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#refered to as vampire stuff
1337wtfomgbbq · 1 year
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Tyler: Lance, you gotta stop with this vampire shit.
Lance: *waving hand in Tyler's face *
Lance: Miss me with that gay shit.
Tyler: What gay shit? THE LAW 🤌🤌
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fantasykiri5 · 10 months
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Woah! It’s them! The glowing duo!
The other day I was violently struck with the urge to draw Ran as a werewolf that looks more like a vampire and Aimsey like a vampire that looks more like a werewolf. So I did that.
I love drawing them in vastly different art styles right next to each other, turns out.
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blitheringbongus · 3 months
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In case anyone wondered abt my human Mumbo, (no one did), this is him right before he got bit way back in the day! :D
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I lowkey want one of those "live laugh love" type house signs that says "come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring" for the entryway of my house someday. I think it'd be hilarious, but it's also lowkey a nice greeting in its own way, if perhaps mildly ominous... What a nice way to set a welcoming vibe! ;)
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haliaiii · 4 months
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Can you draw Mori from BSD please?!
Your art style is Amazing 🛐
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Gonna be honest with ya anon, i haven’t rlly touched anything bsd for like 4 years so I had to google who this guy was cause I forgot, anyway ain’t he the pedophile guy or something 😭?
Had some time today so I did this quick 10 min sketch as a warm up, also thanks!!
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saintarmand · 1 month
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a stray cat from a toy shop
while i'd noted it before, this post by @iwtvfanevents gave me a title for the cat painting in claudia's room: The Kitten's Art Lesson by Henriëtte Ronner-Knip. (if you enjoy being insane like me go read the artist's biography at the link, but keep in mind that just because you CAN draw parallels doesn't mean they were necessarily intentional. but they ARE delightful.)
let's take a look at the kitten's art lesson!
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the kittens are studying under the watchful eye of the adult cat, who seems disappointed by the lack of decorum. the kittens are in a playful mood! one of them has torn through a painting. another is clinging to the art board with tooth and nail... just playing or trying to hold on after nearly falling? a couple are in a half closed drawer—almost like they could be trapped inside at any moment. one has actually found a paint brush but doesn't seem to know what to do with it. the teacher is not impressed.
i can't help but note the one staring towards us from the drawer looks awfully familiar:
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the art teacher and students aren't the only cats in claudia's room; there's also a cat statuette on the mantle (click to see the closeups in full.)
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above the cat painting, there's a blurry painting of what looks like some women sitting, and one of them looks she might have a cat in her lap, though that might be wishful thinking on my part. the bottom of the painting blends in so well with the wallpaper that at first glance i actually thought the painting had been cut into, which sent me on a wild train of thought but yeah that's not actually true lol. but the effect is interesting regardless. the cat on the mantle definitely evokes the idea that it escaped from the painting nearby, and could flee at any moment—and in episode 6, it's no longer on the mantle or anywhere else that i can see.
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i wonder if it broke along with so much else in the house at the end of episode 5, or if claudia moved it somewhere. fellow insane people keep an eye out, a kitty's gone loose!
so... why cats?
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there aren't many cat references in iwtv compared to other animals, but the ones that are there speak volumes. in episode 3, we see louis bite into a black cat as a substitute for the human blood he craves. later in the evening lestat says he "fears for the feline population of new orleans" (after comparing louis to fish and birds). when louis reaches a breaking point, "rats, cats, dogs, would no longer suffice." so what he really wants or needs is something else?
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in the next episode, claudia delivers the punchline:
“I used to [live around here] too. I remember there used to be a toy shop a few doors down by there. They used to keep stray cats in boxes for people to take.”
claudia sees herself as a cat. louis took her in like a stray—a helpless little kitten in need of rescue—and he took her (took for free because no one else wanted her) from a box at a toy shop—a place where you find things to play with.
but cats love to play and they love sleeping in boxes so this is fine actually!
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...right?
claudia knows herself much better than anyone else in this show. she is a cat in a kitten's body.
the thing you always have to keep in mind about cats is that they are not docile and subservient by nature. they don't do things because they are told but because they choose to. a cat's fur may be pretty and soft to touch, but don't forget those sharp teeth and claws! it's not that they don't like to be pet at all, you just have to get permission first. and even if you do, they might just change their mind, as is their right.
cats do like good company but they also like their independence. they prefer to come and go as they please; not to be locked up inside, and not to be kept on leashes. they like boxes because they feel safe in there, but they also like to jump out for play time: hunt! catch! kill!
they may be small and cute and soft but they're still predators, and brutal ones. if they don't get to hunt for their food in your care, you better find them another outlet or they'll go for your ankles. they developed that instinct to survive, but hunting also happens to be fun! cats love to play with their food.
if you manage to earn their trust, they'll make for wonderful companions—but do not make the mistake of assuming you can ever own them... or you'll have to sleep with one eye open like they do. they're quick and clever but also patient, and they know how to move without a sound. let them out of your sight for even a second, and you won't know what hit you until it's too late. and they'll relish the kill!
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no matter how others may speak of her, claudia is not a lap dog, nor a bird in a feathered nest. lestat is not a beauceron herding sheep, and his last name does not make him a lion. the three of them are not fellow dogs either. from the very beginning, claudia knows she's a cat. and by the end, she realizes what lestat let slip in the pilot: he's just an overgrown fucking rat. and while “a cat and a rat” rhymes, that does not mean they're the same thing.
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skltart · 2 years
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love iwtv, wish gay people were real
(coloured version under the cut)
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kazz-brekker · 6 months
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me after watching castlevania nocturne directly followed by vampire hunter d bloodlust
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tuesia · 6 months
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Vampire Terry Jr my beloved :)
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bloodmoontnght · 2 years
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me talking about my favourite media: it absolutely destroyed me. most of the time i've been watching it i was crying either during or after. i hate it and i hate everybody who participated in making it for making me feel that way. anyways time to rewatch it it's my fav
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drawnecromancy · 9 months
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Astarion & Veldren
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d0lipr4n3 · 7 months
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marcy in one of my bajillion art styles........ my queen.........
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gascon-en-exil · 1 month
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It would appear that the Unicorn Overlord fanbase is proportionately more homophobic than the typical audience for my videos. I wonder why that is?
Also, I continue to be baffled by how YouTube's automatic comment moderation works. This one doesn't show up for me under the video (which is probably why the same person left a shorter and less explicitly inflammatory comment just after), but it does pop up in the list of recent comments that I can see on my creator dashboard - and not in this list of those being held for review. YT has a comment limbo, I guess.
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decamarks · 11 months
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OH DEAR GOD ART FIGHT i'm excited. considering i spent last year using it as practice to learn blender, i've decided this year i will use it as zbrush practice. NO ONE WILL BE READY FOR ME & MY BULLSHIT. ABSOLUTELY NO SURVIVORS
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them weirdos ♡ ♥
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honeycollectswhump · 9 months
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Things End | People Change – Staining Touch
this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!
CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)
Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 
It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.
But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 
At first, he can do nothing but stare.
In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.
He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 
And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde. 
That man, he… 
Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.
…He loved to leave marks. 
Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.
Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.
Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.
After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.
But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 
There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–
Into a toy.
He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 
Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.
Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 
He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.
He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.
Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.
Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.
It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 
Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.
If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 
They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.
Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.
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