#open constructs

[sexy-cowboy-for-you]

Time to unwind after a long day at work.

[unbfacts]

30 years ago, you had 15-17 minutes to escape a house fire. Today, due to synthetic materials like plastics, petroleum-based products, and modern home designs with open floor plans and larger rooms, you only have 3-5 minutes.

[rongzhi]

(Additional) English added by me :)

[gaylittlebillionaires]

i feel unwell x

[four-two-six]

anyone around here play purrgatory. here's a naga sean

[boughclan-clangen]

moon 0, page 4

>the doctor is in.

PREVIOUS || NEXT FIRST

[in-tua-deep]

I’ve seen critique of the way show!murderbot said it felt good after killing leebeebee (thank goodness, I really disliked her - though at the same time I actually think that it’s interesting for the preservation team to have someone very blatantly objectify murderbot right in front of them and show them how other humans likely treated it)

but,, I didn’t really read it as it feeling good about killing someone so much as feeling good that it has made the team realize that it isn’t some little robot that wants to be human, and it doesn’t want to be assimilated into their group because it isn’t human. It’s a construct. They cannot and should not assume that it wants to be like them - it shouldn’t have to change or be human to be accepted

So I thought it was more of a “it feels good that this is making them rethink their little uwu poor little meow meow narrative when that’s kind of condescending and I am way more familiar with how fucked up my situation is than they are?”

Idk, any thoughts?

[sexy-cowboy-for-you]

Have a nice weekend, y’all.

[huariqueje]

Espitllera , Loophole  -    Magí Puig , 2023.

Catalan, b. 1966-

Oil on canvas, 60 x 33 cm.

[asexualbookbird]

Hey! Hi! I need dental work, a filling repair between two teeth, so I'm opening up simple doodle commissions! Send me a photo of your pet, and I'll turn them into a doodle! I'm not picky about the animal, all critters welcome.

Don't have a pet? No problem! Send me a photo, even an idea, and we can work things out. Your critter doesn't even have to exist.

Whole procedure will be 606$, my goal is 120$ to cover the months phone bill, and I've put down a 25$ deposit for the appointment in September.

I only have cashapp at this time ( $ravencrantz )

I've temporarily opened up tumblr dms, so message me if you're interested! If you want more pet (okay. cat.) doodle examples, check out this tag! For my art in general check out this tag and there's also some things on my other blog @ravencrantz

[lezhuntrr]

Do u ever think about lesbian characters getting raped & impregnared by monsters? Or maybe even being forced to carry their eggs? Bc I think about it a lot

pretty often, very hot. like, your tender little lesbian pussy might be just for girls, but the hellhound growling and pushing your legs apart with its snout doesn’t know, understand, or care about any of that. it just knows you can’t stop it from making you into it’s bitch. so that’s what it’ll do ☺️

[amapolamystery]

I hope you've all had a happy Black History Month! Here's my entry for @creatingblackcharacters' Black History Month Challenge! I thought it was a great opportunity to celebrate the first African cartoon coming to Cartoon Network :} so here's Iyanu!

My message for my Black viewers is this: You are entitled to take up space in art communities. Regardless of skill level, regardless of experience, regardless of how big or small your artistic goals are. Every artist is valuable, and you're no exception! Expressing yourself is a wonderful thing, and there will always be someone who is thrilled to see your work! So keep creating, or don't think twice about getting started! Wherever you go, you'll find your community, because Black artists shine everywhere ✨

While this is a very last minute entry, I wanted to tag my friends @cxffncase and @bodegadulac in case they want to pitch in!

[xpupslxtx]

about me!

hi i’m atlas!

i’m a 23 yr old genderfluid nonbinary slut (:

i use all pronouns! including “it” :3

i am a swer but that is separate from this blog as i want one space on the internet where i can be comfortably sexual without having to impress anyone. do not ask for info i will block you.

i loooove bein a puppy and i have an owner/husband who i love dearly!! we’ve been together six years now. please please do not be fucking weird!!

i’m a huge fucking pervert but i’m not gonna list all my kinks yall ain’t readin all that and i ain’t writin all that just don’t come at me with scat/vomit/incest/pedo shit and we’ll probably be fine.

weird trans people be my friend!!

DNI MINORS/MAPS/TERFS/ED/SH/PEOPLE TRYNA FUCK

[noirve]

god, armand as a character is giving me serious brainrot. he's such a control freak because he desperately needs to derive meaning from something—anything. whether it's god, rituals, or coven life, he needs to give a purpose to his existence. this is why he upholds these stringent laws and regulations in both of his covens, which are ultimately destroyed by someone he loves who stands outside it all. and he kind of just allows that destruction, despite all of his power, because he is also... bored? it's like he's on autopilot, going through life in this meticulously constructed routine until he meets lestat and later louis, who both refuse to adhere to his carefully crafted structures and disrupt the status quo. this is attractive to armand because deep down, underneath his all masked emotions, he is very lonely and desperate for connection! which is just awfully human for such an ancient powerful being

imagine being this old and alone, how do you endure? armand tries to find value in these rigid structures because otherwise, his life feels empty. "he needs rules to give him purpose" but in the end, this doesn't fulfill him completely because, despite his feigned confidence and stoicism, he is insecure, needy, and traumatized. this is why he seeks out chaos despite having spent all this time trying to control everything and everyone around him. he lets it happen—for love, but also, i think, because unconsciously he desires that total loss of control, which allows him to actually feel something real. every few decades, he almost intentionally lets his entire world, the world he worked so hard to manipulate into his will, be ruined. yet, when he tells daniel he "let it happen," he is lying, too (at least about lestat) because he presents himself as more passive, composed, and reasonable than he really was when his way of life was threatened. he just tells himself that he wanted it that way all along so he remains the one in control. i need to see him crack

[roughridingrednecks]

Batts from Georgia

[whomstsnek]

I’d love to see some Kremy and Torbek interactions that don’t suck

Have Torbek give Kremy a forehead kiss of forgiveness (platonic or romantic ur choice)

for you, anything <3

very VERY mild spoilers for S2 (just the setting)

---

“This is all my fault!”

A pulse of thunder echoed across the valley, the only other sound in the little campsite Carnival Lecroux called home. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, Kremy wasn’t even sure any of them were still breathing. All eyes were on him. He felt dizzy, he felt raw and exposed, air leaving his lungs with each desperate gasp, but none seeming to come back in.

“I fucked y’all over. We’re all gonna die, and there’s nothing we can do about it, and it’s all my fuckin’ fault!”

All at once his body gave out, knees buckling, and he collapsed onto the ground. He hardly noticed the cool, wet squish of mud seeping into his pinstripe pants, or the cruel, sharp wind whipping at him mercilessly. His face felt wet—was it the strange rains of Yon, or bitter tears he didn’t deserve to cry? Kremy couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

He doubled over like he’d been hit, body curling over itself protectively, one arm clawing at the earth beneath him and the other wrapping tightly around himself in a mimicry of comfort. Each breath came like it was being torn from him, his hunched form wracked with painful sobs. Nobody moved.

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt strange in his throat, oily on his tongue, the truth of them choking him.

“I’m so sorry.”

Nobody moved.

Kremy continued to writhe helplessly in the mud, repeating those words over and over and over again like they would save him. Somewhere in the back of his stupid, selfish mind, he had hoped one of them would come to his aid, would roll him over and pull him close and tell him he had nothing to be sorry for. Maybe they had left, he mused as the minutes ticked by with nothing to show. Maybe this was the final straw, maybe they all had finally had enough of him and moved on. Maybe he would die here alone in a mess of his own making. The thought was solace as much as it was agony.

A pair of boots stepped into his blurry field of vision, matted brown hair and overgrown nails poking out of what must have once been fine leather. Kremy swallowed the guilt and bile rising dangerously in his throat. Not him. Why him?

Torbek didn’t say anything as he slowly padded over, large foot prints pooling with rainwater in his wake. He squatted down in front of the other, but Kremy couldn’t meet his gaze, too afraid of the hate and anger he knew he’d see in those big, sad eyes.

Another cry—perhaps a sob, perhaps a scream—was ripped from his throat as long arms wrapped around his body, pulling Kremy up into Torbek’s hold like he was something fragile, something precious, and the bugbear’s chin came softly to rest atop Kremy’s hat-less head. Thin hands with too-long fingers ran gingerly across Kremy’s back and shoulders, rubbing small circles into hard scales while Kremy hiccuped and whined pitifully in his grasp. They sat there like that for some time, days for all Kremy knew, before Torbek shifted him in his arms and pressed his thin, chapped lips into the spot where his chin had rested.

“Torbek forgives you, Kremy.”

Kremy burned with something he couldn’t identify; it was like everything had come into focus for the first time, far too much after far too little. Every brush of hair against his scales, every heavy drop of rain falling from on high, every place where Torbek’s hands held him together, it all seemed alight. It scared him, more than death, more than the hags, maybe even more than Garou.

“I don’t deserve it.” he mumbled, voice hoarse and words painful, the sound of them barely carrying over the roaring storm.

“Torbek knows.” Torbek pulled Kremy in closer, cradling him so close that Kremy could hear the other’s heartbeat. “Torbek forgives you anyways.”

Torbek’s hands continued to smooth up and down Kremy’s spine, and Kremy could still feel the spot on his head where Torbek had kissed him, and it all burned, but he didn’t leave, and Torbek didn’t make him. Slowly, the rain began to clear, and the world began to move, but Torbek still stayed.

Eventually, Kremy knew he would someday need to apologize for this, too—this was too much, too selfish of him, too needy—but that could come later.

For now, everything was warm.