#because nobody asked

[papathe5th]

*waking up next to Papa V, he’s so cute*

*he yawns wide, showing all of his sharp teeth*

He’s still cute.

You wake up next to Papa V Perpetua, his skull face paint now a smokey eye look and smeared black lipstick. The rest of it is on the pillow, on your chest and between your thighs.

Rubbing them together, and your eyes to clear the last of the haze of last night’s hot and hard fucking, you look at him. And can’t keep your lips from smiling or your hand to yourself.

He is so cute, you hear your heart beat in your chest, your fingers touching his sleeping almost serene face.

You didn’t mean to wake him, but it’s not like you could keep your hand from brushing his curls off his cheek.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice as deep as the dream you both fell into. Then, cupping your hand as it cupped his cheek, he nuzzles into your palm blindly.

“Good morning,” your smile widens.

And so does Papa’s.

Pulling away from your hand, his lips pull back into a yawn and reveals his sharp, jagged, bloody teeth.

The bruise on the side of your neck and above your heart burn at the sight of them. You burn for him.

Still cute.

[laestoica]

Busca mi plantilla en PicsArt.

[queenoftsage]

FailTube people joking around like...

"KeNDrIcK tOOk iT PeRSoNaLLy'

... while that statement in itself is funny because of the lyrics of Kendrick's disses, ya'll forgot he was just doing a 'friendly' fade. He wasn't even going full lyricist on that fucking idiot Drake.

Like... it may have seemed personal, but that was Kendrick at his 'least' deadly.

Drake is the one that took all that shit personally. lol.

*shrugs*

He was butt hurt, just admit it, Drake fan. Also, he lost. Why are people still arguing about that? Drake should just take the L and move on, retire. Maybe get some therapy, he could afford it.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[non-plutonian-druid]

An AU where nobody ever made it down into the basement and Ford came out of the portal alone. Part 1 of ????

This just an AU that I had kicking around in my head for fun but wasn't going to do anything with, but then i read this post by @aroace-get-out-of-my-face (@-ing you so that you can dropkick me out the window before I get to the parts with the post if you dont want me running with it like this). It was the key ingredient that made me actually want to make a comic and now here we are!

Also: experimenting with tumblr's native ID feature, tbd if i continue to use it.

| AU Tag | Next > Newest >>

[bunnieswithknives]

As much as I love angst I think it would be funny if he just didnt give af

[technically-human]

how do you think Robotnik would act if someone had somehow managed to capture Stone?

Well, he seems a bit angry

ko-fi

[opikiquu]

iknow my comics are ugly please just hear me out

[the-raindeer-king]

Honestly, you should've known better. Soap was never one to take a joke and drop it, and joke like this? You should've know he'd take it and run with it. You just never thought it'd go this far.

Someone had brought cupcakes, the kind that come with those gaudy plastic rings meant for little kids. You and Soap had ended up with the same ring on top of your cupcakes.

"Oh, hey. They're the same. Guess we're married now."

It was a joke. Something you had laughed off, before ducking out of the break room, missing the way Soap's eyes followed you. Missing the way he stared at you, something dark and hungry in those baby blues.

The next morning, Soap's waiting at your desk with flowers and a coffee. He gives you a bright smile, watching you as you take the flowers with a smile.

"Oh, my favorite! How'd you know?"

"I know all yer favorites. Part of bein' a good husband, aye?"

That makes you pause, coffee halfway to your lips. Husband? It takes you a second to realize he's referring to the joke you made yesterday, and you give him a sheepish smile, shaking your head.

"Johnny, that was a joke. I wasn't -"

"I've got to go. But I'll get ye later. Make a proper wife of ye before the day's over," he promises, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

You don't even have a chance to argue. And when he shows up with Ghost at the end of the day, all you can think to ask is why Ghost is there.

"Johnny said you needed a witness," is Ghost's reply.

[outer-andromeda]

my guy, i WISH i could draw the characters i want to draw, dancing to the awesome music i imagine them with. your spamton dancing doodles are such a mood and bring me deep joy (as well as your enjoyment of caravan palace!!! loved them when i was in high school)

WAHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Here, as a treat, I give you one more (featuring our dear Tenna this time, because of course I had to draw them dancing together too are you kidding?)

[valtsv]

sternly reminding myself that reading too deeply into my human pattern recognition behaviour is the path to madness and my hypervigilance is not a supernatural sixth sense that is accurately informing me i'm dangerous and disgusting and everyone else can tell and is repulsed by me

[johnnyshrine]

★ 093 // “POV: You Died :("

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[gigizetz]

back to the thunder saga i love the detail where scylla is so bony/malnourished because you have to remember this is her first meal in like. ages. shes ECSTATIC, for good reason

YES THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THAT

[mildeleef]

ooooh you want to draw 226w6 so bad ooohhhhhh

Who even is this guy