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wifelinkmtg · 1 year ago

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TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

#phyrexia #not defining the ditch except by implication #thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia #this is technically the march of the machine review also #or as much of one as i care to do

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daycourtofficial · 1 year ago

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We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball

Summary: Nesta and Azriel are suspicious of you and Cassian spending so much time together.

It was unusual for Nesta to speak individually to Azriel. This might be the first time she’s ever sought him out to have a discussion, and frankly, it slightly terrified him.

She approached him, and after looking around for wandering ears, deeming it safe to speak, she asked “have you noticed something different between our mates?”

Azriel blinked. He had no idea what he expected Nesta to talk to him about, but it certainly wasn’t about you and Cassian.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” she huffs, clearly annoyed he doesn’t see what she does.

“We all spend an absurd amount of time together, Nesta,” he replies.

She rolls her eyes, “why she wants to be with you is beyond me, you insufferable bat. Okay, fine, maybe I’m making it up. Next time we’re all together at Rita’s, just pay attention to them.”

And so he did. He noticed you and Cassian conspiring over something, he just wasn’t sure what. You didn’t spend the whole time with Cassian, just whenever Azriel went to get you more drinks, you’d immediately start speaking to Cass and your conversation would conveniently end when Azriel returned.

He didn’t think anything nefarious was going on. You two had been mates for ages, before Cassian ever even met Nesta. You and Cassian had a friendship best described as siblings - honestly seeing his brother love you so much warmed his heart.

So he wasn’t worried you were doing anything scandalous with Cassian, but he knew when you were conspiring, and oh were you conspiring.

The next time Azriel gets up for drinks, he stops by Nesta and tells her, “they’re up to something. Let’s find out what.”

It didn’t take long for them to catch a hint that you and Cassian had plans. Two nights later, Cassian told Nesta that he had to drop his leathers off to get patched, and you told Azriel you were going to a cobbler to have your shoes fixed.

Nesta and Azriel met in the hallway after their respective mates had left. “She told me she had a cobbler to visit - at 9 PM.” Azriel knew you were much better at crafting lies than that - he likes to think you have a hard time lying to him. And you do.

“He muttered something about getting his leathers repatched.” Nesta scowled.

Azriel just stared at her, honestly shocked at this mission they’re embarking on.

A few minutes of silence pass. Nesta feels compelled to break it, unsure of what they’re waiting for, before a few shadows come back and dance slowly around Azriel’s ears.

“They’re on the roof.”

“Okay, put your hand here. Do it like this. No, you have to put your hips into it. OW! That was my foot!”

Azriel and Nesta crept up to the door to the rooftop - a flat area designed to entertain guests and occasionally watch Starfall. Hardly anyone used the rooftop during the year, especially not during the winter when it’s freezing up there.

Nesta and Azriel can hear you way before they see the two of you, sharing a quizical look when they hear you muttering explitives about your foot.

“Can you see anything?” Nesta whispers.

“No, we can peak around the corner though,” Azriel replies, starting to crouch to peer around the corner.

He and Nesta peer around the corner at the same time, the sight being even more surprising than if their mates were cheating on them.

“Are they..?” Nesta asks.

“Dancing.” Azriel says.

“She’s dancing, he’s doing… something. But it’s not dancing.”

They continue to watch the two of you for a while, amazed at your patience with teaching Cassian how to dance. You’re being exceptionally kind and patient with him, taking time to help him practice, despite the pleas from your toes to have him stop.

“She’s teaching him to dance, he’s never been good at formal dancing,” Azriel whispers to Nesta, an idea of why you’d be doing this forming in his mind.

“Cassian wants to know how to dance?” Nesta asks, confusion evident across her face. Azriel turns to look at her, amusement across his face, “Why do you think he’d want to learn to dance when he’s never been interested in doing more than dancing at Rita’s before?”

Realization dawns across her face, “he wants to dance with me.” She says quietly. She continues to stare at her mate, in awe of how incredibly sweet this gesture is, and a little upset that he went to you to teach him how to dance instead of her.

“Okay, I’m calling it. I’ve spun you around enough tonight. I want to go to bed.”

Cassian’s voice breaks Nesta train of thought. She grabs Azriel’s arm, almost making him fall over with how hard she’s trying to get them to move. “We need to go - he’d be devastated if we ruined his surprise.”

Nesta and Azriel hurry down the stairs, back down to the hallway where they met each other thirty minutes earlier.

“So, Nesta,” Azriel says, very amused at his brother’s surprise, “how do you feel about their little secret?”

Nesta sighs and says quietly, “that I have an incredibly thoughtful mate and I almost ruined his surprise due to some jealousy.”

“Good,” Azriel replies, “and that I have an incredibly kind mate who loves the two of you greatly.”

Azriel left Nesta to consider that, and when you returned to your shared room smelling briefly of Cassian, he chuckled to himself and offered to rub your feet while you two take a bath.

Azriel waits until Starfall, when Cassian takes Nesta on the dance floor for a while, looking pretty decent, to tell you, “hmm, someone looks like he’s finally figured out how to dance.”

Your eyes snap to his face, “He must have had a wonderful teacher.” Azriel’s mischievous smile tells you that he knows just who Cassian’s teacher was.

“I wonder if his teacher’s available to show me some moves,” he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer.

“I heard she’s booked for months. She’s very hard to get in to see,” you reply, placing your hand on his jaw.

“You think she’d make a special exception for me?” He says, giving you an incredibly pitiful look.

“I think I can get her to pencil you in,” you reply, grabbing his face and kissing him.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel #azriel fanfic #don’t mind me #just wanting to be besties with Cassian #unfortunately #not much azriel/you but I thought this was an adorable idea

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submattenthusiast · 24 days ago

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thankful bf!matt

the dirty led nail light, the multiple bottles of nail polishes, and the small brushes used for designs decorated your crowded desk. the strong fumes of the opened bottles of nail polish filled the room. your brows furrowed in concentration and your tongue rested on your bottom lip as you focused on perfecting the spiderweb on his pinky nail. you kept a firm grip on the brush and the design was coming out perfectly, but matt kept fidgeting "keep still matt, i'm almost done" you ordered, not batting him an eye.

"thank you princess, i love em' " matt smiled, observing his fresh manicure. you mumbled a mhm before focusing on cleaning the mess that was made in the hours of painting. he continued to gush about his nails while you cleaned, only helping with the cleaning once asked. "i'm never doing an intricate design like that again, i'm so sore" you sigh exhaustedly, plopping down on the couch. following your movements ,he rested his head on your shoulder as you complained. hair tickling your neck and cheeks. "but y'did so good" he praises, caressing you gently.

"i really did" you beam, watching his fingers dance on your body. you hated to be so cliché but his hands had you feeling some type of way. the polish only enhanced the feelings, the slim, slender fingers with the short finely filed nails — just so incredibly sexy. "let me make it up to you?" he asked but more like told you. an eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. you had no idea what he meant by that, a massage, a treat?, what could he possibly give you to fix the soreness flowing through your hands. "i'm listening... go on"

the sweetness of the kisses on your hands and the whispered praise made you forget all about the fingers that were sliding into your sweatpants. soft mumbles of thank you's left his mouth distractingly as the pads of his fingers massaged the wet spot on your thin panties. "didn't even know y' wanted this, i just wanted to feel you" he whines, "gna look s'pretty stuffed with my fingers sweets" he groaned, slipping the fabric to the side.

his digits run through your sticky folds slowly, taking in the feeling and coating his fingers with your arousal; the arousal that built up from his very nice looking hands. "so wet f'me". his dirty words had you clenching around nothing, the sultriness and the hint of need that peaked in his voice had you hot and bothered. "don't tease" you sigh, needing more than just clitoral stimulation. feeling enough wetness on his fingers and with your need ringing in his ears — he circled your tight hole in warning before sliding his index finger inside. your walls sucked him in instantly, trapping his slim finger with ease.

him having long fingers was a blessing in disguise. he was reaching spots you couldn't even imagine, nor attempt to hit. adding a second finger had him hitting your sweet spot with ease. the way he curled his fingers at the perfect angle had you clenching a little too much. his two digits nearly reached your cervix with no effort. "so fucking good matt shit" you moan, a bit louder than intended. he continues to somehow multitask, still planting soft kisses on the hand closest to him while plunging his fingers into your wet gummy walls. " just the beginning sweet thing, i want you to feel as good as my nails look"

🔖 @luvs4matt @ariestrxsh

#jules writes 📓 !!#matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt please get your nails done again #matthew sturniolo

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oatmealdoodles · 2 months ago

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My messy thoughts on the new episode

(spoilers for Ghostf**kers)

tldr I LOVED this one the animation saw POPING OFF the writing was great, it was well paced, everything. I just wanted to ramble so here i am talking to no one:

Ok right off the bat i had to pause this like 7 times in the first five minutes because the beginning of this is just packed with insane jokes, glass to see they havent forgotten about being a comedy show

It’s so sad to see Blitzo in this state, especially that it’s been over a month. Like look at this guy he is GOING THROUGH IT.

also this was uncalled for how can you do me like this?

ok like my one problem i don’t like this little Scooby-doo reference with old people. I just skipped it and lost nothing, i don’t know why this is here.

the fight between Blitzo and Millie in the vents was also really well done im so glad Millie is putting up boundaries on dealing with everybody elses Bullshit.

I also don’t hear anyone talking about this but Vivinie Williams (Millie’s VA) did so well in this. Like all the voice acting in this show is peak but I’ve only really heard praise for Brendon and Bryce. Their argument here specifically, the fury in her voice was so well done, bravo.

JESUS CHRIST THEY DID NOT NEED TO GO THIS HARD this scene has been stuck in my head for the past two days, Brandon killed it in he recording booth, the animation is also just so VICERAL. Also the way the fire starts from his hands because he blames himself for it, like Viv went too far with this one. That was not ok.

Bitzo’s panic attack was also done so well. Little detail but i love that when Blitzo screams “Don’t touch me!”, Millie respects this and doesnt, instead comforting him with words. They only touch when he’s calm and ready. Love that.

Bro i was NOT expecting a flashback on how Millie met Blitz, also Millies design slays so hard

the way I gasped.

I also didn’t realize how much I needed an episode focusing on these twos friendship until now. Like FINALLY a Millie episode that doesn’t suck!

Little thing i realized but notice how Blitzo doesn’t make a sex joke at this. Blitzo. Not making a provocative joke. Really just goes to show how UNCOMFORTABLE and SCARED he is. I physically recoil every time I see this it’s gross

Those flashback scenes were also just so brutal. Like chaining his horns so he’s FORCED to watch is so psychotic I can’t.

its kinda sad that Blitzo’s whole motivation for doing this is to distract himself from his feelings, when that’s what he’s literally forced to confront by Ronaldo.

Love a possession story. I can really appreciate how Millie does not believe Ronaldo for a second, she knows that Blitzo would never think that of her and she trusts him enough to be confident in it. Nice subversion, you go girl.

This was so needlessly brutal and funny, they really went all out with this one

Yeah I think that’s all I wanted to day, just again i loved this one and it was definantly worth the multiple-month wait. Though my Hyperfixation has mostly died im hopeful that it will resurrect soon. We’ll have to wait and see.

#helluva boss blitz #helluva boss millie #ghostf**kers #helluva boss ghostfuckers #helluva boss #show analysis #hyperfixation #helluva boss ronaldo #ranting into the void

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beansprean · 10 months ago

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Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

A commission from andieandiiandee(@TikTok) based on chapter 14 of “Hounds of Love” by @andiforyou!! ❤️

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of human Nandor dressed in a chainmail shirt with chest plating, a silver sword dangling from his left ear, a brown leather belt, and a brown leather baldric over his shoulder attached to a real sword at his hip. His hair is half up, twin braids from his temples forming a bun at the crown of his head and held in place by a leather clasp threaded with a stick. He is leaning against a doorframe, arms crossed, and staring offscreen with hooded eyes and a small smile, a pink heart floating by his face. 2. What Nandor is looking at. Waist up of Jeremy and Guillermo from the back as they chat idly, the vague idea of a coat rack in front of them. Jeremy is wearing long white robes. Guillermo, half turned toward Jeremy with a smile as they chat, is making motions to shrug off his puffy winter coat. 3. Extreme closeup of Nandor's eyes as they fly open in shock, cheeks flushing red. 4. Close up of Guillermo in profile, from the bridge of his nose to just below his chest, as he shrugs his coat off to reveal his bare shoulder and arm in a plain black tank top, a golden chain around his neck disappearing into the shirt. His right hand, wearing a leather glove, pulls out a piece of black fabric with a dotted white design. 5. Hips up of Guillermo from Nandor's POV on a glowing pink background, surrounded by golden sparkles, as he drops the coat completely and throws a poncho over his shoulders to complete his outfit. He is paused in motion, eyes downcast, pink mouth pursed, arms raised chest-high as the poncho flutters into place around his shoulders. It is black and translucent, decorated with a silver beadwork pattern of spiderwebs. The end of the poncho hits right at his waist line, edges scalloped like bat wings with silver pearls adorning each peak. Four short makeshift spider legs are sewn to the bottom of his tank top, two on each side. In the background are pink-tinted close ups in Nandorvision: the flex of Guillermo's bicep, the stretch of his fingers beneath the glove, and the roll of his back and stomach beneath the tight tank top as his arms stretch overhead. 6. A pink-tinted Nandorvision fantasy: full body of Nandor and Guillermo in their current outfits as Nandor grabs Guillermo at the waist and dips him, knee pressing forward between his legs and head dipped to mouth at his neck. Guillermo's arms are looped around Nandor's shoulders and he is smiling blissfully, hearts floating around his head, cheeks flushed as he tilts his head to allow Nandor access to his throat. His left leg hitches around Nandor's hip as Nandor's right hand creeps beneath the hem of his tank top. 7. Shoulders up of the real Nandor, staring slackjawed at the visions before him, cheeks flushed red and eyes wide, irises gone pink to reflect where his mind is at. 8. Small corner panel of Nandor, chest up and casting a shadow on a sparkly pink background as he comes back down to earth. He blushes, flustered, and closes his eyes with resignation, thinking to himself: "I'm going to be beating suitors away with a stick..." /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #hounds of love #fic rec #human nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #jeremy wwdits #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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a-scary-lack-of-common-sense · 1 year ago

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consider: scout tf2 but with a cane instead of a bat. good at running but can't stand still for very long because legs ouchie

giving this to you because you are the only tf2 artist who is cool about disability and it makes me so extremely happy and i am so glad you exist

bestie, you are on some BIG BRAIN shit rn, holy crap. I especially approve of this idea because I also don't feel my knee pain until I'm standing still (for some reason??) And the bat/cane combo is peak brain fr, multi-use mobility aids my beloved <3

ANYWAYS, have this neat little tf2 cane user doodles I whipped up <3

You guys can send me more mobility aid hedcanons for the mercs if u want!! I'd love to hear more, or even just design ideas for weaponized mobility aids >:) or how the mercs would personalize their stuff. ALTHO take everything I say with a grain of salt because other than some chronic joint pain I don't actually use any mobility aids :')

#so sorry that the scout one looks EXACTLY the same as my last drawing of him with crutches- I'm so original </3 #tf2 #team fortress two #my art #asks #featuring medic because yay medic :)#tf2 scout #tf2 medic #mobility aid #cane user #canes #Also sorry the canes look so bland ik the mercs would absolutely personalize them but it is very late rn for me and i didn’t have the time #i have SO MANY IDEAS for motility aid tf2 mercs u havw no idea <3 #i love exploring the possibility and learning more about it #disabilitymercs

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 6

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five.

Six. 六

Your dark mood lasts for days. You do not shirk your duties, but you definitely brood, hating everything, most of all yourself. A part of you hopes that Donaka decides you’re not worth the trouble after a glimpse of this other side of you. He does not prod you further, seemingly steering clear of you. He had his fun taking you down a peg–what more could he want with you? Surely he has better things to do… The more time goes on, the more certain you are that his proposition was mostly in your head.

Amusingly, it’s little Mrs. Wong who gets you out of your funk, yelling at you in Cantonese and smacking you with a wooden spoon when (maybe?) you didn’t move out of her way fast enough in the kitchen. You are determined that someday she’s going to let you call her Auntie, but apparently you still have some distance to cover. Her temper is like a firecracker, loud but shortlived. She’s adorable and terrifying, and it’s all so ridiculous that you cannot stop laughing as you flee, and the shroud of your depression lifts again like the sun penetrating through the clouds.

The absurdity of life has always saved you in times like this. What do you have to be sad about, anyway? You are healthy, you are housed, and you are fed in this beautiful place. You are having an adventure. So what, if your diabolically handsome employer does not approve of you? You’re just here to clean his floors, for fuck’s sake.

Maybe Donaka Mark is rich, but that doesn’t mean he has all the answers to the mysteries of life. You find your mental state improves, when it seems like he’s ignoring you.

Flirting with the cute gardener’s assistant doesn’t hurt your state of mind either. His name is Jun, he has an infectious laugh, and he offers to show you around the city on your next day off. Thinking some down time with someone your age will do you good, you are set to meet him at the bus stop down the hill from Mr. Mark’s house.

However, he never shows. You try not to take it too hard, but it still bums you out.

He does not return with the gardener the next week either, and then you start to worry. The kind old man who tends Donaka Mark’s plants just shrugged at your inquiry and said, “He quit.”

It seems odd, but you brush it off. You suppose you’ll just have to explore the city on your own. You ask for the day off for your birthday, wanting to go do the touristy things, like ride the historic ferry and take the tram up to Victoria Peak. Maybe visit a temple, do some shopping at the Night Market, and definitely indulge in some local eats. Something about living in Hong Kong has you dreaming about noodles. It’s an affliction. You want to try them all.

On your day there is a little carved wooden box on the table where you usually partake your breakfast in the common area of the servants’ quarters. You’re not sure why your heart falls to your feet with something like dread, but somehow you just know that Mr. Mark has not forgotten about you after all.

With a forbidden thrill you flip the lid carefully, finding a domed-link silver filigree and enamel bracelet set with dreamy jade cabochons. The little details are exquisite, and you’re instantly enchanted. When you look carefully at the bauble, you realize the stylized blue designs aren’t flowers–they’re bats.

He remembered that conversation you’d had, that very first day. It warms you to your toes, and maybe scares you too. He's good to the staff, but you don't think he usually buys them jewelry.

Goddammit.

You just know, deep down, that you shouldn’t accept it. You even set it back down in the box again, just looking at it with hands on your hips.

But therein lies the crux of temptation: you want it. It’s pretty and well made, not cheap tourist junk, and…he’d put thought into this gift for you.

This bait for you, you remind yourself. It’s still hard for you to believe that he’s propositioning you, if for anything, because a man like him could have a supermodel on each arm if he wanted. What the fuck would he want with a girl like you?

Maybe…it’s just an apology?

Not likely, but surely he’s not going to expect you to sleep with him for a silver bracelet??

You have a problem, and possibly, a screw loose. You know this is a flame you should not play with. You are toeing the line, dangerously close to falling in.

What if…you just wear it today, then give it back? It’s not like he’ll know. You doubt you’ll even see him today.

It feels like a guilty secret, as you pick it up again, clasp it on your wrist, and set out for your big day. You like the weight of the heavy silver on your skin–worse yet, you like knowing that Mr. Mark selected this bauble just for you. It feels…like a badge of honor, and you know it’s stupid, to feel proud of yourself for catching the attention of a man like him–but you can’t help it.

You are smart, but sometimes? Your heart is really really stupid.

You do not return to the house until well past after dusk, nearly midnight. You made a day of it, actually able to enjoy the city since Mr. Mark pays so well. You will remember the hand pulled noodles with beef you had for dinner in the Night Market for the rest of your life, they were so delicious. Watching the chef stretch them out from a lump of dough was like a religious experience.

Having your fortune told in the Night Market was memorable too, but maybe a little unsettling. Squatted on a stool in the older woman’s stall, you paid 100HK dollars for her to look at your right hand and frown. She told you that money would never be a problem for you, but the men in your life would always cause you difficulty. Looking at your relationship with your father and every man after that, you reckon she was probably right. You know you should take it with a grain of salt, but you can’t quite shake the hum of unease in the back of your mind.

On tired feet you walk through the garden, around to the entrance to the servant’s quarters.

"Did you have a nice day?" asks a voice from the shadows. You start, then realize Mr. Mark is sitting on the carved stone bench, on the path to the servants' wing of the house, tucked back in the manicured trees.

Fuck.

Immediately you tuck your wrist behind your back.

“Mr. Mark?”

“Come here.”

His voice is deliberately neutral–you can’t quite gauge his mood as you approach, feeling like a teenager caught staying out past her curfew. You have no way of knowing he has been waiting for hours, growing more and more annoyed that you are away from him, not under his watchful gaze, where you belong.

He knows where you were, if not exactly what you did. Unbeknownst to you, there is a tiny tracker inserted in your new bracelet you wear with such foolish avarice.

“Well?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day,” you confirm, coming to stand before him, committed now even if you are walking into the lion’s den. You find it odd he’s waiting up for you, but it is a beautiful night to be out in the garden. A cool breeze is coming off the water, lifting your hair.

“Let’s see it then.” He points at your hand so casually held behind you, and you know you are caught out.

Almost guiltily, you extend your arm to show off your new acquisition in situ.

He props your hand with just the tips of his fingers, his touch maddeningly light on your sensitive palm as he turns your wrist to inspect the bracelet, sending a thrill down your arm. He likes seeing the gift that he selected upon you.

“It suits you,” he finally assesses, though you still can’t tell if he’s displeased. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely above a whisper, feeling as though you are sealing something between you as you admit it.

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Your heart feels like a sea urchin lodging in your throat. You’re not sure what it is about this man that makes you want to please him–and tell him to fuck off–all in the same breath.

Then he gets to the fun part–for him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late alone,” he scolds you.

You cant your head and press your lips, holding in the smart remark that burns on your tongue as his coal-black eyes bore into you, settling for, "I didn't mean to worry you…but it is my day off. I think I'm free to do what I want." You just can't stop yourself from adding the last bit, and you wonder from his darkening expression if it will be your undoing.

He imagines in that moment what it would be like to reach out and put you over his knee. Instead, he stands abruptly, startling you into taking a step backwards.

He likes that.

It irks him, that you dare defy him, like he doesn’t know what’s best for you. If you insist on acting so tough, he’s tempted to throw you over his shoulder and show you just how little it would take to actually break you.

"Were you drinking?" he asks darkly, hating the thought of you out in a bar, with other men, enjoying yourself. Laughing, like you were with the young gardener not so long ago. The moment he saw that on his camera feed that he constantly watches of you, Donaka saw red. You should not give your joy to others so freely. You sprinkle it around everywhere you go, and he covets it all for himself.

That boy had to go.

"No," you defend, and you’re telling the truth. "I just...walked around." There was plenty to see in Kowloon district.

Donaka takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours, the heat of it warming you. He watches your reaction as he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You should have let me arrange a driver for you.”

This again. It feels as though he wants to cloister you away from experiencing the world, by shoving you in a car. "Donaka..." you sigh, slipping into using his first name for the first time ever, because you’re tired, and your feet hurt, and he is standing very close, talking to you like he has a say in what you do…

It’s maddening and arousing all at once, rubbing with a velvet touch against some long long cavewoman instinct in your brain, and if you’re not careful this just might be the night he outmaneuvers you.

Donaka’s eyes narrow at hearing you dare to be so familiar with him, even if deep down he secretly loves it. He takes another step into you, crowding you against the stone wall, caging you in with an arm. He’s blocking your path to a quick exit into the servants’ quarters, you can’t help but notice. Your heart pounds in your ears–but you’re not half as afraid as you should be of this man.

“Hong Kong is pretty safe, as it goes…” you continue to protest around the sound of your heart drumming in your ears, earning a scoff.

“You have no idea, the sorts of things that could happen to a girl like you in this city.”

You can’t help but think you’re not sure if you feel safe here at home now.

“If something happened…I would have called you,” you offer up, appealing to his ego as protector, the role he’s apparently decided to take on for himself without asking you.

However, he sees right through you, rolling those beautiful dark eyes. “You should have let me take you out,” he suggests in a low tone that curls your toes in your sandals. He says it like it had been some option on your menu that you’d rejected. Never in a million years would it have even occurred to you to ask.

You find yourself doing your best impression of a fish out of water, like the ones you’d seen stacked like cord wood in the market. His other hand lifts to touch your chin lightly, closing your mouth. “Would you have liked that?”

You honestly don't know the answer to that.

This man fascinates you and repulses you. He's handsome and commanding and oh so forbidding. He scares you, but he draws you like a moth to a flame. Having these little flirtatious interactions around the house are one thing. Going out with him would be...something else entirely. The thought of what it could mean to socialize with a man like him, where you are so far from being equals, makes you uneasy. It's much safer to just...write about what might have been in your journal, later.

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," you finally answer breathily.

His smile for you is nothing less than the wolf baring its teeth. “Why not?”

"You're my boss..." you try to defend. You scare the shit out of me is the real answer you don't dare say aloud.

Donaka can’t help the dark laugh that falls from his lips at your answer, the way you flounder as you grasp for a defense, utterly drowning. A part of him wants to claim you right here and now, for being such a sweet, soft, naive little thing in his claws.

He leans down closer to you, his head dipping down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is that the best excuse you’ve got?”

For a moment, you think your soul might evacuate from your body.

"Pretty sure it's a good one," you barely manage to reply above a whisper.

“You still don’t understand what I’m offering you, do you?” he asks, his voice deceptively gentle, a dagger clothed in velvet.

You love it how he makes you out to be the obtuse one, when he is the one who has spoken so cryptically.

“I…might,” you answer. You’re not a complete innocent, or a total philistine.

What would a VIP experience on the arm of Donaka Mark be like? Although he can be charming when he wants to be, it makes you feel more anxious than intrigued. You imagine a dinner at some high-end restaurant you could never afford. Somewhere people go to be seen, more than to eat, though the food would undoubtedly be amazing. Somewhere you would feel incredibly out of place. Then what? A ride in one of his ugly but wicked fast sports cars? A night of hedonism at some exclusive club for millionaires only? And what would he expect as payment for all this? You can’t even say you wouldn’t be willing to give it. You want this man with a voracity that is–frankly–terrifying to you.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

What you wouldn’t like is the inevitable aftermath of later: he's offering you the opportunity to give yourself up–then get thrown away, with the enjoyment of some perks in between. You could repeat your mother’s history all over again, a thing you always swore up, down, and sideways you would never do.

Donaka watches all these thoughts play across your face, without a word aloud to accompany them. You just stare, unable to speak, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Say one sentence of the novel you just wrote in your head out loud,” he challenges.

You open your mouth to try, but nothing comes out. All you can do is look up at him with what you are sure is a pathetic expression on your face, paralyzed. He is so close, and your eyes fixate for a long, damning moment on his mouth. In the end you have to close your eyes against that laser-like stare, shaking your head.

“You know something I find interesting about you,” he goes on. You open your eyes, though your tongue is still tied. “I think if I made you choose between an Hermès purse or that cheap bauble on your wrist this morning, you still would have chosen the bracelet, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, maybe not to your advantage. Then you feel a little relieved, glad it didn’t cost a fortune.

“Comparatively cheap,” he clarifies, as though he doesn't want you to feel too at ease. How did he know?

You narrow your eyes, lifting your wrist towards him. “Maybe…you should take it back.”

You think you might die of a heart attack, when he folds your smaller hand in his, and kisses your knuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that.”

You’re not sure what that means, but as he strokes your thumb lightly with his, you start to tremble.

“Sir…”

He pins you with his stare, looming over you, but makes no move, waiting.

“It’s getting late…and I have to work tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirking down at you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine…though it’s starting to be yours.”

He snorts. “Then ask me for the day off again,” he dares you. When you answer him with yet more paralyzed silence he gets frustrated, tilting your face up with his huge hand engulfing your jaw. For a man who works in tech…his fingers are calloused, and strong, and your legs just might go out from underneath you. “Ask me. Say it out loud, y/n. Tell me what’s going on, behind those big eyes.”

You, however, just shake your head against his masterful grip. “You don’t want to know.”

“I like secrets, y/n. I want to know everything.” You suppose that is his bread and butter, with his security business and all his cameras…you don’t know why it never occurred to you before now, that it could be a personal obsession, as much as professional.

You’re tempted. God, are you tempted, with this beast of a man looming over you, touching you, looking through you with those piercing dark eyes. Like he wants to eat you as much as he wants to fuck you…

Somehow you know if you dare go down that path…there will be no turning back.

You choose the coward’s road.

“Please…I think…it would be best…to call it a night.”

He weighs you with a heavy gaze for so long that you start to doubt he will let you go–in the darkest dungeon of your heart, you know that a part of you doesn’t want him to. It would be convenient, if he would make the choice for you. Let you taste the forbidden fruit with none of the blame…

You are losing your goddamned mind over this man. You need to stop.

You never really know why in the end he releases you, pushing back from the wall to give you space. You side-step towards the door of the servant’s quarters, afraid for the predatory look he’s paying you, that he might change his mind.

"Good night, Mr. Mark," you say quietly, before disappearing into the little building where you sleep. A rush of frustration flares inside him as you scamper away–again. He narrowly resists the urge to kick down your door and show you who you belong to.

“Good night,” he answers back through gritted teeth, only the crickets left to hear him. He’ll have your secrets, one way or another. He can genuinely say he tried–a first, in so long he can’t remember when. For what happens next…you will only have yourself to blame.

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #that gif is from tumblr via google #if its yours ill credit u!

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strangererotica · 8 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Stepdad!Hopper x Reader • age gap (reader is 21, Hop’s in his 40’s) • angst, mutual pining, masturbation mentioned, troubled marriage, Hopper is a pervert wracked with guilt aka my favorite kind of Hopper… 🤪

You wiggled on Hopper’s lap, causing him to stifle a groan. God you were beautiful. So fucking pretty and sweet, using his lap to sit in while you did your makeup at the dresser mirror.

“Thanks for the boost, by the way,” you told him, smiling at his serious reflection in the glass. “I’m too short for this dresser, I swear.” You giggled, patting your cheeks with a rosy blush. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be stretching on my tiptoes just to put my makeup on.”

Hopper swallowed back another groan as you adjusted on his lap. “But with you in this chair, and me on your lap-” You finished slicking your lips with a cherry-flavored gloss, and popped them. “-We make a great team, don’t we?”

Hopper forced a polite smile back at you, struggling internally. He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, or doing it at all. You were so trusting of him, so naive in many ways. Even though you were an adult now, Hopper was aware of the fact that you had next to no experience with boys. He wasn’t doing anything wrong right now, by letting you sit on his lap…not technically. But because of the feelings he’d secretly had for you, for awhile now, even the most innocent gestures Hopper made toward you felt taboo…

When he’d met your mother, you’d just turned nineteen. And without an older, stable male figure in your life, you became attached to Hopper quickly. After marrying your mother the following year, Hopper hoped you’d finally begin dating, forming relationships with boys your age. But now, at twenty-one years old, you still insisted on designating Hopper the only man in your life.

He hadn’t minded, at first. Not when his relationship with your mother was going well, when she and Hopper were still being intimate together. But things had soured between them over the last six months or so, to the point that now, Hopper couldn’t remember the last time he and his wife had made love. There never seemed to be any interest on her part, leading Hopper to wonder sometimes if perhaps she were having her sexual needs met by another man?

With the tension in his marriage at a peak and its intimacy completely evaporated, Hopper found his desires traveling elsewhere in the home. He hated himself for it, despised the way he came almost daily to the thought of having you…but the woman you’d become was a temptation too great for Hopper to ignore.

Seeing you every morning, moving about the house in just your pajama shorts and a tank top like it was nothing, Hopper realized how disgusting he’d truly become. You obviously trusted him, just as you had for years, enough to prance around him half naked and think nothing of it. This realization only added to Hopper’s guilt, making him hate himself a little more each time he masturbated with your body in mind.

“There,” you said, capping your mascara and placing it on the dresser. “All done. What do you think?” You fanned your fingers around your face and batted your lashes dramatically, smiling at Hopper’s reflection.

“Beautiful,” he replied; and from the almost reverent sincerity in Hopper’s tone, you knew he meant it.

You slid off his lap, his hands immediately moving to your hips to steady you as you dismounted. Hopper rose from the chair, turning aside so you wouldn’t see him discreetly adjust himself in his pants.

He sighed with relief, feeling as if he’d passed some kind of test. “Hey,” he said. “You really do look great, kid. But-.” Hopper moved his finger to boop your powdered nose. “-Who’s all this for, anyway? You gettin’ all dolled up just for the hell of it?”

You glanced down at the floor, a blush warming your cheeks beneath the makeup. “I…uh,” you stammered bashfully. “I have a date.”

Hopper’s eyebrows lifted, his lips parting in surprise. “A date?” he asked, before quickly softening the accidental sharpness in his voice. “Oh. Who’s the lucky guy?”

There was a pause before you answered Hopper, and he found it a bit strange that you didn’t answer him right away. Maybe you were just shy, he wondered? This was the first date Hopper had ever known you to have, in the two years he’d known you. Maybe the situation was so new, you didn’t know how to talk about it casually?

“Uh, just a guy from work,” you explained. “You’d like him, he’s funny. But serious too, when he needs to be.” You bit your glossy bottom lip, chuckling. “He kinda reminds me of you, Hop.”

Your stepdad’s eyebrow quirked curiously, as if he doubted your sincerity. “Hmm,” he muttered. “You meeting this guy somewhere?”

“At the new mall they just built, yeah,” you replied, checking your look again in the mirror. “We’ll probably see a movie, or something.”

Hopper nodded, another polite smile once again fixed onto his face. “Well, be safe,” he told you, and gently squeezed your shoulder before heading for the door.

“Just, one more thing,” Hopper said, lingering in your doorway. “What’s this kid’s name, anyway?”

You froze outwardly, but your mind was scrambling for a response. “Jack,” you blurted. “His name’s Jack. He’s a nice guy, really.”

Hopper’s brow was creased in ‘detective mode,’ a familiar expression for him, but one you rarely saw directed at yourself. He nodded silently as he exited your room, patting the doorframe on his way out. You watched Hopper leave, exhaling the knot of tension you’d been holding.

“Like I said,” he called from the hallway as he walked away. “Be safe.”

Be safe. A sentiment that struck you as both ironic and unnecessary, as you observed your made-up reflection in the mirror…the mirror you could easily access, without having to strain. You hadn’t needed Hopper’s lap to boost you; you wanted him to be there. The innocence you feigned around your stepfather was as fake as your date for the evening, Jack.

The truth, which as always is more complicated than fiction, was that you’d been in love with Hopper for awhile now. You weren’t as naive as he (and your mother) thought you were. What you lacked in actual life experience, you made up for in observing others. And as you began to see problems in your mother and Hopper’s marriage arise, you watched each crack form on the surface with a growing interest.

Although Hopper didn’t realize it, your choosing him as the only man in your life was not an accident. You didn’t want anyone else; you wanted him. Tonight had been a test, to gauge his reaction to you actually having a date for once. And from the way Hopper had reacted, his change of tone, his sudden and deliberate need for details, you were convinced that jealousy was at play in his response.

Reaching for your bag, you checked to make sure you had your car keys and enough cash on you for a movie ticket and some popcorn. You’d go to the mall and see a movie, just as you’d told Hopper, minus a date…

…or at least, you thought you’d be going alone. You didn’t notice, as you exited the driveway and drove through the streets of Hawkins, that another (very familiar) vehicle was discreetly following a few cars behind you.

Hopper wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see, with his own eyes, the boy you’d suddenly, uncharacteristically, made the choice to go out with. The expression ‘know your enemy,’ may have been resting at the back of Hopper’s mind as he followed you to the mall; but more accurately, Hopper was hoping to know his competition…

PART TWO

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purrpletiger · 1 year ago

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FRESH DRAWING GUIDE:

Hello everybody, I've come to give you all this absurd reference guide for drawing Fresh. yep. I decided to spend hours slapping this together.

If I got anything wrong or should add anything PLEEEASE lemme know! All ideas welcome!

If you want to see my "research" on this character, let me know in the replies, because there's so much to talk about with him and I'd love to do a character analysis or two, I couldn't put much about his personality or source posts in this because it's just a drawing guide!

Link to all the full images

Transcript and close-ups of the text on the image: (May be in a strange order)

Fresh was created by @loverofpiggies (CQ)

Main Outfit:

YOLO sunglasses

Backwards propeller cap

Pink Polo shirt

Crayola Jacket

Gold Tooth

SWAG fannypack

Convertible Zip-off pants

White Heelie shoes

Pink socks

He has thick eyebrows to emote! (The eyebrows are usually depicted with black hair but one human design has eyebrows that match the pink hair color!)

The bag says SWAG on it

His glasses say YOLO by default, but the letters can magically change mid-scene...

this design for Fresh is Tall, we dunno how tall but taller than CQ's Sans characters (or just Geno since he's literally sans undertale with some added steps). But his height is just his host's height sooo it can vary.

those (cyan and yellow) shoe details are on the innerside but not outerside

HE HAS HEELIES!

Pink glove cuffs!

his skateboard is inconsistent dont worry about it

Glasses Off:

The host's soul shows up in their left eyesocket

- The soul tends to look unstable (cracks & a sortve stroboscopic effect.. i couldn't think of a better word.) but not in some cases...

It doesn't have to be a white upside-down heart, that's just a reference to an undertale monster soul.

He has a purple substance full of little RADs that emanate from his eyesockets (when his sunglasses are off)

"The soul in Fresh's eyes CAN be cracked. That soul isn't his. it belongs to his host. And.... after a while.... things go bad for the host, and he needs a new one." -CQ

(example of soul with unstable effect with no cracks) (example of soul with cracks but lacking the effect)

The purple aura(?) can glow and emanate from the eyes when his glasses are on too

i miss this one design specifically. the colors and the SK8 OR B SK8 shirt were peak

I miss the SWAG necklace...

Fresh leaves a rainbow cloud of smoke when he "poofs". Either teleporting him and his host body somewhere or leaving his host behind.

Human Designs:

Fresh can possess humans too.

They all look physically different because they're different people that he's possessing.

Fresh can possess pretty much any body, but I thought I'd show the varied examples of humans anyway

Don't forget the orange jacket flaps! or his hat propeller!

I dunno what's up with the multicolor tongue thing. I think it was extra parasites in the host's mouth? I feel like it was scrapped at some point... but I could be wrong

FURBIES!:

Oh yeah, he also does this: (no image for the bat tho)

"I mean when he fights he pulls Furbies out of his magical fanny pack. takes out a wiffle bat. and hits the furby at his enemies.

And then the furby explodes in a blaze of glory." -CQ

Despite using some furbies as explosives, he seems to 'care' about and treat these two like precious babies:

This one is potentially named McFreshby The Fresh Furbrah (Fresh is mentioned to have one named that, and this is the only other furby he's been depicted with)

It can also do THIS: (roll its eyes back into a spookier look)

This is DJ FurBs. that's all i know about him

The REAL Parasite:

Fresh is actually this little parasite controlling a host body. (if you didn't know that why are you reading this post rn!?! but nah I love new Fresh fans, welcome!)

The main parasite is this purple one with the eyemouth and four(?) tendrils, the other colored tentacles are prrrobably Fresh's offspring (freshmageddon moment?) (I'm not actually sure, I'm just pretty sure they're not part of the main parasite but are parasite tentacles)

You can also see Fresh's five or more purple tendrils here stretching out all over his host's body

All art from CrayonQueen/@loverofpiggies

Reference guide made by PurrpleParrasite/@purrpletiger

pls suggest changes or additions if u have ideas!

That's all!

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krispycreamcake · 3 months ago

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Interview with a vampire:

A Sakamaki exposé

The Sakamaki name has long since been involved in political disputes in the human world, and with the current upcoming election, one has to wonder, what is his Highness, Karlheinz Sakamaki, doing to prepare for this election? Being the almighty ruler of vampires and overseer of the Bat Clan, one must wonder, why is our Highness, the King, participating in mortal public affairs. With no sight of his six potential heirs, many questions arise from our very own citizens who claims that the King himself, hasn't been to loyal to his own species.

Joining us here today, is critically acclaimed videographer and journalist, Decima Amadeus. She has been working on tracking down these lost heirs of the demon realm and have come to us with her research. Let's see what she has to say about this whole debacle.

"Throughout recent years, many have wondered exactly where have our precious princes went. Did they leave behind their duties, or were they pursuing something much greater than we can conjure? I'm Decima Amadeus and here with me today, is one of our guests, Reiji Sakamaki!"

"Good evening Decima, I do hope all is well...."

"I wish I could honestly lie to you and say it was, but with your father neglecting our race, it's hard to say anything is ever really 'well' as you say. Ah- speaking of neglecting, shall we move on with the questions?"

".......Very well then, let's begin."

"Fantastic, well as you know, everyone's been wondering, where have you and your brothers all been? You're certainly not in the demon realm anymore."

"Ah- of course. Well, currently we've been staying in Shimane, Japan."

"And why is that? I'd say it's a bit over a couple hundred years too long to be vacationing."

"Well, as you may know, none of us has been yet designated to take our father's place as King yet, so-"

"So you decide to run off and leave behind your kingdom? Without a word or a trace as to where you've all been these past years?"

"I'd hardly call that 'running off' as you put it. Our father simply decided that we perhaps needed a more quiet life and gave us many opportunities to prove to him which of his children would inherit the title of Vampire King."

"Wait- so then- ha! So let me get this straight, it was Karlheinz himself that shipped you off to the human realm and left you there for hundreds of years without saying anything? He was the one that decided this and still he chose to not notify the public even once."

"Well Decima, one would think that something like that was a much more personal family matter and that it didn't need to be disclosed to the public. Just because he is King, doesn't give others the authority to police his every move and decision."

"Except in this case it does. Mr. Sakamaki, in case you haven't picked up the newspaper yet, there's a mass famine going around. Our blood supply is low and yet no one has yet to make any official announcement, almost as if they weren't affected by it! My sources have led me to believe that the distribution of humans in the demon realm has been at its peak for the last 3 years, and still there's nothing to account for it, considering the multitude of hungry mouths, which subsequently happen to also be those of middle to lower classes!"

"..... While you may think so, I've no comment on the matter as I refuse to contribute to conspiracy theories. The fact of the matter is, my brothers and I have no impact on this, whether here in the human world, or there in the demon realm."

"It's quite funny you say that Mr. Sakamaki. You see, we have an external source that claims that for over 100 years, you've all been personally receiving a blood supply from the King himself, while the rest of us suffer from inflation and the inability to feed ourselves, to the brink of relying on animal blood, which has caused a minor epidemic of Septicima O8, which is a highly mutated form of Sepsis that can affect us immortals."

"I- I'm truly sorry to hear that you've all been going through this, but I still can't see how we can help. None of us can overrule the King and besides-"

"Overrule the King? Have you forgotten that it is your duty as a prince to inherit that golden title? For years we have suffered and yet, you six sit back and get pampered while the King continues to fail his kingdom! And now you claim there is nothing you can do? Have you forgotten the reason you were brought into this world in the first place? Or is it that you've been getting too overtly comfortable with the humans that your roles no longer hold meaning to you?"

"That is nothing but a fib! I already declared that I will not be participating in conspiracy theories against my own father! Being royalty does come with its benefits, that I agree, and I'm once again apologizing to those that cannot afford that luxury, but if I had known what was going on, I surely would have stepped up!"

"So you admit to not having any knowledge of the current ongoings of our society when it is on the verge of collapsing? And not only that, you're apologizing because you refuse to do anything while the rich get richer and the poor get poorer? And I've been wanting to ask this for a while, but when we originally called for the oldest of the Sakamaki household, we were turnt away and had to make do with the second eldest. Thus, further showcasing how lackadaisical you Sakamakis have been regarding our current world affairs."

"T-that's not!-"

"Cut to commercial......I need a break."

From author: I didn't want to make this too long in case it doesn't get any attention, so let me know your thoughts as I honestly want to make this a brief series where we interview all the brothers and certain truths get revealed. (Guys lie to my face and tell me you loved it)

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