#he has the shoulder to waist ratio of a dorito

[kopykunoichi]

This picture was printed out and taped to the inside of my favorite school binder for years

one thing nobody has been talking about lately is how fucking badass piccolo is

[loquarocoeur]

Can I have that shoulder size rant as well, whenever you feel up to it

Okay, hi, hello, I've finally gotten around to this, and this spiral isn't nearly as insane as the hands spiral, but it is a spiral nonetheless

Once again, possibly research bias, possibly delusion, but you can't say you don't see it in these pictures, even with the suits you can see Charles' shoulders are just a tiny bit wider:

And okay, let's keep in mind that they're extreme sports athletes, their bodies are changing all the time, but listen: Charles' biceps? Amazing. Charles' biceps compared to Max's? Absolutely useless, look at this:

But shoulders???

Lie to me and tell me you don't see this:

Idk, I feel like Max is just all tits and biceps and his shoulders are just kind of there.

Charles' shoulders are a little more than just there...

Like listen, I don't think we talk enough about Charles' shoulder to waist ratio, guys, this man is triangular

He's the shape of a dorito

Just look at them, Max is all pecs and biceps, and Charles obviously has a great everything, he looks like he lives at the gym, but he's all shoulders

Like not to be dramatic here, but Max is just so Venus de Milo where Charles is just straight up Atlas, like not to spiral into poetry, but he could carry the world on those shoulders (aka his world aka max)

And okay, maybe I'm seeing things, maybe I'm making shit up to suit the image of them I have created in my head, but every time someone raises an eyebrow at me saying Charles could easily pick Max up istg you have not looked at him

There's just this idea of them that we've created as a fandom where Max is so much bigger and stronger than Charles as part of that normal bottom Charles agenda, which is totally fine of course, let's not yuck anyone's yum, but I feel like we forget that he actually isn't that much smaller

Like according to google for this year's stats, Max's current numbers are 1.81m/5' 11'' height and 72kg/158lb weight

Charles' are 1.80m/5' 10'' height and 69kg/152lb weight

All Max has got on him is 1 centimetre and 3kgs. That's a height difference the width of my pinkie finger and a weight difference less than that of a six pack of soda cans. That's actually nothing.

[girldriveroscar]

my sister disagreed with me when i said oscar wins the “driver with the sluttiest little waist” award. do you agree with me and if so do you have photographic evidence

anon i am so glad you asked.

are we talking about the same oscar piastri? LIKE. oscar-doesn't fill out his race suit around the middle making him look extra hipped out because his waist is so invisible-piastri? that guy? because if i have to suffer the second-hand embarrassment of this ill-fitting race suit we are getting it CLEARED in the books that its only fitting like this because oh did a piece of lint just fly by? oh no just oscars INVISIBLE waist... ITS TINY.

I mean... the comparison speaks for itself...

AND HERE COMES THE BACKTALK....

ive seen the pics alright. yes, Charles is Dorito-esque. yea. max has got girlboobs for days okay. landos a grab-able manslut by gods all-mighty designation. yeah I've. seen. it. all. ill go as far as agreeing with all these statements!

...what you fail to consider in this discussion. is that tiny waistness expands beyond the dimensions of the assumed arguments. sure a shoulder-to-waist ratio can do wonders in I-need-to-grab-him-ism however.. that's only one half of the whole pie! we fail to consider the entire realm that is the shelf life of this pie. oscar piastri is not working his gluteus medius like an onlyfans model charging double for backshots for you to dismiss his ass-to-waist ratio. i repeat oscar piastri is not doing 15 reps of bouncethatass DAILY for u to ignore the shelf he's procured specifically for that freaky ass quadlock admin to slide him into skin tight lycra and say now turn to the side *tongue emoji*. if your ass fat enough that its defined in baggy ass race overalls. i mean. do i even need to repeat myself that the fabrics not even touching his waist…

one must consider what makes the waist small. What makes the waist slutty. leclercs tight ass is not the bag of chips you crave with your 6 inch sub. What You Want. With Your Six Inch Sub. Is Two pale white Globes of asscheek filling Both hands. To sluttify the waist. you need a landing dock. you need a point of reference. you need ass!

if you're still unconvinced. well.

look me in my eyes and tell me every time he shimmies into those black fireproofs. Popping his stupid little hands on his hips. youre not Viscerally reminded that Btw yea he Does have baddies wrapping their legs all the way around his tiny waist. BTW YEAAAA.

and the Real slutmanship of it all is that oscar doesnt DO it for anyone. hes not even trying dude. he just looks like that for the love of the game… like sorry but theres nothing sluttier than accidentally popping a whole lip out ur thong without even knowing. which is essentially what's happening here. i rest my case.

Cont. gallery for those still in denial…

[pedrito-friskito]

disobedient - miguel o’hara x fem!reader (spidersona)

do you get off on disobeying me?

a/n: I regret fuck all folks. part 1 of 2 (no clue when part 2 will happen but it will). special shouts to @psychedelic-ink, @inklore, and @splendiferous-bitch for feeding my miguel obsession and being the best ❤️‍🔥

word count: 6.5k

warnings: oh mama. sex pollen, unprotected p-in-v, rough sex, desperate miguel, multiple orgasms, in a shocking twist a whole lotta exposition cuz I gotta make the fucking make sense, y’know?

✨@friskito-library for new works✨

You’re not supposed to do this.

You’re not supposed to be here, period, but the notion hasn’t stopped you thus far. It’s just gonna make him more pissed off than he normally is, but pissing Miguel O’Hara off has quickly climbed to the top of your list of talents, and you’re content to continue doing as you please.

Especially if it means he’ll keep glowering at you with those eyes of his.

+

It threw you off initially — him, in general. Unfairly large, all rippling muscle and too-tiny waist, the hip-to-shoulder ratio of a Dorito chip and retractable claws you’ve seen more than once now. Not to mention an ass that looks like it was sculpted by a god. But it was the eyes that caught your attention, when you caught him glowering at you from a shadowy corner, like a predator hunting its prey.

“You gonna keep gawking,” you’d asked, “or come say hello like a normal person?”

Neither of you fit that category — normal people, boring — and he’d ignored your quip, actually growling at you as he stalked out of the shadows and brushed past you, bumping your shoulder in the process, and your brow had lifted at the way his suit seemed to ripple with the impact, forming and reforming against his skin. You saw it all, thanks to your spider-tacular vision, and your next thought after I want to sink my teeth into that ass, was I need to get my hands on that fabric.

Six months later, and no dice. You’ve been bouncing between Earth 928 and whatever dimension suits your fancy since Miguel first brought you here. How you convinced him to hand over one of his fancy bracelets, you’ll never truly know, but you have a distinct feeling the nature of your first meeting was what prompted him to give you access to the multi-verse — along with a slew of rules you more often than not turned your nose up at.

It also probably has something to do with the fact that you didn’t leave Nueva York for the first month. You holed up in the room he provided, ate the food he left by the door, and slept your days away, ignoring the too-bright world outside the windows, content to waste away to nothing. You couldn’t go home, what did it matter anyway?

Enter Miguel O’Hara and his incredibly bite-able ass.

When he first found you on the rooftop, cornered you near the fire escape, you’d gone snarky, despite the rumble in your bones, the betrayal that had cut you to the core, the looming fact that shit had just hit the fan and nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

And then Mister Grumpy steps through a fucking portal and tells you he can save you. He can’t fix what happened, but he can take you somewhere they won’t find you again, a haven of sorts. For a moment, you reeled — how could you know for sure that you could trust him? You almost asked him as much, but then the blanket of realization swept over you: there was nothing left for you on Earth 374. The spider on his chest was clue enough that you were on the right track. Sure, his was bright red on dark blue, whereas your own was navy against slate grey, but the similarities were close enough, namely the giant fucking spider.

The door to the rooftop had jiggled and Miguel swept a hand out, shooting webbing at the handle, keeping it shut. “Clock’s ticking, princesa,” he told you, the nickname said almost tauntingly. “Offer’s about to expire.”

You knew there had to be other spider-people out there in the universe, you just hadn’t imagined them to be so…large.

Or demanding, you’d learn later. Or asshole-ish. Sigh.

“Get me the fuck outta here,” you answered, and that was that. You were standing in his lab in Nueva York a moment later, and the jolt of multi-dimensional travel had you puking your guts all over the glossy floor. Faintly, you’d heard Miguel’s grunt of disdain.

“Lyla, get someone to clean this up,” he said, and his hand curled around your arm a moment later, hauling you to your feet like a rag doll. “You’ll get used to it,” he told you. “The jumping. I did the same thing after my first time.”

You were too out of it to know if he was actually being nice, or if the subtle lift to the corner of his mouth was just amusement at your expense.

“Yeah, well, warn a girl next time, would you?”

But you did get used to it. Once you managed to get your ass out of bed and back into your suit, you were soon away from the Spider Society more than you were there. For the first couple weeks, Miguel hadn’t said a word, apparently content to let you go where you pleased, barely questioning you when you deigned to return. Then, it was like a switch was flipped, and he was up your ass — and not in a fun, sexy way. He wanted reports on each of your jumps, timelines and activity breakdowns. He wanted lists of targets, reasons behind them, background checks. All things you knew he could easily get himself, but you also didn’t have the guts to tell him that since he’d saved you from Earth 374, you hadn’t actually…helped…anyone.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Your first solo jump you’d managed to find a few bank robberies and a mugging happening within a few blocks of each other. Clearly, you’d picked a gem of a universe, and while you’d managed to web up the bandits in the vault, something in you had frozen when you tried to track down the mugger. The scene unfolded on the street below and you just…shut down.

The rest of your trips were spent just exploring. You swung your way through cities, camped out on rooftops, just watching the normal people go about their lives down below. You noted the differences between that universe and your own, tried to remember where all the puzzle pieces fit, even though you were looking at a different picture.

And it’s that curiosity, that quiet desperation to know more, that has you padding out of your room in the Spider Society tower, overriding the elevator that’ll take you up to Miguel’s lab. His currently empty lab. The man himself has been away on a scouting mission for nearly forty-eight hours, and you’re not expecting him back for another twenty-four, which gives you more than enough time to satisfy that annoying voice in the back of your head that wants to know how they’re doing.

It’s late. The world outside the tower is dark, the sky an inky black, streaked with light shades, dotted with stars. You’d be a fool not to find Earth 928 and Nueva York beautiful in their own strange, overly modern ways, but even six months in, it’s hard to think of it as home.

But you know why. It’s because it’s not. 

You’d lasted a few days before you started glitching, and being cooped up in your room, you assumed you’d be able to hide it from Miguel. Part of you feared that if he knew something was wrong with you, he’d send you back to 374, and then what would happen to you?

You went to sleep worrying it over in your mind, and woke up to a complicated-looking watch sitting on the nightstand beside your bed. A hastily scrawled note stuck to it.

Put it on. It’ll help.

As soon as you did, the device beeped to life, a holographic screen jumping up, telling you the date and time and a myriad of other pieces of information. And then—

“Hiya, toots! I’m Lyla.”

You were confused as hell by the AI at first, but you quickly realized how useful she was, even more knowledgeable than Miguel, not that she’d ever admit it. And, in all honesty, you were a fan of the gab sessions. When Miguel wasn’t working her overtime, she’d beep her way through your watch for a good chat, perch herself on your pillow in the days you were still a shut-in, and when you started to make your way through the multi-verse, she was quick to point out the must-sees wherever you were.

She ran out quickly when she realized you were visiting the same place, just a different universe.

+

The doors to Miguel’s lab whoosh open at your approach, bare feet padding along the glass floor, and as you pause, getting yourself a cup of coffee from the forever-full carafe he keeps far away from the supercomputer, your watch pings to life, and the AI herself glitters into existence.

“What d’you think you’re doing?”

You ignore her at first, fixing your coffee the way you like it, flicking the stir stick into the trash before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s not until you start toward the computer and the large platform that houses it, that you answer her.

“Nothin’.”

She groans. “That’s a load of shit and we both know it.”

“He’s not here,” you say, shrugging a shoulder as you step onto the platform. The screens hum to life as you drag one hand across the infrared keyboard and when you glance over your shoulder, Lyla’s staring at you over the top of her heart-shaped glasses. “What he won’t know won’t hurt him.”

“And you really think doing exactly what he told you not to do is the best idea?”

You sigh, sipping your coffee as you sink into the chair, rolling yourself close to the computers. Miguel rarely uses the chair, apparently content to just stand and stare all broodingly at the screens. You only watched him — caught him — do this once, but when you caught on to what was happening, you filed the information away. He’d given you hell for snooping around, though you teased that he was just pissed you’d managed to sneak up on him, and according to Lyla, nobody does that.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you pause. He did tell you, rather specifically, not to do what you’re about to do. He didn’t tell you why, wouldn’t give an inch when you pressed him, but he was firm.

No good will come of it.

+

Earth 473. Not an identical twin to your home universe, but a very close sibling. The differences were so small, so scarce, that you truly thought you’d stumbled back to 374 accidentally, and you’d nearly jumped back to Nueva York, heart in your throat. But then something caught your eye, and you froze.

Across the way, teetering at the edge of the rooftop, was Spider-Man.

His suit was the opposite of yours, the spider grey and the suit navy. You could feel him staring right back at you, even at the distance, and as you stared back, he lifted his hand. For a moment you thought he might wave, your own fingers twitching to return the gesture, but then it continued up, gripping the back of his mask and yanking it from his bed.

You saw his mouth form the words, heard them like a whisper in the air.

“You’re alive.”

Your frozen heart dropped into your toes.

It was Peter. Your Peter, the one you’d left behind on Earth 374, your best friend, the one who…who…

You didn’t have it in you to finish the thought. It was all the evidence you needed to know that this universe was not yours. You were the only Spider-Person on 374, and your Peter wasn’t…he couldn’t…

You’d stumbled backward, blindly grabbing for your watch, suddenly desperate to be back in the SS tower. But then you paused, your fingers twitching on the dials and digits.

And you almost went exactly where you weren’t supposed to. Like a reflex. Shaking yourself, you punched in 928, everything in you twisting and turning as you stepped through the portal.

Miguel was waiting. He’d been watching you, paying close attention to that particular jump, and had used the link through your watch to see what you saw. The opposite-but-mirror image on the rooftop.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, his voice low, that deep timbre that still managed to catch you off guard. “The multi-verse doesn’t work that way.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” you spat back, shrugging off his hand when he tried to grab your arm. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.”

His face had gone feral. Those carmine eyes flaring, staring down his nose at you while you just stared right back, defiant. You went to step past him, and he caught you again, this time his longer fingers wrapping around your forearm, the tell-tale prick of his talons biting through your suit.

“I know a fuck load more than you seem to think,” he snarled, dragging you close to he was in your face. “In case you forgot, I’ve been at this a hell of a lot longer than you have, and what you saw out there, what it means to you, I know exactly where your mind went. And I am telling you: the multi-verse does not work like that.”

“What am I thinking?” you spat back, ignoring the pinpricks of pain that shot through your arm as you got even closer, leaning up on your toes. “If you’re so fucking knowledgeable, tell me.”

He released you, then. The pain in your arm dissipated as quickly as it had come, and his eyes went…soft. Thoughtful.

Sympathetic.

“You’re thinking,” he started, inhaling deeply, rubbing two fingers between his brows as he spoke, “that you could go back there, to 473, and make a life for yourself. The same family, the same friends, the same life. They lost their version of you, so why not fill her shoes? Find some semi-logical explanation, hide your powers, live your life. Am I close?”

You almost stumbled backward, the truth of his words sending you reeling. You bumped into his desk instead, knocking a cup of coffee over, and neither of you said a word as the dark liquid spread across the desktop, dripping off the edge and onto the floor.

Miguel took a half-step toward you, then turned slightly, looking over the curve of his shoulder at you. Something in you longed to press your forehead against his frame, search for some kind of support, but you stayed stuck still.

“I know,” he continued, turning his head, staring straight ahead, “because I did exactly the same thing. And I lost everything.”

+

His words echo through your mind now, the deep tone you’ve gotten very familiar with, and you shake your head, clearing away the cobwebs he’s left in your head. “This is different,” you say aloud, partially to Lyla, partially to yourself. “I’m not going there, I’m just…checking in.”

The AI rolls her eyes at you and snaps her gum. “I said it once and I’ll say it again: load of shit.”

Your fingers fly over the keyboard, typing in the codes to find what you’re looking for. You haven’t been back to 473 since that jump; Miguel had forbade it after your spat, and even went so far as to block your watch from taking you there. You thought he was being unreasonable, and he reiterated that he was actually trying to keep you safe.

No good will come of it.

You hit the final key, and the images start to fade in. You can just barely make out the shape of her — of you — when the screens go black. Your breath catches in your throat as a large hand comes down on your shoulder, gripping tightly, though you don’t feel the pricks of his talons.

“Do you get off on disobeying me?”

The words are almost a purr, the opposite of the tone you’re expecting, and from the corner of your eye, you see Lyla blip from existence. It makes goosebumps rise on your skin, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as he leans in, hot breath on your ear.

“If I make you cum, will that make you more obedient? Hm?”

“What the fu—” you start, trying to whirl around, but his grip on you is solid, warm palm following the curve of your shoulder until his fingers are wrapping themselves around your throat. It’s a welcome weight, sparks of electricity shooting down your limbs, your thighs rubbing together to relieve the instant pressure. “Mmm.”

His thumb presses down on your racing pulse, and you’re suddenly aware of how warm he is. He’s…too warm. But you have to admit, the way he’s holding you…it’s nice. Really nice.

“Miguel,” you start, trying to turn again, but he fits his face into the bare side of your neck, lips grazing the thin skin. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

“Mission went south,” he mumbles against you, his tongue darting past his lips and dragging along your skin. It makes your eyes roll back, but…

Where is this coming from?

He should be furious with you. He caught you red-handed, no questions about it. You weren’t expecting him to find you in the first place, but now that he has, you’re expecting a screaming match, toddler-level foot-stomping and possibly being thrown over his ridiculously large shoulder and being tossed into your room like a rag doll. Locked up like Rapunzel until you start listening to his brand of reasoning. You’re expecting a blowout.

You’re not expecting this.

He huffs in your ear as his lips graze the sensitive skin beneath it, his words spoken into the shell, tongue catching on your earring. “You smell delicious, cariño.”

The pet name makes you shiver. “Mig,” you say again, your hand covering his as his other arm wraps around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. “What are you doing?”

His heart is racing, so hard that you can feel the heavy thump of it against your spine. It’s too fast, even for him, you know that much. His fingers curl against your stomach, talons poking out and shredding your shirt to strips. You gasp as the fabric falls away.

“Miguel.” You make your voice as stern as possible. It’s not that you don’t want him to touch you like this, it just seems so sudden, so out of character, and you—

He wrenches himself away from you, the heady warmth of him suddenly gone, and you whirl, hand flying up to grip your neck as the sound of him crashing into the wall reaches your ears. His fingers are leaving indents in the metal, talons scratching deep, and you gulp as you realize you’re lucky he didn’t just accidentally slit your throat.

Whatever’s happening, he’s not himself.

“Mig,” you call, wiping your bloody hand on your sweats, crossing the distance he’s put between you. “Would you just talk t—”

“NO!” he roars, throwing a hand out in front of himself. You can see his large frame shake as he sinks down against the wall, long tears in the metal forming in his wake. “Keep your distance.”

Your brow lifts. “Says the man who was literally crawling up my ass three seconds ago.” You ignore him, taking another step, ignoring the way his words ring through your head. Do you get off on disobeying me?

Yeah…maybe you do. Just a little bit.

You crouch down low, getting on his level. “Mig, tell me what happened.”

“Don’t call me that,” he spits, staring you down for a moment before forcing his head to the side, an action that looks like it takes a lot of effort. “Just…go to your room, leave me be.”

“You telling me not to call you that just makes me wanna call you that more.” You shift onto your knees, inching a little closer. “I can’t leave you be, not when you just put a bunch of holes in the wall,” you lift your hand to your throat, where the scratches he left are already almost gone, “and almost in me. Tell me what happened.”

He tilts his head back against the wall, still turned away from you, one crimson eye looking your way. “Mierda, you’re stubborn.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you didn’t know that already. Talk.”

“Earth 1365-7,” he starts, eyes fluttering shut. His eyelashes are unfair, you think to yourself, the way they fan out across his even more unfair cheekbones. “I ended up in their version of OSCORP, some testing centre. Different serums and gases and…they were trying to weaponize a kind of paralytic that’s found in certain spider venom.”

His tongue pokes out after he says the word venom, tracing the tips of his fangs, and you swallow hard.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

You shake your head, silencing the thought.

“And you stopped them?” you prompt, when he doesn’t go further, instead inhaling deeply and scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I did,” he tells you, but there’s no trace of triumph in his voice or on his face. “But I stumbled into one of the other labs, and as soon as I did…” He trails off, body shifting against the floor, and it’s impossible to miss the ripple in his skin-tight suit, the way he props one knee up, blocking your view of his crotch. “It was some sort of plant that they’d been researching. The pollen, it raises a person’s heart rate, skyrockets it, and muddles their senses. If left untreated, it can kill them.”

You stare at him hard. “What’s the treatment, Miguel?”

“The side effects,” he continues, ignoring your question. “Heightened blood pressure, extremely sensitive skin, lowered inhibitions, and…”

“Mig, would you just tell me?”

“Arousal,” he finishes, and you freeze. “Intense arousal. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that, I just…The only way to treat it is to…”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but the implication is clear, along with the intense reminder of how he was pressed against you.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, shrugging a shoulder, trying like hell to look non-committal, like your skin isn’t still tingling in all the places he touched you. “Lowered inhibitions, like you said.”

He doesn’t say anything so much as hum in response, his head lolling to the side again. His eyes are fire when they open again, landing on you and pinning you in place. It makes your breath hitch again, palms lowering to rest on your thighs.

“You need to get out of here, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low, husky, fingers tapping against his bent knee. “I need to deal with this.”

You’ve inched a bit closer to him, you realize, your traitorous body giving you away.

“How are you gonna deal with it?” you ask, barely above a whisper. Every inch of you is tingling now, not just the places he touched, and the way he tilts his head back again and groans is not helping matters. “Maybe I should…help.”

His eyes flash to you, pools of red, pupils blown big as dinner plates. “You want to…help.”

“You said this could kill you,” you continue, leaning forward until your palms hit the floor. “Someone should…keep an eye on you, y’know. Make sure you…y’know, don’t.”

“How articulate of you.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbly, but you don’t miss the way his shoulders shake even after the laughter has stopped. His breathing is shaky too, you can hear it from where you’re crouched. Worry threads through the lust that’s seemingly replaced your blood, and you slide even closer to him, until there’s maybe two feet between you.

“I don’t want you to die.” The words hang heavy in the air and the truth of them twists your guts. Stubborn ass he may be, but he’s done nothing but protect you since he found you back on Earth 374. You…care. You care a lot.

“Lyla can keep an eye on me,” he spits, but you just get closer.

“So she can wipe her hard drive and clean her eyes with soap afterward?” you joke. “I can’t leave you like this, Mig. Can AIs even use soap?”

“Don’t call me that,” he says again.

“Let me help you,” you say, the words coming easier, firmer. “You know that I can.”

You close the distance completely, your knees bumping the side of his thigh and your hand covering his on the floor. The fabric of his suit recedes, revealing his hands, and your fingers brush over his knuckles. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you tell him, leaning back on your heels, lifting your other hand to pull his bent knee straight. “You need help, and I’m offering it.”

He groans again.

“I’ve owed you, this whole time,” you continue, resting your hand on his shin as his leg rests on the floor. It takes everything in you not to let your eyes wander up to the space between his hips, but you manage. “You saved my life; let me save yours.”

The spider made you strong, made you fast, but Miguel…He’s so large, so imposing, and the moment his hands land on your body, you know he’s been holding back from you.

He maneuvers you into his lap, your knees resting against his hips. In an instant you can feel him, the hard prod of his cock against your cunt, separated only by the thin fabric of your pants and the rippling material of his suit. Miguel groans as he fits his face into your neck, talons pressing into your hips as the suit melts away, every inch of his golden skin suddenly on display. It’s overwhelming and your blood heats, unable to bite back the moan that slips free when he pulls your hips against his, the pressure between you exactly what you need it to be.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he grits out, his hips lifting off the floor as he chases your body, as you chase each other. “This is just…”

“I’m helping,” you breathe out, your hands curling around his shoulders as you settle into his lap. Well, not so much as settle as twitch, the fabric of your shirt riding up as his hands move up your sides, curling around your ribs. “This is only about keeping you alive.”

“Alive,” he repeats, and you bite your lip, feeling his fingers curl into your shirt. “You have no fucking idea how…”

“God, shut up,” you groan, gripping his face in your hands, claiming his mouth for your own. The sound of tearing fabric reaches your ears as your lips meet his and he growls at you, shredding your shirt and tossing the fabric away, leaving you bare from the waist up. His hands drop to your ass then, tugging at your pants and you bite his bottom lip. “You could just ask nicely, you know.”

He just grunts in response, effectively splitting the elastic band and pulling the rest of your clothes away. You’re completely naked now, perched in his lap, and your skin heats in every spot you’re pressed to him. Which is basically everywhere. “I’ll get you new ones,” he grits, and you roll your eyes, biting at his lip again. 

There’s little ceremony to it. Miguel drags you along him a few times, the feel of him prodding between your legs lighting a fire in you. You can feel how big he is, but you busy yourself with his mouth, your knees pressing against his hips. One of his hands skims down your back, curving around your hip and sliding two fingers through your folds. It makes you keen, a moan ripping from your throat when he presses those fingers into you.

“Wet,” he grunts against your mouth, his breath stuttering as you clench around his digits. You rock your hips into his hand, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging until his head tips back.

“Take what you need,” you say, and for once, he listens to you.

The feeling of his fingers pulling out leaves you aching, but you’re not left waiting for long. He presses against the small of your back, tilting your hips, and then he’s inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. The sheer fullness that sweeps through you is almost too overwhelming, and your breath whooshes out of you as your chest slams into his. You can feel the way his heart is racing, the rapid thump beneath his sternum nearly vibrating against your own.

This doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, circling your hips as he plants his feet, bends his knees. He holds you up slightly, giving just enough space between you for him to thrust up into you, hitting a spot that makes you see stars. This is just…helping. I’m just being helpful.

You’re just…quickly reaching the most intense orgasm you’ve had in a hot second.

He keeps hammering into that same spot, the lab filling with the sound of his skin on yours, your panting breaths, and Miguel’s grunts. It’s fucking euphoric, your head falling back between your shoulders. “Mig, I—”

“Not yet,” he growls, and suddenly you’re being lifted, the heavy weight of him still pressed inside you. Your grip on each other is firm, and Miguel moves quickly, sweeping you out of the lab and through the door that leads to his room. You barely get a breath in before your back hits his mattress and he’s towering over you, his big hands curled around your thighs, kneeling so he can prop your ass up. The angle lets him drive deeper and you throw your arms over your head, curling your fingers in his bedsheets, trying to find some leverage.

One of his hands moves over you, palm grazing your stomach before moving down. He thumbs at your clit, dragging another moan out of you, his brow going hard. You have a better look at his face now, his expression pinched, eyes trained on where he’s pounding into you. His skin is damp with sweat, a sheen on his forehead, his mouth hanging open. You swear you can see his pulse jumping in his throat.

“Want you to cum, princesa,” he nearly begs, and the hitch in his voice makes goosebumps rise all over your body. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust and everything in you goes impossibly tighter.

“This is about you,” you pant out, clawing at his sheets. “I don’t need—”

But you do. You really fucking do, but something about admitting that to him right here and now feels…wrong. It twists your gut in a not-so-fun way.

“I don’t care, I need you to cum,” he growls, releasing his grip on your thigh to grab at your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “Now.”

Suddenly, your body is not your own. It responds instantly to his command, a string threading your muscles drawing tight as a bow before snapping entirely. Your back arches against the mattress, so hard it just brings you closer to him and Miguel drops his head, dragging his nose up the middle of your chest. It courses through your entire body, your hips lifting entirely off the bed to chase him, to keep him buried within you.

He groans as you cum, the sound the only thing you’re aware of besides the pleasure setting your body on fire. There’s a ringing in your ears, your muscles going lax as you start to come down, but he doesn’t stop. One of your hands floats to his hair, tangling the sweat-damp strands around your knuckles and you can feel his growl shake your ribs.

“More,” he grits, raking his hands down your sides, gripping your hips again. You inhale sharply as his head turns, skirting across your chest to take your nipple between his lips. The pace is relentless, your body growing tight again with his movements. He’s playing you like a fucking fiddle, and you’re the first to admit you’re loving every second of it.

You manage to open your eyes, the pleasure receding just enough for you to regain some of your faculties.

He’s staring right back.

It makes you flinch, jolting in his grasp as his lips draw back, revealing one pointed fang. You shiver as he drags the tip of it around your nipple.

“Again.”

And again, your body obeys. This time it sneaks up on you more than barrels through you, making you throw your head back against the mattress. “Fuck, Miguel.” Your nails dig against his scalp, tugging at his hair, revelling in the noise it pulls out of him. You want to record it, put it on repeat, set it as your fucking ringtone. How the fuck is he doing this? This was supposed to be about him.

Not that you’re not enjoying yourself. Quite the opposite.

He’s still staring at you, peering up at you from where he’s bent against your chest. There’s something in those ridiculous eyes, something you have no name for, and you force your eyes away, moving them down his body, to where you can see him still driving into your cunt, the length of him slick with you. The sight alone makes you clench, and when you do, he curses under his breath.

“Where…?” he grits, the hoarseness in his voice drawing your eyes back up to his face.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your heart twists in your chest at the sight, reaching up to swipe your hand across his sweaty forehead. “Does it hurt?”

“I need…” He trails off, leaning into your touch, turning his head and nipping at your wrist, at your pulse. “Where can I…?”

“Wherever you want,” you pant, gasping as he drives as deep as inhumanly possible, moving you further up the bed. “Whatever you need to—”

You’re cut off by the roar that echoes through the room. He buries his face in your neck as it happens, most of his weight dropping onto you, hips pinning yours to the bed, chest pressed to yours. He pulls out at the last second, cock sliding through the hinge of your thigh, cum spurting hot against your stomach. He doesn’t seem to care about the mess he’s making of you both, his entire body covering yours as he shudders his way through it.

It feels like it lasts forever. His limbs go taut and then loose, his breath quickening and then slowing against the shell of your ear. You don’t know what else to do except hold him through it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, one hand finding his hair once more. It’s like his release is chasing the pollen from his system, his superhuman body returning to his brand of normal. He babbles through some of it, grunts and moans and something that sounds almost like your name murmured in your ear.

You just hold him.

Eventually, he seems to come back to himself. You’re loathe to admit you’re revelling in the feel of him against you, the way his hands are tangled in your hair against his pillows. The weight of him is…it’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

It’s too nice.

You wait a few minutes, wait for him to find his bearings, to peel himself away from you, but it never comes. He’s a solid weight on top of you, and while you’ve been listening to his erratic breathing, waiting for it to even out, you realize that it’s gone…slow. He’s asleep.

“Mig,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, tugging softly at his hair. Nothing. Not so much as a twitch. He’s dead to the world, his slow breaths turning to quiet snores in your ear. Carefully, inch by inch, you slide your way out from under him. You freeze when he rolls onto his side, his breath hitching for a moment, but it evens out again and you slip off the edge of his bed.

Your clothes are toast, the shreds of fabric scattered on the floor of the lab, so you slip into his closet, finding a t-shirt that’s way too big for you. You definitely don’t inhale the scent that clings to it as you slip it over your head.

Your steps are quiet as you pad back into his bedroom, leaned up on your toes as you peer at him. Still asleep, hasn’t so much as moved from the spot you left him. You draw closer, your fingers curled around the hem of his t-shirt.

He doesn’t move an inch as you reach for his wrist, easily slipping the watch off his wrist and replacing it with your own. The too-big band of his adjusts to your size as you close the latch around your wrist, turn on your heel, and scurry from the room, through the lab, shooting a web up at the ceiling and launching yourself up to the next floor, the level your room is on.

You don’t make a sound as you pack your bag, reluctantly shrugging out of Miguel’s t-shirt to put your suit on, stuffing it into your bag with handfuls of clothes, whatever random shit your muddled mind has decided you need to take with you.

It felt too nice.

You know what would happen, you’ve decided, if you stay. You’d drift off, there in his bed, enveloped by his broad frame, half-drunk off the scent of him. You’d get the best sleep of your life, and when you woke the next morning, he’d be there, staring down his nose at you, the desperate man that had pulled pleasure from your body like it was his damn day job replaced with the grumpy fuck that plucked your last nerve like a guitar string.

The problem was that you knew exactly what he’d say to you:

This doesn’t mean anything.

The problem is that you’ve grown to care too much for him, grumpy, desperate, and all things in between.

Lyla makes an appearance as you sling your bag over your shoulder, keying in the universe you want to jump to, Miguel’s watch not locked out the same way yours is. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

You lift a brow as she cocks her digital hip at you. “You want me to answer that? So you can tell me I’m full of shit?”

“Ideally, yes.”

“Can AIs make promises?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Technically speaking.”

“Don’t tell him where I am,” you ask, pleading. “Please?”

“He’ll find out anyway,” she tells you, shaking her head, heart-shaped glasses slipping down her nose. Her eyes are big as she stares at you over the rims. “He’s smarter than you give him credit for. I know he’s a grumpy asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, but he—”

“Lyla, please.”

She sighs, sliding the glasses back up. “He won’t hear it from me.”

“Thank you.”

The portal crackles to life, that familiar tug in your stomach as you step toward it. Lyla fades from view as you take another step, and you ignore the echo of Miguel’s voice calling your name, and step through completely.

[kuroo-hitsuji]

This is a prompt to talk about Lucifer and Satan purring (!!!!!) and body types??

Woo thank you !!

Starting with body types bc i think it will be shorter than the purring (i have. Many thoughts about the purring lmao). They're admittedly not drastically different from the models, I'm constantly at war with my brain between Canon Compliance and creative liberties ahzhsjxh but its a lot of smaller details, i hope its not disappointing at all orz

Lucifer - ironically his body type is the most difficult one for me to describe shdhhd he's just kind of a Fit Guy tm. Like he's got decently defined muscles and the slight dorito shape from his shoudlers/chest to his waist that you expect from anime men lmao. But he's not shredded, no washboard abs or anything (but relatively toned still, could be a six-pack if he's deliberately flexing lmao), the most defined muscles are in his arms and chest, primarily. Also he's got long-ass legs, idk why he is just ⅔ leg and i cannot unsee it

Satan - lean muscle and pretty boxy, the shoulder to waist to hip ratio isn't all that drastic, not a lot of chest muscle and again lean but not shredded ab region (using the flexing concept again I'd put him at a 4 pack lol) but also more visibly defined than Lucifer's at rest as well due to a slightly lower fat percentage. Also he has like no ass and I'll die on this hill (the first obey me post i ever saw was someone calling him out for having a flat ass in a chat picture and it has stuck with me the entire 4 years 💀 not slander btw we support all booties here). He's just very square/rectangle coded in my mind for inexplicable reasons

Demons purring is a headcanon I'm constantly dying to talk about Thank You 🙏 i hope these are actually like afjsjg decently coherent, they got long (as expected but still)

Lucifer - witnessing him purr at all is Exceptional rare (hearing it is even less common) for a combination of reasons that mostly boil down to his general commitment to his reputation and him being reluctant to show vulnerability at most times (and in this specific case its exacerbated by the fact that he was not Always a demon and the ability to purr in the first place is relatively foreign to him). He's put in the work to keep a handle on it as much as he can, and to keep it silent when he can't (control, control, control), and outside of him practicing that alone the most common instances of it happening have been when he's with MC, or when he's Very drunk and in good/safe company (diavolo, primarily. Lucifer is still hesitant to fully drop his facade with him, but it's been slowly melting away over the centuries. Diavolo does his absolute best not to call attention to the purring in the very rare instance that he even notices it occurring, but it is an absolutely herculean feat for him lmao). Generally the only time it's at all audible is with MC, in those rare perfect moments that let him feel safe and cozy enough to fully relax, often with the help of cuddling and petting his hair, wings, or the base of his horns. Even then it's quiet, a low, deep rumble somewhere between what you'd expect from a panther or other big cat (if they were actually able to purr) and the kind of sound a small tremor of an earthquake makes, where you might not realize you're even hearing anything at first but you can Feel your eardrums vibrating anyways.

Satan - also purrs very infrequently, for a few similar reasons but also wildly different ones. He's more accustomed to it as a general ability, having never had a body that was unable to purr in the first place, but he's still not incredibly familiar with it for a while. He did it instinctively as a self-soothing method at first, back when he was still out of control and would get locked in his room for the safety of himself and others, doing it less the more he gets a hold on his wrath, associating it with the consequences of a loss of control rather than positive emotions. It's not until he becomes attached to and knowledgeable about cats that he starts seeing it in a different light, eventually allowing himself to give into the urge to purr occasionally without feeling bad about it, but with this a different problem arises: having something so in common with cats has him almost too giddy, to the extent that when he starts purring he struggles to stop, so he still represses it most of the time. He purrs most often completely alone in his room where there will be minimal consequences to him getting stuck in a happy-stim feedback loop for an hour or two if it does happen, and he's still a bit embarrassed about the idea of this happening in front of MC for a good while, but not totally against it.

His purr tends to be a bit stilted and not particularly deep in pitch, waves of it more clearly following his breathing. It's not loud but its not really quiet either, and he's never really been successful at trying to control anything about it other than completely suppressing it, adding to the list of reasons he can't do it stealthily in day to day life as some other demons might be able to (purring loudly in public is seen as vaguely inappropriate, not really in a big way but kind of the same vibes as crying in public in most human settings. You won't get in trouble or anything but its one of those things most people feel more comfortable with keeping private).

I think I covered everything but if not I'll probably end up adding anything I couldve missed whenever i actually remember it lol

Thanks again for the chance to infodump :)

[getvalentined]

For the ask game:

Vincent: 5, 7, 9, and 50 (any or all!)

[For the Random Character Asks game.]

5. Best personality trait?

Vincent's best personality trait is probably his intense sense of responsibility, which comes with a peerless level of determination to do whatever it takes to set things right in whatever way he can. This is also his worst personality trait. It pushed him to leave Nibelheim and strike down Hojo for what he allowed Sephiroth to do, and also kept him in the coffin in the first place based on the assumption that everything he touched fell apart. It makes him reliable to a fault in some situations, and utterly useless in others.

It's both the driving force behind his entire existence, and the weighted chain around his neck that keeps him anchored in place, unable to move forward.

7. Age/height/weight headcanon?

We have a canon birthdate for Vincent, contrary to the contradictory Ultimanias' timelines, down to the day of the week based on the real-world calendar for the same date, so we have his canon age at any time and I align with that. Vincent Valentine was born on Friday, October 13th, 1950. He's fifty-seven years old in December of 2007, meaning he was born in 1950, and yes, October 13th of that year fell on a Friday.

He's also twenty-seven until the end of time, but I've written a whole fic about that.

Vincent believes he's 184cm tall, which puts him at just over 6' in Imperial, and this was correct at the time of his death; it is not correct anymore, although Vincent doesn't know that until sometime postcanon. I've talked about it before, but my Vincent had an issue where his skeleton didn't completely scale back down after his first traumatic transformation into Galian, so his arms and legs are disproportionately long (and he already had legs for days) and he's just slightly larger all around, putting him at 194cm or just shy of 6'4" in the present.

After the incident with Omega, he actually starts growing, albeit inconsistently and very slowly; little by little, Vincent is developing into a shape befitting the role into which he was cast when Chaos' consciousness returned to the Lifestream, because at that point Vincent isn't a vessel for the Weapon anymore, he is the Weapon unto himself. The original animal consciousness is gone forever, and the role now belongs entirely to Vincent. It takes a long time for him to pick up on the physiological changes, and everyone except Nanaki and Genesis are dead by the time it starts to become noticeable to anyone else, but he'll top out around 225cm/7'5" not counting the horns and wings.

Vincent's weight is a goddamn mystery because his bone and muscle density are all fucked up because of mako exposure, while he's simultaneously built like a goddamn reed and has the shoulder to waist ratio of a dorito. It also fluctuates slightly between transformations for a while due to incomplete or inconsistent reversion, although those issues eventually resolve. It's anyone's guess, really.

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character?

I've kinda talked about this before, but basically I was super interested in Vincent from the moment I learned of his existence, and fell in love the first time I activated his limit break and realized I was dealing with someone with a much more complicated story than previously let on. I have only fallen deeper in love with the character since then—he's smart and snarky and socially awkward, with a specific sort of trauma, both previous and impending, that makes him compelling to me specifically for very personal reasons—and he remains my favorite fictional character of all time.

50. A memory they’ve blocked out?

Vincent canonically blocked out all the memories of Lucrecia's involvement in his seven-year stint as a victim of science, although most of those come back eventually. My Vincent actually has a staggeringly clear memory, to the point that he remembers being on the operating table while Hojo removed all his organs, at least during the term that Hojo was keeping him conscious for it, and is also pretty cognizant of what he does when transformed.

Postcanon, the things he has blocked out are very intentionally blocked out, can inadvertently be brought back at any time with the right trigger, and are mostly related to the experiments. There was a short term when Hojo was still working on Vincent that he would instigate a transformation and run him through the sim on the bottom level of the research facility to observe the monsters, or occasionally just throw Vincent in there once the mako enhancements finally "stuck" in order to get data for Project 0, and Vincent has blocked most of that out. He knows it happened, but the details are either a blur, or he's pushed them so far back that he might as well have naturally forgotten.

[thisismykirk6monthsont]

Im a snatched waist/hips Eddie hater. The ONLY reason he is dorito shaped is because of his massive tits otherwise he has a thick waist because he is beef man.

Give me thick middle-aged Eddie not this 100:1 shoulders to hips ratio

[iam93percentstardust]

Treat treat treat!!!! 😍😍😍

Treat for bestie! <3 Thanks for playing! (and for suggesting this version of trick or treat in the first place) You get a fic from the upcoming pop star Tony au!

~

It isn’t long before they’re pulling to a stop. Obie is waiting for them just outside the doors, hand clasped on the shoulder of a tall, blond alpha with the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Dorito and a guitar case slung over his back. Another guitarist for them to reject, Tony assumes, though he finds his eyes lingering on the alpha’s hips. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give this one a little longer than the usual one-and-done.

“Tony, my boy!” Obie says as he gets out of the car. “I have someone for you to meet.”

“Sure, Obie,” Tony agrees, jogging over. “This is my mom, by the way. Trey said it was cool if she came along for the day.”

“Enchanted, truly,” Obie says, bending over his mom’s hand to kiss it. Tony tries not to be skeeved out by that and fails. It’s his mom. People aren’t supposed to flirt with her, and she’s definitely not supposed to giggle when they flirt with her.

He sidles a little away from that whole situation and winds up next to the blond guy, who exchanges a commiserating look with him. The guy is an alpha, Tony’s nose helpfully informs him, smelling like peppermint and pine, which makes Tony’s omega want to sit up and take notice. He loves things that smell like winter. It reminds him of the Christmas tree farm down the road from their house in the Hamptons. Before he went to school, he used to spend every single day of the holiday season at the farm, helpfully taking people’s tickets at the front desk. Those are still some of the best memories of his early childhood, and it’s a bit of a shock to find a reminder here, in this place so far from his farm, but not an unwelcome one.

“I’m Tony,” he says, sticking out his hand.

“Steve,” the alpha says, shaking it. He has a good handshake, nice and firm, with reassuring guitar callouses on his fingertips (one of the other “guitarists” Obie had introduced him to hadn’t had any at all, which had made Tony very nervous about his playing ability—and rightfully so since the guy had been a complete disaster). “Steve Rogers.”

[arcplaysgames]

it's called a cell phone, Ryuji, jesus christ. Margaret called Reverie the Fourth, like, all the time, it ain't even a thing, don't worry about it.

girl same, if a phone call lasts more than 30 seconds its too long

The team discusses Akechi and whether to let him help out. Everyone's focus is on Futaba and Haru, who obviously have the most personal baggage with Mister Murder For Hire.

If Akechi betrays us again, Haru will put a brick in her handbag and kill him with it, I am certain. Haru is my favorite.

Morgana wants to talk about how he said that he wanted to be with Reverie forever but still fell prey to Maruki's control and how uncool that was of him.

You are a cat who talks and also fights criminals, you are inherently cool as shit, Morgana, I'm sorry to tell you this.

WHOA WHAT

YO THIS BETTER BE A COOL PERSONA BECAUSE MERCURIOUS WAS ALREADY--

He has a big fucking belt and black sleeve tatts and a chunky rolex and a mustache the shape of a crescent moon and a shoulder to waist ratio that would make a dorito jealous

damn okay. alright. glow up.

This persona is at any overpriced farmer's market ready to sell you his own specialty tea blends that all have goofy names like Rousing Rooibos Renegade and Darjeeling Desperado. I would feel safe with him alone at night. He is my friend. He smells like suede and fabric softener.

[ace-angel-judas]

Jungkooks shoulder to waist ratio JESUS CHRIST

He has the dorito body 😭

[this-little-lighthouse]

Aaron: Katelyn, help us settle this once and for all. Who’s the more attractive twin?

Katelyn: *hesitates*

Aaron: *scandalized*

Katelyn: I don’t want to die! Also, the shoulders.

Andrew: I’ll kill you for that comment

Neil, nodding sagely: the shoulders

[garbageisland-0]

paperwork 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

a distress post 💖

***Rook PE Uniform edit (using Silver PE Uniform card as the base) is by anonymousblubber (their Discord username); posted with their permission!***

*inhales sharply*

Since we’re going through a phase of Rook rot on this blog, I’ll take this opportunity to lose my mind 🥰

I’M PREFACING THIS POST WITH THE DISCLAIMER THAT I SWEAR I’M NORMAL, I’M VERY NORMAL.

Alright.

So.

I swear I must be the last person in the TWST fandom to come to terms with that fact that Rook is, in fact, muscular. THIS COGNITIVE DISSONANCE HAS BEEN AT THE FOREFRONT OF MY MIND EVERY TIME I’M REMINDED ABOUT IT AND IT BRINGS ME IMMENSE PAIN OTL AT THIS POINT I CAN’T EVEN TELL IF IT’S IN A GOOD WAY OR IN A BAD WAY BUT I FEEL COMPELLED TO SHARE THIS ROT ANYWAY

I DON’T KNOW, IT’S NOT REALLY SOMETHING I PAID MUCHA TTENTION TO UNTIL I WAS TOLD “OH YEAH YANA CONFIRMED IT IN THE TWST ART BOOK”, YOU CAN’T REALLY TELL FROM STARING AT HIS ART IN THE GAME???????????? 😭 ESPECIALLY SINCE HE DRESSES IN THOSE FLOWY ROBES OR LONG SLEEVES/PANTS ALL THE TIME ????/ 

HIS CLOTHES ARE THE ONLY TRAITORS I SEE IN THIS GAME, HOW DO THEY MAgi CALLLY CONCEAL ALL THE MUSCLE huH????? THE CLOTHES ARE EVE N BIGGER LIARS THAN J WORD IS

You really mean to tell me that Rook is just as buff, if not more buff than people like Silver and Sebek??? WELL THEN, WHAT ARE YOU HIDING YOUR GUNS FOR, SIR?????? Remove thy sleeves so I can whip out a fucking tape measure and see how you stack up compared to Jack, Sebek, Silver, etc. 😊 C’MON DON’T BE SHY DO IT FOR THE SAKE OF SCIENCE EXPOSE THOSE ARMS, HUNT

I was told Rook’s in-game model has a “thicker” neck than the other characters, but to me the difference is so miniscule that I’m like, “WELL HOW WAS I MEANT TO NOTICE THAT, I’M NOT A VAMPIRE SO WHY WOULD I STARE AT HIS NECK?????”

NOT ME WITH A RULER PRESSED TRO THE SCRENEN TRYING TO FIND THE DISTANCE BETWEEN HIS SHOULDERS AND WAIST TRYING TO SEE IF HE HAS THE GOLDEN RATIO OF DORITO BODS I AHTE THAT TWST HAS MADE ME SO B AT DORITOS AND STRIANGLES IN GENERAL OTL WHAWBUUBAFVOFAYIFOADVYIFAVDUOYFILFHVGSDOAYIFU;BHGVOUSIYFLAUBgiy3rygqwgpqeo8tgyp9fuo;ghwovyiabfSGOUVDBVADOBPAO;HL

LOOK, I kind of did expect him to be fit (being a huntsman and all) but nasdlilbasidasbd I WASN’T EXPECTING HIM TO SECRETLY BE BUFF AS FUCK UNDER ALL THOSE CLOTHES??????? OTL And apparently????? Archery is a sport that requires a really strong grip for the bow and arrow, so his arms have gotta be pretty toned…….… . …… . .… ……  .. a-and his legs are probably strong too … … . .  … . .f f or chasing his pr  e y  …… ….. .…  .. .  . .… . . LIKE WHAT AM I MEANT TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION HUH????????

Oh noooo Mr. Hunt 🥺 Ahah 💗 pretty please don’t chase me down through the woods and grip me hard when you’ve finally caught up INFACT TFAKE YOU R MTIME  TOYING WITH ME TO BUILD UP THE SUSPEN SE AND INSTILL AFALSE SENSE OF SECURITY IN ME BEFORE YOU SW OPP RIGHT IN AND IDK CAGE ME IN YOUR TH i GH s OR SMTH MAFGNASFAUIFOBIQYEAFPQAN;WYO49HPT8EUFN–

ANYWAY LIKE I WAS SAYING, I WON’T BELIEVE IT ‘TIL I SEE SOME EVIDENCE, SOME PROOF

I’LL ACC EPT MUSCLES ON OTHER CHARACTERS, I’LL EVEN ACCEPT EEL ABS. I KNOW iT LOOKS AND SOUNDS QUESTIONABLE BUT HEY IT MAKES SENSE THAT J WORD WOULD STRIP DOWN AND SHOW OFF HIS SCALES IN HIS MERFORM, NO MATTER HOW CURSED IT IS AT FIRST GLANCE. I WILL ACCEPT THE EEL ABS IF I REALLY REALL Y REALLLLLLLLLY HAVE TO s I nCE THE GAME LiTERALLY FLASHES THEem AT US 😭 BUT HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEV EIN ROOK’S BUFFNESS IF WE HAVEN’T ACTUALLY HAD THE CHANCE TO SEE IT YET???????????????

DON���T BE COWARDS AND SHOW US ALREADY 

Crowley sending the TWST boys to get some actual therapy? BY THE END OF THIS DAMN POST, CROWLEY WILL WANT TO SEND ME TO THERAPY TO HELP ME COPE WITH THIS SHIT

[radarchives]

Lucifer has what I call "Dorito ratio" wide shoulders and a small waist.

i lovingly call it his pringles can waist but dorito ratio also describes it perfectly

like it's not even that obvious when he's in his casual devildom fit (the waistcoat kind of saves him), but the human world outfit really said SIKE this man has broad shoulders, the tiniest waist and no ass and it's your problem to deal with

[shameboree]

I’m sure you hear this a lot, but your art style scratches my brain in just the right way, I’m just obsessed with your colors and lineless art style. It just looks so soft and sweet, like what holding a stuffed animal feels like. Whenever I see your art it fills me with so much serotonin and makes my heart feel so full!!🥰 It just nestles its way into my brain and I can’t stop thinking about it. Soft Beef Adrien has rotted it’s way into the deepest recesses of my brain and makes me smile when I think about it!

But what are the inspirations for your art style or how did you come into drawing the way you did?

IM SO GLAD I CAN SPARK JOY!! i Love to hear things abt myself and my draws bc my ability of self perception is about NIL (the other day i told my friend that like i know OBJECTIVELY its not tru but i FEEL like i dont have a personality and that i dont have like. a Style. im just BLAND. anyway he laughed uncontrollably so). i THRIVE off validation so im eating this ask

inspirations tho uh........................................ a HOT MESS STEW OF EVERYTHING I ENJOY I GUESS!!! i have a lot of shoujo manga elements bc i love everything to be feminine, but id say specifically my BIGGEST influence on that front has always been princess tutu. tbh i have a decent shoujo to shounen influence scale, so in equal measures itd be princess tutu (v shoujo) + immortal rain (shoujo from a shounen lense, a good mashup of both styles) + eureka 7 (okay tbh e7 is shounen thru a shoujo lense and is p feminine in terms of shape n form n whatever. nevermind i am influenced only by girly shit) + also bruce timm's style lol (the ROOT of my DORITO SHAPE SHOULDER TO WAIST RATIO preference).

i REALLY like geometric and simplified shapes and a lot of that has been influenced by the BARE BONES programs i gravitate towards. i am just really into economy of shapes and rationing of EFFORT, so lineless is like my fav thing to do bc it is absolute easiest to block out shapes and not bother with a sketch or anything, so thats probably what has influenced HOW i draw the most?? this means i am LAZY is what i am getting at here. i am the most CUT CORNERS bitch i KNOW. almost everything i do is done w the mindset of WHAT CAN I DO TO GIVE MYSELF THE LEAST AMT OF WORK POSSIBLE. HOW LAZY CAN I BE. this is probably the single greatest determining factor in the how and why of my STYLE DEVELOPMENT

[skittidyne]

hi skitty!!! for purely curious (i wanna draw them) purposes, do u have any details abt issac and uhh i forgot his name but dorito guys appearances u could share? i wanna follow ur ~vision~

Dorito Guy my beloved - his name is oliver! he and isaac get Actual Names in the second chapter once viv actually gets to talk to them instead of chase them through a demon summoning building.

oliver is tall, fairly built, and has the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a dorito. it's canon! (was i thinking about chris evans jokes? yes. do i regret them? no.) he's almost always well-dressed because lawyer, but he's the type of person to look good in anything. his hair is consistently described as gelled and i personally imagine it as kind of a warm medium brown, though i'm not sure the color is mentioned that much (i'm kind of doing physical description very specifically). dark brown eyes too! i'd say he's very classically handsome in an american white wholesome frat boy way. usually grinning or at least friendly looking, suave when he needs to be (for work), but also a big goofball too.

isaac is short - i'm not giving numbers to heights anywhere but he's described as barely being taller than natalie, who is not tall (only taller than vivienne and megan, who are Tiny Balls Of Rage If You mention How Tiny They Are, that's how short they are). so he'd look even shorter next to oliver, and also pretty skinny, because he is. he's mentioned as going to the gym to try to build muscle, but his demon also calls him underfed a couple of times. he's a shrimp! (and very unhappy about it) he mentions in book 2 that he's turkish, so warm light-to-medium brown skin and medium-to-dark brown hair. the ponytail with plants in it is definitely still a part of him! he has hazel eyes (which are usually described as "icy", because it's fun). he does technically own suits because law firm, but he does Not like dressing up, and thus avoids it at all costs. (he likes to wear clothing merch of his streamer friend, though)