#i need to work out a new format

[sematarygirls]

🐞 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── rafe sees anxious!reader's tramp stamp for the first time

cw: suggestive but mostly fluff, angst if you squint, curvy? reader, body image insecurities

       It wasn't like you were hiding it or anything. You certainly weren't ashamed of the permanent ink artwork embedded into your lower back. In fact, you had loved it ever since you got it done.

The problem was that you were self-conscious about your body. You weren't big enough to be considered plus sized, but you weren't small enough to be considered ideal either. You were in a weird middle zone that left you feeling utterly undesirable and completely at war with your body, which led you to wearing a lot of high-rise pants and other articles of clothing that obscured your body—your lower back included.

You also met Rafe in the winter. How he, the hottest guy in Kildare and maybe even the entire world, found you of all people attractive aside, the weather meant that you were never in bikinis or cropped shirts and shorts around him.

Those things combined with the fact that you were too scared to have sex with him meant that you had never been in a position where he had been able to catch a glimpse of it, leaving your boyfriend completely in the dark to your tattoo.

Plus, you sort of forgot it was there. After it healed and there was no longer pain or that persistent, unfathomably uncomfortable itch to remind you that you had gotten your skin altered forever, it was out of sight, out of mind.

Those things combined with the fact that you were too scared to have sex with him meant that you had never been in a position where he had been able to catch a glimpse of it, leaving your boyfriend completely in the dark to your tattoo.

Until you finally decided to stop being a nervous wreck and spend the night at his house. It was going to be completely innocent, nothing more than some cuddling and a slightly awkward moment of realization the morning after as you felt morning wood pressing against you for the first time. You were inexperienced, to say the very least.

He offered you some sweatpants with a drawstring and a shirt for you to wear, and since you had dreamed of this since you were 13, you had obliged, trying not to seem to excited at the thought of being in his clothes, enveloped by his scent. It just seemed like something oddly intimate and domestic, something you longed for.

You pulled your pants off and pulled his sweatpants on, tying the drawstring, but the pants still hung a little loose on your hips. You turned your back to him, lifting your shirt off, and just as you started to slip his shirt on, you heard his voice, making you freeze.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, his obscenity mixed with shock making the sentence come out much harsher and more jarring than he had intended. He wasn't as angry as his tone intended. In fact, he was really fucking turned on and incredibly curious. His sweet, shy little girlfriend was hiding a tattoo in the sexiest spot he could imagine.

"What?" You asked, quickly pulling his shirt down and turning to him, your eyes wide with worry. Your mind, adept at overthinking every micro expression and shift in tone, immediately started running with possibilities, most prominently, that he had seen something about your body that he didn't like.

"The tattoo," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn't tell me you had a fuckin' tramp stamp."

"Oh," you replied softly, your blood rushing to your cheeks. Your mind immediately worried that he didn't like it, that maybe it would be a deal breaker or he'd think you were some kind of slut. "I-uh- I don't know..." You tried to explain yourself, stumbling over your words as your mouth struggled to catch up to your brain. "I guess I forgot about it," your excuse sounded pathetic even to your own ears as it left your lips, but you didn't have anything else to say, nothing that wasn't a string of apologies and pleas that he wouldn't leave you, anyway.

"You forgot you had a tattoo on your lower back?" He raised an eyebrow, sitting up on his bed and crossing his arms, his biceps bulging slightly. He didn't mean to sound like an asshole, but it was practically in his DNA. He was working on trying to be gentler with you, realizing when you needed him to be softer and when you liked him acting like sort of a dick, but working on were the operative words in that phrase. He wasn't quite there yet.

"It's just..." You struggled to find the words to explain. Rafe didn't have tattoos. He didn't know how easy it was to just forget that they were there. After a certain point, it just becomes a part of you that you're used to. You don't really think about it or perceive it as much as other people do. "I don't really see it because of where it is, so I- um- well, it's easy to forget that it's there... I guess?" You sounded completely unsure of yourself, to the point that you worried he might think you were lying, whether that was a valid concern or just your anxious brain trying to fuck with you, you weren't sure.

He leaned forward, saying nothing for a moment as his piercing blue eyes regarded you with a scrutinizing stare that made you feel like he could see right through you. You fiddled with the hem off his shirt, biting the inside of your cheek anxiously as your gaze darted around the room—you always overthought how much eye contact was the correct amount. "Turn around," he ordered after a moment, his voice low and gruff. "Let me see. Properly this time."

"What?" You asked, your eyes snapping to his and widening a fraction as you were caught off guard by his demand. You weren't entirely sure what you expected to be honest, maybe to be broken up with, or just chewed out for keeping a secret or getting such a tattoo in the first place, but for some reason, it hadn't occurred to you that he would want to look at it, really look at it.

"Turn around," he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument this time. He didn't like repeating himself, and he especially didn't like feeling like he was missing out on a piece of you, this girl that had taken him completely by surprise and made him forget that anyone else existed. "Now."

Your brain seemed to short circuit, and you stood there for a minute, blinking at him with your lips parted as if you were going to object, but instead, you simply turned around, holding your breath as you entered your natural state of constant worrying.

Your breath hitched slightly, your eyes squeezing shut in fear and anticipation as he gently tugged the shirt up, revealing your back. he tugged the sweatpants down ever so slightly to see the bottom of the tattoo, and you waited for what seemed like forever before finally feeling his warm fingers run along the healed ink.

The image depicted on your skin, like art on a canvass, was two swans, kissing to create a heart with their faces. One of them was lightly shaded, meant to depict a white swan, and the other was darkly shaded, meant to depict a black swan. It didn't have an explicit meaning to you. You just thought it was pretty and really liked swans, the fact that they mated for life speaking to your hopeless romantic heart.

His fingertips traced the line work, a gesture that was sensual and seemed to leave fire in its wake. He stared at it for a long while, such a beautiful and permanent piece of art on his girl in such an indirectly intimate area making something within stir.

"You hate it don't you?" You breathed out, the words falling from your lips in a concerned hurry faster than you could stop it. The silence was suffocating, not knowing what would come after making your skin crawl with anxiety.

"Face me," was all he said. He wanted to look you in the eyes when he said what he had to say, wanted to make sure you really heard him and understood that he meant what he said.

You turned back around to face him, looking down at him as he placed his hands firmly on your hips, pulling you forward to stand between his legs. Your brows were knitted in worry, looking down at him like you were going to burst into tears if he'd started laying into you. You really liked Rafe—it was too soon to say love but... you did—and that mixed with your people-pleaser tendencies made your stomach turn at the thought of upsetting him.

Realistically, you had no reason to be so nervous about his reaction. It was your body, you could do whatever you wanted to it, and you had gotten it before you two even got together, but your brain didn't really care about what was realistic; it only cared about worst case scenario and disappointing people.

"Baby, you are absolutely gorgeous, alright?" He said sternly, already aware that you were preparing yourself for the worst and probably working yourself up about it. "And, fuck, I mean this tattoo... it only makes you more sexy to me. You're fuckin' perfect."

Your cheeks heated up again, not with fear or embarrassment this time but at his compliment. You also visibly relaxed as the clarification that he wasn't mad soothed your nerves a tad. You let out a surprised giggle as he tugged you down onto his lap.

"You got any more sexy little tattoos hidden under these clothes?" He asked flirtatiously, flashing that panty-dropping smirk that made him look ten times more handsome, especially when he was gripping your thigh with one hand and holding you securely against him by your waist with his other.

"No," you smiled, tentatively wrapping your arms around his neck, not knowing if it was as attractive as it seemed in books. "Just that one. Sorry to disappoint," you continued, your voice soft as you bit your lip shyly—one of your many anxious habits.

"Mm," he hummed, dipping his head into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. "Shame," he murmured, placing soft kisses against your skin as you giggled. The tension in the room had completely dissipated, replaced by a lighthearted and flirty atmosphere.

Rafe knew you weren't ready to go further than just kissing, and he was going to wait for as long as you needed him to. Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't get horny at the idea of pounding into you from behind, your tattoo completely exposed for him to gawk at, but he knew baby steps were in order. He needed to get you okay with sex before he molded you into his little personal porn star.

                         ୭ৎ

author's notes .ᐟ   described my own tattoo as the one reader has, but if you have your own or want to imagine it as something else, feel free to do so! i just thought i should describe the tattoo for the story's sake <3

also, i know this is a little different from the giggly and jokey couple we saw in my other anxious!reader x boyfriend!rafe fic, and that is because this is toward the beginning of their relationship. reader is still trying to learn to be more comfortable with rafe enough to be herself and realize that he loves her, even it she doesn't like herself, and rafe has never done the relationship thing, especially not with a girl like reader, so he's still learning to express his emotions and be soft and warm with her the way he wants to and know she deserves.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

[hotdogmchiggin]

Company Mandated Fancy Fits on the Tulpar 😏

Also had to include the REAL star of the show (and a bonus)

Based off of this and this. Thank you very much joetastic for being inspirational 👍

The REAL reason this is late

[itsdefinitely]

based on a textpost

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[icewindandboringhorror]

indeed my exact process once every 8 months or so

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

. IT’S SO OVER

[thedrotter]

not-yet-dead-person

silly comic of a conversation in-game i thought was too funny not to make something proper for instead of a doodle ww

(timelapse + wip images (thus silly process commentary in read more if you like artist commentary :3)

i think the sketch looks silly and goofy and funny so i find it important to share with you the mere presence of the faces i drew on it. i drew it on top of the boxes without staying inside its borders because i find my proportions can get wonky if i draw them cropped in a restricted space. and I feel trapped otherwise and i will draw BAD!!! give me spaceeeee to go wild!!!!

the head circles are there for emotional support

very low res speedpaint because truth is the canvas was much bigger than the space where my comic was placed. i didnt account when exporting my timelapse in 720px that that tiny space would look so pixelated ... but it's able to be percieved, so its okay.

(i will now comment on my process and it is not brief sorry)

usually i would try to clean up my sketches and figure out what goes on top before jumping into linework, but since there are multiple panels and drawings i chose to jump into inking right away for the sake of brevity. i just went in with a brush that uses pen pressure and drew what was needed. i added extra line thickness and contrast in areas around the face because it helps direct your eyes there more easily that way.

according to her equipment rei has a chain belt but i only remembered it existed once I was going to color, and i did not like that discovery... I chose to ignore it to maintain my peace. i already have the color palettes for these characters figured out, and i didnt really want to think about a new element at the moment www I tend to overthink those things a lot so i skipped it

the rest is rather straightforward! not that anything else wasn't, but in here i could turn my brain off and sing. linework and sketching require mumbling so i cannot turn my brain off. just block in the characters with a solid color so i can have a mask (something along those lines,) where the color can stay inside. then just color in !!!

Base colors just had slight cell shading on the skin, and for the hair i airbrush a bit of the skincolor in low opacity near the forehead... I'm not sure what it means, but i can look at the faces easier with it somehow. i like the gentle subtlety it adds even if you cant really tell. it makes things look nice.

background was just me blocking in the color of the wall and floor, shade the wall a bit, then slap a noise and free use wood texture on top. work smarter not harder ! yet it took a bit to make it look stylistically fitting with the characters, and even now i think bottom middle panel looks odd. whatever!!!

for the middle panel i thought itd be funny if the background was a solid silly and colorful one to contrast the next panel's sketchy black one. a contrast to how the word widow is seen. on that note my handwritting is not pointy. i gaslighted my hand into thinking that it was indeed pointy in that moment so i could write "not-yet dead person" in letters that didn't seem cute. my hand did not fall for it but it complied anyway

that's basically it! I'm not sure what else i could say that doesn't feel barebones because it really is that straightforward. if you're curious I used clip studio paint for this. only special brush used was for linework (a brush named Lemon Brush), the rest used were just the default. my computer gets the least credit. it was trying to convince me a 20mb file was going to nuke it all the time and hardly let me save multiple times so i do not appreciate it

[mirrortouchedsea]

dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tries not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next, if they bothered to keep track of that. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read the letters on the page, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, careful of the pages that were falling apart, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp. 

the room the boy lives in, the only room he has memories of, is empty besides himself and the book. sometimes the people above would give him water and stale bread to eat, and then there was a cup and a dirty plate, but otherwise it was just the boy and the book. the boy knows why the people above have locked him away, they told him that he was a freak of nature, unnatural, dangerous. but the boy could only make lights in his palm, and that wasn’t very dangerous at all. he thinks to himself that the people above are the dangerous ones, locking away a child for something like this, but he can’t say that out loud. he doesn’t want to die again. 

the boy’s stomach grumbles and he curls in on himself, the light in his palm fades out. he longs to see the sun again, to play with the other children he can hear through the ceiling, to be normal. the people above must have decided to punish him again, though, as he doesn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink, to eat. his stomach would eat through his skin and he would still wake up the next day. why can’t he just die once and for all and be rid of the pain? why is the world keeping him here? why was he even born?

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much. 

--- 

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times, but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass? 

--- 

a clattering on the floor wakes the boy up. the people above decided he can eat today. stale bread and water again, but better than nothing to the boy. he crawls closer to it, listening to the door. it closes and the voices disappear. where was the sound of the lock? did they forget? 

the boy scarfs down his food and water before tiptoeing up the stairs. he doesn’t hear any voices, but he needs to be careful. he doesn’t remember what the above looks like, but he needs to leave. he needs to be free. 

slowly, quietly, he opens the door. it’s dark on the other side of it, but still much, much brighter than his room ever was. he closes his eyes but keeps the door open. breathe in, and out. opens his eyes again, blinking the brightness away. pushes the door further open. steps on the hard ground outside the door. he’s so close. closes the door quietly. turns around and holds his breath. where was outside? pick a direction and go. his legs hurt. turn the corner, listen for voices. voices are dangerous, get away from the voices. whisper his spell, create a small light. keep moving keep moving keep moving. window ahead. break it? open it? is he strong enough? lift the window up. too weak. voices coming. hurry hurry hurry must get out now. whisper spell again, hand on window. break the glass and jump through it. cuts on feet cuts on legs deal with that later. voices getting louder voices shouting. run run RUN. 

the boy runs away from the building, away from his room. freedom is so close. first get to the trees, then… he hasn’t thought that far, but he will find a way. gunshots from the house. he runs faster, must get to the trees, must hide, must be free. cur memini, he whispers again, crossing into the forest. his spell can make lights and now break windows, but he needs it to protect him at this moment. run run run until the voices are quiet again. his legs are giving out, but he needs to run. he can’t die now or they’ll find him. keep running. bare feet on sticks and stones and sharp things, everything hurts but he can’t stop. he keeps running until the sun comes up. his heart beats out of his chest. 

--- 

when he wakes up he doesn’t know how much time has passed. his heart beats fast and he sits up. did they find him? he looks around. trees, rocks, a gurgling stream. he’s free. he’s free. he sighs and lays back down. how far did he run? he needs to go further. away from other people, away from anyone who might lock him up again. he sits up again and forces himself to stand and walk towards the sound of the stream. he can start there. water is important, and he might be able to get food from the little stream too. 

his first drink of the stream water is icy cold, quenching his lifelong thirst in just a few swallows. he washes his face with it, removing years of sweat and grime. he wants to sit by the stream forever if only he could, but the people will find him eventually if he doesn’t keep moving. but he allows himself a few minutes to bathe in the water, savoring the feeling of water on his skin. his stomach still growls, wanting something more filling than the freezing water of the stream, but that would have to wait. he needs to get his bearings. 

the light of the outside world is almost blinding, he realizes. the sun and the snow made it almost impossible to see anything. he should get up above the trees. can he even do that? cur memini, he says, trying to get his voice to be louder than a whisper. his feet float a few inches above the ground. he closes his eyes and says his spell again with more conviction. Cur Memini. he feels himself shooting into the air before he opens his eyes. he can see the forest stretch out for miles around him. trees covered in snow in every direction. if the old house is behind him, he should fly straight ahead, towards the forests on the mountains. tentatively, he leans forward and focuses his magic on keeping himself afloat. 

it doesn’t take much to exhaust what little magic he has, but he’s put more distance between himself and the old house and the people above now. he should be safe to rest, truly rest. but first he should find something to eat. is there anything to eat out here? something in his head tells him to look a little closer to the ground. to his left. there’s a bush full of berries. he’s never had anything but stale bread, and doesn’t know what to expect as he crushes one with his teeth. 

the sensation overtakes him for a brief moment. the berry is sweet, yet tart, and delicious. it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and he thanks the little voice in his head for the information as he picks several more berries from the bush. the juice runs down his chin and makes him sticky, but it feels good. he feels truly alive for the first time. 

once he’s finished picking the bush clean of its fruits, he needs to find a place to rest, to stay warm. he’s shivering in the intense cold of the north, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. the room was never very warm after all. he listens to the little voices calling out to him, guiding him towards a small cave, instructing him on how to make a small fire to warm himself up. a small rabbit brushes against his leg and he swears one of the voices is coming from it. and with the fire going, he thanks the rabbit before it hops away back into the snow. he would be roasting that same rabbit over the fire a few months later. 

the boy can’t stay in the cave forever though. as days turn to weeks turn to months, he worries that the people above are getting closer to him. they’ll put him back in that cold, dark, damp room again. he needs to keep moving. he has been practicing his magic, casting stronger spells, and he needs to be ready to fly. it's been long enough. cur memini he says holding his hand out. a rough stick with twigs tied to the end flies into his hand. it’s a poor excuse for what he understands is a broom, but it will work. he climbs onto it and focuses. cur memini cur memini cur memini. he lifts off the ground and watches as the branches of the trees get shorter and eventually he passes above the treetops. 

he takes a moment to gather his bearings. he no longer remembers the direction the house was in, but going up is his best bet of staying away from the people above. he laughs, realizing that he is the one above them now. after a moment, he flies into the mountains. the small voices change into bigger, unfamiliar ones as he gets further into the mountain range. they tell him to hide, to stay away. he doesn’t listen. they cannot be more dangerous than the humans he is running from. 

the boy lands, still exhausted from using so much magic, but he was able to travel further this time. that has to count for something, surely. he gathers some sticks and looks for another cave to make his home in. the caves remind him too much of the room he left, so he chooses to stay close to the entrance, close to the light that reminds him he is free. the fire keeps the animals away, but the voices are curious about the new presence in their woods. they make him curious too. he should stay in the cave tonight though and regain his energy. maybe he can get some small game to fill his stomach before settling in for the night. he listens for a rabbit’s voice, or maybe a squirrel, anything that would be small enough to kill with his hands. 

at last, a small fox’s voice is heard nearby. he wonders if fox will taste different from the other game he’s eaten thus far. he lifts a hand-sized rock and slinks out of the cave towards the voice. it takes a few minutes to find the source, but the fox is curled under a tree, shivering, hungry, just like him. the boy hesitates before bludgeoning it and slinging the corpse over his shoulders. there are more foxes. he is much more important. 

the fox is only the first animal he hunts in those mountainous woods. he spends several years in that forest and eventually humans settle up there as well. the boy, or rather, the man now, has made a name for himself amongst the human populations of the north. he is no longer afraid of humans capturing him and locking him up. they are still terrified of him, but now he is in control of that terror. the hunters that left his territory alive whispered tales of the great wizard owen who inhabited the mountains and terrorized anyone who had the bad luck of running into him. 

all of this is perfectly fine with owen. eventually his reputation will grow beyond himself, encapsulating atrocities that were impossible for even someone as strong as oz to commit, but that would be a problem for future owen. for now, he is still young and living in his cave on the outskirts of a small village and scaring hunters who stray too far from their boundaries. the wolves don’t like these visitors either and gladly listen to owen’s lamentations. it keeps his hands clean of the bloodshed if he isn’t casting the spell himself. the wolves don’t care for owen either, but they respect him. and that is enough for owen. 

the first of the unwanted visitors was a young man, someone who wanted to provide for his family. he pleaded with owen and the wolves to let him go and he wouldn’t cause any problems. those pleas fell on deaf ears though as owen looked the man in the eyes. won’t your family be disappointed, he asked almost innocently, you don’t have anything to show for your efforts. the man stammered a response, they’d rather i come back alive with nothing than die trying to find food. is that so, owen reached out for the man’s chin, the distance between their faces was almost nothing. y-yes, sir, please just let me go and i won’t bother you anymore. owen grinned. oh i’m sure you won’t be causing us any trouble again. the wolves stalked out of the woods, drooling at the prospect of tearing a piece of that man for themselves. owen snapped his fingers, and they came running forward, only to stop mere inches from the now trembling man. there was a suspicious yellow stain in the snow beneath him. p-p-please sir, anything you ask, it’s yours! then make sure you tell the rest of your little village that this forest belongs to the great wizard owen. the man ran off, leaving behind a hunting rifle and a ratty sack. the rifle would be of use, but the sack became tinder for his fires. 

despite the warning from that first man, hunters continued to enter into owen’s territory. and one after the other, they ran off screaming with their tails between their legs. this should have annoyed owen, that people would ignore all of the warnings and stories that had started popping up about him, but it doesn’t. their fear feeds into his magic power, only making him stronger, and that is all fine with owen. he is no longer a weak child locked in the damp, dark basement, and he never will be again. 

[vivacia-18]

After many years, guess who decided to try their hand at bookbinding again?

That's right, me! And of course I chose I giant of a fic, because I am nothing if not ambitious XD. I think it's 3 inches or more thick, and came to a whopping 1088 pages! The fic is Count Your Blessings by @madmothmadame , a Founders Era Tobirama centric fic and I cannot recommend it enough <3 <3 <3

My cover fabric and end paper are pretty simple, one part because I thought it suited the story, one part because I had them on hand, and one part because I'm a raw beginner and that's about as good as I could manage XD

It took a lot of waffling on my part (graphic design is NOT a great skill of mine) but overall I ended up really happy with how the title page came out - if I had the artistic skill to paint/draw it or the supplies to transfer it, this would have gone on the cover as well. Alas, for now it shall remain inside only.

A little detail that gave me some grief, as I waffled on font style and size a bit, but ultimately I'm really pleased with it - I used a plum blossom branch as the scene break throughout the book. If you've read the fic, you probably know why I picked that particular image for this and the title page ;)

I realized after printing that some of my paper had gotten a bit aged, even though it was stored in the printer. I wasn't about to waste the paper, ink and time for a reprint though, so I left it. Since the book is for me, little things like that are no bother. I was just glad I didn't fuck up in the printing or signature sewing order X'D

I included the authors notes from the end of each chapter as a bonus section at the end, so they'd be preserved with the story but not breaking up the flow of reading the book ^_^

Final view, this time from the spine - think I left the gap a little to wide between the cover boards and spine but eh, again this is just for me and only my third binding ever (and certainly the largest! XD) so I'm still really pleased overall.

A very fun experience, and I'm looking forward to my next re-read of the story, where I'll be doing it with my very own chonky boi version held in my hands :3

[kyouka-supremacy]

---

[syrupyyyart]

one of the first and only teasers for motley: the cartoon

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

i'm desperate to know how many notebooks you have filled with these drawings. i must know, please, i'm on my hands and knees

Most of my comics are drawn on standard letter paper (8.5"x11"), and to date I have filled 23 pages! I usually manage to fit roughly 6-8 comics per page.

Mspaint recreation of the first page!

[keets-writing-corner]

I FINALLY GOT CHAPTER 2 UP

Here's chapter 1 if anyone missed that one

gawd it took me so long I'm so sorry! In my defense it's double the length of chapter 1. Here's a little preview

It started with a boom that rivaled thunder. 

Lilith jumped awake in the dead of night, heart pounding. Around her, animals were chittering, panicked. There was an energy, a tension in the air. She couldn’t quite understand what it was or what was happening. She still could find no source of the noise that had awoken her. 

Another boom rattled the air, followed by actual thunder. Both were accompanied by blinding light from the sky above. The ground beneath her shook, and the plants rattled their leaves. 

Lilith stood and began to run. She could barely see what was going on through the canopy of the trees, but she was determined to figure out what was going on. Normally at night, she wouldn’t have been able to see anything. But with every crash, every shake, every boom, the sky lit up with different colors and illuminated her path. 

When she finally reached a clearing, her suspicions were confirmed but her questions remained unanswered. 

The sky above her was in turmoil. The clouds churned and danced around each other, trying to crush each other and melting into each other. They tugged and pulled, ripped and teared away at each other. Lights would flash from behind them with their deafening booms. It looked like the end of days. 

The only experience Lilith had that was even remotely akin to this was light rain, but mostly only because it’d be cloudy with distant thunder. This-... This was something else completely.

Lilith watched transfixed. Hoping maybe at some point it would let up or fade. But it wouldn’t. At most there would be a longer stretch of seconds between the next flash of light than other times, but it never waned. 

Soon, the battle of the sky stretched into the daytime, distorting the colors of the sunrise around it to a violent red before eventually giving way to day. The clouds remained dark, and heavy, sometimes even black at times. 

Lilith had hoped that during the day it would make more sense, or be less frightening. Instead, what she saw was only worse. 

“Lilith!” a voice called to her, and she turned. Eve was beckoning her, “Come on! I know you don’t like Adam much, but don’t be alone in this!” 

Lilith glanced at the sky one last time before running over to Eve. 

Eve was right. As annoying as Adam was, being alone with that chaos reigning above her would be worse. It seemed however, whatever it was that was happening, was also rattling Adam. For once, he took on a more protective role over the two women, trying to comfort them. 

They spent the day together eating the fruits of Eden, and sitting together looking at the sky. 

When the sun started to set, the sky was still rumbling and booming. The lights distorted the clouds into monstrous shapes before immediately destroying them and then creating more shapes.

“What in Eden’s name is going on??” Adam hissed under his breath. “Is this going to last all night too?” 

It did. 

None of them got much sleep. 

It lasted all throughout the next day as well. And the next night, and the day after that. 

It never rained, and the wind only minorly picked up, as if down below on Eden was completely separate to what was happening above. Lilith eventually grew weary of Adam once again and broke off to be by herself. Clearly, whatever was happening wasn’t about to hurt her. 

Finally, after seven days and seven nights, when the dawn was breaking through the thickness of night, there was a sickening sound that started off as a crackle but devolved into a rattle as a single light flared in the sky and then jortled across it. 

The sky went quiet as that single light began to fall, a smaller piece of it broke off and went on its own trail. 

Lilith could only watch in morbid fascination as the streak of light fell, and when it hit the earth, the ground itself shook, rippling out in waves as if it had turned liquid. 

Lilith grabbed onto a tree for stability as all the animals screeched around her. 

Then it settled. 

The ground no longer shook.

The sky was silent and still. 

Looking up at it however, in the exact trace of the light, the edges of the clouds had been ripped apart, and the sunrise was making it glow an angry red. The air was uncomfortably chilly. It felt as if something had been irrevocably changed.

___________________

And here's the link again for the full thing

[mapsareforbraindeads]

ughhhhh rewriting your own ocs is hard

[landfilloftrash]

Nightmares and Night-Lights

***

Bayou-bayoushkji- bayou,

Seedjit kotjik na kriyou,

Her feet ached. Why did they ache. She hadn’t moved. Or maybe she’d moved too much, instead. Warm, too. It was too warm. The wind was too soft for the heat around her. Too wet. Familiar– not water. Thicker. Blood. On her. On the cobbles. On their faces. Her claws. Felt heavy and uncomfortable. Mom was split in half. She knew it was mom, despite her insides now decorating the ground, because that was the necklace she wore and opened to lull them all to sleep. It was open now. It was playing the tune softly, without pause or break like it would when mom played it; mama’s voice floated nearby. 

On nje bedjin nje bahat,

Oo njevo yestj m’noho rebjat

That might be Riik, laying next to it, with their eyes next to a smashed head and torn up body. Their eyes were facing her. Riik did tend to stare a lot. She wasn’t sure, but the way they were curled reminded her of how they’d fall asleep. Mama was nowhere to be seen, but from the corpses strewn all over the broken buildings, she felt numb with the certainty that she could find her. The voice that sounded like her provided only that same dread that she was gone.

Vcje pah lallichkum seedjatj

Kashou smasljetsum yedjatj.

There were others, even closer to her, but the way they were torn she couldn’t tell what creature they were. How long had she been standing here? She’d watched this. Right? She’d seen familiar faces and not rush around her and die. She thinks that was death. It reminded her too closely of when she caught a mouse or vole. But it was so loud. It still was. Why hadn’t it quieted? The insides were everywhere. She always hated when it was loud. Where was Ahky? Where was mama? She was holding a hand. It wasn’t connected to anything. 

She could taste the heavy pennies in her mouth. 

Bayou-bayoushkji- bayou.

Eno jolted to the side with a distressed cry. 

The room she found herself in was dark, shadow-filled room, the pale light that would barely give a human’s eye a fragment of information filling the room the dark but defined shapes of beds and desks and lumps filling the beds for the young owlin’s eyes; it was confusingly disorienting, as though she expected to be somewhere else.

But overwhelmingly familiar.

. . . Oh. She was in the church.

She blinked and peered around the room a secondary time, her heart thumping loudly in the pin-drop quiet– no one seemed to awaken at her call, which she was pretty happy about, since if one kid started groaning, it usually wasn’t long before the entire room started talking, shushing, and groaning alongside them.

That was just how her fellows functioned. She usually joined in on the shushing, if she did at all. 

(A pillow over one's head did wonders, especially with her experience with her siblings.)

A pillow over her head wasn’t a sure way to stop the nightmares, however, and she rubbed her eyes to blink away the afterimages of torn up bodies of her family and her friends like the aftermath of house cats finding a den of rats.

It made her tremble in the summer heat.

She– no. She couldn’t go down that road of thought. If she started thinking about if it were truly a ‘prophecy’ like what the ‘pastors’ talked about, she would start crying– and crying would wake everyone and ask her what’s wrong, and she’d have to explain her nightmare, and she’d have to tell about who she saw— 

Mister Rollo!

Her head snapped up as one of the faces that haunted her sleep, covered in gore, flashed in her vision.

That was how she knew it was a dream. It had to be. Mister Rollo was too big to be taken down by anything short of a dragon. Unless the monster was sneaky. Or perhaps dragon shaped. Then maybe it could have gotten him without anyone knowing. Oh, shoot– what if it was one of those ‘prophecy dreams’ or whatever they were called and Mister Rollo was in trouble?

There was only one way to make sure.

Shuffling from laying on her side, (she slept on her belly, but her nightmare had apparently gotten her to toss and turn onto her side) she hopped off the bed and armed herself with blanket and pillow, and began to hustle her way into the dark of the hallways.

Part of the challenge was making sure no one saw or heard her, because even when she was small, (Well. Smaller.), she recognized that adults didn’t seem all too thrilled when you were up and about after they called ‘lights out’. She wasn’t particularly sure on the hows or whys of it, but she knew that much! So that was her main goal in the darkness of the church— aside from trying to wrack her scattered, wired brain into remembering where his room actually was.

She just.. Had to ignore the lingering taste of copper in her mouth was all, and the noises from the woods outside the windows that reminded her too closely of screams or calls for help.

That’s all.

It took a couple false starts and a couple incorrect room-peekings, but she eventually remembered her way in the monotonous hallways. Landmarks weren’t really a thing, so she tried navigating via the feelings around her. Not really a sure choice, but so far her gut hadn’t really steered her wrong!

Besides she was pretty sure wolves couldn’t get in the building, so she was okay to take her time and find her way through.

Clicking quietly on the tile and wood, she let herself stand there for a moment and feel the silent air. Incorrect feeling. Mister Saint Rollo had a weird energy to him, but it was a nice one; made her feel comfortable. So it wasn’t any of these— and she made her way through like that.

At some point, her head decided to remind itself that she had a map of the building that she had been working on for the past few weeks and that it would probably be really useful right now. But it was all the way back at the creche and what if she got caught on her way back out?? It was under her mattress anyways so she couldn’t get at it without a bit of effort on her part. So all in all, it took longer than she liked while sneaking, but suddenly at one point her feet stopped and she stared at them. She didn’t think to stop walking. Turning her head to the door next to her she peered up at it. This one?

Some doors, when you open them, have a creaky feature. This feature varies; some creak when you open them slowly. Some creak when you open them too fast. Some don’t creak at either speeds and only creak when you open them at a vaguely normal pace. Eno had been listening to the doors throughout her stay and found them to be of the first variety— mostly, at least. After gently grabbing the handle she moved the door swiftly to avoid the slow opening creak and peered in. 

The small mountain on the bed was a promising sign however. But she knew illusions existed. Monsters could use magic. And Dragons were powerful magical creatures; She would not be fooled. Ducking into the shallow gap between the door and its frame, she dragged her weapons of choice in with her before she closed the door once more.

Creeping closer to the bed Eno noted that, yes, it did look like an asleep Mister Rollo but she wasn’t completely convinced. She wasn’t sure how she was going to be convinced, but she knew that she needed to find that proof. By the time she was standing right next to him, she had completely assured herself that she’d figure it out, and then go back to bed. 

Now. If it were an illusionary spell, casted by a monster as either a disguise or a stand-in for something that wasn’t there; would it start to fail if she stared at it too hard? She wasn’t quite sure about how magic worked. It didn’t sound right, but she knew from the way some fancy dressed people complained in town, or even some of the bigger kids in the church, that magic was extremely ‘finicky’ and ‘could make no sense’, so she was hazarding that something to that effect might happen, but it wasn’t a completely assured thing. So as she stared intently, she tried to take note of anything that could be categorized as ‘off’ or ‘very-definitely-not-what-it-seems’. 

Not as easy as it sounded. 

Maybe she should just wake him up and see if it was actually him? No, because if it was then she’d just be interrupting his sleep— she didn’t want that— but if it wasn’t actually him, then it’d be no harm, right?

Eno stood there debating, and studying, moving her position slightly so her legs didn’t ache too bad and to get a new perspective, and doing more debating about that studying, for an unidentified amount of time. Mostly because she wasn’t paying attention and had no inclination to.

(It was nearly an hour.)

But as she was finally settling into the idea that he was what he appeared to be, and that she could leave, she noticed a slight shifting– well. Stronger shifting than he had been doing for the time she’d been watching, and she paused in all her processes to tune back in and see.

His eyes slowly blinked partially open— and then seemed to jolt into awareness and onto an elbow as his eyes widened and looked back at her, blinking rapidly.

A couple seconds passed as the Goliath visibly strung together coherent thoughts, and a quiet sleep-slurred voice greeted her; “….Hello, Enososin.”

Well that was ‘fortuitous’ timing. Mom liked that phrase.

“Are you real?” She demanded, quietly, but getting straight to the point of her debate.

In the dark, Rollo’s expression flashed to one she had absolutely no idea how to categorize; just in general— (and if she could, she’dve labeled it as ‘having a brief existential crisis’)— before he slowly nodded at her. “…I believe so, yes.”

She poked the closest thing to her— his arm— with suspicion. It felt real, but nighttime always had secrets.

Hm. Well. It sounded like him, looked like him, and probably by all accounts was him. Besides, she was already planning on sneaking away the second before he woke up, so, for now, it was safe to assume it was, in fact, Mister Saint Rollo. But in case it wasn’t, or she had been pre-emptive in her checking in on him…

She nodded to herself as she finally concluded her deliberation. “Goi’g to be making sure.”

“‘Making sure’?” He echoed.

She dropped down to her belly and swiftly crawled underneath the bed with all the confidence of a child who played in crawl spaces, dragging her blanket and pillow underneath it with her.

There was a brief moment of silence as she got herself settled into her little spot before she heard the bed creak above her— what she presumed to be Rollo to be laying back down; and she was right! Up to a point. 

In the dark she saw a shape peek where she was, bright whites of his eyes squinted slightly in the shadows; he had laid back down to peer under the bed and look at her.

“Enososin,” he quietly, but gently— not mad then, just seemed to be confused— asked into the slight echo, “what are you doing?”

“Maki’g sure!” She whispered. She’d already told him but that was fine. He just seemed to be a bit slow to wake up!

More silence. “Making sure of what, little owlette?”

“It took you a long time to wake up while I was looking at you!” She fiercely whispered her explanation, “If a monster creeps in, you won’t know! I’m making sure that doesn’t happen!”

Another moment of silence, and she allowed it, because he seemed… actually, she had no idea what that expression was. His face was strange, in the best of ways she could possibly enunciate in her limited vocabulary, but nonetheless she couldn’t parse some expressions yet. This one looked… at the very least soft, but the widened eyes and the creased brow confused her. Those meant a lot of different things with humanoid faces.

Eno wasn’t about to ask what was up with his face, so she waited patiently for him to either go back to sleep or continue talking. Eventually after a couple more moments he sighed, quietly, but she saw him slump a bit with closed eyes and a small smile on his lips. “Alright, little savior,” he quietly chuffed to her, “you plan to defend me as I sleep?”

She chirped an affirmative with a little headbob.

“Well,” he hummed, and there was shifting above her and suddenly one of his hands reached down below and offered itself to her, “I have an idea for your quest.”

She looked at his hand and chirred at him in interest. “What’s the idea?”

He wiggled his fingers at her, and as he did, his tattoos started to glow ever so slightly as a spell manifested like water filling a cup in his palm, glowing softly in the night. “To give you my power to defend against the mightiest beasts, should they choose to go against a defender of your caliber.”

‘Oh !’ Her eyes widened, ‘Magic!’ That would absolutely help in her mission. And if it was some of Mister Rollo’s magic… She reached for his hand and the orb of light floating within the little presenting curve of his palm and touched it. 

Upon her touch, the orb didn’t quite shatter, but it did break apart into little bright pieces, swirling her finger– hand— arm— before sinking onto it like vines on a branch. A warmth accompanied the swirling magic like instead of touching an orb of soft light, she’d grabbed a very pleasantly hot mug of cocoa filled her hand raced through her arm, settling nicely throughout her bones and leaving a warm center in the middle of her chest as she blinked in slight surprise. She hadn’t been sure what was going to happen, but that had been really cool. She chirped in quiet excitement as she pulled her hand away, looking at it in curiosity.

“That should be able to tide you over,” he murmured with a yawn, drawing her attention back to the receding hand and tired face– right. She’d woken him up. Well now she definitely had to make it up to him. “You sure you’ll be alright down there?” 

Eno chirped another quiet affirmative. No need to be loud when he was clearly sleepy. “Nothin’ will get you while I here!” 

“I’m sure it won’t,” he hummed again, a different kind of smile on his face as it disappeared, once more going back to laying down, indicated to her by the slight creaking and shuffling of the bed’s frame above her, “be careful down there, little one.”  

She waited until his own shuffling had stopped and waited patiently for the now familiar sound of sleep from him. Once she was sure of it, she began shuffling her blanket into a position where she could watch the door and window with no real issues. Making sure it was spread out as much as it could go, she layed on her belly and settled on her blanket, and then methodically pulled the edges over her legs, left side, and then right. The last step was simply pulling her pillow closer to her as she settled her chin on it.

Tonight, she was the wolf that would bite if anyone got close to the edge.

Pulling a– what had Mama called it–? An all-nighter, wasn’t exactly new to the owlin, but it had been a long time since she had done so. Eno mused to herself that she hadn’t done this since mom’s birthday, all her siblings having wanted to surprise her with breakfast and all their little gifts. Admittedly, she had volunteered to wake them up, so she had no one to blame but herself for the boredom that ensued, but the mere fact she had been put on duty to wake the others so they could get breakfast ready kept her strong throughout the night. Minus a couple of nod-offs that she had quickly rectified with pinching herself. She had stayed awake ‘till daybreak, done her job by quietly waking the others, but had passed out as everyone else made breakfast. 

She yearned to be able to do that again— to wake others to surprise their collective loved one. Even if she went to sleep afterwards, her mom had come by while she was still trying to fight sleep and chided her gently for the all-nighter, claiming that she wasn’t built for being a ‘night-owl’, before giving her kisses and a thank you for the gift. Then told her to sleep and that she would wake her for lunch. That had been nice. She missed that.

Maybe they’d come back. She’d like to introduce her moms to Mister Rollo. He was very nice, and even if they didn’t like the church surely they’d get along fine with him? Mama would probably have a joke stowed away that would make him laugh. Mom might comment on something he was wearing and usher him away to ‘fix him up’, considering that was her job. Mom liked clothes.

She had no idea how her siblings would react to him. Okay, that was a lie; she could make a very smart guess at it. They’d probably start various climbing techniques to investigate him. Odus would probably see what was in his pockets. If he had any. She didn’t know, and was not in a position to ask. Maybe later. Zofaas would be the only one of them to ask smart questions– Kinzon would try to copy, but none of their brains worked as good as Zoe in that regard. Ahky would maybe whisper to her about whether or not he was as nice as she was claiming (sometimes she lied about someone’s niceness, but she would whisper to her twin what was the real deal) and she’d be able to tell him that he was as nice as she claimed. Oo, Frul might not get along with him but they’d certainly like Ms. Saint Celestine. They liked stars. So did Riik. 

Riik…

She hoped they’d come back. Or whatever had taken them would give them all back. Was this what it felt to be on the receiving end of a scavenger hunt? They didn’t steal people, but if this is what it was like she never wanted to do it again. But if something stole them, wouldn’t there have been some kind of sign? Did she miss it? Should she check the house again? And if it wasn’t being taken, when would they come back? She hoped they missed her as much as she missed them. Or at least thought about her. Even thinking would be nice.

It was thoughts and wants like that that kept her awake as she peered between the entry points with critical eyes. The shadows moved slowly, the night methodical in its plodding through time, but she didn’t give into the soft call of sleep. It had its chance and decided to give her nightmares, so she was preventing them and that preventing was making sure the sounds her ears picked up throughout the night stayed away.

She didn’t want to move in case something happened while her back was to the entry points, but occasionally, to wake herself up a bit, she gently patted the bed above her to make sure the weight of a goliath was still resting on it. Eno guarded the room with critical eyes until the morning birds were singing and her own eyes were like candles, burned down to slits. No one was getting her family without warning again.

Eno suddenly rapidly blinked as she saw something moving in front of her, getting her to raise her head from her scrunched pillow, before realizing that Mister Rollo had gotten up. Getting up. Process of being awake. Whatever. He was ok. She’d done what she set out to do. She made a soft sound of delight. 

His feet shifted suddenly at her sound, and it took a couple of moments but then he was kneeling and looking under the bed again, this time on the floor with her.

“You’re still down there?” He whispered to her. The quiet sound of ‘bafflement’ was very much present there, Eno thought with a quiet giggle.

“Mhm,” she chirred back, “I tol’ you I’d keep watch.”

“So you did,” he whispered back, “so you did.” And she was too tired to see what his face did as she let herself slowly blink, but when she was looking at him again, he was gesturing gently for her to move towards him. She quietly trilled at him in confusion. He only gestured again with slightly squintier eyes. Happy? Too tired. Sleepily, she figured it couldn’t hurt, so she gently shook herself free of her blanket before crawling forward with her weapons of choice.

Rollo backed up as she crawled from under the bed, and she didn't really process why his hands were slowly approaching her– clearly meaning to grab her but she didn’t really mind. She knew he was safe. Then she was gently scooped from the floor and placed on the bed. Oh.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, now, little owlette?” He murmured to her, “Even mighty protectors need to rest.”

Her brain was. Sloshing in her skull like– like? Soup. Yeah, soup. She liked soup, but not this soup. She was already partially gone. But she nodded as the words processed. Yeah. “Had to make sure y’were okay,” she slurred a little bit, curling once more with her blanket, “tha’wuz my job.”

“And you did beautifully,” he chuckled. She felt him gently pet her head as she shut her eyes. “Now sleep, Eno. You’re safe in the light.”

And she was out like a candle.

***

Prologue; One - Two - Three (you're here!) - Four

High Seas; It Begins - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1 - Blood in the Water pt. 2

[pisshandkerchief]

allow me to indulge my gay theatre nerd side for a moment. now if i'm being perfectly honest, i normally don't like jukebox musicals. they usually feel too forced to me and i prefer a musical that actually has songs, y'know, written specifically for it and isn't just trying to fit songs into a story they weren't made for. it just feels more creative to me. if i wanted to listen to preexisting songs, i'd just listen to them at home without the extra story. i don't need a musical for that. HOWEVER. if anyone wanted to write a jukebox musical using fall out boy or mcr songs i would eat that shit UP no questions asked. in fact if i had any talent i'd write one myself