“I don’t want to complain, but sometimes I feel like dinner should JUST be dinner, ya know? Not this whole social political thing.”
First answer DONE - question came from insta! Quite happy with drawing all of that in a few hours :3
If you wanna ask Del something - here is the post: https://www.tumblr.com/aspiring-awesomeness/734639663585918976/got-the-time-to-draw-and-a-need-for-del-to-get?source=share
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What if I wrote a detailed text-to-text analysis discussing what I propose to be the considerable influence of IWTV and The Vampire Lestat on The Secret History. Donna Tartt saying she named Camilla after "an ancient warrior queen," the way Akasha and Camilla mirror each other, the shared influences she and Anne Rice both cite, the way they both talk about midcentury American realism and the genre vs. highbrow literature distinction that really coalesced in the 70s, etc. Also their formalism is insane
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WIP Wednesday
@chickenparm tagged me, so enjoy some Halloween spookies in a long wip because this fic will probably be long
Warning: Vampires, Gore, Body horror, and Cannibalism mention. Also an experimental piece cause I'm feeling that right now. Also like spelling errors/grammar/shit probably gonna change/I did not read over this
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There is something beautiful in death.
There is a softness to the bone and a dullness to the tissue that creates a drip of petals on the pale tile. Petals that will stain to a brown that the owner of the establishment will lie and say was coffee if anyone else were to ask.
But you know what it truly was; the last signs of a struggle.
“Is there a reason for the rush order today?”
Singed is smoking, a rarity but not uncommon with Zaunites even if he was an adopted one. The cigarette hangs from one of the lipless sections of his mouth, held between crooked canines. “Silco wants something fresh for tonight.”
Your eyes dart to the man on the table, now hooked up to tubes that are draining him while he wriggles in what is left of death throes. No noises leave him now, lips blue and eyes drawing back, into bloodshot pale dots. Singed will eat those later, after you’ve left, along with probably more of the organs. He had always been the type to prefer to chew rather than drink.
It was lucky your skills were considered invaluable to him, and that he was well-fed. “I’m surprised he didn’t select someone.”
“He did.” Singed’s sharp fingers grow red as he presses down onto the man’s chest cavity, shirt gone and mismatched eyes gazing over the bruised chest. A finger traces just over the sternum. “Luckily for you, I told him no.”
You roll your eyes, offering him a scalpel, that he doesn’t take. “Not like I’ll be mortal for much longer anyways.”
There’s a pause from the older man, before he draws a sharp nail, a claw really, over the skin of the dying man’s chest. It’s a sight you’re used to enough, moving your hands to hold back the flaps of skin when Singed creates them, which he gives a small thank you for. The man is beginning to pass out.
“Slap him.”
You do so, and the man jolts and Singed purrs, both hands wrapping around the sternum bone. Pressing down with his palms, hooking his fingers under it, until it breaks. Not very cleanly, but enough that most of the bone is now out of the way from the prize of his heart. He sets down the bone on a table nearby, red splashing along the sides of it, and coating the bottom.
The doctor snubs out his cigarette in it, turning the bloody bone over like an ashtray. “If Silco asks for you, it means he plans on killing you. Not turning you.”
You frown, pinning the flaps of skin out of the way before moving to discard your gloves. “He’s drank from me before-”
“That was a different situation. One where he managed to maintain control. Thanks to certain parties present.” Singed strolls back over, and draws some muscle and tissue away, to a faintly beating heart. The man stops moving when Clawed fingers grab it, easily ripping it away with a wet tear. “I believe if I hadn’t been there to watch, you would most likely be dead.” And Singed offers a rare smile, one that makes his good eye crinkle. “And I rather like you alive. Or undead. Far more useful.”
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tonights rp adventures: Toby has issues with hugs, Lea tracks Toby down like a fucking bloodhound, Emilie gets fucking lost, Toby remembers ice cream, Lea talks about hard shit, and Emilie has an anxiety attack with the homies
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To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:
A post in 2023:
A post in 2014:
A zoom out of the same post:
This is what a community looks like.
See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.
It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.
Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.
If you want more of something, reblog it.
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