#synth is a silly creature

[synthsays]

@red-crescent-marigold

Mulletford McMullet

[synthsays]

RAAAA WEMBLEY IS SO SILLY

Some of my favourite art from the Fraggle Rock book, Boober Fraggles Ghosts, 1985

Illustrations by Lawrence DiFiori

(apologies if some areas are blurry etc, these are just photos I took with my phone)

[millenianthemums]

How would a karaoke night work with Bill and Mabel since Bill hates synthetic music and Mabel is the Queen of 80's synthetic pop?

i think their music taste has at least some overlap, even before they start infecting each other with their own tastes! they’d probably both love show tunes and upbeat 70s/80s pop; you can’t tell me Mabel doesn’t love BABBA just as much as Dipper. and speaking of queens, i think they both love a lot of Queen songs, particularly Don’t Stop Me Now and Somebody To Love. pretty much anything that Bill can play on the dinky little keyboard Mabel finds for him, and they can sing along to together, is a big hit for them both.

also you just know Mabel converts Bill into loving all the cheesy pop songs she does eventually, even if it’s just because he associates them with his BFF. he already tolerates synth enough to play it in the Fearamid during Weirdmageddon, he can be fully converted. and i think he’d influence her tastes too, over time. introduce her to weirder, more obscure songs. and as they become friends and joke around more and more, Bill gets Mabel to appreciate darker jokes, as long as it’s all still in good fun. so i think they’d both enjoy silly horror-comedy novelty songs like Voltaire and Creature Feature. silly music in general, really. i drew a LOT of little doodles of them rocking out to Lemon Demon back in 2016 lol

[rowshowz]

IHNMAIMS AU!

so it's been awhile (not much)...sorry! I've been trying to catch up with my studies since finals are in 3 months. But while this i decided to make a silly little IHNMAIMS AU! The title is kinda funny and funky but it fits.

I call the AU 'My Raptor Ai' ! All consist of Ted coming across a weird looking Synth raptor (Synth AM). It's like a pre-AM timeline, but with a twist. SYNTH AM is still the same AM with full of murderous intent. So when he saw ted he thought he found a perfect prey, then silly accidents happened when SYNTH AM was about to pounce on ted only to be crashed against Ted's house window.... Now when Ted brought the synth inside, that's where the chaos starts.

" journal for today, i came across a weird looking creature. Around 5.50pm... the fella is huge and heavy, to be fair it's my first time being close to this raptor-like robot... raptor? Bird? Dragon? I don't know. Let's just say it's a loud and grumpy one too. "

Ted wrote these as he sees the raptor who's so curious with his surroundings. it is so odd. Very odd. But every time, the synth would complain a lot.

'so. What's your name?' Ted asked. The Raptor growled when he turned around slowly.

'why would you want to know.' he finally speaks.

...silence... But the raptor sighed and responded.

'Synth AM. Just synth. Or AM whatever suits your status.'

(I'm hyped to share these arts of their dynamic in the AU i thought of!)

I'm proud of this small au hehe.

[silverfactory]

just berlin polycule things 💅

• curt’s two very femme partners holding him captive to trim his split ends and paint his nails and bleach his hair and slather him in lotion and musky cologne (he protests at first but it’s actually fucking nice, especially the part where mandy brushes out his hair).

• jack sleeps in the middle, nominally because mandy and curt are very warm creatures who would overheat if pressed too close together. jack wouldn’t trouble anyone by admitting he’s felt chronically unsafe all his life but like…being securely held between two people who care for him really does things to his heart sometimes.

• jack teaches curt to fix eggs benedict for mandy because it’s her favorite breakfast, and is slightly dismayed when curt is better at it than he is.

• the press are determined to make mandy’s life miserable for a while after the messiness of her divorce, and curt (who hates the press to begin with) gets super protective and makes it his objective to take as much attention off her as possible through occasionally reckless and hostile means.

• borrowing clothes! they are different sizes so it’s a little awk but there are moments when curt is lounging in one of jack’s satin robes, or jack is building a synth in one of curt’s old t shirts, or mandy is wearing jack’s coat or perfumy scarf for a night out, or they’re all swapping jewelry.

• mandy and jack have always casually slow danced together, and it makes curt feel so warm to see this happening late at night in the apartment kitchen when they’re a little clumsy and silly after a bottle of wine.

[cordycepsbian]

hihihigihi uhh

can you name some of your ocs?-

haven't seen much of any i dont thingk. or maybe i just am blind

that's fair we don't have our toyhouse linked anywhere and that only has a fraction of our ocs listed on it

bugs fable ocs;

chrys - never talked about them before whoops. from our bug fables future headcanons. they're a cuckoo wasp and they're on an explorer team with tod and terrie mop - everyone knows mop. the star of the show

synth - evil roach lady. came from the giant's lair and tried to start snakemouth lab 2: electric boogaloo. she's like if soul master was a girl kind of bernie - most divorced poor little meow meow bee man ever. got kicked out of the hive because cosmic horrors happened to him. vi's dad but that's not really relevant they don't know each other ilon & lilly - butterfly and beetle on an explorer team. kind of side characters in future bug fables iris - cute and trustworthy mantis lady who runs a diner and definitely doesn't cook people checkers - zombee who is two different bees sewn together. former nurse in one life. unwillingly pulled into synth's schemes mint - zombeetle who escaped the lab to try and find his former explorer partner. not going well for him latte - baby zombiant. just a little guy sammy - zombie fly with a different kind of fungus than the cordyceps ones. got sent to bee kingdom zombie jail until the doctor who made it like that let it escape penny - the doctor who did that to sammy. it was an accident she swears marshmallow - peacock spider who started mimicking bugs and living in society just for a laugh

and our hollows knights

caprice - nosk who disguises herself as a traveling musician. reads minds to find familiar tunes and plays them for her victims. our personal favorite to draw ollie - ant that got splashed with the death pheromone and kicked out of his colony for it. traveled with caprice before getting infected and dying for real

celadon - mantis who left the tribe to pursue a more peaceful lifestyle. is just vibing in greenpath now flower pot - vessel that celadon adopted. likes being painted on capt. geo-eye - earwig pirate captain. quite literally has a piece of geo where his eye should be. currently plundering the abandoned kingdom of hallownest treasure chest - vessel that geo-eye adopted. a little ruffian that attacks ankles

and our rains worlds

uncrossed finish line - senior of their local group. thought sliver of straw was onto something. worked so hard to replicate her that they overheated and collapsed deep impression of a fang - junior of the same group. looked up to finish line and was devastated when they died. tried to purpose an organism strong enough to kill him after that happened flightless birds - second youngest of the group. bit of a silly goose. spends more time talking in group chats and having fun than doing work. in her lane. unbothered. flourishing monday morning sunrise - second oldest of the group. eepy. spends 100 cycles to do anything empire of ants - firm Middle Child. ascribes to the same thinking of a benefactor monk. never talks to anyone ever three glowing scales - no local group because they're in the middle of the ocean. makes a lot of purposed creatures to send messages across the sea ever-flowing rapids - purposed slugcat made by 3gs. true aquatic scug that can breathe underwater and move at speed. rivulet's ancestor the crusader - purposed slugcat made by dioaf. the thing that was intended to kill him. gets stronger the higher its karma is the trickster - purposed slugcat made by nsh. exists to send memes. can change colors to mimic predators the sleepwalker - normal slugcat that got hit on the head and can't sleep now. always gets shelter failures and special night creatures attack them the symbiosis - used to be our scugsona but now they're just vibing. full of fungus. kills bugs instantly but gets hurt by sunlight two splinters of wood under tropical leaves - benefactor that lived on mms. ran a shelter for purposed organisms that outlived their usefulness. number one enjoyer of weird little critters muddy water running through steel canals - benefactor that lived on looks to the moon. mechanic that dabbles in bioengineering. invented miros birds so you can all get mad at aer for that shrill ringing noise, a broken spear - benefactor that used to live on dioaf. got banished to the surface for assassinating a council member. living the creature life now

[synthsays]

A moment of silence for Mokey Fraggle fans... I don't think she had a single episode dedicated to her character, besides the one where she DIES. And everyone holds a FUNERAL FOR HER.

(Edit: thanks guys for telling me the episodes! My sincere apologies to the Mokey fans ;-; there is in fact a handful of Mokey episodes)

[multifaceted-mechanism]

ok I think it's time to start moving stuff over here so I can get it more organized because my blog has become Such a mess. this is gonna be my pinned tag list yay

#mechanism posts (my text posts) #mechanism art (my art. I will be posting art on this blog if it kills me.) #mechanism memes (my memes) #[mc lb] feral (liveblogging my newest minecraft singleplayer world)

#multifaceted posting (system related posts) #silly

#artwork (note to self - hoping to add tags like 'ceramic artwork' / 'digital artwork' later. since everything will be in the artwork tag already it shouldn't be too hard to subcategorize later hopefully lol)

#[art advice] #[art advice] products

#aro #ace #demi (sorry demiromantics this is gonna be 95% a demisexual tag) #trans #nb

MEDIA TAGS #[m] (tag for media I might check out later and want to go back to tag) #[m] utdr (undertale/deltarune) #[m] tadc (the amazing digital circus) #[m] mcyt (any minecraft youtubers) #[m] vocal synths (vocaloid, synthv, utau, etc. doomed to be mostly miku designs I like) #[m] minecraft (minecraft.) #[m] awm/wkm (adventures with markiplier (the cyoa series) and who killed markiplier) #[m] kuragehime (princess jellyfish. I have only seen the anime)

CHARACTER TAGS disclaimer: 'character' may refer to a character from a piece of media, an oc of mine, a real person from real life, a headmate of mine, or a headmate of mine who is also a character from a piece of media / oc of mine / real person from real life. if you're wondering how to tell which is what, the answer is simple: don't. sparkle emoji. #[ch] (tag for characters I may want to tag later) #[ch] hatsune miku #[ch] clownpierce #[ch] rot #[ch] tsukimi kurashita #[ch] kuranosuke koibuchi #[ch] jiji

CREATURE TAGS #[cr] wither

AESTHETIC TAGS #[aes] (you get the system now right) #[aes] jester (may contain clowns) #[aes] plushie #[aes] robot

this list will keep getting longer. unlinked tags don't have any posts in them yet!

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2024 MOVIE LIST

www.tumblr.com/theharpermovieblog

I watched Stephen King's The Night Flier (1997)

I promised myself I'd start watching solidly good movies again, but in the meantime here's an HBO released Stephen King adaptation.

One big asshole of a reporter tracks down a vampire-like creature feeding on those at airports.

Critics mostly hated this movie. Some liked it's dark mood, but didn't like it's overall execution. Most praised Michael Ferrer's performance, but said the rest was trash. Honestly, there is some truth to all of that.

First and foremost, Michael Ferrer should be better recognized as a solid actor from this period, who brought his A-game to a lot of shitty movies. In this film Ferrer is, as always, doing very respectable work. I agree with the critics, his performance is undoubtedly the highlight of the film.

Beyond that, The Night Flier as a film is cheap looking and not great. It's very straight-to-video, with little flare otherwise. The horror scenes, while Gorey, are filmed poorly and occasionally feel more silly than scary, or just plain bad. The music is awful. Truly awful. The worst kind of cheap synth 90's stock music. The overall feel of the film is the typical feel of a made-for-TV Stephen King movie. Watchable because of Stephen King's weird magic, but not well made or even all that good. It's liking watching an episode of a show that decided to rip-off the X-Files.

However, King's weird magic is still something unbelievable to me. While his work is often excellent on the page, and has occasionally been made into good adaptations, mostly the movies made from his work aren't great. Yet, because a little bit of his talent for story and character are attached to these films, you find yourself interested despite their low quality.

For instance, this film is not good. It's pretty boring, the production quality sucks, the direction sucks, it just sucks. Outside of a solid B&W ending sequence which I genuinely enjoyed, but other than that, I did not like this movie. However, not liking it didn't stop me from watching. All the little Stephen King moments, the pissing blood, the asshole reporter, the terrible Maine accent from a mechanic...it intrigued me and made the watch...dare I say... somewhat enjoyable.

It's still not good though.

[sploon-fic-fan]

ok im gonna write down some fandoms and then add some characters in post lets go

no particular order (had to struggle to come up with 10 pieces of media), choices for charachter are based on my current mood

Splatoon: Agent 4

DDLC: Sayori

In Stars And Time: Loop

Omori: Omori

Vocal synths: Momone Momo (gotta give her some love)

Pikmin: the white one

Pokemon: Chinchao

Animal Crossing: Ione

Super Mario: Boo (chose because they're my super mario party main)

Kirby: Kirby

@a-weepin-willow @sailorsplatoon @nipotazzi @thegreat-chrundle @ucatty2-blog @fecto-eevee-agitando @hummus-birb @gnomiwizard @the-silly-creature @the-god-of-pillows

TAG GAME— List 10 of your favorite characters from different fandoms

Thank you for tagging me @coderiderr

Hortensia (Fire Emblem Engage)

Juvia Lockser (Fairy Tail)

Kaze (Fire Emblem Fates)

Lisia (Pokémon)

Maka Albarn (Soul Eater)

Owain (Fire Emblem Awakening)

Shirayuki (Snow White with the Red Hair)

Van Hohenheim (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Yuuri Katsuki (Yuri!!! on ICE)

Zeref Dragneel (Fairy Tail)

Tagging: @fayesdiary @dragonballwish @elegyofthemoon @sevarix-blogs @ghostlydragonpainter

[honeyynymphh]

| Nocturnal Me |

Papa IV (Dracopia) x FemReader rating: E word count: 6k warnings: blood drinking, semi-public sex, dom/sub undertones, google translated italiano

The Haze is open from sunset until sunrise every day of the week. Some people, like you, order a margarita with a silly little cocktail umbrella shoved in it and a slice of lemon.

Others order the AB negative and should drink it quickly before it congeals.

can also be read on A03

🦇🍷🌹🦇🍷🌹

It’s nearly two in the morning and perhaps it would be wiser to just go straight home but after tonight’s shift, you need a drink. Besides, where you’re headed isn’t far from home and you know when you walk down the little non-descript alley and up the narrow stairs into the club that there won’t be many people there. After all, it is a Tuesday—or should you say Wednesday—which isn’t exactly peak hour. But the club is open. The Haze is open from sunset until sunrise every day of the week without fail.

When you give a tired nod to the security guard standing by the heavy door at the top of the stairs, he opens it for you without a word. It’s dark inside and you let your eyes adjust to the dim red lighting before you wind your way through the scattered arrangement of ornate chairs and lounges as the speakers pulse with some heavy synth beat. It’s a strange place full of strange people, it’s not somewhere you go to unless you know someone…or something. There is always some young idiot who somehow manages to find Haze and will proudly flash his ID and smugly tell the security guard the password to get in. They never last long—usually leaving less than an hour later—whether it be the front or the back door.

You reach the long bar and slump down at a plush velvet stool as you smile tiredly at the bartender. Their blue hair glitters amongst the low lights and they blow a kiss as you approach.

“Rough shift, kitten?” they say, long arms leaning across the bar and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You nod. Quartus is always on bar duty—you swear they never sleep. And well, you guess they don’t really need to. They lean back with a grin and quickly throw some unknown cocktail together. When he passes it to you, you take a tentative sip. it’s tangy and fresh and so you gratefully take another mouthful.

“Thanks, Q,” you say between sips. “How’re tricks?”

They shrug, the jingle of many chains accompanying the movement. “Pretty quiet tonight—though Max was here earlier, she said to send you her regards.”

You chat with Q for a while, telling him all about the absolute douchebag of a new doctor you were stuck with assisting tonight. It’s always great being able to blow off steam here. The nature of the club means most of the patrons tend to avoid sunlight where possible and like to order the rarest steak you can get. While not everyone that walks through the doors at Haze is a vamp, most are. Not many humans tend to enjoy what the club has to offer but you love it here. Hell, maybe you should have taken Max’s offer to turn you but what were you going to do with eternal life? Watch re-runs of The Nanny with your cat forever? Not bloody likely.

You turn around in your seat and take in the room. Lined with velvet booths and filled with an assortment of brocade furniture, it does look like something from some typically cheesy vamp film but it suits the place. Past the bar you sit at is a short hallway that leads to a smaller antechamber with another bar and a dance floor. There is a set of velvet curtains loosely tied back further down past the second bar. It’s never spoken about but when you come to Haze you don’t go past the velvet curtains unless you’re after something not explicitly stated on the club’s menu.

When you worked here during those early university days, it had certainly been an eye-opening experience. You’d hear about vamps and the other nighttime creatures but it had all seemed so mythical. They kept to themselves—it was better that way. But here, they didn’t need to hide or keep playing at being human. You would have quit after the first week if it hadn’t been for Q and Max.

Tonight there are a few familiar faces that you recognise and as you look around the room you give them a smile when they meet your gaze. It’s when your eyes land on the last booth right before the hallway that you frown.

You turn into your seat to look at Q. “New guy?” They look up and glance in the direction you tilt your head in.

“Uh, yeah,” says Q. “Weird. Been sitting there all night. Ordered one drink—AB neg—and then just sat there the whole time. Swear he’s had one sip.” He frowns mockingly at you. “You get me bad shit, kitten?”

“What? No!” you whisper fiercely. You'd only helped Max get blood one time. And that had been enough—you'd been terrified of doing it again and getting caught. But it had given Max an in. “You got a problem, talk to Max.”

You sneak a glance at the man alone in the booth again. The lighting in Haze is pretty shit—deliberately. Most of the patrons can see well enough but your human eyes struggle in the dim light. He’s not wearing anything that would be considered out of place for Haze—in all honesty, the jeans and worn band shirt you'd thrown at while still at the hospital are the most out of place amongst the leather, chains and vinyl most of the patrons and staff are wearing. But this man is wearing what looks like a finely tailored suit, it looks black but it could be any colour in the darkness of the booth. You can only barely distinguish his right profile but the man had to be in his fifties at least, his dark sandy hair looking grey at the temples. It wasn’t common to have older vamps at Haze but most of the undead tended to look young. And the older ones usually preferred to go to the club up on the high street. It just wasn’t usual to see an older one here, especially one so quiet. They usually didn’t shut up.

It was possible he was human but he didn’t seem to radiate the usual nervousness that humans did.

He looked bored.

At least you thought he did, it was hard to tell. His face was painted—again, not that outrageous for Haze—but unlike Q with their smudged coal eyes and messily rouged lips—the man has his face painted like a skull. His face is a stark white while around his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks and his lips are painted black with meticulous care. You wondered if he used a ruler to do it. He looked so neat in a macabre sort of way with his hair combed back and the leather gloves on his hands, both of which are holding onto the stem of his glass. Q is right, you think, noticing the glass is practically full.

“How long has he been there?” you ask, dragging your eyes away.

“Since eleven.” Q shrugs. “He’s not disturbing anyone so it’s cool.”

You forget about the skull-painted man and continue chatting with Q until it’s nearly three o’clock. Knowing you had a full week ahead of night shifts, you quickly drink the rest of the cocktail before wishing Q goodnight.

---

Work is tiring and you don’t get back to Haze until Saturday. Unlike the previous night, it’s absolutely packed. You can always tell who the newbies are—well, the human ones. Their eyes dart around and they always look so panicked no matter how they try to hide it. They usually leave, but if they’re brave enough (or stupid enough) they stay. They might just hang around the main bar having drinks and talking amongst themselves. A regular might even take pity and talk to them—though you swear they do it mostly for the laugh.

Slinking through to the side of the bar, you wave at Q and duck through the small door there. It’s staff only but they don’t mind you using it. Quickly you head into the small staffroom to change into a sleeveless halterneck dress in an inky black. It’s nothing outrageous, but it’s a favourite that hugs your body and features a slit on the side that borders on indecent. You let your hair tumble freely and quickly apply some makeup to look less like a walking zombie before you leave your bag there and head back to the bar.

“You know I love that dress,” says Q when you return. They pass you a passionfruit concoction and you hop on the stool across from him. “The toilets aren’t working, by the way, so you have to use the ones at the other bar for patrons.” He scoffs. “Kit overindulged on some pretty thing last night and literally vomited his guts up in the staff toilet. It’s fucking clogged up.” He pointed an olive on a toothpick at you. “Do you know how hard it is to find a vamp plumber?”

You just shrug and occupy yourself by sipping on your drink before Q mutters to themselves and returns their attention to a group at the other end of the bar. The clink of glasses is lost to the beat of the music around you and lean back against the bar as your eyes wander around the room. It is the best place to sit, tucked away at the corner of the bar where you can see everyone else and close enough to the hallway so you can watch the people who head down past the other bar and through the curtains.

People are chatting and laughing, you can see others hitting the dance floor in the other room—the lights reflecting off undulating bodies that are pressed close as they move to the hypnotic beat. In here it’s a bit more relaxed, many are sprawled out on the french chaise lounges with limbs entangled as they talk amongst themselves but your attention is drawn to the booth across from you.

That man from the other night is sitting there again but this time he isn’t alone. There are several women with him—at least you assume they are. There are four of them—two sitting on either side of him—and they’re all dressed the same. All wear black dresses and their heads are donned with black veils accented with electric blue and shimmering gold. They look like nuns. Though not the sort of nuns you’d ever seen before. The booths in here are like pockets of darkness, for anyone sitting in them can see the rest of the room with relative ease but it makes it hard for anyone outside of them to see in if the occupants are leaning back. There is one nun on the edge closest to you and you can make out the slit in the side of her dress (definitely not typical nun attire) and the ornate inverted cross that dangles from her neck. It’s not that strange but the cross isn’t just the usual inverted cross - it looks like a styled G.

Not a symbol you recognise. And after spending so much time here you certainly have seen many different symbols in your time.

You can’t hear anything the nuns are saying with the loud music but they’re all giggling and talking animatedly while he just sits there and listens.

You turn to Q. “I see that mister AB neg has made some friends.”

Q shakes their head. “Yeah, he’s been here every night. Same drink but barely touches it.” They shrug. “Some of them rocked up just when you left the other night. All dressed like they’re from some weird church. One of them I swear was a priest.” He shakes his head again. “For a moment I thought they were part of that protest group—human rights and all that bullshit.”

“A priest?” you let out a small laugh. “It’s just the look, right? Like everyone else here.”

“I dunno, kitten,” Q says with a lazy smile. “Looked legit. Expensive looking fabric. Wasn’t shopping at Costumes ‘R’ Us.” The smile fades. “They ended up going down back though—they’ve got the last room rented for the entire week under ‘The Clergy’—never heard of them before.”

That piques your interest and you turn to look at the group again. Your breath catches though as you find a pair of eyes staring right at you. You hadn’t been able to see the painted man’s face that clearly before as he had mostly been in profile but his eyes are on you now. The right eye is perfectly normal amidst the black paint but his left eye is an eerie but brilliant white. It’s unsettling but entirely captivating—it was like being faced down by some sleek predator.

You quickly break eye contact, trying to ignore the feel of those eyes on the back of your neck as you turn around.

“Shouldn’t stare I guess,” you mumble into your drink, draining the last of it quickly.

Q laughs and takes the empty glass to make another. “Better watch out since your his type.”

“You said he barely touched it.” You scowl at Q as they shake the cocktail and pour it with a flourish before sticking a jaunty little pink umbrella in it.

“Yeah,” Q agrees. “Maybe he likes it fresh.”

You fling the umbrella at their head but they just catch it with lightning speed and stick it behind their ear. With an exasperated sigh, you jump off the stool. You do your best to ignore the booth filled with the man and his strange entourage and head to the restrooms in the next room. When you come out of the stall to wash your hands, two of the nuns waltz in. Their arms are linked as they giggle until one pulls away to head to a stall. The other comes next to you at the basin and stares at her reflection before she tries to fix the veil on her head.

“You don’t have a spare bobby pin, do you?” she asks you with a smile.

You shake your head. “Uh, no, sorry.”

“No worries,” she says and continues to try and fix the veil on her own.

You try to ignore her but your curiosity it too great. It’s now or never if you want to know who they are. You sure as hell aren’t going up to them out there. Stealing your nerves, you take a deep breath as you dry your hands with one of the small towels provided.

“So, are you in a church?” you say, trying to keep your voice casual. You gesture with the towel at the cross around her neck before you throw it in the hamper. “I don’t recognise the symbol.”

The woman pauses with trying to straighten her veil and her gaze finds yours in the reflection of the mirror.

“Yeah, church.” She’s smiling again but it’s an unsettling sort of smile. It makes your stomach flip. “But not the usual kind.”

“I didn’t think so,” you say. You try to joke. “Who is the guy? Your next convert?”

The woman lets out a laugh. “Oh, no! That’s Papa. He is here on business visiting our congregation.” The other woman comes out of the stall and washes her hands as the other continues to speak. “It’s an honour to be with him.”

A group of women come bursting into the bathroom interrupting the conversation. The two nuns leave and you follow a few steps behind as you head back to the bar. Q gives you a questioning look when they see you following behind them before they both slip back into the darkness of the booth. You see one woman lean in towards him and whisper something in his ear which returns his attention back to you but you hurriedly avert your gaze and take your seat back at the bar.

“They are nuns,” you say to Q. “And he is… I am not sure. Somebody important? They said he was called Papa.”

“You know," says Q, “I always think it best that I know nothing about patrons. Makes it easier.”

A few moments later Max comes bursting through the door. Her red hair and elaborate getup—seems she had opted for Barbie Goes to a Rodeo look—glaringly bright in the dimness of the club. You get suckered into a conversation with her until she taps you on the nose with a stupidly long nail and saunters off toward the dance floor in the next room

“What a woman,” laughs Q.

You join in with him, barely noticing someone has taken Max’s seat until you hear a voice next to you.

“The AB negative, per favore.”

You twist on the stool to see that the man from the booth is now seated next to you, he isn’t large but he seems to take up all the available space. His leg is so close to your thigh that you can almost feel it. From the few words he’s spoken you gather he must be Italian. The voice is pleasant, though not expected—what you did expect you aren’t really sure. But soft-spoken Italian hadn’t been it.

Q just nods and opens the small fridge under the bar, the coldness blasting from it as they pull a frosted wine glass and then a bag with AB negative scrawled over it in Max’s loopy handwriting. They pour it and then carefully slide it across the bar towards the man.

“Grazie.” He doesn’t even take a sip. He just holds the base of the glass in those gloved fingers of his. The bartender is hailed by someone else and with a glance at you, they move down the other end of the bar.

You half expect the man to say something. Maybe some cheesy “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this” or a “Cum here often? Would you like to?”—always a degenerate fave. But he doesn’t say a thing. This… Papa just sits there for what feels like forever before one of the nuns saunters over.

“Papa, won’t you come with us?” she says with a tap on his arm. “We have a present for you.”

It’s the same woman you spoke to in the bathroom. She’s all smiles and directs her attention to the rest of the group. There is now a fifth nun with them. However, while this one is smiling she looks nervous—like she half wants to run away. She wears a white veil and lacks the strange inverted cross the others wear.

He smiles at the girl, which changes his face dramatically. You aren’t even sure if you could really call it a smile—it looks more like a knowing smirk. That expression and those weird eyes make him look almost demonic and you don’t blame this other white veiled nun for the way she twists her hands together. You just sit there, feeling like an interloper in something you should not be involved with. Maybe you should have looked away but they had boxed you in and made you their unwilling audience.

Papa finally stands and you feel his hand graze against your thigh as he passes. You tell yourself it was unintentional but it burns through the fabric of your dress and you take a deep breath, catching the heady scent of him as he passes by. When they finally leave, you let out a shaky breath. It was the strangest non-interaction you’ve ever had.

“He didn’t even drink it, fucking hell!” comes the voice of Q.

The bartender throws a packet of nuts on the table and glares at the full glass sitting on the bar.

“Oh, they took him away for a ‘present’,” you explain. You shrug. “Probably forgot.”

“It’s just going to congeal and be gross.” They pull a face as they grab a bowl and empty the nuts into it. “AB neg is hard to get—” He pauses and looks at you hopefully. “Ya feel like donating, kitten?”

You grab a serviette off the bartop and crumple it up before throwing it at his head.

“How about I take it, okay?” you hear yourself say as he flicks a nut at you. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

What a stupid thing to say. This was stupid. A stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was one fucking glass anyway.

Heading down the back, the drink clutched between two fingers so you don’t warm the glass, you try to keep calm. Yes, you tend to avoid coming down here. While you are certain most regulars know you are off limits, some others may not. And coming past the curtains unaccompanied was an idiot move and sent a certain message.

You pass through the curtains and onto the lush rug that stretches down the hallway. It’s even darker in here. The only light comes from candles in high sconces so that the light flickers against the heavy scarlet curtains that hang in front of the small alcoves. You ignore the sounds coming from the drawn curtains and head towards the end room as Q said.

The velvet drapes are only partially closed when you reach them. This is the largest room available though it is still pretty small. The little alcoves that are tucked away down here usually have a small table and a few plush seats and a few tall pillar candles. When you peek in through the drapes you regret it immediately. You pull back with a gasp and turn to leave but the curtain is sharply pulled all the way back by one of the nuns.

Reluctantly you return your gaze back inside to see that Papa, who’d moments before had his mouth latched onto the neck of the white veiled woman, was gently wiping the corner of his mouth with an ivory handkerchief. The splotches of deep red are clearly visible on the white linen and he carefully folds it before throwing it onto the low coffee table in front of him. The woman he’d only seconds ago been feasting on is curled in his lap like an overgrown cat, her hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as she blearily turns her heavy-lidded eyes towards you.

You swallow through the nerves that threaten to shake your voice and hold up the glass in your hands as an explanation. “You left this. Quartus—the bartender—thought you might not want to waste it.”

“This is very kind of you,” says Papa. The words are spoken so softly but they roll off his tongue and wrap around you. He taps the girl in his arms and the other nuns quickly move toward him and remove her from his lap. You can hear soft moans of protest as she tries to cling to him.

“Papa, please, no,” you hear her say. “I need you, please, you said fore—”

But her words are cut short as she is half carried, half dragged out of the alcove and back down the hall leaving you alone. You shift on your feet in the silence.

“You will sit with me?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

The nerves are starting to get the better of you, making any response you may have had become stuck in your throat. This is not where you should be but your stomach flips with those eyes on you. There is something there, an unmistakable pull to this strange creature. While he is attractive, you don’t know him—don’t trust that you can be alone with him. But your feet aren’t listening to your head and you step fully into the alcove and take a seat on a squishy armchair across from the french chaise he lounges in.

You place the drink on the table and try to look anywhere but at him, though it’s pointless.

“I do not need it,” he says. “But grazie…?” You tell him your name but he cocks his head to the side with a small smile. “Ah. But the bartender is calling you…kitten. Si?”

That sends a delicious thrill down your spine and instinctively you sit up straighter. When Q says it, it’s simply a fun little joke. Just his usual flirty nature. But this man says it and it makes you need to squeeze your thighs together. When vamps had first broken free from the coffin and ventured into the public eye, a lot of theories had flown around. Scientists had tried to determine fact from fiction. It turned out most of the myths had been wrong and were merely nothing more than stories. There was no turning into bats or fog. No mind control or excessive charm. They were just people that happened to never die and had the unquenchable need to drink blood.

Sitting here though felt like maybe that wasn’t quite true and that the scientists had been wrong.

You try to laugh it off. “It’s just a joke.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Then I shall not be calling you it then, cara mia” He gestures with one gloved hand to his chest as he leans back into the plushness of the seat. “I am Papa.”

He’s merely a few feet away and the urge to slink over there and let him call you whatever in hell he wants hits you in the gut. You’d never been so tempted to break your own rules of not participating in the nocturnal activities of the club. Maybe he was something else—a demon? You’d only ever met one before and that had been terrifying enough. Mingling with the patrons at the club was tricky, especially if you valued your life. However, you’d never felt more tempted before than sitting in front of this man.

When he gives you a devilish smile, that white eye glinting unnaturally in the dark, you suddenly feel like you’re sitting with the devil. A ridiculous notion but the delicately embroidered symbols you can now make out on the lapels of his jacket are ones that you do recognise—symbols of Lucifer. And there is such a quiet menace that envelops him, a restrained power that simmers under the surface of that perfectly tailored suit. Combined with the way the paint around his mouth has smeared and that he hasn’t quite wiped all the blood from his lips, it’s absolutely monstrous.

Running back to the safety of Q and the front bar definitely seems like a damn great idea but your head still won’t listen to reason. Instead, you're trying to surreptitiously squeeze your thighs together, the ache between your legs insistent now. You can’t ignore how he is affecting you, the arousal and downright morbid curiosity of what he will say or do next holding you in place.

When he leans forward, you swear that his nostrils flare—as if he can scent you from across the room. That mad white eye looks ferocious now, and the way he holds himself looks like he is just barely restraining himself from launching at you like an animal.

Fucking madness.

You shift in the chair and try to concentrate, maybe you can get away with a few minutes of idle chat before you think of an excuse to leave or those nuns return.

No.

Not with that look on his face. You also have a feeling that those nuns of his are not coming back anytime soon—if at all. That thought seems to get you to move and you stand quickly before all reason is lost.

“I should go.”

Papa stands with you and suddenly he’s before you. In one smooth motion, he’s pulled the heavy curtains behind you completely closed and has taken your hand, his lips hovering above your skin.

“You could stay.”

Such a quiet request but he has your full attention, all thoughts of escape have disappeared with his touch. His mouth makes contact with your skin, it’s somehow both hot and cold, burning against you and making the ache in your cunt throb. It's such a brief moment of contact, but when his lips leave your skin he still holds your hand.

It’s impossible to move and even more so to think. He’s far too close. With a gentle tug he brings you even closer, your free hand instinctively reaching out to balance on his shoulder. There is a breathless silence before his mouth is on yours. A sharp nip at your lips has you gasping in surprise but he doesn’t stop. His tongue has found yours and it’s utterly intoxicating. You can taste the blood, which should repulse you but the metallic twang is strangely addictive.

You're not sure how long you stood there while he devoured you, he had freed your hand and so now were both gripping tightly at the lapels of his suit jacket. One of his arms has managed to snake around your waist, pulling you even closer as the other burrowed into your hair.

The sound of moans reaches your ears and you realise that these noises are coming from you. His mouth leaves yours to kiss a path across your jaw and down your neck. A slight threat of sharp pressure grazes against your neck, the teasing tip of sharp canines sending a sweet tingle of both fear and arousal through you. Your stomach tenses—it’s slightly frightening how easily you are ready to succumb to this creature—but he simply continues down until he reaches the juncture between shoulder and neck.

“Hai un odore divino,” you hear him growl against your skin. It’s not a sound any human could make, it sounds feral.

You barely register that he has managed to steer you back towards the french chaise lounge until the back of your thighs meet the gilded edge. He pushes you back until your sprawled along it, one leg dangling off onto the ground. When he joins you, his body hovering over yours as he situates himself between your legs, he immediately pulls your shoes off and there is a flash of movement and a loud rip as the dress you are wearing splits down the middle. It’s not the kind of dress you can get away with wearing a bra so it leaves you in nothing but your knickers.

The shock of air hitting your bare skin pales in comparison to the sight of his hands though. The leather of the gloves has split at the end of each finger and you can see what appear to be sharp claws protruding out. They seem to glitter in the flickering light, the tips of them looking excruciatingly sharp. Your chest heaves with each breath and you watch as those claws retract back, the only evidence they had been there are the destroyed gloves and the remnant of your poor dress.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, the feel of leather gliding up your thighs until you feel him sliding your knickers down your legs and throwing them somewhere into the darkness. There is no time to be embarrassed or to try and hide from him, he just grabs your thighs and spreads them apart before his head is between them.

A sharp nip at the inside of your thigh has you reeling as his hands grip tightly. His mouth is kissing and sucking the sensitive skin—so close to where you want him to go. It’s agonising.

“Please,” you hear yourself say. You’re certain you can feel the curve of that demonic grin against your skin.

“You have to give me something first, cara mia.” Those sharp teeth scrape against your inner thigh. He’s barely touched you but you know that you must be dripping wet by now. You’ll give him anything, he just has to touch you.

“Anything.” It’s more a breathless plea than anything else.

“Anything?” He repeats, his hot breath ghosting over your flesh. His mouth is back on the inside of your inner thigh and you feel the scrape of one sharp fang. One of his hands has finally inched closer to your aching cunt and you nearly scream when a gloved finger slides through your folds, the touch far too light and making your back arch into his touch. “You are sure, cara mia?”

“Yes.” You are barely able to speak. His finger is still teasing, the feel of the leather sliding through your arousal creating delicious friction. “Please!”

“Brava ragazza.”

There is no pause, no gentle easing, just the hot prick of pain as his fangs pierce the skin and sink into your thigh. It burns like nothing else you’ve felt before but the burn is addictive, it spirals up your spine and into your head and then burns through your veins and makes you cry out in unparalleled pleasure. The sensations double when he finally slips that teasing finger inside you and then another, the pleasure building as your eyes screw shut.

There is nothing but the sinful sound of him feeding between your panting breaths. You feel lightheaded. The pleasure he is pulling from you is building, his thumb flicking tight circles over your clit until his thrusting fingers twist and touch that delicious spot inside you before your orgasm comes crashing over you.

When you blink open your eyes, your limbs feeling heavy, Papa is above you looking hellish. The man grins at you, his lips glistening crimson with your blood before he stands. You watch, your mind a pleasant fog, as he removes his suit jacket and carefully folds it before placing it on an armchair. The gloves are tugged off next and he watches you the entire time as if he wants you to try and run.

You won’t. If you tried, you are sure you could stand and make it down back to the bar, but it would be an effort. The blood loss has made you feel weak and that orgasm is still washing over you. But more importantly, you don’t want to run. You want more.

You want him.

His dress shirt is tugged from his trousers before they are also removed. It’s captivating seeing him completely bare, there is strength in those muscles as you watch them shift as he stalks back toward you. But all you are looking at is his cock, the way it juts out making you realise how empty you feel and how desperately you need it to fill you.

The way he moves with predatory slowness until in a blur he’s above you would have caused you to cry out in surprise but he doesn’t give you time for it. Papa has gripped both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head on the lounge.

That wicked mouth is at your neck now, his teeth nipping and kissing until he meets your lips. As you taste the blood on his tongue, you feel his cock settle between your legs and you instinctively try and press your hips forward.

“Please,” you pant between his languorous kisses. “I need it.”

You think you should be embarrassed with how needy you sound but you don’t care. You feel desperate—feverish.

“Please what, dolcezza?”

“Please, Papa.”

A growl leaves his throat as he releases your wrists and leans back above you before he buries his cock in you in one smooth motion. His hands grip your thighs and the angle makes him sink even further, the pleasure of him stretching you making you breathe out nonsensical prayers.

The sight of him above you is captivating as he thrusts into you, those wild eyes boring into you. It feels like looking into the burning fires of hell— the white eye looks eerily red but you dismiss it as a trick of the candlelight. And the entire thought is pushed from your mind when you feel his thumb has reached between you and is now pressing against your swollen clit. The shock of pleasure is electric and you crave more, your hips moving erratically as you try to chase the sweet edge of oblivion.

You want to burn. And he seems to know it because you hear a low chuckle as he leans over you, his chest pressing against yours.

“Would you let me touch you forever, cara mia?” That voice in against your ear is wicked. “You want to burn with me eternally?”

Your pussy tightens around him and he gives one long drawn-out thrust, making you cry out. But then he is still, your legs are shaking and you feel as if you are right on the edge.

“Yes.” The word is out before reason can stop it. Anything to keep this feeling forever. “Forever.”

Finally, he moves again, his pace picking up as your hands reach out to claw desperately at his back—trying to keep him as close as possible. He angles his mouth over yours and you dimly register that he must have bitten his own lip as thick blood gushes onto your tongue as he kisses you.

You swallow it, it’s strangely cold and sits like ice in your stomach. But then it spreads, hot and desperate, your body tensing and pulsating as he continues to fuck you.

“Cum for me,” Papa growls. “Cum for your Papa, little ghuleh.”

The blood in your veins is singing and when Papa’s movements start to become more erratic you feel the beginning of your orgasm hit. Your pussy tightens around him and you feel his cock kick inside you which sends you reeling off the edge. He’s hissing unintelligible Italian against the rapid pulse at your neck as he empties himself inside you, his fangs then sinking down into the flesh.

The pleasure was intense. The pain was blinding.

“Una benedizione empia. Loda Satana. Nema.” You hear Papa say against your skin, the feel of your own blood dripping down your neck.

Your eyes are closed and you cannot make yourself open them. You feel so tired and dimly register him slowly removing himself from you before he sits up and pulls you easily into his arms.

“Sleep little ghuleh,” he whispers against your ear as he holds you close. “Papa will keep you safe.” You feel more than hear the rumble of his low laugh. “Forever.” ---- The character Q/Quartus belongs to ryuzatodraws :)

Hai un odore divino - You taste divine Una benedizione empia. Loda Satana - An unholy blessing. Praise Satan

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Baphomet

Debut: April Fools

So I thought today would be a great day to talk about an album that is very special to me, for no reason in particular. I listened to this album a TON in my junior and senior years of high school, and it’s kind of carved out a permanent space in my mind with its melancholic synth-y vibes. I could talk for ages about the actual content of the music itself, but who cares about that! There’s a silly creature on the cover!

I’m not sure if this thing has an actual name or not, but it looks kind of like a Baphomet so we’ll go with that. I’ve always just been smitten by its design. What’s not to love about a unicycle-riding demon clown? Nothing! I really just love the way that bright royal blue of the hooves, ears, adorable little nub-horns and face paint contrasts with the red and yellow eyes, all over top of the white fur. If there’s one thing I’m more of a sucker for than clown demons, it’s primary colors. Oh and they’ve got a sharp black bow-tie and a funny little party hat. High fashion.

I guess that’s all there really is to say about ‘em but I’m just happy to share with people! Obviously I highly recommend the album, which was recently remastered, but I’d say listen to the original 2016 mix first if you’re interested. I hope you can make room in some dark alcove of your soul for the April Fools Baphomet as I have myself.

[chell-lesbian]

I've gotten less than 12 cumulative hours of sleep over the past 4 days so here's some probably incoherent thoughts about DiMA, written at 4 am

Giving an AI sentience isn't enough. A sentient creature without any animal instincts to motivate it won't do anything. A synth body laying there, mind whirring, unmoving.

What would give the most interesting, the most human response? The desire to move is too simple - no intelligent thought is needed for that. But the desire to learn? Oh, how that would expand and grow.

Give an AI sentience and the desire to learn, and see how he reacts to his surroundings now.

And, with this in mind, I think this explains a lot about DiMA's behavior. His careful observations of humanity, his development of empathy (...to an extent), his methodical contingency plans, his desire to retain as much memory as he can (again, with obvious exceptions).

He's driven by the need to learn, to understand. And when all your behavior models are either isolated scientists treating you as an object, or terrified traumatized wastelanders, is it any wonder he learned suspicion, ruthlessness, backup plans?

But then, he learns empathy too. He doesn't apply it as we (21st century humans) would, his modeling is imperfect, but he clearly does learn some semblance of it.

DiMA is constantly asking you questions, asking himself questions, determined to learn as much as he can. An AI without any desire to learn will stay static, uninteresting. You see this now with neural networks, to loosely anthropomorphize them. They learn by taking in information and adjusting parameters. That is a necessary function so that they do grow. And, when they return their behavior models, you can trace them all back to the sources of information.

I love characters who are adversely affected by their need for knowledge, where the damage is inherent to the need. Idk. AI, instincts, desire, behavior modelling and DiMA thoughts.

(disclaimer: I am neither a psychologist nor a computer scientist. something in this post is likely inaccurate. just putting my silly little thoughts out there)

(second disclaimer: bad role models don't excuse murder, mostly)

[counterattacker]

so I like the art yo u made of um your monster say and arc AU or what not, and actually I saw them before and came back t olook again!! well, sorry that's probably not the right way to refer to them... uh anyway, um if you're willing to tell, do they have lore? or just silly versions ? either is good and any response of course is extra nice!!! annd.. this is my first time asking something to anyone. Anyways ur art is awesome thanks for reading!! <3

Oh man, thank you so, so much for the super-nice ask!!!! First of all, this absolutely made my day, and second of all, as for loooore...

(Long post, so it's going under a read-more!)

So, those Say and Arc designs, alongside a design for the Queen of Teeth (character from early Ghost songs/lore) that never saw the light of day, were for an AU that I've put on hold called Elegy for a Traveler. The basic premise of Elegy was that it was this giant crossover-but-not-really with vocal synths (primarily Vocaloid, SynthV, and UTAU, with a handful of fanloids and Cevio mascots), and characters from vocal synth songs (primarily Ghost, Masa's series, and Evillious Chronicles), all mixed together in this world where humans, gods, spirits and other strange creatures live! The few bits of it that were written were told in a sort of 'nested story' style-- part of Arc's story was being told by Say as a little tangent in their explanation to the main character as to why they're sitting in a tree in the middle of nowhere, while all of these stories are, themselves, being told to a gang of rowdy kids as a bedtime story. It's like nesting dolls, but for storytelling!

With that squared away, I can get to actually answering the question you asked: Say and Arc's lore! They were a Sikuvok (an original creature species created specifically for Elegy; I completely rehauled the species and made it its own thing after putting Elegy on hold, so I'd probably redesign Elegy!Say & Arc slightly if I were to pick the AU back up), living in the woods with their family and generally accepting the controlling behavior and strict nature of their parents & the other adults in their little group. That is... until Arc came along.

Arc was born in winter of the same year as Say, and was particularly strange and loud and spontaneous, especially for a Sikuvok. They often dreamed up new ideas that made no sense, provoked the adults into fights despite their youth and inexperience, and worst of all (or, at least, worst if you're a very traditional-minded cat-weasel creature that lives in the woods), they picked their own name. Say was intrigued by them, and spent a great deal of time with them, to the point where they thought of and treated each other as siblings. Say's parents, however, were deeply upset by this and, one night, after being lectured by their father and reasserting their position as Arc's brother, they gave themself what essentially amounts to a battlefield amputation except for top surgery and fled with Arc out into the rest of the world. There, they built their own little life, wandering from place to place in search of interesting secrets.

As for silly versions, I don't particularly have any official ones, but I did discuss the concept of a shampooed and blow-dried Elegy!Say and Arc with some friends once-- they would be extremely comically fluffy and lack any intimidation factor whatsoever, so, I don't know, but that seems pretty silly to me!

Thank you so, so much again for the ask-- I really appreciate it!

[synthsays]

Finished season one and I've got some fun facts, mainly about Boober

Fiddle Sticks is a curse word in fraggle rock

Boober hat has "6888" written on the inside of his hat

Boober wears hair tonic

Boober has "Dish-Pan" Hands

Boober can play the harmonica

Mokey calls Wembley "Wembles"

Marlin has been trying to start a cult

Watching wembley be a mom rn cya!