#modern audience

[mk-wizard]

Comic and VG Fangirl turned Mother's Message

After hearing the latest news in entertainment and how far companies obsession with ESG and DEI has gone, I feel compelled to say this. Not just because I'm a fan of superheroes, comics, anime, video games and even happen to be the author of several webcomics myself, I'm something else that goes far beyond all of that: a mother.

The legacy superheroes that are being beaten down, replaced, disrespected and at times, humiliated like Spider-Man, Luke Skywalker, Indiana Jones, Solid Snake, Chris Redfield, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Son Goku, Sailor Moon, She-Ra, He-Man, The Incredible Hulk and more... These are the heroes I grew up with. The heroes who inspired me not just in my career choice, but also in being the person I am and how they shaped my views on ethics. Namely human rights, free speech and how goodness is proactive not passive. You should always do the right thing if you can and perhaps that is why I feel compelled to speak up now.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am for being sensitive, inclusive and getting with the times, but not at the cost of artistic freedom, the integrity of the superheroes and icons who founded the lore we have inherited and the beauty of the art itself. And yes, last point does matter in art and the art of comics, video games and film are not the exception. For a lot of characters including female ones, their physical beauty is a part of their character. It is what makes them iconic, recognizable and visually inspiring. Believe or not, their beauty, athletic physiques and composure is more than just eye candy. It makes them look godlike, powerful and like they actually are heroic. And if you argue with me that I am exaggerating, answer me this; could you ever picture Superman having the same emotional impact with just his mere presence in the room while having a receding hairline, a beer gut, average height, less muscle and a plain face? No, of course not because Superman looking like an angel is a part of his character and adds to his heroic persona.

The point is that the watering down of fantasy, the beauty of fictional characters of any gender and making everything realistic is bad and concerning for the modern audience. And I know this better as do a lot of adult fans alongside me in my generation than any of these companies ever will because one simple, but end all reason: we are parents of the modern audience. We know our own children. We know what is best for them. We know from our own life experience that imagination, escapism and the importance of heroes and fictional ones are in a child's life. Companies may think they're giving the modern audience what it wants, but we the fans-turned-parents, know what our children need.

We don't want our children to have politically correct heroes who shame one group in order to uplift another, incompetent heroes who never take a situation seriously or passive heroes who hand over the bigger responsibilities to someone else. We want them to have heroic heroes who inspire them, who teach them that doing good can make a difference, that we're all in this together, that how you react to danger or a bad situation matters, and that even fighting with your words needs to be proactive in that you should never be afraid to tell the truth or say what you mean.

In short, us legacy fans are not angry because of what you're taking from us. It's what you're denying our beloved children. The same children you claim to be catering to, but you're really not. Children have no hope of ever becoming wonderful adults if they cannot enjoy being children while they are children and imagination is a part of that. A child's imagination tends to be ideal and fantastical while being free from the bounds of reality and real world politics.

With that in mind, my child doesn't need a lecture from these companies. It's my job to give him lectures and mine alone as his mother. The job of Disney, DC, Marvel, Sony and all the other companies creating the media my son is indulging is simple yet important... your job is to give him a hero that he can be immersed in and inspired by.

Make that hero bold, beautiful and truly super.

PS: Keep in mind that equality is a side effect of quality. Write well and the rest will happen naturally. Don't forget that comics, video games and superheroes have always been naturally progressive mediums.

[redeemed-wren]

I do find it facinating how Dracula Daily has turned Dracula into a different kind of myth now that we're in its third year running. I've seen a few people compare it to Hadestown, or a timeloop. The enjoyment isn't JUST from engaging with the story now, it's engaging with the experience, and while the emails are still the same as previous years, we've been through this before.

The way we as an audience interact with this story and this way of telling the story changes the genre. Its no longer a gothic horror, classic lit story. It's become a mythology, a tragedy, a repeating loop. Jonathan Harker returns to the castle every year. Every year it happens again. And that changes it, builds up new mythos around it, even if the words stay exactly the same.

[ffcrazy15]

Someone needs to do an analysis on the way the Kung Fu Panda movies use old-fashioned vs. modern language ("Panda we meet at last"/"Hey how's it going") and old-fashioned vs. modern settings (forbidden-city-esque palaces/modern-ish Chinese restaurant) to indicate class differences in their characters, and how those class differences create underlying tensions and misunderstandings.

[mitchellnman]

Always Hungry.

MDNI.

PAIRING: Martin x reader

WARNINGS: pwp, mentions of bruises and scrapes (martin) pussy eating. Reader is afab, but there's no gendered pronouns or use of y/n. Hastily written, no beta reader we die like victorian children.

WORD COUNT: 942.

A/N: Hi hello I haven't written a fic in 2 years but Martin made me crawl from my grave please enjoy!

—

Martin's room smelled like incense. Cheap incense, bought online with a holder that made the smoke look like a waterfall. Martin only burned the incense to cover up the smell of sex and sweat, in case the landlord came knocking. It mostly worked, unless you pulled back the blankets on his bed. Then, it was all him, musky and heady and sweet, and you, more or less the same.

He was feeding his skink some blue worms, to match his blue eyes, and the blue candy that poked out from between his lips. He smiled. Martin always smiled when his skink ate, her blue tongue flicking out. She was a silly little creature, lacking a few brain cells, but cute nonetheless. More importantly, she seemed to like you, when you scratched under her chin, or held her little hands with your fingertips. Martin liked it too.

He was shirtless, only in a pair of black jeans that hung low on his hips. You followed the curve of his spine with your eyes from under his hair, down to his waist, and further down, his pants only halfway covering his perfect ass. He was covered in bruises, scrapes, and what you supposed you could call rope burn, from seatbelts digging into his skin. He was beautiful in a nihilistic sort of way, as if Chuck Palahniuk had specialized in paintings instead of novels.

You pushed away from the wall you were leaning on as you watched him, unable to resist touching him anymore. Your cheek brushed over his shoulder, fingers tracing up his sides. He smelled like you, and like sugar. His jaw flexed as his tongue rasped over the candy. Your hands moved up his back, cold fingers on warm skin.

Martin set the skink down in her tank and turned around in your grasp. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes piercing as he tried to read your mind. You had half a mind to tell him everything you thought. His fingers cupped your chin, and tapped your lips. A wordless request for you to open your mouth. You did, and he brought his lips to yours, pushing the blue raspberry candy into your mouth. You kissed around it, your senses overwhelmed by the artificial flavor. Blue raspberry, what was it, really? Certainly nothing that occurred in nature.

His black hair fell around both of your faces, shielding you from the sunlight that was streaming in through the window. He made an obscene moan, and pushed the rest of the candy into your mouth with his tongue.

"Finish it." He whispered. His blue tongue darted out, and licked your lips. He smiled, a devilish thing that could only mean sin was on his mind. With that knowledge, you took his hands, and walked backwards to the bed. Your thighs hit the mattress, and you fell back. Your tongue pressed the candy to the roof of your mouth so you didn't choke on it.

He descended upon you like an animal, ravenous after starving for days, his hands pushing your shirt up over your ribs. His blue tongue darted out and licked your skin, teasing for only a moment. Then he bit down, nipping at your stomach with that same grin. His large hand squeezed your crotch, concealed by a pair of his sweatpants. His palm pressed against you, slowly massaging you through the fabric.

Martin sucked a mark into your skin, below your belly button. His head dipped down further, sniffing at your crotch, his nose pushing against your clit.

You smiled, and your hands found a home in his hair. It was a little greasy to be sure, but it was soft on your fingers, and he moaned so sweetly when you tugged on his dark locks.

His clever hands tugged your pants down around your ankles, and he didn't give you a moment to breathe. How could he, when you were the best thing he'd ever tasted? Vaguely, he wondered if he could make a candy that tasted like you.

His tongue swiped over your clit, and you shivered with want. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks as his head dipped lower, intent on devouring you.

"Martin," you gasped. "I have to go to work—"

You could feel him smile against you, his breath hot against your cunt as he laughed.

"Should have thought of that before..." He teased, utterly merciless. He pushed two fingers inside of you with ease, still slick from last night, and this morning. In fact, he could still taste himself inside of you.

Your back arched as he found your sweet spot with a practiced ease. Your hands curled in his hair, and the moans he made sent vibrations straight up your spine, like a low bass played from a quality speaker.

He coaxed you to your peak, and you came with a loud cry, your vision going utterly white with previews of heaven. He held you in place as you thrashed, a large hand pressing into your thigh.

When you opened your eyes again, his head was on your stomach, cheek resting against your skin. Martin was smiling, obviously pleased with himself. His nose and chin were shiny with spit and slick, his chest pressed against your core, just enough to keep your body thrumming.

“Call out. Spend the day with me.” He said. His fingers traced over your skin, drawing nonsensical patterns, writing invisible sheet music that only made sense to him.

“Martin…”

“Please.”

It was hard to resist him. Him with his blue lips, and shiny chin. Him with his black, messy hair. You sighed, and admitted defeat.

“Fine.”

[eggcats]

Idk if this is a controversial belief or not, but I genuinely believe Alastor would like Verosika Mayday

Like: she's a woman, she's a singer/performer, AND she uses her powers over attraction to her own advantage, and I think Alastor would find that funny and respectable as someone unaffected

Also, imagine how hilarious everyone else's responses would be to them just. Getting along like besties.

[in-stitchesx]

Throwing this sketch at you because my motivation is slowly withering

[mactavishenjoyer]

Price:"so my wife-"

Farah:"WIFE?"

Price:"yeah???"

Farah:"you're not out yet?"

Price:"you thought I was gay?"

Farah:"no, I know you're gay."

Price:

Farah:"is she like a lesbian and is it like a fake marriage?"

Price:"she's a lesbian..."

Farah:"I KNEW IT!"

[vermillionax]

I'm very happy Dustborn is bombing. It's terrible.

[whalehouse1]

Co-worker who knows that I’m a nerd, “What are your plans for the 4th?”

Me, trying my best to figure out how to explain that the Thunder Saga is dropping for Epic, “Uh, well, YouTube is going to have a premiere for something I’m excited about.”

“Oh? What’s premiering?”

Me, literally stumbling over my words, trying to figure out how to explain Epic.

Him, “It’s something nerdy isn’t it?”

Me, “Yeah, so some guy seemingly got a hyper fixation on the Odyssey during Covid and decided to make a musical about it in parts, and the part with one of my favorite Greek monsters is this one.”

Him, confused cause he 100% was not expecting that type of answer, “Well, I hope it’s good.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, this is a bit of a shot in the dark on my end, but I have a fashion inquiry (and I apologize if I sound ridiculous at all; I’m a bit at my wit’s end).

Is there a good way to research forms of casual Victorian garb? I feel like I’m going a bad route by inserting the word ‘Victorian’ into any search because it results in rather fancy things (or modern twists on such that are purchasable). Would it be wiser to site dates in search? Is this going to fruitless?

Sorry for taking up any time if this is out of wheelhouse. But if you do answer, I really appreciate it.

I'll do my best! Focusing on womenswear, because...well, that's what I know best. But if anyone wants to chime in about the gentlemen, please do so!

So, casual Victorian doesn't always read as Casual to us nowadays. Standards of casual clothing- that is, clothing one wears for everyday life when nothing special is going on -were rather higher than we have today.

This is an illustration of matchstick-makers in London's East End c. 1871, done by one Herbert Johnson. The women have their sleeves rolled up and aprons on, but when they leave the factory (rolling their sleeves down, adding hats to go outside- which most of them would have done; it was part of looking Respectable) they might be indistinguishable to us from any other women of the same era wearing not particularly bustle-y skirts. Some of them probably have on the commonplace Matching Skirt And Bodice dress format of the era; others have on blouses made from the same patterns as those worn by middle- and upper-class women.

Also note that they have on ribbons, chokers, earrings...they're just like us. They like wearing things that make them feel Put Together, even though they're doing one of the lowest-valued, most dangerous jobs open to women at the time. Because people have always been people, regardless of time or social class.

And for middle-class women and up, Casual might be even harder to distinguish from "fancy" to us today.

This is a mid-late 1880s day dress with a skirt length suitable for lots of walking, from Augusta Auctions. Could not tell you the social status of the woman who owned it, genuinely. Probably not the absolute poorest of the poor, but beyond that...this is a dress you could potentially wear to run errands. Even to go to work, if your job wasn't especially physical. Because. I don't know. It's a Day Dress. You wear it for day things. It's not especially formal, because then it would be made of a more delicate material and probably have a longer skirt (unless it was a Serious Dancing ball gown). Possibly also a lower neckline and puffed sleeves, if it was exclusively for the most formal events.

The idea that a dress was "fancy" just because it had ornamentation wasn't really in their cultural vocabulary.

Here is a group of women playing croquet in what looks like the early-mid 1870s. They're just hanging out! Having a good time! They're probably middle or upper class, but that's what they wear to chill outside with friends- to play a lowkey sport, even.

So yeah, it can be hard to map Victorian everyday clothing onto our "jeans and t-shirt" understanding of what makes an outfit casual. They had skirts and blouses for most relevant decades, but even those outfits often end up looking formal to us nowadays because of what I call Ballgownification- the idea that, since we only wear clothes that look even vaguely like what they had for extremely dressy occasions, we assume everything we see of their clothing was dressy.

(Someone please ask for my rant about Ballgownification)

Searching for "day dress," "walking dress," "blouse," "blouse waist," and "shirtwaist" (the last for the late 19th-early 20th century when that term became commonplace) might help. Best of luck!

[wine-wrtj]

Look me in the eyes and say to me that modern AU Will Byers and Max Mayfield WOULDN’T be master thrift shoppers I fucking dare you

[vamprisms]

modern tv shows that drop all at once are killing the cliffhanger. we used to have to WAIT for answers and it was SEXY

[electronickingdomfox]

J.J. Abrams: “Ah, so there it is, the proof!! I’ll go canonize this couple, as it was CLEARLY the intention from the beginning of the series!!”

J.J. Abrams: “?????? What!? They’re JUST friends! No, I’m not going to use this. If Kirk and Spock were supposed to be lovers, we’d have seen them making out on screen back in the 60′s, right?... Right!? No, I’m not being homophobic. Look, I changed Sulu, and now he’s gay... right there on the background.”

[mitchellnman]

I wrote this for you based on the Michael and Martin thing you posted in the tags. It's yours to repost or do whatever you want, you can change it a bit too if you want. Post it in the tags so more people can read it (of course if you want) I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️🥰🥰🥰

Sharing is loving

Initially Y/n feels a little sorry for Michael when the private lessons start. He's all awkward and embarrassed barely looking her in the eyes when he speaks.

But then she starts to find it interesting, mainly because he clearly has no experience with women. Little by little, she starts to clench her thighs whenever she hears him explain the material to her, and she can no longer even concentrate on what she should be doing.

Y/n then decides to talk about it with her boyfriend, Martin. He just laughs as the two fuck the night away. And when they are exhausted under the sheets he tells her that if she wants to ruin the little virgin nerd he won't be the one to stand in her way.

From the moment Martin gives Y/n carte blanche, she begins to provoke Michael more and more, wearing short skirts and revealing necklines. Feeling her own pussy getting wet whenever she notices the lustful looks he gives her.

He never does anything about it, and Martin just laughs and fucks her when she tells him about what happened that day, unable to understand how the poor guy has the ability to not jump on such a beautiful girl offering herself to him on a silver platter. He would have already spread her legs and eaten that pussy until she cried, which was exactly what he was doing now since that idiot had no ability.

Weeks passed and Michael took no action. Martin lost his patience. He went to the nerd's dorm.

-I don't know what part of the fact that my girlfriend wants you to fuck her you didn't understand. - He said as soon as Michael opened the door and entered the dorm without being invited.

Michael's eyes widened in shock as he walked in behind him as the door slammed shut behind them both.

-W-What do you mean by that? - Michael stammered in bewilderment.

-She wants you to fuck that pussy. - Martin rolled his eyes as he looked at Michael's wall. - Got it? Fuck her until she screams.

-Dude, I'm not going to fuck your girlfriend. - Michael said, blushing, looking at the floor, trying to hide the erection that was forming in his pants just at the thought of fucking Y/n.

-Damn, you're hard just from hearing me talk about her, aren't you? - Martin bit his lips in a mischievous smile making Michael blush even more.

-N-No. - Michael's eyes widened. - I swear I've never looked at your girlfriend like that.

-I know you looked man. - Martin laughed looking at the ceiling. - And it's okay.. no problem at all, I don't mind sharing that hot pussy.

-You shouldn't talk about her like that. - Michael blushed, starting to get irritated by the crazy and disrespectful stranger in his room.

-She doesn't mind. In fact, she likes it. - Martin rolled his eyes. - We both share it, and she also doesn't mind if I eat another girl every now and then.

Suddenly a light knock sounded on the door followed by Y/n's sweet voice calling Michael's name, making his eyes widen and Martin smile widely.

-It's her! - Martin ran towards the closet leaving Michael stunned. - Don't tell her I'm here, or that I came here... just... just eat her pussy already!

Michael stood there without moving for a few moments before he walked mechanically to the door and opened it, his face red and still slightly shocked.

-Is everything okay Michael? - Y/n sounded worried and he just nodded positively letting her in while his eyes fixed on her thighs exposed by the very short skirt.

Michael could barely teach Y/n that session, his gaze wandering from Y/n's tits to Y/n's thighs and then to the closed closet door. He could barely hide his own erection anymore and when Y/n looked him in the eye and asked with those beautiful red lipstick lips if everything was okay, he practically begged.

-Can I fuck you? - The smile that appeared on Y/n's face made his cock tingle.

-Of course you can. - She nodded, already taking off her thin blouse and leaving her breasts bare before his hungry eyes.

-Have you ever seen tits before Michael? - She asked very sweetly and he denied it with his eyes glazed over at her.

Y/n then took off her skirt and panties, slowly opening her legs for his animalistic gaze.

-And a wet pussy just for you? - She sighed, running her fingers through the slit and pulling the moisture to her clitoris. - Have you seen it before?

Michael just shook his head once more, completely enchanted by the sight before him, momentarily even forgetting about Y/n's freak boyfriend hiding in the closet.

-You can touch me Michael. - She moaned, looking at him as she slowly masturbated for him. -I want you to touch me.

And Michael did what he had been wanting to do for a long time. He lay between her legs and sucked a pussy for the first time in his life. It was incredible. Her taste was divine and he wanted to suck her until he died while she pulled him by the hair and moaned his name, begging for more.

He was clumsy and had no technique, but Y/n was loving it anyway since his desire to suck her off overcame everything else.

-Oh Michael, more, more. - She pulled him closer and closer. - Fuck me. Put your cock inside me.

Michael almost came in his pants after that, it took all his strength of mind not to let it happen.

And afraid that he wouldn't be able to do it a second time, he quickly undressed and without thinking about anything else he penetrated her, moaning with contentment as he felt her pussy pressing against him.

Y/n moaned and whimpered as she scratched his bare back. And unable to contain herself any longer with her wet and tight heat around him, Michael came inside Y/n, almost crying with pleasure at the overwhelming sensation never felt before, not being able to be compared to cumming in one's own hand not even in a million years.

And when he fell next to Y/n's trembling body, the closet door opened and Martin came out, his eyes dark with desire as he massaged his own cock. Michael felt his whole body burn with shame as he pulled the bed sheet to cover some of his nakedness. Y/n barely seemed to care, still lying on the carpet, panting.

-What are you doing here baby? - He asked still panting.

-I came to make sure you got what you deserve, but now I need a round too. - He said lying on top of her still dressed only with his pants open and fucking his own cock into Y/n's sensitive pussy that was still leaking with Michael's cum.

-So fucking wet and hot. - He growled, fucking her roughly. - What a delicious pussy you have, my love.

And seeing Martin fuck her in that shameless way before his eyes while Y/n moaned and asked for more, Michael felt himself harden once more and squeezed his own cock under the blanket.

-Let me return the favor. - When Y/n realized she just smiled mischievously and pulling the scarf brought her mouth to his dick. And Michael thought he would die right there.

As Martin fucked her Y/n moaned against Michael's cock, and with the waves of pleasure growing bigger he came a second time in Y/n's mouth who swallowed it all with a smile, then arched her back and rolled her eyes as she came on Martin's cock, who biting her neck tightly came in Y/n's pussy.

The three of them lay panting on the carpet, and Martin turned to Michael with a lazy smile on his face.

-I told you to fuck her, idiot.

Good morning to me, hot damn! 10/10, no notes anon. Thank you for the gift, and for allowing me to share it! I'm glad my late night tired ramblings inspire some folks /gen