toy. With the same hard stare and clenched fists, she drew upon her pain and prepared to bring the Heavens down once again. 

But something strange occurred.

That figure stopped just at the edge of her grove, mere inches from her invisible barrier. They cocked their head as if curious while looking around slowly. Their outfit was unlike any she had laid her eyes on before. Armor was not typically worn by any but soldiers and even then it was unlike this armor. Regardless of the oddity, she remained prepared for that inevitable moment they’d cross her threshold. They were probably another adventure seeker or ‘ghost hunter’ looking for a thrill. The frown tugging her lips only deepened at the thought. The Wraith despised those sorts the most. Her agony was not an attraction to be delighted by and she would entertain none who thought otherwise.

“May I enter your home?”

The unexpected words nearly startled the spectral being. Never before had someone attempted to speak to her. It sent a jolt through her body and that malignant current she built up wavered.

“What?”

As soon as she answered she felt foolish. No doubt this one was speaking to ‘The Ghost of the Shattered Forest’. Before she could even get back to scowling, that masked face turned to look directly at her. 

“I humbly requested entrance to your home.”

Again, she was at a total loss. What traction she had built crumbled like sand between her fingers. There was absolutely no way this individual heard her. The Wraith tried desperately not to get her hopes up as that masked gaze never wavered from her direction.

“You can see me?”

Her voice, soft and ethereal, wavered ever so slightly at the end of her words. ‘No!’ She yelled at herself. ‘I can’t hope for this.’ Had she not already been dead then surely the crushing disappointment would end her entirely. But, as she tried to smother that devilishly persistent flicker of hope, that mask gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. She trembled with nerves she thought were long gone. 

“But... how? Nobody else can.”

There was a fragileness like ill-tempered glass in her voice that she despised . It’s just been so, so long since she spoke to someone - since she felt alive . If she had tears to shed, she feared they would get the best of her. Even now, just this small confirmation had her choke back a sob of pure joy. 

“I have been gifted with sight by the Gods.”

Their voice was just as odd as their armor. An accent curled heavily around their words in a way she was unfamiliar with. Foreign, then. She couldn’t help but wonder if they truly were blessed to see such a creature as her or if they were delusional. In her eyes, such sight would be nothing short of a curse. She cleared her throat - a useless but ingrained habit - as she composed herself. This was a stranger. One who could see her. One who may hurt her. Those snarling, snapping voices tried to tempt her to violence. It would be best to destroy this person before they had a chance to cause her more pain. 

That grotesque desire was so strong it nearly suffocated her. She would not heed them. After all, she was no one’s puppet. Still, even the chance of danger had her ghostly, almost translucent eyes narrowing suspiciously. Once bitten, twice shy.

“Who are you?”

The stranger never shifted from their spot, she noted. She had never permitted them to cross into her withered grove and they acknowledged that. Instead, they stood calm and tall, exuding a peace she can’t recall ever feeling. It made that hunger in her rise like a leviathan. She wanted that peace. Whether it was due to her desire for comfort or that damning hunger, she gestured for the hunter to step into her territory. They gave a gracious gesture and took but a few steps forward before halting.

“I am Blothhundr, a Hunter of the Gods. You may call me Bloodhound.”

That wariness didn’t wane after their introduction. If anything, all it accomplished was setting her teeth on edge. There was a war waging in her head between the desire to close the distance and drink in the company she’s long been denied and the desire to cast them far, far away so she would be safe. That inner battle caught her tongue for a moment and kept her rooted in her spot. Finally, she was able to push past the haze of violent screams echoing like sirens to get out a response.

“And what are you hunting?”

They paused for only a moment before uttering a single word.

“Monsters.”

Just like that, her hopes shattered all around her. There was something utterly devastating about finally getting just what one has always desired only for it to be twisted so cruelly. She had no doubt this proclaimed Divine Hunter was here for her head. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh to the mortals who crossed her path. That bitterness mixed with a swell of fear and it reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It came in the form of the singing silver of blades unsheathed and cruel, husky voices.

While the voices screamed for action and her body trembled to flee, she stood her ground proud and tall. Perhaps under all of that fear of what’s to come was a shred of dark relief. Anything would be better than this lonely Hell, wouldn’t it? Regardless, she would face her hunter with all of her fierce, untamed fury. She wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Not again. That ethereal energy she possessed built around her once more as she prepared for their inevitable clash.

“I take it that monster is me?”

As she spoke, she jutted her chin up in defiance, letting it be known that she would be no easy prey. Instead of aggression, however, she was met with pacifism. They raised their gloved hands in a placating gesture that once again surprised her. 

“My apologies, I have not made my intentions clear. No, you are not the one I am after.”

They sounded completely sincere but how would she know any better? Her disbelief colored her voice dark with its dry, skeptical undertone.

“Really?”

Still, the odd hunter seemed unfazed. They merely gave another polite nod.

“Já.”

That frown on her face only deepened further. They lapsed into a tense silence as she eyed them up warily. There was a barely concealed hostility just beneath her wraps as those voices implored her to act. Once more, the hunter spread their hands out wide in a grand gesture meant to convey some sort of understanding.

“Not all óvættr are wraiths and revenants. Some appear as men. They are the most monstrous of all. They are who I am after.”

Again, something in her head twisted sharply. There was a thought - a memory - at the very edges of her mind. It left her itching to chase that particular white rabbit. Still, she did not speak. She did not want to encourage this enigmatic hunter to keep raising her hopes back up. It’s a trick , the voices claimed. Her jaw clenched and she felt a phantom pain from the pressure. They continued on.

“Truly, I do not believe Wraiths to be monsters at all.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. 

“You’d be the first.”

The sardonic, baleful words slipped from her tongue without her permission. She snapped her mouth shut as soon as the last syllable left her lips. The abrupt, almost angry cut-off didn’t seem to bother her newfound companion. They just shook their head, an almost mournful hunch to their once-squared shoulders.

“I am aware. Many misunderstand that which they fear and they fear that which they do not understand. Wraiths are born of violence and injustice. They are innocent souls who met a fate they did not deserve. So they are trapped, unable to find friðr until they find justice. “

Their words stirred up a violent hurricane within her. Flashes of faces colored her vision until it was all she could see. Voices and metal-on-metal beat in her ears. The suffocating scents of leather, dirt, and smoke choked her airless lungs. It all flashed too fast for her to catch but she knew - she knew - where all of her hate and fear came from. This one, they spoke the truth. Something utterly profane happened to her and it robbed her of all that she once was. It left that disgustingly familiar hollow ache in its place. It pulsated like a fetid wound. This wasn’t fair! The dead should not hurt so deeply!

“That’s what happened to me?”

It came out a whisper full of turmoil. The Wraith could hardly untangle this confusing web of emotions she was feeling. It left her wanting to lash out like a wounded, cornered animal as she was used to doing. Without realizing it, she had squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to push the wailing voices and barbed feelings far away. It felt like she would shake apart from the endless tide beating against her soul. 

Stop, please stop!

“It would seem so.”

The soft voice was so much nearer than it had been before. It startled her, though not nearly as much as the gloved hand on her shoulder. She could feel the weight of their hand and the warmth of the glove against her icy skin. So shocking was this gesture that even the voices were silenced for a change. The Wraith could not help but stare with wide doe eyes and gasp quietly.

“How are you able to do that?”

As if only just realizing what they’d done, Bloodhound retracted their hand quickly. She almost wanted to chase the touch, much to her chagrin. Just how starved of affection had she become? ...That was a question she truly did not want answered for surely it would only upset her further. Bloodhound was quiet for a moment before finally answering her question. The tone of their voice hedged dangerously close to uncomfortable.

“...That is a story for another time.”

She frowned slightly at the deflection. The desire to pester them for an answer was strong but then she noticed just how stiff they’d become. Their hands were curled into tight fists and they had turned slightly away from her as if contemplating an escape. A quiet desperation rose in her at the mere thought of being stuck in this lonely purgatory again. 

Wraith quickly reached out, hand hovering over the hunter’s armguard. Slowly, she reached just a bit further until she gently grabbed their arm. For an agonizing moment, she feared her hand would have passed right through them just as it had everyone else. But no, she could feel the rough, worn texture of the metal beneath her ghostly fingers. When she ached, it was with joy this time. Bloodhound slowly looked her direction, stance still ready to run.

“...I accept your help. I...want to remember. Everything. I want...”

Getting the words out was harder than she could have imagined. Asking for help - showing just how vulnerable she is - was so very, very difficult. But, she managed to get the words out there, soft as a spring breeze.

“I want to find peace.”

And by the Gods it was true. There was nothing in this world she wanted more than to finally be at peace. Wraith could only pray that this hunter was true to their word. Slowly, minutely, their stance relaxed. Finally, they gave a small nod and spoke with a confidence that instilled a courage and hope in her she didn’t previously dare let herself feel.

“Then the hunt begins.”