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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

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mess w/ roommate!bradley 😵‍💫😵‍💫 for blurbs:)

oof, okay we're starting off on a roommate spree here folks! i love it so much. I tweaked it a little bit because I'm just such a slut sap for first times 🥹

[ MESS ] our muses are supposed to be cleaning up in the shower after sex, but sender starts to finger receiver.

warnings; female reader, afab!reader, roommates to lovers, smut 18+, fingering, masturbation, tit worship, thigh grinding, pet names

word count; 2.4K (did you say blurb?! god damn it I have a problem)

tagging some people; @roosterforme @mak-32 @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter

"Bradley." you tried to keep your voice stern, shoulders squared, and eyes blazing with the power of every woman who had ever cleaned in her entire life. "We need to have a conversation."

"Alright, what's up, tiny?" Bradley looked up from the paper he was reading, the nickname he'd given you did nothing to alleviate the frustration you felt with your roommate. You weren't tiny, you were actually on the taller spectrum of it all, according to you. But not to chicken man.

"Have you--" you had to cut yourself off, taking a deep breath to make sure you didn't accidentally hurt any feelings here. "Has anyone ever taught you how to properly clean a bathroom? Because I distinctly remember that we said yesterday that I would take the kitchen, and you would take the bathroom." Bradley had skirted that particular chore one too many times.

"I don't follow," Bradley furrowed his brows and put his paper down beside him.

"There's still your tiny facial hair remnants in the sink! And don't get me started on the shower! Did you even scrub the shower walls?" Bradley blinked at you. There truly was nothing behind those big brown eyes, huh? Just sawdust and jet fuel.

"Tell me who to contact to file a complaint about your lack of cleaning knowledge." you put your hand on one hip, unfortunately taking the well known stance of a woman scorned.

Bradley licked his lips before looking down at his lap. You thought you knew what might come next. As he looked up, there was a perfect iteration of a hurt expression on his face, those same brown eyes now misty and puppy-like.

"My mom--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake Bradshaw, you already pulled that card this week. Ain't no excuses for being in your mid thirties and not knowing how to clean your own damn bathroom!" try to get out of that one huh, feminist king. See how you'll chicken your way out of that.

You figured Bradley might take offense, or at least start arguing with you. He'd been well known for his short fuse. To your great surprise, those big eyes that had just been misty widened initially in shock at your brusque statement, before his head tipped back and a roaring laughter eased from his throat.

"Oh god, tiny - you're just perfect, aren't you? You're right. I should know better," he now moved to stand, mirth playing in his eyes as he took a few steps forward until he - to your great annoyance - towered over you.

"I know this is not supposed to be your job then," he murmured softly, using his hand to make your stubborn gaze meet his "but would you be so kind as to show me your preference in making our bathroom squeaky clean then, doll?" he was smirking now.

God damn naval aviator knew he was hot. It irked you that you could not say that he didn't affect you. His little pet names, his stupid broad shoulders, his ridiculous sun kissed skin, the way he always smelled so good the way he--

"C'mon tiny, we got a tight schedule now!" Bradley called you out of your dazed state, and you huffed as you followed him towards your spacious shared bathroom.

"Alright, sweets, talk to me." He talked as if you were his god damn backseater, trying to blow up the enemy toilet. "What's the first step?"

Rolling your eyes, you started to peel off your socks and shorts. "Tiny!" Bradley's eyes went wide before he averted his gaze promptly.

"Oh, c'mon, Bradshaw, don't tell me you're in your mid thirties and have yet to see a woman in underwear," you smirked "I'm gonna walk you through a deep cleaning. Don't want to ruin my clothes. Tends to get a little wet,"

If Rooster's lips wobbled at your use of the word 'wet', you chose to ignore his childish quirk.

"But if you want to ruin your Grateful Dead shirt by getting cleaning shit on it, fine by me," you shrugged before ridding yourself of your top, leaving you in a matching black panty and bra set. They were plain, nothing sexy about them at all.

Swiftly pulling out the cleaning supplies, you started ordering your roommate around the bathroom as the two of you started to hose down the room. You hadn't made it far in your mission to scrub the sink before you felt a spray of water against your back.

Turning around, you were met by a mischievous looking Bradley, the shower head pointed straight at you. If looks could kill, you're sure Bradley would have a paper cut by now. Maybe a bruise.

"Rooster!" you tried sounding stern, but it came out more as a tired whine. "Hey, I'm sorry, Tiny - c'mere!" Bradley must've sensed you were starting to get fed up, because he opened his arms to you. Stupid naked, muscly chest looking inviting and warm as hell. You stepped into the shower, wrapping your arms around Bradley's waist as he maneouvered the shower head back into it's position on the wall.

It seemed like neither of you cared that the warm water was now washing over the both of you, your underwear becoming soaked. You'd always wondered what it would be like to shower with your roommate, but you never envisioned this scenario. In your scenario there were even less clothing, and much more moaning.

It wasn't always easy, breezy (but definitely beautiful) living with Bradley - in spite of the fact that he lacked competence in bathroom cleaning, he made up for it in every other aspect of householding and in his caring nature.

"This feels good, Tiny," Bradley murmured against the top of your head as he held you. "Told you it'd get wet," you mumbled against his skin, your lips currently smushed against his sternum. You could feel his chest rumbling as he chuckled, his large hands leaving their safe spot in your embrace. They started gently caressing your sides, before one hand again found it's place on your chin - tilting your head softly upwards.

Looking into Rooster's brown eyes, there was no twinkle of mischief left, nor confusion or mistyness - you weren't quite sure what this look was. As his other palm cradled your jaw and a portion of your neck, it dawned on you. Before you could name the emotion, Bradley's lips were upon yours in a wet kiss.

His lips moved slowly against yours, as if he was giving you the option to either engage or leave. A soft noise left your throat as you pushed up on your toes, wanting to feel more of him. The grip he had had on your chin eased, that hand moving to grip at your hip to keep your body steadily pressed against his.

"Wanted to feel you like this for fuckin' ever, Tiny," Bradley groaned as you took a gasping breath, his lips kissing down your throat. "Bradley--" you whined, eyes fluttering shut as his skilled hand rubbed at your ribs, slowly inching up towards the underside of your breasts.

"Is this okay, doll?" he breathed against your ear, his mustache tickling slightly against your earlobe.

"So okay, Rooster - oh god," you moaned softly as his thumb graced the swell of your breast, applying just enough pressure to send anticipatory waves of pleasure rolling through you.

"Please, I-- more," you whimpered, your hands tangling into Rooster's damp locks, tugging slightly - eliciting a rough groan from him. "More of what, doll? Tell me," his voice was husky against your throat as he switched sides, tongue soothing where his teeth nipped and his lips latched on to suck marks onto your soft skin.

"You-- Please!" his hand was still teasing the underside of your breasts, and you were squirming against his warm body, trying to make him fucking grab them already. You needed his hands on you.

"Words, sweetheart," he sounded pleased, a smile forming against your skin. Yanking his hair a little harsher, you licked your lips as the water cascaded down Rooster's well muscled upper body.

"I need your hands on my fucking tits, Bradley," you commanded, a certain bite to your tone that had a moan rolling off of Bradley's parted lips. Your words seemed to have triggered something in your roommate, because he promptly pressed you against the cool tiles of the shower wall. Not before his one hand had swiftly undone the clasp of your bra, flinging the wet garment to the floor.

"Such lovely fucking tits," Bradley groaned, eyes transfixed on your naked breasts as his large hands covered them, his fingers squeezing and kneading in unison. Letting your head fall back against the wall, you let out a long, relieved moan at the stimulation. Bradley whispered out a breathless 'Fuck' as his thumbs rolled over your nipples, taking in how well the soft flesh looked squeezed in his hands.

"Fuckin' dreamt of these tits for so fucking long," Bradley confessed, leaning down to let his warm tongue circle over the now pert nipples. "Wanted to hold them, lick them, suck them-" at the last word he let his lips enclose around your nipple to suck, making you cry out - the sound echoing over the sound of rushing water.

"Fuck them," Bradley growled as he put more pressure into his kneading movements. At this he looked into your eyes, pressing his body up against yours, his thigh slotted between your slightly parted legs.

"Bradley," you whimpered, not in a state of mind to say much else, and the fire it ignited within those brown eyes had you whining in pleasure again, his thigh pressing against your clothed core. "Wanted to make you mine for so fucking long," Rooster continued, letting his lips meet yours for a hard kiss.

"God, make me yours, Rooster," you whined, grinding down against his large thigh, needing the heat he'd started in you satiated.

"Fuck, Tiny!" he rutted his pelvis against your own thigh, and you could feel how hard he was against you.

"C'mon baby, tell me what you need," your roommate murmured before he once again leaned down to lick and suck at your breasts, relishing in finally getting to drown in their supple flesh.

Who knew Bradley was a tits man?

"Need your hands," they were everywhere and nowhere all at once, you needed them to bring you more pleasure.

"Need my hands, hm? D'you need them here, sweets - is that it?" his left palm had left it's perch on your breast, reaching between your bodies to cup against your soaked pussy. A soft mewl left your parted lips as you nodded fervently.

"Yes! Please, Bradley," you were practically begging for him now, but you found you didn't care.

"Sweet girl... fuck - I'll take care of you," Bradley's voice sounded a little wrecked as his fingers slid underneath the soaked cotton of your panties, his fingers rubbing against your core. Lifting your leg, you held it against Bradley's thigh to give him easier access, your hands gripping on to his shoulders as he let his cupped hand, two middle fingers, glide through your folds over and over again.

At the sensation of one of his fingers slipping into your welcoming heat, you let out a gasp - tightly followed by a moan. Fuck, even his fingers were big. Your hips started moving on their own accord, slowly swivelling against Bradley's hand. His other hand had begun pushing at his wet underwear, only managing to pull them to rest past his hips - successfully freeing his hard cock.

"You drive me crazy, Tiny - I've heard you touch yourself through the walls for so fucking long. Your little gasps and moans," he groaned, adding another finger to your hole, fucking them slowly in and out of you as the heel of his thumb dragged against your clit.

"You know why I call you Tiny, baby?" you shook your head, delirious with pleasure as you noticed Bradley had wrapped his other hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, the thick tip of him rubbing slightly against your abdomen.

"'Cause of your tiny fucking gorgeous moans as you try to keep quiet," Rooster moaned loudly as he pressed his cock harder into your skin for friction "Try to keep from moaning my name, huh?"

Nodding your head, you were properly grinding down onto Bradley's fingers now, fucking yourself against his palm as you bit your lip. "Yes, Bradley! I thought of you," you whined out, finally opening your eyes to look at him, soft moans and gaspy breaths rolling from your parted lips onto his as he pressed his forehead onto your.

"You gonna cum for me, Tiny? Gonna moan my name as you fuck yourself on my fingers?" brows pinched together, nodding against his forehead, small mewls and moans left you as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers meeting your bucking hips as they curved inside of you. The sound of him fisting his cock against your skin adding to the sensuality of it all.

"Bradley," his name was a drawn out moan "I'm gonna cum so hard on your fingers," you mewled out, pressing your tits against his hard chest. He didn't speed up his movements at your warning, but kept the pace and angle at the almost exact position of where they had been when you uttered the words.

"Cum for me." Bradley spoke against your lips "Look at me." he commanded, brown eyes meeting yours as you gasped, hips grinding hard against the palm of his hand before you let out a tiny moan of his name, euphoria washing over you as your body convulsed from the pleasure your roommate was giving you.

Bradley let out a soft curse, his fingers still fucking into you as he moaned your name, hips stuttering as he fucked his own hand too, his cum coating your hips and thighs as he shot his load over you. Slowly easing his two fingers out of you, you whimpered at the sensitivity, letting your arms wind around his neck as you buried your face in his skin.

"Bradley..." you voice was small, and his strong arms circled around your waist, hands resting on your ribs as he held you. "S'okay Tiny, I've got you," he smiled, kissing the top of your head.

"I've got you," he repeated, softly caressing your skin.

"We're gonna have to clean this up..."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw imagine #smut #roommates to lovers

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flaroh · 9 months

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Medusa 🐍🧡🌿

I absolutely loved creating this portrait! It's a companion piece to my Medea and Hekate portraits. Medusa has become very popular in modern myth reception, especially as a #MeToo symbol and feminist figure. She's the embodiment of feminine rage, and many contemporary depictions of her have her mid-scream, baring her teeth, reminiscent of her original apotropaic gorgon form. In this illo I wanted Medusa's expression to be more of a powerful roar/laugh, rather than a futile wail. However, I've kept her body language defensive, like she wants to lash out with those talons (a bit of an anachronistic addition I admit), but she's also trying to protect herself. Finally, in all these depictions I've stuck to a homogenous mass of green snakes for her hair. But this time I wanted something more fantastical and colourful. None of these snakes look like any real species, but I drew heavily from vipers, adders, rattlesnakes, and even some non-venomous species like constrictors and garter snakes :) Patrons will be receiving A6 prints, as well as an Arachne sticker 🧡 If you'd like your own, sign up by the end of the month!

#medusa #tagamemnon #flaroh illustration #ancient history #ancient women #greek myth #art history #greek mythology #arachne

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chiekodivine · 2 years

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books recommendations

﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊﹒₊˚﹕﹒₊˚﹕﹒

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe benjamin alire sáenz

the alchemist paulo coehlo

a room of one’s own virginia wolf

we are the ants shaun david hutchinson

the beauty of myth naomi wolf

the love hypothesis ali hazelwood

the second sex simone de beauvoir

her body and other parties carmen maria machado

the secret history donna tartt

valley of the dolls jacqueline susann

the lover marguerite duras

the picture of dorian gray oscar wilde

my year of rest and relaxation ottessa moshfegh

the creation of patriarchy gerda lerner

girl in pieces kathleen glasgow

ain’t i a woman: black women and feminism bell hooks

severance ling ma

love is dog from hell charles bukiwski

only words catharine a. mackinnon

beloved toni morrison

summer edith wharton

feminist theory: from margin to center bell hooks

bunny mona awad

living a feminist life sara ahmed

requiem for a dream hubert selby jr.

the sexual contract carole pateman

woman and nature: the roaring inside her susan griffin

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osakanone · 15 days

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I think I found our anthem.

I think if a movie or tv show ever got made about "being a mech pilot", this scores unbelievably high as competing to be the opening theme

youtube

Its a cover of Kate Bush who's about the most emotionally radical feminist musician imaginable

This cover is by Brian Molko, an infamously genderqueer pansexual musician -- half of whom's roster is songs about feminization, or the pain of living as a male, and how despite humanity recoiling from sex, pleasure and pain for pleasure's sake, they are maximums of human expression and human truth.

The concept of "running up that hill" is what sets a mech apart from any other vehicle, letting it go where nobody else can, to afford and stride whatever the land dares imagine for you like some bizarre multitonnage ibex

The beat itself... Is it weaponsfire? Is it a heartbeat? Is it a reactor? Is it footsteps? Can we even know?

"If I only could make a deal with god, and get him to swap our places" -- I can't think of a better descriptor of what piloting like, IS. You ARE a god among gods, a theistic sexual nightmare of weaponized bliss striding the plains of human history, dragging it kicking and screaming into the future under the grind of war's very gears and servomotor roar.

There's so many more reads that can be made here.

I'm sure you can hear them too.

I swear I'm gonna burst or explode thinking about this.

I had to share it. Its criminal not to.

You hear it too, right?

Edit:

Soundscape in youtubemultiplier, to test

Holy fuck

#mechposting #mechafucker #mech #Youtube

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 7 months

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Have you or vinelle ever considered moving to TikTok? I think your metas would be very much appreciated there especially with a larger audience like Twilight Tok where it mainly consists of locals not knowing anything about the saga they claim to be fans of and criticizing Stephenie Meyer for silly things like Twilight being anti-feminist propaganda because Bella cooks and cleans. I've also seen a few blokes with suspiciously butchered similar takes to the ones you and vinelle do on here and I'd hate to your work receiving praise by being credited to others

I'm very flattered but you overestimate how hip I am, dear anon.

Notice the blank wall of text that is my profile, posts and posts adorned with nothing, just text. I barely understand tumblr, TikTok scares and confuses me. I'm not kidding, I actually do not understand half the videos there or what I'm even supposed to understand from them.

I can only imagine my short form videos, where I dress up as a gentleman and a scholar, sit in front of a roaring fire, and say with text on a screen, "Ah yes, dear audience, I believe we left off with our these 'Edward's Totally Gay for his Father' part 1.3. In today's argument, read the fucking book, thank you"

And that's with the idea of putting my face on video. You lot can get my voice on spotify (@rankheresy) but ewwwww to video.

(And while I am flattered, I'll say... I don't know if we'd be popular over there. Remember that @therealvinelle and I live in a clown car and it's one that fandoms aren't always receptive to for a variety of reasons. Depends on the flavor of Twilight Tok which I personally don't know. But then again, I don't understand why I've become even marginally popular here, so who's to say.)

As for the suspiciously similar takes this is... well, I don't like it and if people do do this, please for the love of God give credit, it's free internet nonsense and fame that doesn't actually exist, just give credit, but it's not a TikTok only phenomenon in that I have vague awareness of this going on in Instagram every once in a while and I'm sure other places.

Not enough for me to get on TikTok personally, at least, not for the foreseeable future.

You have any TikTokking plans, @therealvinelle?

#tiktok #twilight #twilight renaissance #meta #twilight meta #vinelle #therealvinelle

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denimbex1986 · 11 months

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'Before I saw the Barbie movie, I was resolutely against ever seeing the Barbie movie. Despite the fact that as a child I loved Barbie, who I interviewed regularly for important radio segments in her coral peach ball gown, I decided that the last thing I needed was 90 neon-coloured-Margot-Robbie-filled minutes of a film which would obviously have nothing new to offer me; a grown-up feminist woman who stopped idealising the problematic Barbie aesthetic decades ago.

But then the reviews from angry men started rolling in. You only had to be vaguely near the internet after Barbie’s release to hear the resounding roars of the mostly middle-aged; outraged that such an abomination against “all men” could even be allowed to exist. The reviews began to read like dreamy promotional soundbites: “An alienating, dangerous and perverse film”, “They won’t be happy until we are all gay”.

These men were really, really wound up about this film. They loathed it. They were spitting fury at Greta Gerwig for creating a piece of such obvious, glaring, “anti-men, feminist propaganda”.

And so, when I was asked by one of my teenage children if I would be up for a day of “Barbenheimer”, I said “yes”: newly salivating at the potential of a project that could cause this much delicious backlash.

I decided I would swallow my aversion towards sustained exposure to powder pink, get Barbie watched, then chase it all away with a good dose of brooding grey, historically accurate cinema. Despite the promise of those furious reviews, I still expected to enter and exit the cinema despising Barbie and in awe of Oppenheimer.

During the five hours of media and popcorn consumption that followed, a chain reaction set in motion that left me changed. It made the vitriolic reviews of Barbie, calling Greta Gerwig’s masterpiece “anti-men”, even more comical. The irony was bright and clear to me: Oppenheimer is anti-women.

And the thing is that Oppenheimer is not different to most films. Because most films are anti-women.

We just don’t take to the internet to rage about it because we’re used to it; desensitised by the decades of cinematic women who exist only to paint their lips red, bare their breasts and give the important male protagonists something to play with.

Is Barbie anti-men? Oh, I hope so (it isn’t, it’s anti-patriarchy), but also, frankly, I don’t care. Because if it is – after decades of movies made by male directors like Oppenheimer’s Christopher Nolan, it has good reason to be.

And it does what it so brilliantly does within the sparkly, imaginary bubble of an entirely fictional world where the male characters it side-lines are literally plastic dolls, all called Ken (except Alan); fake toys who simply can’t even breathe. Anti-women films like Oppenheimer on the other hand, sideline or completely erase very real, flesh-and-blood women who lived whole lives and made significant contributions to our world.

So, if you’re a man who has watched Barbie and felt angry or irritated or just plain strange while watching the depiction and treatment of the Kens – then welcome to cinema. That is what it feels like to be a woman watching Hollywood movies most of the time.

But here’s the thing – that poor Ken doll you’re lamenting over, is not Leona Woods; who at 23 was one of the youngest female scientists the Manhattan project employed. Ken, unlike Leona, was not present at the first nuclear chain reaction and Ken did not have to do what Leona did – which was to conceal her pregnancy until two days before her baby was born. Ken is also not Elizabeth Graves; a scientist entirely essential to the project’s success who was completing an experiment when she went into labour and did not stop the experiment until it was finished, timing her contractions with a stopwatch. Let’s see Christopher Nolan make a three-hour-long film about that.

Neither Woods nor Graves feature in Oppenheimer, which, like so many anti-women films, manages to assume such an air of authority that it can leave us assuming that its astounding lack of female representation must be down to its admirable commitment to historical accuracy. I’ve heard the cries – “It is called Oppenheimer after all. How much do you expect it to worry about its women?” And perhaps it’s true – you can’t very well expect a film about the very intelligent physicists who tackled the science behind creating the atomic bomb to change facts just for representation can you?

No. But you can and should expect such a film to accurately and fairly represent the female scientists who were, in fact, right there – alongside Oppenheimer and his men, ensuring the Manhattan Project’s success. Perhaps it might have been appropriate if viewers left the three-hour epic clear in the knowledge that Kitty Oppenheimer didn’t only drink herself to distraction while taking care of screaming children and dropping a hip flask out of her handbag at every possible moment; she was also a trained botanist who was employed at Los Alamos to take blood and test the levels of radiation exposure of her colleagues.

More than 600 women worked on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos alone, yet the only female scientist given any recognition in Nolan’s world is Lilli Hornig, who speaks only briefly, mostly in opposition to the bomb’s use. And what about Charlotte Serber? Who Nolan depicts as Oppenheimer’s secretary, completely erasing her vital work as scientific librarian for the project’s “secret library” and who, with no formal training, became the only female group leader, overseeing a staff of 12 people while also risking her safety in counter-espionage efforts.

Oppenheimer doesn’t only fail the Bechdel test, it fails to represent the real women who contributed so significantly to that morally fraught turning point in history. Those women were physicists, engineers, chemists, mathematicians. They existed. And, as is so often the case, many of their achievements have been forgotten and remain unrecognised, by both history and cinema.

As I continue to emerge from my Barbenheimer experience, researching the lost women of the Manhattan project and occasionally still basking in the disgust of all those angry men who need to hate the work of art that is Barbie, it becomes ever clearer: anti-women is the benchmark of mainstream filmmaking and some people are simply unable to deal with the plastic Manolo Blahnik being on the other foot.'

#Barbenheimer #Oppenheimer #Barbie #Margot Robbie #Greta Gerwig #Leona Woods #Elizabeth Graves #The Manhattan Project #Kitty Oppenheimer #Los Alamos #Lilli Hornig #Charlotte Serber

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niuniente · 2 months

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Saw your little thing about ask you anything, and I'm sure you've been asked this before but I haven't seen it... HOWEVER, what pieces of media do you think have inspired you the most to make your ocs and the comics that go with them?

A though question. I don't think I have anyone as a direct inspiration as "I want to draw like this artist" or "I want to create stories like this author". I'm certain that the majority of my inspiration is subconscious or runs around certain favorite tropes or themes, like punk and cyperbunk, as well as lots of music, too.

If I narrow this down to media which has really inspired me when I have encountered it the first time, then the inspiration list will be the following:

Comics by Petri Hiltunen. Some of his works have been translated to English, like Anabasis. I can't remember anymore what happened in the comic Asfaltitasanko (An Asphalt Field) but I remember that it really hit me the right way when I was 13.

Sláine series by Simon Bisley. It's still running and I read every new book. This is actually a feminist barbarian comic, which is a great combination and you will see echoes of that in Alrick.

Hob Gandling's story in The Sandman series. Oh I wish I could experience again the time when I read the story for the first time. I was mind opening for a 13 year old.

Vintage manga from 70's and 80's, as well as anime from 90's and early 2000 (like Slayers Next below). Expressions were very prominent back then and I do generously use that whenever possible. I was SUPER happy when I started watching Jujutsu Kaisen and it had those really big expressions!

I think that from anime, I should perhaps mention Bleach, because Grimm is inspired by Bleach series Grimmjow. Who is, by the way, also a cat (a panther).

Alrick, the whole premise of Death-Head Organization and the generous use of black, solid masses gets all its inspiration from a manga Sun-Ken Rock. Especially from the protagonist Ken Kitano, who is the best positive masculine example in any media I have ever encountered. Also, Algoth looks is inspired by Ken's right hand man, Benito Armani:

For the animals and animal parts of the characters in DHD, I LOVE kemonomimi! For other series, inspiration comes from game series Bloody Roar and from a comic series Blacksad. Rena is inspired by Bloody Roar's Mitsuko the Wild Boar.

We simply can't forget fashion! Metal, punk, cyberpunk, kinksters, and other dark dressed underground people. I'm asked at times why everyone seems to dress up the same and my answer is that since the comic is black and white, with black outfits I get to add some contrast to it. Alexander McQueen is awesome!

Other mentions to practice keeping mind open, which allows stories to be formed without judgment or thinking that I have no base for this: - Jeffrey Burton Russell's books about the Devil and religious history - Conspiracy theories (as what kinds of things people believe in and how they find evidence for it to support their views, including opposing conspiracy theories like Moon landing was fake VS Moon landing did happen but we haven't gone back because of aliens on the Moon) - Quantum physics

I'm certain you can pick up more things which have inspired me from my stories and drawings. But, if we speak ONLY about Death-Head's Deal, then underground fashion, Sun-Ken Rock, 80's and 90's vintage manga&anime, and Blacksad are the ones.

#ask niu

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cosmic-froot · 3 months

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I just finished watching Netflix’s live action ATLA and I’m overall so confused and disappointed with the last episode.

Spoilers ahead

Why and how is Katara a waterbending master?? It literally makes no sense to me other than Pakku just not wanting to teach her anything and found a way without seeming like a sexist asshole. Katara couldn’t even lift water not too long ago and now she’s a master???

Aang literally never learned waterbending in the book titled Water?? Can I just say that hated that the writers used the ocean spirit for a Godzilla trope. I don’t understand how it was roaring for one, and it just kept roaring over and over again. I also hated that they put a limit on the Avatar’s power?? Like because he combined with an elemental spirit, he’s lost and no longer Aang. There’s a consequence for him combining with the ocean spirit which already makes this Avatar weaker in comparison. They should expect for the audience to know that he’s not going to die/be lost in book one. SO WHY EVEN GO FOR THAT STORYLINE??? And how did both Iroh and Yue know this information? Where did that originate from?? How would they know this information????

Yue’s wig and makeup were so bad. I feel so bad for Amber. They gave Yue this “I’m not like the other girls, I’m a relatable girlboss.” personality, which was a sucker punch to the stomach right away. They also had her freeze Sokka so he wouldn’t stop her from sacrificing herself to save the moon spirit, but this ultimately portrayed that she didn’t trust that Sokka would respect her decision. I don’t think the writers would have done this if the gender roles were reversed, which makes this another example of an anti-feminist change to a character. Also her dad didn’t seem the least bit sad that she was gone??

I don’t know if I have it in me for another season of whiplash like this.

#atla #atla netflix #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #netflix #aang #katara #sokka #princess yue #natla #natla spoilers #my thoughts

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reblogglelog · 10 months

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there is not a single thought in booster gold's head except for the roar of adoring crowds

"I don't like to bleed!" omfg god honey

he really spent hours on tiktok trying to be relevant BUT he's a feminist!

#jli #justice league international #justice league 80s #booster gold #michael jon carter #he is literally “Influencer: The Movie”#the inside of his head is just a gold statue of him rotating

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 1 year

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Plant, have you read Jia Tolentino’s Trick Mirror? She nails it. Read this part and think of Meghan Markle. This is everything!

The two biggest families in politics and culture today—the Trumps and the Kardashians—have risen to the top of the food chain because of their keen understanding of how little substance is required to package the self as an endlessly monetizable asset. In fact, substance may actually be anathema to the game. And with that, the applause roars, the iPhone cameras start snapping, and the keynote speaker at the women’s empowerment conference comes onstage.

Sophia Amouroso’s brand of “Girlboss Feminism,” and Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In brought in an era of CEO capitalism as a type of feminism.] #GIRLBOSS is an extended exercise in motivational personal branding … [the memoir implies that] becoming successful is a feminist project. The basic idea here is that, for women, photogenic personal confidence is the key to unlocking the riches of the world. The Girlboss Rallies [pay to attend conferences] are supposed to work the same way: you pay to network, to photograph yourself against millennial-pink and neon backdrops, to take the first step toward becoming the sort of person who would be invited to speak onstage. This is meant to scan as a deeply feminist endeavor, and it generally does, at least to its participants, who have been bombarded for many years with the spurious, embarrassing, and limitlessly seductive sales pitch that feminism means, first and foremost, the public demonstration of getting yours.

A politics built around getting and spending money is sexier than a politics built around politics. And so, at a time of unprecedented freedom and power for women, at a time when we were more poised than ever to understand our lives politically, we got, instead of expanded reproductive protections and equal pay and federally mandated family leave and subsidized childcare and a higher minimum wage, the sort of self-congratulatory empowerment feminism that corporations can get behind, the kind that comes with merchandise—mugs that said “Male Tears,” T-shirts that said “Feminist as Fuck.” (In 2017, Dior sold a “We Should All Be Feminists” shirt for $710.) We got conferences, endless conferences—a Forbes women’s conference, a Tina Brown women’s conference, a Cosmopolitan Fun Fearless Females conference. We got Arianna Huffington’s Thrive Global, which aims to end the “stress and burnout epidemic” through selling corporate webinars and a $65 velvet-lined charging station that helps you keep your smartphone away from your bed. We got the full-on charlatan Miki Agrawal, who was regularly given media tongue-baths on the subject of Thinx, her line of period panties, until it was revealed that Agrawal, who proudly called herself a “She-E-O,” was abusive to her employees and didn’t know much or care about feminism at all. We got, instead of the structural supports and safety nets that would actually make women feel better on a systematic basis, a bottomless cornucopia of privatized nonsolutions: face serums, infrared saunas, wellness gurus like Gwyneth Paltrow, who famously suggested putting stone eggs in one’s vagina, or Amanda Chantal Bacon, whose company Moon Juice sells 1.5-ounce jars of “Brain Dust” for $38. On the wings of market-friendly feminism, the idea that personal advancement is a subversive form of political progress has been accepted as gospel. The trickiest thing about this idea is that it is incomplete and insufficient without being entirely wrong. The feminist scammer rarely sets out to scam anyone, and would argue, certainly, that she does belong in this category. She just wants to be successful, to gain the agency that men claim so easily, to have the sort of life she wants. She should be able to have that, shouldn’t she? The problem is that a feminism that prioritizes the individual will always, at its core, be at odds with a feminism that prioritizes the collective. The problem is that it is so easy today for a woman to seize upon an ideology she believes in and then exploit it, or deploy it in a way that actually runs counter to that ideology. That is in fact exactly what today’s ecosystem of success encourages a woman to do.

Heading out, but posting this so I don’t lose it.

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