wreckham - Tumblr blog

[wreckham]

[wreckham]

“scooby dooby doo, looking for you” ok but when are we going to find him???

[wreckham]

guys theres kittens

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[wreckham]

Hey. Just read the Mufasa mini-fic in question. First of all, cool writing. I like the emotional and very visceral take on a death that, by nature of its own original audience and tone, could never be portrayed as horrifically as a death by stampede ought rightly to be. I can imagine a tiny Simba urging his father to get up in this more realistic and gory portrayal, too-- there are countless examples of animals treating a dead family member or mate as if they were still alive. The animal grieving process is a slow one, I think, because when you don't have the capacity to understand the totality of death then what is left but a slow and one-sided journey towards "goodbye"? I was going to actually cap off this message dragging the freakazoid who called your thing "fetishistic" but I just chugged a cider so I'm feeling emotional. Peace and love, brother

love this message, truly. and not for egotistical reasons (entirely!) i've been out havin' a goof and drinkin' tonight too so i'm a lil silly readin' this huehue, but i'd like to use your insightful and thoughtful message as a jumping off point to say that i'm intrigued by the reactions i've gotten to my wordscribble bc the positive ones have had a lot of chunky, flayed meat to them. you guys rule lmao

if i could speak ahead of myself, i'd love to exercise some of the ideas you present here through a creative project someday, tho probably as media i'm more familiar with like illustration or interactive design. we need more horror xenofiction, goddamnit. Stray Dogs proved to us that animal psychology and how it differs from ours is a great starting point for a horror story

that stuff's where the actual horror is, i think. like i'm not scared of viscera, you know? i see viscera every day. i worked in viscera, i learn in viscera, i study viscera, and when i'm at my lowest i experience viscera. it's all mechanical to me. the gore was just a horror staple i had fun with

but the emotional agony of being incapable of protecting those you love? the gutpunching tragedy of that being the last thought that you ever have? that's the kinda shit that keeps me up at night

[wreckham]

[wreckham]

i blocked the pokevore lamewad after rubbing their nose in it bc i don't need someone like that hanging around my internet hovel and also i'm kinda just a mean little bitch, and so apparently they sent one of my friends a private message they want him to pass onto me. homie was good enough not to send it, but damn i musta struck a chord something horrific with this clown. like sorry the story about the big kitty going to sleep forever made you cry ig but revealing your psychosexual baggage to me isn't gonna bring him back :(

i reposted that silly little mufasa fic to my dA and FA and some furry who's fetish is pokemon non-consensually voring each other, digestion and all, just scolded me for writing it bc in his eyes i was "fetishizing horror"

i just got..... kinkshamed??? for writing something that wasn't even horny????? by someone who objectively fetishizes something horrific???????

holy fucking shit this is awesome

[wreckham]

i reposted that silly little mufasa fic to my dA and FA and some furry who's fetish is pokemon non-consensually voring each other, digestion and all, just scolded me for writing it bc in his eyes i was "fetishizing horror"

i just got..... kinkshamed??? for writing something that wasn't even horny????? by someone who objectively fetishizes something horrific???????

holy fucking shit this is awesome

[wreckham]

           After watching “The Boxtrolls” for the fourth or fifth time and finishing up the book it was based on, “Here Be Monsters,” I have to say I am honestly stunned by how different the two works are. To be blunt, while the film remains one of my favorite movies of all time, the book has ended up on my list of least favorite works of literature.

           Moved by a desire to discuss the disjoint that led to this particularly strange phenomenon, I wanted to break down a film vs. book comparison and talk about what exactly made the film work so well…and what made the book fail to do so. To that end, I am going to take you on a magical journey through what I think makes “The Boxtrolls” the better version of the material presented in “Here Be Monsters.” I will be talking about the film version of each character and setting element first, then transition to that of the book; this is unfortunately the bias I have, having seen and loved the film before knowing there even was a book. There will be bashing and negative criticism of the book, of course, so if that’s not your cup of tea, you’d best be on your merry way away from this review. There will also be rampant and wild spoilers.

Keep reading

[wreckham]

[wreckham]

My Little Pony TV earth pony construction model sheet.

Full download available here:

[wreckham]

there was a time. There was a time. There was a time on this website, where there were a non-negligible amount of Anarchists who truly believed the adjective St*pid was on par with a racial slur

[wreckham]

sos its loik this roight. i'm not a writer and i never write and i hate to write bc i cant write anything decent, but sometimes something inside of me just snaps and i clickity clack away on THE most irrelevant literature possible for like 1-2 hours straight. and i am sorry. and it will happen again

[wreckham]

Holy shit your Mufasa fanfic was better than any answer I could anticipate

thank you for sending the initial ask and thank you further for enabling my worst habit (writing)

[wreckham]

How *exactly* did Mufasa die? Was he trampled to death? Was the fall itself lethal, the impact with the ground? Was his body stabbed by antelope horns as he fell on them?

there was a quick pressure, then a flash of light, then nothing. one of his eyes had been crushed in its socket, the "pop" drowned out by the deafening sound of the thundering herd.

the raw, cutting, burning rupturing of his liver and kidneys was unignorably all-encompassing to the point of being oxymoronically distant, for it was so unreal in its magnitude; he had been gored, and the site of the wound had been ripped open further, each stabbing hoof forcibly peeling back more and more of his hide from the mouth of the gash.

he tried over and over to move his legs, any of his legs, but each was broken so profoundly, shattered and splintered and stabbed in between so many muscles, that they didn't even twitch. he tried to move them despite knowing full well that he couldn't feel them anymore.

he could barely even feel the blood clinging to his fur, or on his whiskers and his skin.

it was surreal to him in the same way as seeing a mushroom cloud in the distance would be to you or i, knowing the pyroclastic flow was seconds away but being unable to do anything but watch in awe. he knew he was dying. how could he not?

time slowed as the shock began setting in. a unique rush of chemicals began filling his brain, though being an animal he couldn't understand what was happening. to him, time was not dilated. to him, he was not hallucinating. to him, he was living.

he was caressing the tiny body of his 2 day old son as his beloved wife cooed from over his shoulder. he was being granted position of king of the pridelands by his dearest friend, who whooped and cheered for this as any baboon would. he was sitting under the stars with his kid brother, taking turns pointing out constellations, images formed by the great kings of the past so as to tell mortal leonines of their futures.

taka's small red foot raised and pointed at two particularly bright, white stars.

"just like us, huh?" he'd said.

two days prior, back in the present and away from these looping memories, mufasa had been sitting under the stars with simba, pointing out the same constellations, elaborating on the same stories. simba had been enraptured with them, as all cubs are at such a tender age. the lad had tugged on mufasa's ear, his own little gold paw jutting out towards two more stars, one very large and one very small.

"look, look!" his boy had said. "just like us, huh?"

the pain was soon over, soon too foreign and physical and alive for him to understand. it simply could not register any longer. everything seemed so distant now, and so obvious besides. had he always been warned? lord, had he always known something like this would happen? had this been planned from the beginning, since their adolescent days of bonding and fighting and supporting and hating? and had it been his imagination, or had the larger of the two stars blinked out of existence that other night?

mufasa's throat spasmed and closed in a painful seize, forcing a thick, wet wad of something warm and foul smelling from his esophagus. out wheezed the death rattle, his collapsed lungs bidding goodbye to their utility.

it mattered not, for by now he could not see or hear. by now the left side of his face had been all but caved in, and by now he understood the greatest fear, the greatest of agonies. and it was not because his heart had stopped beating. it was much simpler then that.

his son had no one to protect him now.

and then mufasa died.

[wreckham]

They should invent a way to kill yourself that doesn’t disappoint anyone

[wreckham]

Scoobert and his folks

[wreckham]

i'm back to regularly learning about how to improve my art bc its the only reason i have to stay alive so i hope you motherfuckers are ready for some tumblr hack to drip feed you stupidass text posts about how to draw the other eye