#...i dont need to tag this for blood do i?

[nezuswritingdesk]

In front of the altar (sylus x gen!reader)

A/n : I may or may not have been inspired to write this scene from the new banner. I dont know what possessed me to stop my other work immediately just to do this. Will be word-vomiting.

Tags: sylus being love sick, you also being as equally love sick, can be interpreted as either mc or reader and is gender neutral but is called mrs qin (at the end ) not proofread im just brain dumping. Ooc sylus, I wrote this instead of sleeping so none of this makes sense I think just let me word vomit in peace!!

Wc: 996 words

Sylus never imagined a day he would walk down the altar.

The life of being the leader of Onychinus, the strongest man in the N109 zone, was in short, difficult, and fleeting. He watched how men trembled before him, how he built an entire empire from the ground up with own bare fists stained with blood— he was never the man that deserved to be waited for at the end of an altar.

Until you came along.

It was strange at first, how Sylus seemingly found himself so mesmerized by you, how his eyes followed you across the rooms you'd enter, how he felt his facial muscles soften and twitch when you smiled brightly like the sun itself, how your voice brought comfort to his troubled and lonely soul.

It was strange at first, yes, but it blossomed into something pure and wholeheartedly made with utmost love and devotion. One that you and Sylus tended to, watching your love take root into your hearts and the day-to-day lives you had, how the flowers bloomed brightly in the spring, and how your touch reminded him of what heaven felt like.

When he proposed, you didnt give a moments hesitation. Despite your tears, you nodded vigorously, repeating yesses over and over again as the cool metal slips against your ring finger. You kissed his lips like his was oxygen and you needed another moment to breathe.

The months leading up to the wedding were hectic. Sylus had to make sure that your safety was of the highest priority. He scouted venues, contacted individuals for gown commissions, and helped you plan everything for the day. He made sure to get the gown you wanted, to call the florist that you wanted Daturas, and even got a small wedding cake for the both of you to share.

The day you married Sylus was a quiet day. It was as if the world held its breath as you and he drove to the destination together. You both opted for a private ceremony, with only the both of yourselves as a witness to a love only for yours to adore. The paperwork has been settled, the place cleaned , and yourselves ready.

But even with all the preparation, knots tied in your stomach. The closer you got to old cathedral that Sylus bought for the occassion itself, you began to wonder if you were doing the right thing.

Afterall, you aren't just marrying Sylus. You are marrying into the life he had built for himself, which will soon be shared with you. A life that was fast-pasted and intense, filled with business deals and other matters.

As you continued to spiral, you felt a hand grasp yours.

"We'll be okay," Sylus said softly, lowering the radio, "We'll figure it out together, my love."

You nodded slowly. He smiled, stopped by the side of the road and kissed the crown of your veil. You knew it was tradition that a groom should never see his bride before they get married, but tradition never mattered for you and Sylus.

As the drive reached its end, you find both of yourselves in front of the old cathedral. Its tall, imposing structure battled against the growing moss and vines. Red Daturas bloomed around the steps that lead inside the chapel.

Sylus offered his hand.

You took his and went inside.

The interior looked younger than the exterior. Old wooden pews became overgrown with plants, the window stains hummed an old melody of years long passed. Datura flowers popped against its dullness.

Sylus held your hand tighter, and you both made your way to the altar, the lace of your fingerless gloves intertwined with his flesh.

You glanced at him, seeing his softer features. The same ones he showed to you freely and with no restraint. He smiled, cupping the side of your face with his hand and took both of your hands, raising it up close to his chest.

He took a deep breath and said,

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He said, his voice filled with reverence, his eyes slowly began to mist, "I want to create memories with you to last lifetimes."

The quiet and comfortable silence filled the altar, your dress seemingly glowing against the moonlight. Heartbeats rung loud as bated breaths await whats next.

"I want the same things to," You tell Sylus, your voice breaking, "I want to stand beside you and be the light amidst the darkness you've only known."

Sylus smiled. He lets go for a moment, and reached for his pockets, presenting a pair of wedding bands. Silver with red spinels. His hands shook slightly, his voice wavering as he began to slip the ring onto your finger,

"I, Qin Che..." He says slowly, his voice firm yet soft, "Take you to be my wedded spouse. For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health till doomsday descends and death parts us."

You teared up even more, shaking from emotions. You took a deep breath, and repeated the same words, slowly placing the ring on his finger,

"I, take you, Qin Che..." You said in between tears, trying your best not to ruin the makeup you had worked hard for, "to be my wedded husband. For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health till doomsday descends and death parts us."

A comfortable silence filled the room once more, your tears ran down your cheeks as Sylus wiped them away. He pulled you close, slowly lifting the veil.

Oh.

oh.

"May I kiss you?" He asked.

"Yes..." you answered. He pulled you even closer, sweeping you off your feet, your lips pressed against each other like perfect pieces meant to stay alongside each other. It lasted for a few seconds before you pulled away to gasped for air before kissing him again once more.

"Mr. Qin..." You said softly.

Sylus smiled, "Mrs. Qin..."

[i-messed-up-big-time]

Someone Precious III

a/n: i am in no ways a medical professional so pls dont mind if some medical stuff sounds weird, i did my best to research beforehand. also im so sorry it took me so long to write and release this, its been nonstop working and no sleep for me so i havent had the chance to actually sit down long enough to write much. also sorry that it's so short but stay tuned cause the next chapter is gonna be JUICY

Divider creds @/cafekitsune

tags: mentions of blood, female reader, not a medical professional, dark themes, mentions of depression, body image problems.

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

series masterlist

taglist: @aneertawrites @eurydiceknowshesloved @angelichiaro @nommingonfood @ynovaes @animegamerfox @melonssoup @iamawkwardandshy @novthirty @rosevelt632 @sleepless-cloudy @justpassingdontworry @sleepykittyenergy @ijustwannabeyourmuse @iiyumii @eolivy @asakiyu @dekiruxxx @unwaveringcosmicmemory @flora98

MC was definitely panicking, rushing to get everything before helping you into the car and giving your doctor a call to let her know what was happening.

She quickly helped you into the back, making sure you had enough space and you were as comfortable as you t could be, and that's when the first contraction hit.

You groaned in pain, which only worried MC, she glanced at you in the rearview mirror.

"Is it the contractions?"

She asked, you could only nod as another contraction hit you, this one more painful than the first.

You groan out in pain, clutching your stomach.

"Step on it."

You said in between deep breaths. Out of the corner of your eye you could see MC hesitate, but you repeated yourself with a little bit more edge to your voice.

It wasn't meant to sound as harsh as it came out, but you know MC wouldn't take it to heart considering the condition you're in right now.

●・○・●・○・●・

MC had managed to get you guys to the hospital at a decent speed, although it still had you complaining from the back that she was driving too slow and at that rate you might as well have your kids in the back of the car.

Your contractions were getting worse, you were timing them but the pain had you lose count.

MC helped you out of the car and got you into a wheelchair. You don't know how you could have made it without her.

She flagged down a nurse and told her your water had broke and you were having contractions.

They got you into a room and changed into a gown.

"We're gonna monitor you for a bit until you're ready to give birth, if you need anything just press the call button."

The nurse gave you a polite smile before leaving you and MC alone.

The room was filled with your laboured breathing and words of encouragement from MC as she held your hand.

"Have you thought about any names for the kids yet?"

MC asked, trying to get you to focus on something else instead of the pain.

You were about to respond when you felt this agonizing pain in your stomach and the feeling of something wet in between your legs.

You clutched your stomach and tried to move but the pain was too intense.

MC then spotted the blood pooling between your legs and wasted no time in pressing the call button.

The nurse came in and before she could even ask what you needed she ran out just as quick as she came in.

The nurses and doctors were here within seconds, you couldn't hear a thing as the pain kept increasing and caused a ringing in your ear.

You could only pray your babies would be okay.

●・○・●・○・●・

MC watched as they gave you anesthesia and wheeled you away to an operating room.

She didn't understand what they were saying, it was all a blur, but what she knew for sure was that they needed to perform an emergency c-section or else both the mother and the babies would be at risk of not making it.

MC felt at a loss that there was nothing that she could do but pray and hope everything turns out okay.

●・○・●・○・●・

More than an hour had passed before you were brought back into your room with two little cribs with your babies wrapped in baby blue blankets.

MC couldn't help but tear up, not just out of happiness but also out of sadness for her friend that went through so much not just today but this past year.

The doctor said that you'd be asleep for a little while longer and to press the call button when you woke up so they could do some checks on you and the babies.

MC brought up a chair next to your bed and decided to send a text to Xavier with a list of things to get before you woke up.

●・○・●・○・●・

When you woke up, you were greeted with the site of MC cuddled up on a chair with Xavier and the room decorated with congratulation balloons and bouquet of your favourite flowers.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a box that looked suspiciously like the one from your favourite bakery.

You heard your babies start to cry and before you could even get up to check on them MC woke up and made her way over to you.

"Don't get up just yet, the doctor said you need to rest and not over exert yourself. That means I'll be doing the moving for you."

MC pushed you back down and rolled the cribs closer to you so you could pick up your crying babies.

It was a bit difficult at first but you got comfortable real quick holding them both. Your entire world was in this small hospital room, and you wouldn't trade them for the world.

The doctors and nurses kept coming and going, running tests and monitoring both you and the babies to make sure everything was okay.

It wasn't long before MC asked what you planned on naming your boys.

This was something you spent your entire pregnancy thinking about, wanting it to be perfect but you also just wanted to go with the flow of the moment.

"Lucian, my light, and Calix, my little gift."

●・○・●・○・●・

You were discharged a few days later.

The doctor had informed you that recovery would take about 4-6 weeks and that it was vital that you didn't strain your body during this time and that you had ample amount of rest.

The moment you stepped into the house someone popped a confetti bomb.

There stood Xavier with a silly little hat on and a banner behind him that said 'Welcome Home!'

You turned and gave MC, who was holding a camera, a big hug as you burst into tears. The love that this woman gave you could never be rivalled.

She told you to go shower and settle in while she took the boys to their room to sleep.

The shower was exactly what you needed after being stuck in a hospital room for a couple of days.

●・○・●・○・●・

Three months later

You were struggling, not with the kids, but with yourself.

It was hard to sleep at night, you were constantly plagued with thoughts about Caleb, even though you tried really hard not to think about him.

Your beautiful baby boys were carbon copies of him, your genes didn't even bother putting up a fight, but you wouldn't trade them for the world.

They were just as handsome as their father, you just know they're gonna be trouble when they get older.

You spent countless nights crying and wishing some things could be different, wishing you could've had him by your side throughout all of this.

It pained you to raise your precious babies without a father but what could you do?

It didn't help that you were struggling with looking at yourself in the mirror. You know you shouldn't, but the scar on your stomach made you feel so ugly.

You know you shouldn't feel this way, but it was hard. You just wanted to be loved, was that so hard to ask for?

Your mind constantly drifts back to the day you woke up and saw that note, and your heart shatters all over again.

You thought time would heal all wounds, but it seems impossible for this one.

MC noticed your change in moods, the way you looked so downcast when you think no one is watching. She knows you like the back of her hand so she's aware of what you're thinking about.

She doesn't ask questions but always makes sure that you know that she's there for you no matter what choice you make. As long as you're happy.

[pineappleudh]

*You shouldn't have done that.

@floofanflurr

Stumbled across this DTIYS and decided to give it a go, with some creative liberties obviously.

It was really fun, ive never drawn in the undertale battle style before so i was surprised at how easy it felt, granted it still took a little while but nowhere near as long as i expected.

So, uhh, yeah. Papyrus is cool, challenge was fun, hope you enjoy.

[ninjasmudge]

i love those goat statues where they have their ribcage out, tear that chest open queen <3

unpainted below bc i like that one too 👇

[art-o-gant]

i was originally going to do an entire series of these but i. forgor. so here's shotgunshipping

[kkoct-ik]

IT'S FINISHED! I'VE FINISHED IT!

for the past few months i've been putting together a guide for writers looking to make OCs who suffer from DID, since i have a personal investment in good representation and an absurd amount of autism. and today it is FINISHED!!

it's gone up on my neocities, but i really wanted to post about it too.

here's the link

please check it out / bookmark it / share it if you're interested! if just one person finds this useful and makes art from it all my hours of hyperfixation will be worth. ok. love you

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[rainbow-wolf120]

Hello CLH fandom. I've come with good news

(This is me BTW)

But yeah! After meeting Adi at the panel at LightBox Expo, I got to ask him some questions regarding the Eden Online stuff

So this is a W chat, Adi doesn't support NFTs or AI 💪

Bonus video I took while I was at the panel (I was the one with the Bullfrog plushie lol):

(Lowkey hoping he would mention CLH but whatever)

[bigsharkguy]

various doodles of them because i love them

[dafpork]

OKAY. here is my Memorandum on why i don’t like B💥ffy (please forgive the ridiculous censoring, i don’t want this to show up in the tags for people just minding their own business) or, more accurately, the attitudes surrounding it. this just a huge huge huge rant 6 years in the making, you’re free to reblog but i’m not trying to start any sort of drama or conflict because that’s dumb and we all have better uses of our time! and it really is not that serious. i just need to lay out my thoughts so i can neatly put them away.

so there are quite a few reasons why, and i think they boil down to:

just not what i go for in a ship

it’s not what i want out of either character

i personally can't see it working

i personally think it's largely carried by bandwagon appeal rather than any actual founded ""evidence"" (ship for ship's sake)

there is a huge, recurring problem of many shippers acting like they ARE an authority on these characters or their cartoons... when they aren't at all lol i don't know how to make it sound nicer but it's true

riding on this, just bad experiences with many shippers and seeing it as a recurring problem. i've noticed the people who like Bugs and Daffy to act like divas often act like divas themselves. weird superiority complex

have had way too many experiences with people putting Porky/Dafpork down in favor of B💥ffy instead of letting it coexist and that gets me a bit irked, especially when i've had multiple posts vaguely referring to me to do this when i have literally just been Sitting Here, even as recently as last month 🙃

SO. YEAH. i'll just go through these points, maybe add more to this or make another follow-up. i've let all of this stew for so many years that i kinda can't believe i have a chance to "relieve" it all, and my mind is blanking as a result...

but it's true, there is just the basic "i don't go for this ship dynamic". i don't! enemies to lovers is not my cup of tea. i love odd couple type dynamics (i wouldn't have this blog if i didn't), but any ships i've been passionate about in my time on the internet--very few tbh--have been rooted in at least some form of fondness for the other. and this is literally just my taste, i don't think i'm morally superior than anyone because i don't like enemies to lovers. and i realize the irony of saying this when so many shorts have Porky trying to kill Daffy, but there's still an established fondness that has been baked into their dynamic in the start, and even with those antagonistic shorts i wholly believe there is at least some form of one-sided fondness on Daffy's behalf. and sometimes it's double sided depending on what tricks he's pulling/Porky getting a bit into the act.

this is also leeching into some other points already, but.. Daffy's behavior towards Bugs has always registered as a fair-weather friend to me. the whole joke is that when he acts all friendly to him, it's because he wants something for his own personal gain. and i'm sure you can make a case for that with how Daffy acts around Porky, since heckling him is for his own personal satisfaction, too.. but there's a difference between him lambasting or not enjoying Bugs' company until the most convenient time to save his own skin. i'm also just largely bored by Bugs' boredom, he doesn't feed into it and respond in the same way Porky does. and i know that's a point of appeal for a lot of people, but not me--i don't go for the world weary Bugs. just like i don't go for Excessively Selfish And We're Meant To Largely Root Against Him Daffy. i'll probably rephrase this more eloquently at another time, my thoughts are fleeing me... but for that i just can't see it working. and i know that's exactly why some people ship them, it's like a surprise and turning the dynamic on its head.. and you have stuff like Daffy kissing him on the cheek for having an idea to save his skin or Bugs pulling a Daffy and kissing him on the forehead when Daffy is trying to kill him which i think is funny people love that screenshot/short so much, i mean i can't judge since how many of my Dafpork kiss screenshots are in a similar context? ...actually not many, but i've always hated that short for how out of character Daffy is in it even with his hatred for Bugs. Daffy should never be the one hunting!!!!!! the fuck!

but i just don't get anything out of it for that reason. i don't like the world weary Bugs, i don't like unlikable asshole fallguy Daffy, i get nothing putting those two together. just personal preference. i salute those who are able to make the chemistry work and enjoy it, but i just can't. this might also be because i just can't see Bugs being shipped with anyone, he doesn't register as the type to carry an actual relationship to me. i feel like he's way too independent of a character for that. maybe i'm projecting my potential aromanticism onto him! iunno! but Bugs and romance do not compute to me. especially with Daffy and vice versa, i just can't see them getting anything meaningful out of it. but i know there are shippers who have found that for them and i respect it! that's great. genuinely.

now we're delving into the spicier and pettier side of things, oh boy. but. yeah. i'll be completely honest and say i think this ship is completely driven by bandwagon appeal. i mean, a bandwagon has to exist for some reason, and i can see why it would be erected: the enemies to lover angle, the subversion, the heavy Bugs and Daffy-focused marketing of the last half-century. in spite of my feelings, it is a classic ship dynamic and i see why people go for it. but i feel like that's just so much of what it... is.... people genuinely don't know that there are other options and don't explore them. you see people talking about Bugs and Daffy and nothing else and so you just assume that's the default. this isn't helped by Porky having either been swept under the rug or treated AWFULLY, like if my only view of LT was through TLTS i probably wouldn't ship Dafpork either because what the actual fuck

but that's the thing. THAT'S THE THING. people take TLTS as gospel and act like they are so smart and Right and correct for their TLTS centric views. i've seen so much disdain for the originals and that pisses me off, genuinely. sweeping it under the rug because they're "old". you don't have to be a nut like me and have seen all 1,000 shorts. i am a glaring exception and not the rule. you don't have to have an encyclopedic knowlegde of these characters or shorts to enjoy them... but i've seen so many people act all high and mighty and like they know everything, when all they know is a very specific part of history--that's almost all founded by a game of telephone, because modern incarnations misrepresent the appeal and dynamics of these characters--and they pass it off as fact and talk down to people who don't like it. and it makes me want to scream. because if you want to play the know it all game, i will go there! and i will bring up more than just the 2 Chuck Jones shorts you ever so charitably decided to use as "evidence", in spite of showing no interest for any other shorts and garnering a greater context for these characters! AUGH SORRY IM BEING RIDICULOUSLY PETTY BUT IT'S LIKE. THE DOUBLE STANDARDS DRIVE ME INSANE. please do not talk down to me and act like you know everything because you don't. i don't either. but i most certainly can play the argument game if someone really wants to and i can do it for hours lmfao because i actually know these characters and watch them in different contexts and have an understanding of their motives and intentions, instead of looking at everything through a ship focused lens!

and that's the thing, too. i feel like so many shippers only look at the characters through a ship focused lens and not through a character centric lens. that's the difference with me. Dafpork is my favorite ship of all time and always will be. but the fact that i can shove them together like two Barbie dolls is just a happy bonus--i'm in it for the CHARACTERS first and foremost, and just the fact that they have this chemistry and ability to be smacked like Barbie dolls is a bonus. and so often i feel like so much of BFY or just , the LT fandom in general, is curated through vague stereotypes or expectations or fandom/ship-centric viewpoints instead of the characters and history themselves. and that's when it really gets to be a problem when you pass yourself off as knowing everything. you're just seeing what you want to see and hearing what you want to hear

and maybe that's true of me too! i know it is! there's a reason my blog is called Dafpork and not B💥ffy. but this leads to another point: i've had so many experiences where BFY shippers will put Dafpork under the bus and it's like. WHY? not that either is excusable, but you'd think that us Dafpork shippers would have a little bit more warranted frustration at being the absolute underdogs... gosh i got so mad i already lost my wording for this. but BFY is the biggest ship in the fandom and one of the most popular normie ships, what do you gain by vaguing Dafpork bloggers or the ship itself and acting like you're so threatened by it?? especially because... i love Dafpork, never shipped anything else and never will, but i understand why people like B💥ffy and i'm more than happy to coexist! but i barely ever see people extend that same grace to us. i saw someone genuinely get upset and making a bunch of posts when Daffy and Porky got married in LTC because it "threatened" B💥ffy. and i know this is rich coming from me, but... IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS? even i can say "it's just a joke none of this matters"!!!!!! NONE OF THIS MATTERS!!! NOBODY making these cartoons, particularly the classics, were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts! these "jokes" are because homosexuality is funny and unnatural and it's so funny to see a man kissing another man and disarming their masculinity! (i'm being heavily sarcastic). Bob McKimson disparagingly described his unit as being filled with "drunks and queers". like. reclamation exists, it's most certainly what i'm doing, Daffy and Porky have helped me work out a lot of internalized homophobia on my behalf and it is through these silly gags admittedly at my expense that they have. the power of reclamation is really important. but.... these are gags... they're not married for real... it's Looney Tunes..

and i swear it feels like some people aren't willing to educate themselves. like, i'm always gonna ship Dafpork but i understand why people go for the other ship. but i feel like that same grace isn't extended to us. and i would be less offended if people weren't so dishonest about it. instead of calling Porky the token straight friend and saying he enables Daffy (yes, real takes i have seen) and that's why you can't see them together, because your entire understanding is informed by TLTS, just straight up say "i don't know/have very little interest in Porky and so i haven't really thought about how he might fit into this dynamic. he's not a focus of mine". THAT'S FINE!!! JUST SAY THAT!!!! that hurts my feelings so much less than pretending like you know all these things and just. AUGH. AUGHHHHH. not everyone has to ship Dafpork, i'm not saying Dafpork is right and the other is wrong, but i'm just so put off by other people not sharing that same flexibility! it legitimately offends me a little, especially because WE ARE THE UNDERDOG. I WROTE THE FIRST DAFPORK FIC THAT I CAN FIND ONLINE. I COINED THE SHIP NAME! I DIDNT INVENT THE SHIP BUT I'M TELLING YOU i can trace all of these historic moments BECAUSE FOR AWHILE IT WAS JUST MYSELF AND LITERALLY ONE OTHER PERSON and we kept it all in discord. THAT SHOWS YOU HOW MUCH OF A DISADVANTAGE WE'RE AT!!! that i can trace much of the ship's "history" BECAUSE I HAVE FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE! BECAUSE THERE WAS NOTHING/NOBODY!!!!!! i promise we are not a threat to one of the most popular bandwagon ships ever!!

and i also just. really don't like the complacency in this ignorance either. i've had people say "if i'm wrong don't correct me sorry for not having knowledge of an old as hell short as if i'm supposed to know that" which makes me want to tear out my hair. instead of putting down these shorts and characters, you can just say "i haven't seen a lot of these shorts, i'm curating this from my specific point of view"!!!! but there's just such this weird attitude problem i keep seeing and i myself have gotten posts vaguing me from people i've never interacted with!! and it's just like. dude. i. WHAT!! i'm not saying you have to ship Dafpork, i'm not saying you have to do ANYTHING, i just... i. man i don't know i'm so mad i lost my wording.

but any chance of me liking the ship has been completely ruined by the arrogance of so many people. a lot of these incidents i'm mentioning were years ago, so it probably doesn't matter, but i still see the same snark and talking points repeated... and also sorry but i really don't like "how about we settle for Bafpork instead" GET THAT RABBIT OUTTA HERE!!!! i don't mind poly ships at all, but i swear people who say that often feel like they say it just to appease the crowd (it's me i'm the crowd). like. think about these characters for a sec. do you really think all of them make a good couple together and think it enriches their character or do you just want a compromise.

there is again the whole Porky fatphobia angle as well because he's not a skinny easily-able-to-sex-up furry twink rabbit but i've said enough for now. for now.

[save-the-spiral]

Revenant

(Part Two) (Part Three)

Content warning for: Major Character Death, Gore, Violence, Blood, Torture, Human Trafficking (mentioned), alcohol (no described drinking/drunk characters), dehumanization (it/its pronouns & animal comparisons)

(Ao3 Link)

2.5K words. Vampire Whumpee(s), Human Whumper

Beau had always been a good servant. Silent, obedient, efficient. Able to work ahead, as if he knew his master's wishes before they were spoken, but was in fact reading behaviors and routines that even his master did not know he was exhibiting.

He had always known his master was an angry man. One with much responsibility and authority, and no outlet besides violence.

The anger only came out at home, where it was private. No good servant betrayed their master's secrets, after all.

Beau had been trained by his mother in the kitchens of the large estate. The rest of the staff was his family, as he had no other parent or siblings. All throughout his youth, it was impressed upon him the importance of silence, of obedience. Able to act as if one isn't there, to be as unnoticed and inconsequential as a piece of furniture.

He had attended school, but had little in the way of friends. Graduating high school was where he ended his academic career anyway, as his job in the estate's kitchens was more sure than any attempt at getting into a college or university. He wasn't smart enough to get a scholarship anyway.

Beau was good at his work. A natural, the chef would say as she ruffled his hair. Quiet as a church mouse, his mom would praise.

He had once attributed it all to his looks. Black hair and brown eyes, average in every way. On his mother, those features looked pretty, at least to him. On Beau, it was plain to the point of invisibility.

One of the maids he had grown up alongside, Eun-Yeong, insisted it was all skill, though Beau took that with a grain of salt considering her clumsiness.

Whenever Beau denied it, she tried to whack him with whatever rag or feather duster she had on hand and declared that she wished he could be as invisible to her as he was to the master and his guests. Supposedly being humble didn't suit him.

Whatever the case, it was because of Beau's skills as a servant that he had been enlisted as one of the servants that took care of the thing his master kept in the basement.

Ever since he was a child, Beau's mother told him to never pay any heed to the screaming that came from the basement of the estate. To never ask about it, to never peek down there, and to never, ever venture down those stairs without permission.

A good servant did not pry into their master's affairs, after all. It was no business of theirs what happened down there, only to clean up the aftermath and do what they were told.

It hadn't been until the most recent of his master's victims had arrived that Beau was assigned down there. It was only to bring meals to the master- the thing his master vented his anger onto had no need to eat.

There was an air of hope regarding the thing in the basement. Rumors among servants said that it had no need to eat, to sleep, to breathe. That it healed from any wound, even those that would be lethal on a normal person. It would be around for a long time, they said. So none of the estate's staff would face their master's untimely wrath with it around.

And for a while it seemed true. Their master was less irritable. In the kitchens they knew it because he was not as particular about his food or drink, only sending a single dish back every week.

People wondered at what the thing in the basement was. It certainly didn't have any elven blood, the head butler affirmed, as despite its pointed ears. The more worldly of the maids was able to deny any rumors of it being beastkin. Even with its regeneration, it had none of the strength or build of an orc or troll.

The strongest rumor was that it was some sort of ghoul or zombie, not even alive, not truly able to feel. The kind of thing that existed only in horror movies. Some kind of botched soul magic had been attempted, only to resort in what screamed and pretended to be a person down there in the basement.

It could scream, could cry, could bleed like a person. But note the near black color of its blood. Note how it didn't need to breathe or eat. How it hissed like a feral animal at the sight of silver. How its fangs tore at its own lips like a rabid beast.

Never pity those in the basement, Beau's mother had told him long ago. That was when the master's victims had been people, homeless vagrants, those trafficked from foreign countries that used the few words of English they knew to beg.

It wasn't a kind world out there. Beau and his mother were only human. All they could do was work for their shelter and food. They had security here, knowing what was expected of them. Outside of the estate was an unknown element to Beau, who had only attended school and done little else, spending what few days he had off from work resting in the servants' quarters instead of exploring the outside world.

Beau's world was the estate. He had never known life without the occasional desperate screams emanating from the basement once every few months, lasting for a few days or a week at most until it was blissfully silent again.

This time it lasted longer, a week turning into months. The master had invested in remodeling part of the basement, making it soundproof, so he could have guests over despite having a 'guest' in the basement as well.

Something about the silence made everything more eerie. Beau had long since been inured to the screams, not startling at the sudden noises. He had always been grateful the servant's quarters were outside of the main building, so their sleep wasn't disturbed.

Once the silence filled the mansion, Beau had been assigned to bring the master meals, to ensure the man did not go hungry during the long hours spent torturing and tormenting the thing in the basement. Simple things, snacks the master could eat with one hand, the other dripping with that dark, unsettling blood.

The thing in the basement haunted Beau's nightmares ever since he began bringing the master food. It was rake thin, truly as ghoulish as the rumors said. It had unkempt hair so matted with gore that Beau had no clue what the original color had been. It had piercing red eyes, ones that gleamed even in the dim light of the basement. It had fangs, its canine teeth elongated and razor sharp.

Most of the time Beau saw it slumped on the floor. It was so corpselike that he was always surprised to see it move from where it lay in a pool of its own blood.

Beau had never thought he would grow to pity such a wretched thing. Not when he held no pity for the past victims. But he had never seen the past victims of his master, only heard their cries and screams. He had never been haunted by the sight of them, the taste of rotting blood in the air, the look in its eyes. Not even begging, but resigned. Like an old sick dog wasting away on the side of the road, knowing there would be no rescue or premature end to its suffering.

Every once in a while he was sent to leave snacks preemptively, as the master would in all likelihood visit the basement that evening after a stressful day at work.

Those moments down in the basement, leaving a charcuterie board or platter of fruit with only the thing down there to keep him company, they were the most harrowing.

Sometimes Beau was able to live up to his reputation, silent enough to leave the food at a side table and escape without waking the thing as it rested between its tortures. Most of the time he did not. The thing would be awake, eyes gleaming even in near darkness, its unnerving gaze following Beau.

It never spoke to him. Beau didn't know if it was smart enough to speak, to be honest.

This time was seemingly the same as always. The thing lay in a pool of its own dark blood, limp like a marionette with its strings cut. It wore little in the way of clothes, covered in healing wounds and its own blood as it was, there was no modesty to preserve, Beau supposed.

Beau placed the polished silver platter onto the table, opening the bottle of wine so it could breathe in anticipation of his master's arrival. The dry, almost sour smell of the white wine made Beau's nose wrinkle as he poured a careful amount into the glass, careful as he left the cork on the tray and pocketed the metal wrapping to throw away.

Thinly sliced meats and cheeses were arranged artistically, no flaws to be seen. Beau turned to leave the basement, his job done for now.

Then he caught sight of the thing. It was kneeling, closer than ever before. The chain connecting it to the wall was taut, and Beau was surprised it could withstand the strain with its emaciated body.

Its matted hair covered its face as it swayed on its knees.

Beau couldn't help but worry, not in the way of a servant fretting over a potentially broken possession of his master's, but how a person felt concern and compassion over someone obviously hurt.

He shouldn't let himself worry. He should turn and walk back up the staircase, to the kitchens where he would continue the tasks assigned to him. This was just another task, one already done, he couldn't-

The thing began to keen like a wounded animal. It slowly raised its head up to look at Beau, glimpses of scarlet between dirty locks of hair.

"I can't help you." Beau found himself saying before he could think better of it.

The keening died off and it slumped back, the chain finally lowering as it was given more slack.

"…" Beau looked between the pitiful creature and the platter of food. "…I can feed you? Just a piece of deli meat, would that help?"

Truthfully he didn't even know if the thing could eat, only that it didn't need to. It raised its head, eyes glimmering and looking so human, like it understood everything Beau had said.

Then it nodded.

"Okay." Beau spoke softly. He slipped a thin cut of capocollo off the platter, the marbled ham somehow looking more grisly in the lighting, with blood splattered on the floor.

He held it with pinched fingers, slowly crouching down and reaching out towards the thing. He could've thrown it, but that felt too demeaning when he was just trying to help.

"Here you go." Beau murmured.

The thing stirred again, straightening up, but already at the end of its chain. Beau felt bad for forcing it to exert itself so much, and leaned closer.

Bloodstained and cold hands grabbed at Beau's wrist. Every knuckle and bone seemed to be trying to escape its body, skin stretched over its skeleton like a horrific Halloween prop. Its nails were ragged and uncut, split and chipped with its own blood stuck under them.

Beau's pulse raced, and he pulled back, dropping the meat with a soft splat into one of the puddles of blood. One of the thing's nails sliced into his soft, pale skin.

Beau's blood welled up, glittering garnet under the light, the same shade as the thing's eyes.

And then it was truly over.

The thing pulled with strength Beau hadn't known it had, and Beau was swept off his feet, falling forward. His white dress shirt and black slacks soaked with blood as he sprawled onto the floor, breathless.

It still had a hold on his wrist, hunched over his hand, uncaring for the food now soiled on the ground.

"Let go-!" Beau gasped out, already trying to struggle and failing.

Then the creature bit down into his wrist, razor sharp fangs like knives through his flesh, scraping at his bones.

Beau screamed as a hot, searing pain zipped up from his wrist to his shoulder. He struggled again, feeling the fangs rip at muscles and nerves with every vain attempt to free himself, still screaming, hoping anyone could hear him, save him.

But the basement was soundproofed. Even if it weren't, all of the house's servants had long since learned to ignore the screams coming from the basement.

Beau grew faint with bloodloss and shock, held up only by his arm. He couldn't keep his head up, unable to even gather the air to scream again despite the agony. He could taste the blood pooled on the floor, foul on his tongue, yet his body had no strength to retch.

He couldn't resist as a hand sank into his hair, pulling his head up and baring his neck. His pulse was thready in his ears, the room darkening.

A agony bloomed from his neck, and Beaumont Mallory died, his throat ripped out by a vampire.

Soon enough, the master of the estate would make his way down the basement, leisurely as he anticipated a nice evening of wine and torture to destress from the day. He would find the his most recent and favorite plaything- a vampire he had been gifted by a business partner, a rare find in their circles with how isolated and secretive those enclaves could be- sobbing over a corpse.

He didn't remember the poor boy's name, or even his face, but it must've been one of his servants considering the clothes.

With a shout, the master would grab the stake from its place on one of the tables, a constant threat he had no intentions of using before now. He had enjoyed his toy that wouldn't break, a punching bag after his long days of work. But a dog that bit once would do so again.

The vampire didn't resist, still crying as its heart was staked, as it finally died the true death it had been wanting for months.

The master spat on the vampire's corpse, disgusted. He glanced to the corpse of the poor servant boy, only to watch the shredded skin of a pale throat began to knit back together.

Just like his now dead plaything.

Yet this one was once his servant and would be far more obedient.

He grinned, elation he hadn't felt since he was a young man washing through him.

Transferring the collar took just a moment, the silver chain enough to hold the beast. He went to his chair and sat, grabbing the wine glass. He delicately sniffed the white wine and tasted it.

It had been aired out perfectly, a great companion as he waited for his new toy to wake.

(Part Two) (Part Three)

[bhiik-art]

my first taste of freedom, how spoiled it was by your blood

[godzillatalks]

When Ryomen Sukuna had first heard Gojo tell him about The King Of Curses, he'd had a hard time not believing it. After all, giant monsters and creatures manifested from negative energy were real. He wouldn't have doubted that Gojo's description was accurate.

"Itadori Yuji is described as a benevolent imaginary God by his worshippers. He lived a over thousand years ago, and, though human, he was stated to be some kind of divine being. An angel, in some texts, and the incarnation of whatever heaven was believed to exist in others. But his deeds were far from angelic. In the Golden Age of Jujutsu, sorcerers from all over gathered up all their might to challenge him.. and failed." Gojo had explained nonchalantly. He didn't seem bothered by any of this.

Sukuna stared down at his hands as they walked, eyeing the faint, scar-like marks on his skin that had appeared after he had eaten the cursed finger. (He suspected they looked different when Yuji was in control.)

"Though many used to call him Sukuna for unknown reasons," Ryomen's gaze momentarily turns to ice as he redirects it at Gojo, a 'You're kidding me.' hanging in the air, "Nobody really does that anymore. He's usually called 'The King' in most texts. Anyways, we couldn’t even destroy his grave wax as he traversed the ages after death as a cursed object. Without a doubt, he is the king of curses."

And Sukuna believed that. Yuji didn't deny or even confirm anything, only opening an eye on Sukuna's cheek to glare at Gojo. So Sukuna assumed it was the truth.

They barely talked. Yuji stayed mostly silent, observing through Sukuna's eyes, watching the world and building an understanding of the current era as best he could. Sukuna ignored the presence behind his eyes that gave him double vision, just glad that he wasn't stuck in Yuji's place- unable to do anything but watch and make a rare comment.

He didn't think they'd get along anyways.

—

Sukuna felt like he wanted to give up. He was doing his best. And he was losing. He hadn't helped a single person yet, and he was going to die. He was missing a whole hand and he had a feeling he'd bleed out before the battle was over. He wouldn't come out alive and if he did Yuji would be in control. He didn't even have a choice if he wanted to live.

But he had to stall. He had to make sure Fushiguro and Kugisaki got out.

Tears streamed down his face as he screamed in agony, the Finger Bearer cackling as it sent surges of cursed energy at him. Pain shot through his veins from his hands as they were burnt away by the cursed energy being thrown at him like a wall of flame.

The pressure behind Sukuna's eyes intensifies, Yuji's cold gaze making him feel insignificant even if it was directed at the special grade that was currently rending Sukuna's hands into stumps. No emotion radiated from the second presence that was rooted into his being like a disease.

The Finger Bearer just laughs, shaking like a child high on sugar. He- he was tougher than this! So why was he so weak all of a sudden? Sukuna grits his teeth and steps forward, but falters as a howl rings through the halls of the incomplete domain.

"The.. The signal." Sukuna's vision blurs as he sways back and forth, eventually deciding to take multiple steps backwards. Cold hands wrapped around his consciousness, frost crawling across his vision as his eyelids fluttered. Yuji's voice when he spoke was.. bored. Bored.

"My turn. Go to sleep."

Sukuna doesn't wake up to anything other than flashes of fighting until he's outside, in the rain. Pain whispers through his chest like venom, and he coughs. Warm blood drips down his chin.

Fushiguro is there. Angry red scratches and bruises blossom on his neck and head. He's sure there's more, judging by the cracks in the concrete around them. His expression is pained, worried. Yuji must have done something. No, he did do something.

He notices there's no pressure on his eyes as Fushiguro speaks, the words muddled. He can make some of it out, something about being selfish. The last line is what he hears clearly.

"I’ve never once regretted saving you." Fushiguro stares at him, a blank expression on his face. Sukuna blinks slowly. He acknowledges Fushiguro's statement with a grin, and then makes his own.

"You're smart. You've planned your words. I think you'll be okay without me, though. Thanks for saving me." Blood drips to the ground. "I think I'm done, now."

"Live a long life." He falls forward and the world turns black before he hits the cold asphalt.

[roman-roy-apologist]

i love you animal symbolism

[sforzesco]

THE BROTHERS PAOLO AND VITELLOZZO VITELLI

man. the fucking. cycles of violence going on here. war, condottieri brothers, the execution of paolo vitelli (but the on the matter of guilt: questionable! no proof besides the absence of potential violence, but what conspiracy-betrayal wants to leave behind proof? torture and execute him anyway. maybe machiavelli has a point! unfortunately you left a surviving brother), the congiura della magione, all of it coming together at the strage di senigallia. just blood and gore and war all the way down, never stopping for a breather, already on to it's next battlefield. also malaria is there!

in other news! it turns out if you want to draw a comic about the strage di senigallia, you have to figure out designs for all the people in the room, but if you draw vitellozzo, you also have to draw his brother because he's like. there. in a dead way. something something vitellozzo's desire to avenge his brother manifesting in his desire to brutalize florence for their role in his brother's death.

that said, I did not want to draw military armor for an illustration that was partially designed to test out some splatter brushes. in the future though….I will have to revisit that visual…..

[cicidraws]

i miss how i felt before this year.