#no cartoon can ever compare

[roostertuftart]

i'm so sick of ppl asking "why doesn't family guy have a fandom like south park!!!" Why doesn't peanuts??? why doesn't peanuts have one. answer me that

#in all seriousness i feel like it's been rly well discussed why south park of all shows has a fandom compared to other media #esp other adult cartoons #and i can sort of see why it would have one and not peanuts #but like! man they are way more comparable in terms of what fans love about them and it's surprising peanuts doesn't have like... #idk much of a fanbase you ever hear about #i'm sure there's somewhat of a fandom as there is with most media but like. dang idk #peanuts #south park #south park fandom

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3

When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.

It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.

Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.

Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.

A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.

You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.

Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.

~

“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.

“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.

“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.

They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.

“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.

“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.

You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.

You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.

They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.

You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.

“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?

“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.

“OW!”

~

Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?

The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.

Well, unless you were there.

“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.

“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.

“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.

Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.

For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.

There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.

“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.

“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.

“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.

“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.

Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.

There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.

He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.

It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.

~

“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.

Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.

“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”

“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.

You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.

“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.

“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”

“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.

“Please,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.

“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.

“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.

In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.

With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.

And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.

“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask

“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.

“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.

“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.

“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.

“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.

~

It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.

Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.

Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.

“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.

She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.

“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.

“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”

You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.

“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.

“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.

And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.

~

People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.

It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.

“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.

“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.

“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”

Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.

Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.

“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”

~

“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.

“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.

Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.

“What makes you think so?”

“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.

“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.

Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.

“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.

“We’re actually married.”

The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.

Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3

Part two out now!! Read it here.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse x reader #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel

[renthony]

In Defense of Shitty Queer Art

Queer art has a long history of being censored and sidelined. In 1895, Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray was used as evidence in the author’s sodomy trials. From the 1930s to the 1960s, the American Hays Code prohibited depictions of queerness in film, defining it as “sex perversion.” In 2020, the book Steven Universe: End of an Era by Chris McDonnell confirmed that Rebecca Sugar’s insistence on including a sapphic wedding in the show is what triggered its cancellation by Cartoon Network. According to the American Library Association, of the top ten most challenged books in 2023, seven were targeted for their queer content. Across time, place, and medium, queer art has been ruthlessly targeted by censors and protesters, and at times it seems there might be no end in sight.

So why, then, are queer spaces so viciously critical of queer art?

Name any piece of moderately-well-known queer media, and you can find immense, vitriolic discourse surrounding it. Audiences debate whether queer media is good representation, bad representation, or whether it’s otherwise too problematic to engage with. Artists are picked apart under a microscope to make sure their morals are pure enough and their identities queer enough. Every minor fault—real or perceived—is compiled in discourse dossiers and spread around online. Lines are drawn, and callout posts are made against those who get too close to “problematic art.”

Modern examples abound, such as the TV show Steven Universe, the video game Dream Daddy, or the webcomic Boyfriends, but it’s far from a new phenomenon. In his book Hi Honey, I’m Homo!, queer pop culture analyst Matt Baume writes about an example from the 1970s, where the ABC sitcom titled Soap was protested by homophobes and queer audiences alike—before a single episode of the show ever aired. Audiences didn’t wait to actually watch the show before passing judgment and writing protest letters.

After so many years starved for positive representation, it’s understandable for queer audiences to crave depictions where we’re treated well. It’s exhausting to only ever see the same tired gay tropes and subtext, and queer audiences deserve more. Yet the way to more, better, varied representation is not to insist on perfection. The pursuit of perfection is poison in art, and it’s no different when that art happens to be queer.

When the pool of queer art is so limited, it feels horrible when a piece of queer art doesn’t live up to expectations. Even if the representation is technically good, it’s disappointing to get excited for a queer story only for that story to underwhelm and frustrate you.

But the world needs that disappointing art. It needs mediocre art. It even needs the bad art. The world needs to reach a point where queer artists can fearlessly make a mess, because if queer artists can only strive for perfection, the less art they can make. They may eventually produce a masterpiece, but a single masterpiece is still a drop in the bucket compared to the oceans of censorship. The only way to drown out bigotry and offensive stereotypes created by bigots is to allow queer artists the ability to experiment, learn through making mistakes, and represent their queer truth even if it clashes with someone else’s.

If queer artists aren’t allowed to make garbage, we can never make those masterpieces everyone craves. If queer artists are terrified at all times that their art will be targeted both by bigots and their own queer communities, queer art cannot thrive.

Let queer artists make shitty art. Let allies to queer people try their hand at representation, even if they miss the mark. Let queer art be messy, and let the artists screw up without fear of overblown retribution.

It’s the only way we’ll ever get more queer art.

_

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

#original essays #original post #media studies #queer history #queer media #queer issues #fandom issues

[gremlingottoosilly]

Ex-husband!König having shared custody over his child(ren) with reader. Him turning them into your mini bodyguards whenever you try bringing a new man home, because no one compares to their actual father!

Konig actually being a decent father if only to use your child to spy on you. Come on, you really thought that your little stunt would go unnoticed? Your ex-husband might not be the best parent out there, but his savings accounts and property are more than enough to sway the court into giving you shared custody - almost 50/50 if it weren't for his contracts. He can basically pick your kids up whenever you're not completely opposed to it...and you can't really deny them a father. It's not their fault he is an obsessive asshole who was seriously considering putting your children into online classes because he didn't want their dearest mommy to go out too much. You love Konig, this is the problem. He loves you three times more, and he loves your children - but his love is the main problem here. You want it, yes, somehow, but you don't want to spend the rest of your life explaining to your kids that mommy and daddy love each other, but if they ever find themselves in a similiar romantic situation, they'd need to call the police. Konig, however, makes loving him more and more difficult day after day. First, it was little meetings he'd establish - you somehow always end up in his bed, forgetting about new dumb boyfriend you tried to have, while your ex is too busy with his face buried in your cunt. You can't moan because the kids had just fell asleep. You try your best to look composed after, but your heart breaks every time you see hope in their eyes. Mommy and daddy are back together, or so it seems. And, well, your children are wonderful. They are chaotic, like all kids are, but they were never...difficult. Until now, apparently - they are good in daycare, they have friends and silly pets, they are by all means functional members of society...yet, every time you bring a new guy home, they become the most hateful, feral little gremlins. You have to drop them off to their father's place, and then Konig would ask why you're in such a rush, then you would get second thoughts about the date, then he would find his way to your lips and now you have your kids watching cartoons while their father is fucking you in the bedroom. Just like before... Somehow, you yourself started to believe that divorce was just a hysterical stunt and everyone, including your toddlers, knew you'd be back together. You just feel dumb being the last one to acknowledge this.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #dilf!konig

[inbarfink]

It’s really fascinating to compare the way Agatha handles the Heterodyne Legacy compared to her father and uncle. Because these are the two known generations of ‘Heroic’ Heterodynes after a long, long legacy of the Heterodyne family being known primarily as Evil Bastards - but they have such a totally opposite relationship with that villainous legacy.

Bill and Barry grew up deep inside that Evil Heterodyne Legacy and know all about how truly rotten it really is. Their father was an Old Heterodyne to the bone and an Extremely Reprehensible Human Being. Like, not just Cartoon Evil Overlord stuff - according to the Novels, he forced Bill and Barry’s mom to marry him by threatening her family. And he tried to kill them because they weren’t evil enough to his tastes. 

And when their mom killed him to protect her sons, the Castle killed her in retaliation. The very manifestation of the Heterodyne Legacy has cost them their beloved mother who just saved their life. And all of this in addition to the fact a non-evil Heterodyne was really an unthinkable concept when the Boys started - meaning they had to work extra hard to distance themselves from their family if they wanted anyone outside of Mechanicsburg to trust them.

And Heterodyne Boys worked very very hard to prove to the world that they’re not monsters. Both to fight off against the constant suspicions that they were monsters, and because they most likely wanted as little to do with their father’s legacy as Spark-ly possible. For them the Heterodyne Legacy was mostly kind of a Curse, the thing that tormented their mother and killed her and almost killed them, the thing that makes people wary of them.

And as such, they distanced themselves from anything that’s even remotely to do with that old legacy of monsters, from anything evil or scary or messy or ugly. Much to the chagrin of the Castle, the House of Heterodyne’s many other monsters, the Jager Horde Mechanicsburg’s proud Evil Minion population and many others who felt abandoned by them for the sake of PR.

Then there’s Agatha Heterodyne. And it’s not just that Agatha grew up in a post-Heterodyne-Boys world where the general populace associates the family name less with evil barbarous mad kings and more with good-natured heroism. Where even those who remember the Old Heterodynes are at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Where even those who would like her to be like the Old Heterodynes are at least willing to give her some wiggle room to express herself....

It is all of that, but more importantly Agatha didn’t grow up as a Heterodyne at all.

She grew up as Agatha Clay, with the Spark-Suppressing Locket that dulled her mind and made her a miserable klutzy mess who couldn’t do anything right. She grew up hating the constant feeling of being powerless.

And discovering that she’s a Heterodyne came up… pretty close to realizing she’s a Spark, and both of these revelations gave her a certain kind of Power that she never got to have before. She is now both a powerful Spark and a powerful political player in this grand Europa political chess board. 

And as much as she has the same heroic values and upbringing as the Boys did (courtesy of Barry and the Construct Duo), not growing up so up-close-and-personal with the worst consequences of the Old Heterodyne’s evil means she’s not as immediately repulsed by it like the Boys were. 

She encountered all of these old monstrous pieces of the Heterodyne Legacy - the Jagers, the Castle, Mechanicsburg, even just the fear her name can put into people’s hearts - not as the Evil Legacy Forced Upon Her. But stuff that was taken away from her, and she had to earn back. And in a world stacked so heavily against her, so determined to rob her of her agency and newfound sense of power, these things represent the assertion and security of her power.

For the Heterodyne Boys, the worst thing they could ever imagine being was monsters - like their father and the rest of their family was. For Agatha Heterodyne, the worst thing she could imagine is being powerless again. She would take being seen as a monster a thousand times over being condescended and ignored ever again. 

Being seen as a monster isn’t actually all that bad at all, she discovered. 

All of these things together make Agatha not quite the second generation of Actually Heroic Heterodyne or just another link in the Old Heterodyne Legacy - but another new kind of Heterodyne altogether. One that can both retain a moral code and embrace the family’s monstreness at the same time. 

#girl genius #agatha heterodyne #webcomics #webcomic #webcomix

[venus616]

Hi!! Requesting a spicy tasm!peter fic where he puts his photography skills to use if ya know what I mean 🔥🫶🏽

his muse; {p.p.}

Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)

Summary: peter puts his photography skills to use when you're naked

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, oral sex (blowjob), praise kink (if you squint), photos during sex, language, unprotected sex, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: hi. i love this trope So Much… like more than you will ever know, but bc i love it and i’ve seen it done multiple times with peter i was very scared to even do anything with it sjnksks but here is my finished product, i hope you like it~

(Also- it is my gift to anyone who actually likes reading my content bc ive been gone for a While and will be gone for another 2-3 weeks bc finals are not fun! so i hope this is good, enjoy!)

You’re putting away your shared laundry when you hear a loud noise on your window sill. You don’t even flinch this far into your relationship and only shake your head, separating your clothes from his. The window opens letting in a cool breeze and Peter’s book bag hits the ground before he gets inside. 

It's only then you look and give his body, clad in his suit, a scan and smile. “You okay?” You ask. The sun already set and the crisp winter air started to fill the room. 

He scoffs before shutting the window. You turn your body around from the basket in front of you to see Peter shaking his head while taking his camera out of his bag.

The professional camera Peter spent a year saving up for when he was 18 was sat next to your much less efficient Polaroid camera. On it, there was a photo of you two celebrating your anniversary together recently. The flash showing you kissing Peter on the cheek, he’s blushing at the attention and eyes closed from the flash. 

Peter smiled at the memory before he continued speaking. 

“Why do people think it’s okay to commit crime when I’m just getting off my shift?” He sighed before setting down his bag next to your bed.

“They’re so inconsiderate,” You pout playfully while folding his clothes into his reserved drawer at your place.

Peter looks up from unpacking and focuses on your ass poking up from your position. You feel his eyes on you as your t-shirt hangs loosely on your body, and the hair on your legs prick up from the cold in the room.

Peter takes off his mask revealing his disheveled hair and takes in the sight of you like it’s his last.

Your lacy underwear decorating the plump flesh of your butt, reminding Peter of how quickly he had to leave this morning before getting to appreciate for bandaging him up last night.

His eyes continued to scan up, seeing the old t-shirt frame your shape, admiring it as if he had x-ray vision.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Peter is brought out of his thoughts hearing your soft voice, taunting him for his staring problem.

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter quips back. He shakes his head before tossing his mask in your empty hamper. Sitting on your bed and bending over to remove his boots, his ears don’t miss your footsteps as you saunter to him.

You place your feet in between his while he looks back up to you, removing the rest of his suit. 

“It’s never stopped you before,” You cross your arms while he slips out of his suit, leaving his web shooters on. The suit is strewn across the floor and your eyes focus on Peter’s body. 

No matter how beat up he was, Peter remains to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You ran your hands over his, now, yellow ribs. Compared to the purple constellation he had yesterday, you were grateful for his superhuman healing. 

He had a nasty fall yesterday, left with some scars and bruising, but thankfully this time you didn’t have to stitch him up. 

You even notice the scratch on his arm is almost gone but Peter liked wearing your special bandaids. He likes giving you a reason to buy more cartoon ones for him. 

Peter watches your eyes carefully scan his body for anything else and adores you for it. Still, he hates making you worry.

“You weren’t naked before.”

A smile creeps up on your face, a giggle disguised as a scoff when you answer: “I’m not naked.”

You don’t realize you set yourself up for Peter’s response until he smirks. His hands snake up underneath your shirt to toy with your nipples, already hard because of the cold air lingering in the room. 

A hiss escapes your mouth at feeling his larger, colder hands grip your boobs. Peter slightly grins at his effect on you. He pulls at the bottom of your shirt before raising it up your body. You oblige, pulling it over your head to toss it across your room.

His face lit up at your frontal nudity, hands placed on either side of your hips tugging at your underwear. 

“Let’s change that.” 

You roll your eyes at his response, but not without a smile plastered on your face. You could feel the heat pooling in between your thighs and the excitement in your stomach. 

“What position should I be in?” You shudder under his callus fingers. Peter lightly furrows his eyebrows when you turn, gesturing to your polaroid camera from your bedside table. 

His face relaxes when he registers what you guys are doing, not realizing how serious you were being. 

Your eyes flicker up and down his body when you turn to face him, noticing his erection bulging out of his briefs. Leaning down you use your hand to palm him through the fabric, feeling his cock pulsate in your hand.

“On your knees,” You whip your head up when Peter says that, his hands still roaming around your body. 

You quirk your eyebrow up in response. Pressing your forehead and nose to his, you plant a kiss onto his lips. Your hands are now on either of his thighs, sinking lower onto the ground as the kiss deepens. 

Before you can fully get down, you hear a light thwip and break the kiss. 

You see Peter’s wrist is flicked out with his web shooters activated, latched on to your polaroid camera. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes before he pulls it into his hands.

Resting on your knees, you’re before him with your fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers. You carefully watch for his reactions, but he’s refamiliarizing himself with your flimsy camera you got in your teenage years as a novelty.

You cross your arms on his legs and look up at him, the camera points at you and all you can focus on is his wide smile behind the camera. “Let’s see if I still know how this works,” Peter jokes.  

You repose with both your hands on your knees, pushing your breasts out in between your arms. You didn’t realize they were hardly the focus of the photo (but still included, Peter was only human after all). 

The photo snaps and you remember you have to get used to the flash again. Blinking a few times to get used to the discomfort, the photo prints out and Peter seems pleased with himself already. 

“It hasn’t even developed yet,” You taunt, you resume palming him as you assume that was the extent of his practice shots. 

Peter shrugs while shaking the photo as gently as possible. “Hey, who’s the photographer here? I know a good subject when I see it,” He nudges you. 

When the photo barely develops, he shows you and you see yourself: half naked on your knees with your face fully in the photo. You were surprised he included that much of your face, and managed to catch you looking as confident as you could. But it was easy when Peter was behind the camera, he never fails to make you feel like his only muse. 

You blush and look away from the photo as you continue to massage him. Peter’s breath hitches at the rate at which you go at, and you smirk to yourself. 

No matter how much control Peter took in bed, he wasn’t afraid to show you how quickly he’d fold for you. It was one of the many things you appreciated about him. Another one was just how vocal he was, his whimpers before you even got to touch him were making your underwear dampen. 

When his dick starts twitching, you pull his boxers down, his cock slaps up to his stomach while he watches your movements. Locking eyes with him, you wrap both your hands around his shaft before slowly jacking him off. 

You’re mesmerized by the way his body is flexed under your touch, you almost don’t hear what he says. 

“Your mouth,” He breathes out. 

You sit up higher on your knees and kiss up his happy trail, lingering when you get closer to his cock. You hear his groan and look up, meeting his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows. “My mouth, what?” 

Your lips quirk up again, teasing him. “Use your words.” 

He rolls his eyes in response but you shake your head.  “I can stop,” You remind him. 

His brown eyes almost bulge out his head when you say that, wrapping his own hand over yours to stop your movements from pausing. He leans over to get closer to your face, the scent of you surrounding him. Peter’s face softens at your smugness. 

“Baby,” He starts. You wait to listen to how he pleads for you to stay while he leads your hands.  

“I need that pretty mouth of yours to suck my cock,” He gasps out and removes his hand when you loosen your wrist in response. Your eyes soften at the praise and Peter mentally celebrates when he leans back to his original position. 

You reposition yourself as well, with your neck getting to work as you lick a stripe underneath the shaft of his cock. Peter sharply inhales at the feeling and brings his head back up. 

You lock eyes with him when you feel the jolt in his body and open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape around the head of his cock. 

Relaxing your throat, you lower your head on his length and feel the tip of his cock hitting your uvula before you begin bobbing your head. 

Caught off guard, you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue now. You gagged a bit and popped off him to lick it off in the most obscene way you could think of. 

Peter mutters, “Just like that.” and you look up. 

Forgetting he had a camera, the shutter went off to capture your tongue on the underside of his wet tip. 

You collect more saliva in your mouth while you run your hand up and down his shaft. Feeling prepared enough, you go back down on him with the drool dripping on his cock on your hands. 

Peter went crazy at the heat of your mouth and the sight of your lips around him. The only thought he had was to get the camera out again to keep this moment forever.

Getting slack jawed at this, he tangles his hands in your hair but doesn’t change your pace. He only starts pushing it out of your face as it gets in the way. 

You look up at him and see Peter pointing the camera at you as you have half his cock in your mouth. The first shot is taken, and he tries to not move too much as the photo prints out immediately.  He releases a few breathy moans at the pace you're going at while he places the new photo on the side. 

Peter silently gestures to you to get him out your mouth so you release him with a pop, flipping your hair to the side as you continue to jack him off.

“That’s good,” He mutters, when he places the camera at his eye before snapping a new photo. 

“I probably look insane,” You grumble, already feeling self conscious at how messy your hair looks, coupled alongside the drool and precum at your mouth. 

Peter shakes his head and pulls you in closer by your waist and you yelp, finding yourself now pinned under him on the bed. 

“Never,” He shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your tit as he pulls your underwear off. You immediately moan at his aggression on your sensitive nipples and he chuckles against your skin when he feels you flinch. 

Peter’s calloused hands find your clit and start massaging it, and you throw your head back in pleasure when he finds his rhythm. 

You feel a twinge of disappointment when he removes his mouth from your tits but you look up to see the camera watching you, and a shutter going off before you are even ready.

“Pete,” You warn. Your sternness doesn’t last when he slips in a finger in your embarrassingly wet cunt. You almost mewl at how full he makes you with just one finger. 

“You looked so pretty moaning like that,” Peter explains while his finger curls into you. He knew what he was doing when he smiled again, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

Your annoyance was no match for his desperation as you eventually gave in. One of his hands cupped your cheek while his lips were frantic on yours. He’s greedy for you, almost lapping up your tongue with his own before he pulls away. 

“Just let go, forget the camera is even there,” He mumbles in your neck when you gasp at the absence of his lips. 

He slips in another finger and thrusts faster, making you nod mindlessly as you surrender all control.You grip onto his bicep as he pumps in and out of you, begging him for more friction. You can hear how wet you were, and while you were embarrassed, Peter relished in it. 

“Can you take a third for me baby?” He asks in a low voice as he sits up on the bed in between your legs. You nod vigorously but he quickly removes both fingers.

You open your mouth to complain but instead yelp out when Peter pulls both your legs closer to his chest as he kneels on the mattress. He set aside the camera briefly. 

“Yeah?” He searches for an answer.

“Yes,” You grunt out, already desperate for much more than his fingers. 

He massages your heat with his fingers again before he inserts three fingers in, jolting your body to sit up. You let out an obscene moan and couldn’t help but to massage your clit while he fucks you with his fingers. 

One hand being in competition with Peter’s while the other massages your boobs, you’re almost too dazed to notice the shutter then went off while you were closer to an orgasm.

“Fucking incredible,” Peter breathes out before putting the camera with the new photo down, and leans down to kiss you. His pace never falters, making you whimper against his lips. 

“I’m about to cum,” You announce shakily. Peter swallows your pleas with a kiss and just curls his fingers against your g-spot faster. You feel that familiar build up in the pit of your stomach and the pace of your clenching pick up. 

“Cum all over my fingers baby,” He answers, and you immediately let go. You hold Peter closer as you cum, heaving underneath him like you’re in heat. Your body Peter continues to finger you but only because he loves the way you suction around him. 

He still lets you come down from your high, kissing you through it and massaging your breasts with his free hand during. When your breathing slows down, he sits back up and removes his fingers from you. 

“Need you inside of me,” You remind him as you reach over to palm his already hard cock against his stomach.

“Gonna let me cum inside of you?” He asks, holding his cock in his hand already glistening with your wetness. He readjusts to line himself up to your pussy awaiting your answer.

You cock your head with your arms supporting your body from the bed. “I’ll let you cum wherever you want,” You say. 

Peter grunts at your answer before inserting himself into your entrance, and immediately throws his head back at the feeling, your warmth and wetness engulfing him. 

“So fucking tight,” He comments, and you silently agree as you feel yourself stretching out on him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched around him. 

“Fuck,” you moan out as he finds a comfortable pace for the both of you. 

Or that’s what you thought. 

You hear a shutter from your camera and realize he took a picture (or two) of you in this position beneath him, moaning out for him flat on the bed with his cock inside of you. 

You didn’t have time to care as when he got his shots he immediately started to rock into you, and you felt the strength of him against your thighs before he picked up the pace. 

You watch him thrust into you and slowly lose himself above you.

“I love the way you feel around me,” He pants out, closing in on your body with his forearms framing your face. You nod as the bed squeaks and your hands roam his body, stopping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck. 

Peter obliges to your physical demands and dips down to suck on your neck, causing you to whimper as your body continues to jolt from his thrusts. His soft brown hair tickles your skin as his teeth chew at the sensitive skin in your neck. You don’t know whether to giggle or moan, but you’re vocal regardless. 

“Go faster,” You whine, becoming impatient with him. 

“I’m not gonna last if I go faster,” He growls against your skin, sending vibrations down your spine. He thrusted slower, bringing his hand down to the back of your knee to bend it closer to your body. You felt him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that you knew you weren’t going to last any longer like that. 

“I don’t care,” You cry out. Peter scoffs in your neck as if to say a begrudging ‘Fine.’ and kisses you on the cheek before kneeling back up. He’s already twitching inside you before he begins thrusting again. You almost forget what you got yourself into until you feel his balls slap against your cunt repeatedly. 

A string of curses escape both your mouths, yours because he’s just so big and you can feel the tension build up in your stomach again. Peter’s cusses are because you just won’t stop clenching around him in response, he feels like he might burst the next time you tighten around him. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” He mutters before spilling into you. 

You go slack jawed at the feeling of him cumming inside of you. It feels hot between your thighs, in between the burning feeling of his hard thighs slapping against your softer ones, and feeling him twitch and coat your insides and the outside of your cunt with his load. 

You cry out as he almost slips out of you, but realize he’s gonna take another picture. You’re not sure what to do, or what exactly he’s capturing but you decide to listen to his earlier advice and let it happen. Peter places the camera on his eye while his cock almost goes soft half away inside of you, and you can feel him rubbing his cum around your thighs and up your hips. 

He mutters another curse, before snapping the picture. You close your eyes and your legs when you decide that that was the last photo and miss how Peter compiles all of them on your bedside table. 

Eventually, you look up and see him pulling back up his underwear and beckoning you to see the photos. When you get up and see 6 photos lined up from tonight. 

One of you on your knees, your breasts protruding and almost being the main focus of the photo if it wasn't for your face. You want to laugh at how excited your eyes looked but you know it was only because of who was behind the camera. 

Two more during and after the blowjob, one of you in the middle taking Peter in your mouth and giving the camera (but really, Peter) siren eyes. The other was you slightly disheveled, but Peter swore you were the prettiest girl in the world with drool around your mouth.

A third of you being fingered, your head is thrown back in unfiltered pleasure from his fingers, your breasts sitting high on your chest as you’re on your back and your nipples were glistening in the photo due to the suckling that happened off camera. While scanning this photo, you realize that being caught in the moment wasn’t such a bad thing and Peter is silently celebrating he caught your O face in action. 

The fourth was similar but you had more control over your pleasure as you’re on camera massaging your breasts and hand on your pussy. You feel like a vixen with the way you’re fondling yourself, Peter silently agrees as he knows you look like one. 

Fifth and sixth photo show the before and after of Peter fucking you senseless. Fifth with your body being still underneath his, and the photo displaying that exhilarating feeling you both get when your bodies meet in the first thrust. And the sixth photo when you’re both comfortable enough to come down from your high together. The sticky, white cum is slayed over your sopping, wet pussy and Peter’s fingers and cock in the frame to remind you who fucks you like this. 

“Do you like these? I can burn them away if you don’t,” Peter runs his hands through his hair nervously, not trying to make you uncomfortable if the bit had gone too far. 

You only shake your head with a laugh bubbling in your throat at his consideration and hug his much taller frame from behind. It felt good to rest your head on his back, while his arms engulf yours from the front. 

“I love them, I love you,” You speak low but loudly enough so he can hear, and feel, your words. 

“Which ones do you want to keep?” He asks. 

You know it’s out of courtesy, just one of those things you two got used to asking each other after taking pictures on this camera. You kept the silly anniversary photo while he kept the very nice one he took of you. 

“It’s all for you,” You answer. Peter sputters quickly, turning back around to see your face when you say it, you only nod in full seriousness. 

He leans down to kiss your cheek as a thank you and you only smile back. 

“I think you’d get more use out of it than me,” You add with a tinge of humor. Peter only plays it off with another suggestion while hugging you from the front. His arms wrap around your shoulders while you rest your head in the crook of his neck. 

“You know what though?” He asks, trailing his hands down to your naked hips, stopping to cup the round of your ass. 

“What?” You mutter in his hold, already feeling your body heat up at the thought of round 2. 

Peter smirks before snaking one of his hands to your pussy. Knowing that you’re about to start throbbing, at the thought of him. You gasp before he speaks and he chuckles while he proposes his new idea. 

“I think it’s only fair if we make a movie now.”

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #tasm!peter smut #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm andrew garfield #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter imagine #oneshot #fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker x black!reader #mcu!peter x black!reader #peter parker x black reader #plus size reader #peter parker x plus size reader #the writing’s on the wall

[weirdmarioenemies]

Is King Bob-omb a robot?

Is he? Huh?

Recently I have been thinking about the nature of King Bob-omb, because I think it is more interesting than one may think upon first consideration! Yes, he is a big living bomb. But what does this mean for him? Let's discuss!

Bob-ombs

Bob-ombs! They are bombs. Even a dog could look at a Bob-omb and tell you "Rhat's a ralking romb! Hreeheehee!" What do we know about Bob-ombs? Well, they are very clearly artificially created entities. I mean, they're bombs. They're powered by wind-up keys! And they're mass-produced in factories. These are artificial, mechanical creatures. Automatons! The ones in Sunshine are very overtly robotic, and even if those ones are Bowser Junior creations, it may reflect how he views the real ones.

There is a history of sentient, talking Bob-ombs and Bob-omb society, so these are clearly rather advanced automatons. All the more reason for me to confidently declare them to be robots! It's weird to make a living bomb capable of thought and emotion, but as established by Origami King, the ones working for Bowser are intent on making their single blast really make a difference. So I guess making them sapient is ultimately helpful for Evil purposes, if unethical.

King Bob-omb

Now let's consider the King! That guy loves to be considered. He is NOT mass-produced. He does not have a wind-up key. He does not even have a fuse! And of course, he has arms. No Bob-ombs have arms...

...but Chuckyas do! Big, Bob-omb-like, with arms for throwing Marios. King Bob-omb seems like he could be a stronger, more refined model of Chuckya! Chuckyas are absolutely robotic, so this does make a good case for the King being such, as well!

Could a robot have such a magnificent mustache, though? Yes, a robot could. Even standard Bob-ombs are capable of having mustaches, as are creatures made of ice, and also this is a silly cartoon world. So yes, I think a robot could have a mustache.

Mecha King Bob-omb

Now HERE's the thing that got me thinking of this in the first place! Mecha King Bob-omb, from Mario + Rabbids: Sparks of Hope. This is a robotic version of King Bob-omb... hm. This IS obviously a robotic replica based on him, and there's no reason a robot based on another robot couldn't exist, but that WOULD make the "Mecha" title pretty weird! Is the original king mechanical or what? I guess the "Mecha" could also be referring to this version being a pilotable mecha, unlike the real version, which is a Guy. This brings up questions, and answers none!

The Big Dud

Finally, the last possibility of King Bob-omb's origins. If you are aware of the Super Mario 64 Iceberg, you are aware of the Big Dud theory! After Big Bob-omb (as he is known in 64) is defeated, an additional metal ball will be rolling around at the base of the mountain, and a Bob-omb Buddy will declare that the Big Bob-omb is nothing but a big dud now. This has led some to believe that the additional cannonball might be Big Bob-omb himself, made inanimate upon his defeat!

And then THIS gets me thinking about Power Stars. They do weird things to Mario creatures! I think it is likely King Bob-omb could have been created BECAUSE of the Power Star he holds. Maybe he was an ordinary Bob-omb enhanced into a new, regal form by the Star, or maybe he even was an ordinary inanimate metal ball, chosen to be extra resilient compared to his subjects! You know, in 64, he doesn't even explode like a Bob-omb. Is he a FRAUD? (No, he explodes in other games)

Final thoughts

So, after all this analysis, is King Bob-omb a robot or what? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. No one knows. This guy is weird! He can fly with no effort if thrown off the mountain. When killed, he congratulates Mario for killing him and invites him to do it again sometime. If I HAD to come to a conclusion... I would say he is technically robotic, but that's not something the designers/developers actually ever have or had in mind, and is just a result of being a Bob-omb.

I don't mind that there is no concrete answer! I was not expecting there to be! This is Super Mario we're talking about. They're not going to expect us to analyze evidence about characters and come to conclusions. But it is so much fun to do! That's why we do it! Call this guy a robot if you want! Or affirm that he is not if you don't! I don't really care as long as you are nice!

#king bob-omb #bob-omb #chuckya #super mario 64 #mecha king bob-omb #mario + rabbids sparks of hope #analysis #mario #mod chikako #long post

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

The appeal of One Piece

I know everyone's a bit sour on One Piece after the clown stunt tumblr pulled, but with the live-action series out and the anime popping off on social media, there's more eyes on this goofy pirate story than ever, and I've been dying to talk about it, so now's the time.

A lot of the conversation around One Piece is steeped in hyperbole, and it's hard not to be hyperbolic when you're talking about a work of almost unprecedented length and popularity. With that in mind, I wanna try to explain what makes One Piece so good in a way that is concise, spoiler-free, and that will give you an idea if this might actually be a story you'll enjoy.

And I do actually think a lot of people who would enjoy One Piece are currently writing it off, and I think a lot of the blame lies on assumptions people have about shonen as a genre. One Piece is no doubt a shonen, with young and teen boys as the primary demographic, but it is also first and foremost an adventure story about a group of quirky outcasts setting out to follow their dreams, despite (or often in spite of) the crushing weight of reality.

But you can't have an adventure story without a world to set that adventure in, and what a world Eiichiro Oda has crafted. One Piece manages to feel like it has fully realized an entire planet, with every island we travel to having a very distinct sense of culture and visual identity. A lot of care has gone into building the history and politics of these places, and the mechanics by which their more out-there elements, like the sky-high ocean geyser or the mountain with an upside-down waterfall, function. As such, it is a setting that afford its story a lot of variety, while also being able to tackle a lot of very heady topics like authoritarianism, racism, and abuse in intelligent, nuanced ways.

But just as important as all of islands we visit are the wonderful characters we meet. A lot of people aren't into One Piece's exaggerated cartoon aesthetic, and I respect that, but it does lend itself to a lot of very unique faces and body types that make its cast of 1000+ characters a joy to behold. This is admittedly less true of the more conventionally attractive women, many of whom look very similar, but this is does not extend to their writing. Oda is very good at imbuing his characters with life, pulling on their histories to give them personalities and quirks that are often as funny as they are sad. Everyone I know that reads One Piece has a side character that they stan hardcore for, be it the lovable klutz Donquixote Rocinante or the petulant ghost girl Perona.

And all of this is especially true for our protagonists, the Straw Hat Pirates, each one of which is a deep, multifaceted character whose drive and dreams can be traced back to their often heartbreaking origins. I know I mentioned it at the top already, but at its core, One Piece is ultimately a story about a group of hurt, lonely individuals who find in each other not just friends, but a family that will support and protect them as together they chase their dreams in the face of a world whose systems have been built to squash them underfoot.

All of this is brought together by Oda's exceptional artistic skill. While as mentioned earlier, One Piece's cartoony artstyle isn't for everyone, it's by no means an accident. One Piece is a story set in a cartoon world, and Oda is able to give even his most ridiculous characters and places a tangible sense of physicality, making everything feel real within the confines of the page. While Oda has a team of assistants to help him, he still does the brunt of the art himself, and his dedication to his craft means the comic is full of panels that are breathtaking in their complexity and visual density.

But it's not just his technical skill that makes the art of One Piece so good, it's that Oda is also very good at letting his art speak for him. Compared to a lot of other big shonen manga, One Piece doesn't lean as heavily on the dialogue to give the readers all the necessary information, but can convey a lot of what is happening and how characters are thinking and feeling through its artwork. There's some sections where this doesn't hold as true (and they are frequently less well-liked as a result) but it makes One Piece a far lighter read than its soon to be 1100 chapter-count would make you believe.

But the thing I think makes One Piece the most exceptional of all, and what makes me recommend it despite its length, is that as a story, One Piece has a remarkable clarity of vision. One Piece has a stance and a worldview that it does not waver on, and it is present from the very beginning. It's is romantic story, about the power of faith and dreams, about people's right to be free and be who they want to be, and about how the beauty and wonder of the world makes its worth its danger and uncertainty.

One Piece knows what it wants to be from the very beginning, and because of that you don't have to wait for it to get good. A problem that a lot of longform media struggles with is that the opening hours are a slog to get through, because it doesn't show you its hand early enough for you to know if it's something you'll like, and that is not a problem One Piece has. It is exactly what it is going to be from the beginning, only in a simpler, cruder form that it is going to expand upon to become the sprawling pirate fantasy epic it has grown to be. This clarity of vision also makes One Piece very rewarding for attentive readers, as it frequently hints at future places and characters, and plants story seeds that it pays off hundreds of chapters later. It does a lot to make the world feel big and interconnected, and makes One Piece very fun to re-read as you pick up on things you missed the first time around.

It is frequently recommended that new readers start with the initial 100 chapters, the East Blue saga (which is what the live action series adapts, for the record), to see if One Piece is right for them, and that's the note I am going to end this post on, as well. East Blue uses its 100 chapters to tell a fairly self-contained story that introduces the first half of the core cast, setting the stakes and building its world while giving you plenty of interesting places, bizarre creatures, and wacky action all the while. It is One Piece showing you its hand, with the promise that if you like what you see, it'll have so, so much more in store for you

#one piece #one piece manga #one piece live action #opla #not splatoon

[cipheramnesia]

This is the process my brain goes through every time I see anything about Netflix Avatar The Last Airbender.

My first reaction is always: Why? The original, although not without flaws, doesn't leave a lot of room to improve. A good remake or adaptation usually involves an updated context or change in perspective that adds to the original work and gives it new meaning. It's a risky undertaking because it usually involves wanting to take on something established as iconic and make it your own. But Netflix is a corporation and seems very risk averse for the most part. Its only investment is in the name recognition of AtLA. It's hard to visualize Netflix deliberately taking a big risk on an expensive show.

My second reaction is: How? The original series is about 1400 minutes over 61 episodes, and it still had to rush the ending. We're looking at 8 episodes of roughly 45-60 minutes per episode for season 1, which would require Netflix to let it run more than 3 seasons, if the series has similar pacing. Historically however Netflix shows have glacial pacing, and rarely make three seasons. Not really sure how they plan to tell the story if the series is anything like the average Netflix series, meaning it either needs to undercut the story or let the series breathe for at least five seasons. But nothing Netflix has done makes me want to watch anything they make as an ongoing series? Why bother, they cancel everything I enjoy. So I wonder how. What's the hook to say "this will be able to provide something new and interesting compared to the original, and will be allowed to tell the complete story."

Which leads me to think, but you can't judge if something is good without seeing it. Except none of this is about whether it's good, I just find myself wondering what are the odds it's worth the effort? They're low, and it has nothing to do with whether or not it's even any good on its own merits.

Following this, I ask myself, what would a good version of this be. Imagine you are making a live action series with eight hour long episodes per season based on a children's cartoon with 20 thirty minute episodes per season. You are trying to encompass a story which was presented over three seasons as a cartoon, and you do not know if you will have more than those eight episodes. It's made for Netflix which, in terms of a company which will protect the hard earned fruits of your artistic labor, is the fox guarding the henhouse. What do you do?

If you are looking to make something good, that respects your audience investment and your own work, you make radical changes to the story. You change the pacing, the character arcs, the plot arcs. You make sure you deliver a complete story in those episodes with as much respect for the original work and as many new ideas as you can.

Except, at that point, what is even the point of a remake. The only way to work with it is either to trust Netflix allowing you to finish the story (which you'd need to be incredibly naive to do), or tell a story so different it may as well be wholly original. And that's where I always end up. Like, it'll probably be fine, but what's the point of it all? Another vanishing digital property to get canceled because of some undefinable failure to return on investment.

I think about it a lot because the two ends of the spectrum seem to be "dunk on every new piece of information" or "wait and see" but the only conclusion I can ever reach is "why even care?" That's been the lesson to take home from digital streaming in general when it comes to series, but Netflix in particular, and honestly for movie series too. If it can't be self contained, the companies who produce and release these kinds of series just cannot be trusted with it, and there are too many good original stories being put out to care anymore about big budget promises that one day they will definitely for sure deliver a finished story, this time for real.

I care enough to think about why I don't feel anything at all about Netflix Avatar. It'll be fine, whatever else. Just fine.

#netflix avatar

[fatphobiabusters]

One of my pet peeves with how people draw fat characters is when they use this type of mouth to denote who's fat:

The curved cheek I'm assuming (extremely optimistically) is supposed to show fatter facial features, like bigger cheeks. But instead of that type of mouth having that effect, all it does is make the fat character look like they always have food in their mouth and are perpetually eating because that round edge to a mouth is most often drawn when a cartoon depicts characters eating food.

Compare how Naruto is drawn here while eating:

To how Naruto is drawn while not eating:

That mouth type is also usually a lazy attempt at drawing fat people, which you can even see with the two examples above of The Owl House and Pokemon. (Willow especially is a lazy attempt at drawing fatness. Some people still don't even know to this day that she was a half-assed attempt at having a single main fat character in The Owl House because that is how thin she looks. She's so barely fat that I'm close to calling her "fat-coded" instead, which I didn't even know was something possible to draw. Great job. /s You can only tell she's "fat" when she's put next to the stick thin characters, and that was intentional. After all, what better way to only just barely have fat representation in your show than to do the drawing equivalent of a magician saying "Now you see me...now you don't!" And the added insult to injury with how the show's creators made her thin at the end of the series is just cruel.)

Don't half-ass fat representation, don't draw fat people as walking fat stereotypes, and please don't use that mouth type for portraying fatness. Allow us some actual humanity during the few times you'll ever care enough to draw fat people.

-Mod Worthy

#fatphobia #fat representation #art style #Mod Worthy #Stereotypes

[bogleech]

i keep wanting to draw anthro maggots but they end up looking like beetle larvae instead- any ideas on how one might stylize a maggot person to make it a little more distinctly A Maggot? it's especially hard to me bc maggots are like THE MOST featureless insect larvae.... which i suppose counts as a defining feature in and of itself- but i dunno. im mostly just curious to hear your approach!!!

Yeah beetle grubs, caterpillars and a lot of other insect larvae have armored heads with complete jaws structures as well as six little legs, plus they often have a defined looking "top" and "bottom" with ridged and wrinkles almost like they got soft armored down their back

But maggots are weird! They streamlined EVERYTHING down to where they have no legs at all, not even vestigial ones, and their body segments almost evolved towards something like radial symmetry by being the same all the way around!

Then there's the fact that they sort of lost most of a "head." Not only is there no exoskeletal cranial case (bug skull) to protect it but there are no jaws and never any eyes; there's just a little hole for drinking liquefied food, a pair of tusk-like hooks for gripping surfaces, and a pair of eye-like knobs that are actually chemosensory (noses)

The weird, tiny walrus-face is totally unique! They don't have any chewing mouthparts because they only need to "drink" the particles of rotting matter they live on, and like adult flies, they help this along by secreting digestive enzymes!

Maggots also have these very distinct, furry looking bands at every segment, which help them grip surfaces like a tire tread or the sole of a shoe. If you compare this photo with the one above you'll also notice how the segments can retract in and out like a telescope!

The last special thing about common maggot anatomy is that they are technically semi-aquatic animals, because maggots evolved to be buried head-first completely in their own food as much as possible and rotten corpses are WET. In order to breathe, maggots have a pair of breathing spiracles on their rear ends, which they try to keep exposed to the air!

There are exceptions to all of this, though; there are species that can be fully aquatic, fully terrestrial, herbivorous, parasitic or predatory, and some ancient fly groups (including mosquitoes!) whose larvae still have fully armored heads and even eyes. Everything above is universal to the maggots you find in rotten stuff though, so what most people think of when they hear the term :) When I designed a hybrid human and blowfly maggot for the Mortasheen setting I deliberately made it look like a doofy cartoon Walrus, and I gave its segments large spines that can be seen in some parasitic maggots, including botflies:

And when I made a maggot character for my webcomic Awful Hospital I designed her like a little spacesuit or a parka (the resemblance to Kenny was an accident)

Actually I don't think I ever shared this most recent "main artwork" of Maggie. I don't know what idea inspiration any of this might provide but basically a maggot is a prickly living sock with fangs. Or I guess from a design and engineering perspective, a maggot is a biological drill. The tiny end starts a hole, the rest of the body is just a flaring cone perfectly equipped to keep making the hole deeper.

#biology #animals #nature #science

[obsessiveagony2point0]

The Past

Charles reminds Hob of someone from a long time ago.

—-•—-•—-•—-•—-

Hob isn’t used to being asked about his past, with Dream being the only exception.

But now, with Edwin and Charles in his life, he was often asked on a daily basis.

Edwin was far more interested in comparing Hob’s experiences to what was written down. It was easier for him to answer those questions since it felt like teaching his History classes. The difference here being these boys knew he was almost 700 years old and his students did not.

A lot of the time, Edwin asked questions about the 1900s, around the time he had died. He’d missed out on not only growing up, but he’d been locked away in hell for nearly 100 years. He was curious, and Hob granted him that curiosity.

It was Charles who asked the harder questions.

A lot of the time, those questions had to do with experiences he should have died from but couldn’t. It was…a bit difficult bringing those memories up, but when Hob spoke about the 1600s where he was homeless and was freezing to what should have been death, he saw Charles’ expression change.

He’d given the boy a hug that day.

He’d asked if Hob had ever been in relationships with mortal people, which led Hob on a very strange and embarrassing yet sad path of all his past relationships. Which meant he spoke about his Eleanor and his once small family.

Then, one day, Charles asked about him.

They were in the kitchen; Hob cooking, Charles flipping through a comic, when suddenly Charles asked, “What was your son like?”

The room went deadly silent.

Hob stared at the eggs, not realizing they were burning until the smell hit him and he immediately moved the pan from the burner and turned it off.

“I-I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, no. It’s alright.” He turned to Charles, who looked like a beaten puppy. “I told you both you could ask anything you wanted and I meant it.”

Charles looked hesitant. “Yea…but…”

“It’s fine, Charles.” Hob gave a small, sad, yet reassuring smile before he leaned back against the counter, staring at the ceiling. “What was Robyn like…”

He looked back at Charles, who stared at him with big brown eyes, his face concerned and worried. Memories of Robyn flashed in his head, the face of a young boy who just wanted to make everyone happy and safe.

Hob reached a hand out, placing it on Charles’ head. “Actually…he was a lot like you.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Edwin appearing through the wall. “Charles, we have a case. You can read your cartoon drawings later.”

“They’re comics, Ed. Comics.”

Edwin rolled his eyes and disappeared back into the wall.

Charles moved to follow, but stopped and turned to Hob. “See ya later, Hob.”

“Hopefully not in another week again.”

Charles chuckled. “Hopefully not, but you know Edwin.”

“I know.” Hob smiled. “Just…be safe. As best you both can.”

The ghost boy smiled back. “We will.” And with that, he vanished.

Hob stood there a moment longer, still smiling.

Yes…he was so very much like Robyn…

—-•—-•—-•—-•—-

Just really had to get this out of my system. I like the idea of Charles and Edwin of doing things that remind Dream and Hob of Robyn and Orpheus.

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

#dreamling #obsessive_dreamling #hob gadling #centennial husbands #dream of the endless #dream x hob #dream of the endless x hob gadling #hob adopts the dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #paineland #expound on later #come back to later #headcanon ideas #Robyn and Orpheus #EternalFamily #obsessive_Payneland

[renthony]

Another big reason that streaming-only media is awful?

I'm doing research for a video essay about the Hays Code. I can get a copy of The Celluloid Closet at my library. Know what I can't get? A pair of queer docs that released as AppleTV and Netflix exclusives.

I'm LIVID that I'm getting paywalled on multiple things that would be extremely helpful to my research and writing. I'm trying SO HARD to go through libraries and legal sources, but streaming-only documentaries are making it impossible. Physical copies need to be made.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how much recent queer media has been streaming-only, with no DVD releases. What if it all disappeared tomorrow because no physical copies were ever produced? What if the streaming companies edit it, censor it, quietly get rid of it?

We know FOR A FACT that Disney+ has been censoring and editing things for the streaming platform. People noticed because they had copies of the originals to compare it to. Sure, changing the dryer to a pizza box in Lilo & Stitch may seem like a harmless change, but think. THINK.

How many blink-and-you-miss-it "first gay characters" has Disney released? How many could be erased just as easily as the dryer from Lilo & Stitch? Streaming-only media is easy to censor. To take away completely. This is why I hoard queer media. What if it disappears one day?

In short: Download your favorite gay cartoons today. That way they will always exist on your hard drive, even if the streaming companies try to bury them.

#original post

[wri0thesley]

home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him. 

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be. 

But there are plenty of negatives. 

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you. 

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months. 

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow. 

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer. 

You think not hearing anything might be the worst. 

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time. 

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. 

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest. 

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand. 

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him. 

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe. 

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there. 

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms. 

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you. 

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.” 

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache. 

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . . 

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him. 

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway. 

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while. 

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for. 

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry. 

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit. 

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees. 

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs. 

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.” 

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick. 

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp. 

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh. 

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine. 

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.” 

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end. 

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess. 

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’. 

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his. 

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin. 

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you. 

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.” 

There’s no question of doing anything but. 

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release. 

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration. 

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?” 

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest. 

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable. 

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes. 

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink. 

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless. 

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses. 

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!” 

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port. 

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?” 

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful. 

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you. 

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you. 

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be. 

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine. 

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved. 

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together. 

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name. 

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air. 

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment. 

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach. 

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in. 

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking. 

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets. 

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy. 

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut. 

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most. 

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself. 

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you. 

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging. 

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.” 

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another. 

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you. 

#commissioned work #writing #not sfw text #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha posting #chubby reader posting #bnha smut #mha smut

[dotaeisms]

𝙨𝙠𝙯 𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 ☆ (𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘢𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦) ☆

song recommendation: ‘my universe’ (seungmin & i.n) (feat. changbin) ♪

an; omg! thank you all so much for the support on the hyung line ones !! now, prepare for the cutie maknae line <3

📂; bolds are a summary, use of pet names (sprout, sugar, puppy, peach), use of the word dada (x1), a bit of crack in seungmins, pure fluff other than that, barking at people T-T, thats all i can think of. 

𝙟𝙞𝙣𝙞 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜

< 🐿️ > HAN;

CHAOS DAD

definitely makes pillow forts and has pillow fights.

‘good night sprout, i love you so much!’ 

movie night sundays :(

sits the kid on his lap and cradles them, all while watching a silly cartoon movie that both of them enjoy, probably the lego movie or something.

his child would be the brightest light of his life, enough said

constantly talks about them, nothing but praise, just thinks they are perfect in all ways.

writes every single song about them, just finds one thing to compare in every lyric.

lullaby king.

sings them to sleep every night, and will stay at their side until they fall asleep.

he always, ALWAYS, tries to see himself in the kiddo, whether it be through looks or personality, it finds comfort knowing he put effort into raising a fragile human life. 

< 🐥 > FELIX;

thinking about this makes me SO SAD.

baking cookies together :(

‘you alright sugar? good, make sure you don’t spill the milk ok? be careful.’

his mini assistant in pouring, measuring and every step in the process.

if his child had freckles, he would make sure to count them, making a note of each one as they fall asleep in his arms.

if felix is sunshine, his child is a brighter ray of sunshine.

always speaks highly of his child, nothing but endless praise, as he loves them for who they are nonetheless, and it can turn into rambles, but that’s just how much he loves them.

GIRL SCOUT DAD (if he had a daughter).

the best field trip chaperone ever, gets immersed in the experience and makes it all the better.

plays video games with the kiddo in his lap, teaching them the controls and holding their hands to play with the controller. 

<🐶> SEUNGMIN;

the type of dad to affectionally call his kid, ‘dog’ or ‘puppy.’

‘aw yeah, i think this puppy here is ready for their nap.’

loves to play with the kids toys, like make the whole experience better for them.

‘playing pretend’ >>>> especially with seungmin.

similar to felix in the sense of a girl scout dad.

goes adventuring outside in the backyard, playing in the plants and whatnot.

after they get inside, bath-time! the lord of giving bubble baths. 

teaches his kiddo to bark at people, at first it was a joke until it got out of hand. 

‘see uncle jisung? yeah, bark at him.’ T-T

his kid would always try and run and hide from him, as if they were always playing, which makes them a handful in public spaces. 

but he plays it cool, the hide and seek king he is.

<🦊> JEONGIN;

HE’S SO CUTE AND TINY AUHFDBID

he randomly buys things because, ‘oh, this looks like them!’ and it’s literally like a plushie.

most caring dad ever.

king of playdates, he has a whole color coordinated calendar of events dedicated to his kiddo, along with sticky notes of drawings they made.

scent king, he wants his baby to smell good. 

fresh baby, lavender lotion, or the really good smelling lotion.

this whole scenario makes me have butterflies in my tummy :(

TUMMY KISSES 

he holds them up and just tickles them with silly little kisses to their tummy, and laughs along with them.

and then they fall asleep together, the sweet smells wafting together as they doze off. 

‘goodnight my peach, dada loves you.’

#dad!skz #skz headcanons #stray kids #stray kids headcanons #straykids #hanjisung #han jisung #kim seungmin #seungmin #yang jeongin #jeongin #in skz #maknae line #i am so sad

[inkdemonapologist]

My BatDR Take That Used To Be Hot But I Left It Out On The Windowsill To Cool So You Should Be Able to Eat It Now Without Burning Your Tongue

its not actually that hot, is what im saying

Anyway my BatDR hot take is that BatDR's story is not fundamentally worse than BatIM with one exception; an exception that, for BatIM, covers a multitude of sins:

BatIM has a theme.

I can't presume the intentions of the creators, but if I had to write an essay on the themes in BatIM, it wouldn't be hard to pick one out: the cost of obsession, or even just, the ruin Joey brought on the studio. In the very first chapter, Henry asks "Joey, what were you doing?" and every single thing in the rest of the game revolves around that central question: what WAS Joey doing? Each audiolog is a snippet of the studio's path to this messed up state; each character you meet is someone ruined by Joey. The major antagonists echo Joey's flaws -- obsession with Bendy as more than a cartoon, obsession with perfection, obsession with fame and greatness and legacy -- but even without that, they're also each a picture of how the lives of people caught in the path of Joey's dream were ruined by it. Bertrum, for example, doesn't match the concept of rubberhose cartoons, but as yet another person screwed over by Joey, he fits the central question of the story, so he feels like he belongs here. Ultimately, in a narrative sense, the Ink Demon isn't the story's monster -- Joey is; the Ink Demon is just the consequence of his reckless ambition.

But what's the theme or central question of BatDR?

You can... try to pick out a theme. There's some promising options, because it feels like the story WANTED a theme, stating its emotional intentions more overtly -- "there's always a choice" to leave the darkness and chose hope; family and the struggle of living in a heavy legacy's shadow; or even just good old mewtwo-brand The Circumstance's Of One's Birth Are Irrelevant, It Is What You Do With The Gift Of Life That Determines Who You Are.

I think, even WITH the clumsy execution of Joey's "arc" and Audrey's lack of real choices, any of those could work about as well as BatIM. But unlike BatIM, the majority of the game doesn't tie in. Joey's tour can be considered relevant -- a picture of the family legacy and the "darkness" that Audrey doesn't yet know she's inheriting -- but like, the audiologs and hints and environment of BatDR are mostly teasing the question of What Is Gent Up To, and the takeover of Gent is detached from Audrey's choices, her family, her legacy, and Gent never really becomes a relevant threat to those things in this game. The Cult of Amok and the Ghost Train have nothing to do with any of these ideas. It might've been neat if Audrey had ever considered, "Did my father really drive all these people insane?", a hint of actually having to wonder about the darkness in her past. Even Wilson only barely brushes against these concepts; he doesn't like Joey and he also is trying to escape his family's heavy legacy, but it doesn't really reflect on his actions and we don't find that last part out until he's about to be dead.

There's also the question Wilson poses of "real" people versus ink creations, and what counts as valid "life." It would be an interesting theme with a lot to build off of in this setting, it ties into Wilson more as Wilson seems to represent the opinion that Inky Things Aren't Really Alive, which could've tied to Audrey (as an ink-person who has yet to accept that part of herself) and maybe given Wilson a reason to think it's fine to sacrifice her, it could've even tied to Gent (who don't even seem to value human life) -- but after Wilson asks the question, it doesn't tie into the direction things go. He smooshes a little Bendy, we see hints of his disregard for Betty, and then everyone continues with their plan to destroy the Ink Demon without any further moral quandaries about inky life.

The thing is, when you compare an element like, say, audiologs, there's a lot of differences you can point to -- but I don't actually think Lacie Benton's audiolog is notably better, taken on its own, than Grace Conway's or Kitty Thompson's, and yet tons of people were intrigued enough to flesh out Lacie. None of them are big plot points or compelling characters on their own; Lacie and Grace both give us a little note on what it's like working in the Studio, and Kitty shares a little bit on how Gent's expansion is affecting people. But when Lacie talks about Bertrum trying to make a creepy animatronic, that ties back into Joey's ill-fated schemes that are the point of the whole story. The question we're asking through the whole game is "what happened here?" so the fandom is interested in who Lacie is and what her life was like and extrapolates a whole person out of a couple sentences. But that's not the question in BatDR -- what has Wilson done to the Cycle and the Demon? Why? Who is Audrey really, and why is she here? Telling us new things about the Studio's fate seems strangely irrelevant to those questions, just an attempt to create a Mystery To Speculate On like the previous game did... but what question you're asking and how it fits into your story's main theme, like, matters. I absolutely believe that one clock animator guy would've been in EVERYONE'S crew if he'd been introduced in BatIM, but the context makes a difference; fleshing him out feels less relevant here.

The explanations of how and why Wilson did everything he did are baffling and handwavey, but in and of itself that's not a worse problem than anything else in the franchise -- I STILL don't understand why the Ink Machine needs pipes in the walls or even how it works, there's no good reason for Sammy to believe the Ink Demon will "set him free," most of Alice's motives don't make sense, etc etc etc. But the thing is that in BatDR, the wibbly bit is the closest thing to a central question we have! Wilson, what were you doing? The theme doesn't really explore or connect to that question, so the explanations that are finally tossed our way feel lacking in a way that BatIM's handwaved elements don't. There's a lot about Joey's motivation in BatIM that we can't know, but the heart of it resonates -- Joey wanted something, he was willing to exploit people to get it, and he became obsessed and prioritised that dream at any cost. We'll weather a thousand logistical inconsistencies if it's got heart.

But all of that said.... to be honest, I don't think Lacie overtly fits that theme anyway. Even, like, Sammy is iffy -- we don't really know what happened to him, only that he didn't used to be made of ink and worship Bendy, and now he does. We assume Joey's nonsense had something to do with what happened to him (though the books later assert his influence was indirect at best), because when there's a pattern, we can fill in the blank. So many fan creators found a place for Lacie, Grant, and Shawn in the cycle as butcher clones or lost ones, so many people imagined that Wally must be the Boris we meet, because that would've fit the pattern, the idea that the point of what we're seeing is the downfall of the studio. It's not actually that BatIM did a great job tying everything together -- it's that BatIM gave us a compelling idea and that was all it took to make everything else SEEM like it could find a place to fit. This is what I mean when I say BatIM's theme covers a multitude of sins. There's a LOT of characters in BatIM that don't make sense. There's a lot of inconsistencies and things that just sort of happen without any real reason. Characters don't really have "arcs" so much as different states they happen to be in at different times. But because there's a central question and the story doesn't wander away from it, our pattern-loving human brains will slot in all the pieces and do all the work to make the story feel at least somewhat coherent.

The things that happened in BatDR aren't a whole lot less coherent than BatIM imo, they just don't tie into a bigger theme or any of the questions the story's asking, making "how do they fit into all this" feel irrelevant, making it easier to forget entire sections and harder to get invested in audiolog characters. I think a lot of the other criticisms people have for BatDR's story are very valid, but I also suspect that if BatDR had a more successful theme/central question, then a lot of its flaws would be easier to overlook -- just like BatIM.

#we all write on the walls #batdr #short-ish essay is fond but critical of both games so puts it in a readmore for the fine folks in the tag who arent here for that haha #batim #bendy and the ink machine #lmao I WROTE THIS LAST YEAR ITS JUST BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS #go out into the world little post... be free...... #also I do think the fact that batdr kind of dropped the central question of batim #is probably also a significant factor #if you were really invested in the main thrust of batim then batdr doesnt really follow it or finish that exploration #just tries to give it an answer and move on #so again it comes down to the theme and the central question just in a different way