you will still fail if you don’t try. then it’s just guaranteed.

@theartofmadeline
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Origami Around

pixel skylines
Claire Keane

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RMH
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
taylor price
h

★
$LAYYYTER
KIROKAZE
dirt enthusiast

ellievsbear
NASA
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Discoholic 🪩

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@hollow-moon-slideshow
you will still fail if you don’t try. then it’s just guaranteed.
A belated photo of my Grimora plushie based on Act 2 Grimora from my favourite game Inscryption
Dreaming of creating my Dracfield visual novel while busting my ass at a meh job
Dracfield Week: Day 7
Markings
the poem and the small illustration
Darling,
My terrible love is marking you,
As a scar,
As a curse,
As words that can never be taken back.
I break the dry bone of un-life in two,
And then we gnaw on the meat
That managed to cling to it somehow,
In darkness and silence.
I am roadkill,
I'm the Rasputin who was shot and drowned,
But that didn't quite stop me
From fucking.
In truth,
You deserve me no more
Than someone deserves a disease
Or a sudden inheritance.
It just happens to people,
I simply happened to you.
Let me cut your lips
With my fangs,
Say sorry
And do it again.
My dear queers
Halloween is just around the corner, which means...
HALLOWEEN PIDE FŁAGS :3
[Some of the credits below so the post won't be that long]
Dracfield Week: Day 6
Soulmates
(Dracula: Love at first bite versions)
Renfield hardly doubted that they were destined for each other. Not since the count enthralled him and made Robert _his_.
However, Dracula didn't seem to understand that. A mistake that could be forgiven out of love for the awe-inspiring, ancient being, but not forgotten... never forgotten.
Men, women, they all were killed far too slowly. As if they could mean something to the Count. Something more than their life with Renfield.
It was already disturbed when the goverment dared evict Dracula out of his ancestral home, and now, this woman... this morsel and her side-dish... her man, spawn of Van Helsing, no less... they drew too much of Master's attention to themselves. It should have been stopped, and he knew just the way to stop it.
Tell the lady he was going to arrange their meeting with Dracula, tell the gentleman he's going to help convince her escape Dracula's claws... and let his future lunch out for a walk.
The venom is swift and merciless, quickly putting them both to sleep. Eternal sleep, that is.
Once he hears Dracula's wings, he slits their veins to make the blood flow once again. The Master's starving in New York, he wouldn't know the difference between warm and cold, poisoned and fresh.
He looks like a rabid animal, covered with blood head to toe, paralyzed and helpless. Renfield's more than happy to sit next to him and unbutton his dirty shirt. A miniature hand slides down his bare, barely moving chest. Robert's voice is tender, almost motherly, as he speaks to Dracula.
"I just thought it's about time we had an evening to ourselves. Don't you agree? Oh, you do?"
His laughter is unhinged, but, to be fair, using Dracula's head to nod along is very funny.
Dracfield Week: Belated Day 5
Touch starved
("Bram Stoker's Dracula" version)
Deep inside the labyrinthine asylum, the house of terror, pain and screams, nobody could watch Renfield as closely as Mina watched Lucy.
What Doctor Seward didn't know, couldn't hurt him.
Robert felt his master closing in every night. If not a shadow on the other side of the window, than in feverish visions that were everything but tangible.
And, maybe, he wasn't exactly... loved, but he didn't need to be. It was enough for him to feel used... no, no, useful.
Blood is the life, and every little life he consumed, every tasteless lunch he forced himself to eat was means to an end.
Master needed his support. Needed his strength. Renfield was happy to share his blood, his body, his very soul... and yet, he stayed painfully full. Promises and whispers filled his head, never coming to fruition.
Maybe this could change. If only... if only he had a way to get out. To chase his master, fall to his knees and kiss the pavement he walked...
Master would take him in. Master would fullfill every promise.
Renfield moaned in his sleep, he whined like a dog that was hit with a stick. Yet every sound he made got drowned by the wails and screams of others locked in this prison.
Dracfield Week: Day 4
Domesticity
(Renfield 2023)
Sometimes Dracula woke up just after the sunset. Alone in the bed, the king of the junkyard, overseeing the drained blood bags, smelling the familiar aroma of decaying bodies. He's in the graveyard, the hospital turned into decrepit temple of a forgotten god of death.
Renfield wasn't there. And it felt like he stopped trying after a while. Why make a new house feel like home if it gets destroyed in a bacchanalia of a satanic rite? And still, the hospital... was too much. No, far too little.
Dracula couldn't help but remember his ancestral home. Why had he left it for Europe? Why had he moved to the New World? Eternal life makes you bored. When Robert came to his lonely castle, it felt like the beginning of something new. Something exciting.
And now... now he doesn't even know if Renfield is coming back.
Dracfield week: Day 3
Claws and fangs
Ah, Robert never looked prettier than on his knees, begging for forgiveness. It didn't matter whether the slight was perceived or real. Renfield knew his place.
He shivered, looking up at his master, and kept saying the same words.
"I deserve to be punished... please, do anything you want, just make me yours again."
Dracula only lets Robert crawl closer once his familiar starts tearing up. The count's index finger slowly becons Renfield, and soon Dracula's claws can reach the pretty, pristinely white cheek and draw blood. Robert moans and shivers, but doesn't try to pull or look away.
"Please, Master..."
He just can't resist this sweet voice. Dracula grabs Renfield by the throat and lifts him higher, close enough for the vampire to lick the exquisite, salty mixture of blood and tears off his cheek. It's just the beginning. The first taste.
Soon the first cut is joined by many more; on Robert's back, chest, stomach and legs. He's bleeding and whining, begging for sweet relief. It finally comes with a bite on the neck; vampire venom flows through his servant's system, and the pain slowly dulls.
"I drink of you and let you drink of me; that's how we became one."
Dracula only shares his blood when Renfield starts feeling lightheaded. Forgiveness doesn't come easy... otherwise it wouldn't amount to much.
what they don’t tell you about being an artist is that sometimes you will sit down and suddenly know how to draw something that youve never gotten right before
something else they don’t tell you is that sometimes you will sit down and suddenly have no idea how to draw something you’ve drawn numerous times before
[Text ID: THE WORLD WILL ALWAYS NEED MORE TRANSSEXUALS. THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE. THAT INCLUDES YOU! /End ID]
click for quality + do not remove caption
Dracfield Week: Day 2
Vampire Renfield
Dracula: Love at first bite AU
Sometimes you have to chase the mirage to appreciate the real thing, someone next to you. Suddenly it didn't matter whether the feisty Miss Sondheim was the reincarnation of the unconquerable Missis Harker. It didn't matter whether she figures out her affair with the psychoanalizing, scheming descendant of Doctor Van Helsing, or stays sad and lonely forever.
Renfield was nestled by Dracula's side in a cool, deep cavern. Come night, they will fly out and feed on unsuspecting scientists who set up camp a couple kilometres away. The local colony of vampire bats is a friendly, if a bit wild bunch. They don't understand what "New York" is, but they're really invested in the part of the story where drunk Dracula flies into a billboard.
Finally turning Robert was a bit of a last-minute decision, Dracula can admit that. The coffin was sent to a wrong location, he missed the flight due to the whole being chased by the van Helsing descendant thing... it was a do or die moment, to put it simply, and Dracula decided to do and not die.
And so they flew to South America. Renfield needed a holiday for a while, and Dracula wanted to relax after the hustle and bustle of New York... and also have a proper time and place to train his fledgeling. Robert had the bloodlust and determination, but he lacked certain finesse.
However, one thing remained certain. Robert is the only one Dracula could spend an eternity with.
I used the animation style of Natural Habitat animated shorts to bring you those sweet Dracfield bats
Check Natural Habitat out if you have time
//In All My Dreams I Drown//
Dracula+Renfield - Dracfield Explicit Tags: Thalassophobia, Coffin Sex, First Time
Renfield's thalassophobia makes traversing the ocean a difficult task, but Dracula finds a way to soothe him. Dracfield Week Day 1: '31 Dracfield
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
😈 @reniadeb 😈
This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but it’s also kind of an amazing two-line poem? “His Wife has filled his house with chintz” is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and “chintz” is a perfect word choice here—sonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then “to keep it real I fuck him on the floor” collapses that whole mood with short percussive sounds—but it’s still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8
I hate that my aesthetic sense agrees with this but everything you just said was correct
I went back to dig up this post because I was thinking about poetry.
This is one of those non-poem things that are among my favorite poems.
As the OP stated, the use of alliterative consonants is aesthetically just great, especially the placement of the strongest use at the end: “fuck him on the floor.” The use of “chintz” is indeed great word choice.
Because I’m insane, decided to scan the poem:
Not only is the second sentence, indeed, perfect iambic pentameter, the entire poem is perfectly metered, though the first sentence has four iambs rather than five.
There are further things I love about this poem, though: I like the casual connotations of “keep it real” juxtaposed with “chintz.” It causes me to interpret the “chintz” more strongly as meaning something fake, a facade. There is also of course the coarseness of “fuck,” which is a contrast with “chintz” but a different kind of contrast, gutsy and carnal where “chintz” is flimsy and inanimate.
And then there is the storytelling: there is SO MUCH storytelling in just these two lines. To break it down: The speaker is having sex with a married man, in the house he shares with his wife, which is “filled with chintz”—something that here connotes fakeness, in contrast with “keep it real.”
The illicit encounter in the poem takes place within a house filled with facade, the flimsy construction of the wife’s marriage and domestic sphere, but the encounter itself is a taste of something “real.” That’s a story, and it’s just two lines.
This is EIGHTEEN SYLLABLES, y’all. The amount of meaning condensed into these eighteen syllables is stunning, and it is so elegantly done.
From a technical standpoint (and ive taken 300- and 400-level poetry classes so I can say this) this is damn near flawless as a poem.
Kept thinking about this ever since I saw it and had to do something
there's art now
Ah dang to go further; the floor is framed as a refuge. As if there is literally no other space in this house that hasn't been populated by his wife with flimsy inanimate fakery. There is no space for this man in this house save for the floor. There is no space for him on the sofa, oon the counter tops, and most notably, no space for him in the marital bed.
I’d also like to point out the use of the word “has.” The wife has filled the house with chintz. She isn’t filling the house with chintz. She doesn’t fill the house with chintz. She has filled the house with chintz. Use of the past-tense makes the wife a subtly removed element in the story, someone whose presence we see in the environment, but who is blissfully distant during the actors throes of passion. There is an element of physical as well as emotional separation from the wife that is catalyzed by being fucked on the floor. Use of the past tense is an end to the wife presence in the actors life, a carnal catharsis amid cold fragility and emotional distance.
This is my new favourite post in the world
everyone cheer for the one (1) time tumblr had reading comprehension
Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it
Fuck man
My mom likes to refrence a story she read
About a guy who escaped North Korea
He said living there was like living in a pot
And he grew up there, so he grew into the shape of the pot
But once he was out
And the pot was gone
He was still in the shape of the pot
And he had to work really hard to grow outside that shape
I think its the same with alot of things
Art, gender presentation, decoration prefrences, food, hobbies
You forget what made you happy in favor of what kept you alive.
You forget what made
you happy in favor of
what kept you alive.
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.