#in that tiny four-page comic

[nekonicole]

This was all (besides the Leonin and Paige-) old sketchwork for the old birthday drawing I wanted to make for Habit! Some of it was a little more melancholic, while others were funny, but I'm still pretty sad that I never actually got anything done for it.

The first drawing here is actually in reference to that one post from nice/naughty cats of the week at this one place; "Felix - He knows what he did"

The Leonin was my first iteration of a design for Boris in this big, random DnD idea I got (which I do have more random doodles for; I might post those later or smthn)

And the last one is based off that quote from Arin Hanson - "That reminds me of a dream I had where I was kissing y-

...

A girl."

And finally, we have the (unfortunately very rushed) drawing of Paige and Poppy that I would have submitted for the 5th anniversary zine if I had actually finished it in time and been able to send it in in the first place. Either way, I think it's a goofy little composition that really shows off this stupid kid's feral-ness, and I feel like, in some way - somehow, this game really helped me. Besides scaring/guilting me into taking better care of my teeth, I think there's a lesson to be learned from it; a lot of lessons. About breaking the cycle of abuse, about finding healthy ways to deal with trauma, about the little things that you might not've thought were important but meant the world for someone else, and this game was also one of the many kickers that point out my painfully obvious soft-spot for Tragic Characters and my "I-can-fix-them-itus" - fatal with no cure™️

But in all seriousness, this silly little indie game about making people smile made me feel such a hurricane of emotions for a character that probably also gave me a new lasting fear of dentists.

Thank you, LimboLane, for this masterpiece of a game and the death-grip it has taken over my brain and heart.

(2/2)

HAPPY (late-) ANNIVERSARY!!!

Guess who hasn't been able to post anything for the past month-ish! ME!

Anyways, now that I can, I wanna share some of the doodles I've made for this wonderful game and its community!

To start off, we have the two more "collective" photos; just a big overview of all this... whatever that I've made over time

This is Poppy Thorns! My design for the Flower Kid! They're aro/ace, selectively mute, and despite being a chronic do-gooder, they can be very sassy and smug when they want to

Now for the feral child; Paige Raskals! They're also mute, just... A little different? They won't talk, but they will growl and try to bite at anyone that gets too close. Also, they have an opossum that they just sorta picked up one day named Apple Slices

Here we've got my attempts at figuring out a design for Wallus! And also a drawing of Kamal and an opossum- but he was pretty fun to mess around with, figuring out how I wanted his hair to look; although actually trying to draw the dreads was a pain in my side, all because "the urge to make his hair look like a mop is strong..."

I had actually initially considered making it really puffy like Gerry's hair, but it didn't really look right. Also, I imagine that he'd always keep a pack of gum and a pocketbook for learning French with him.

(1/2)

[vxnuslogy]

— pasalubong.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: kinich wasn't a sentimental person at heart, until you left to travel. neither was he easily upset, but here he was, undoubtedly upset that you didn't give him a gift with your recent package.

— warnings: ooc-kinich and ajaw (still havent done the new aq), he's a bit down bad, and misses you dearly.

— author's note: this is not angst despite the premise LMFAO. art credits to @.n429g on twt. | 1.6k words.

“delivery for kinich!” a mail man shouted, trying his best to not look down over the ledge the scions of the canopy is held. “delivery for ki—”

“i heard ya!” the small dragon yells, taking the sealed letter and small box from the man’s hands and throws a pouch of mora as thanks. 

the man sweat drops at the comical sight of the tiny dragonlord floating up to where kinich was. said man was dangling his legs over the ledge, hair swaying with the wind and an indifferent look on his face as he swats away his small companion and roughly takes the letter in his hands. he could only assume that the two had started another argument once again.

with a sigh, he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, “thank you for your patronage!”

kinich looked in his direction and gave him a small nod. there were few postal workers here in natlan, so he made sure to at least pay the man generously—especially with how his legs shake and hand clutch the side of the mountain for dear life.

ajaw continued to punch and tug at his head but his attention had zeroed in on the envelope. it felt heavier than the last and you had sent a small package with it. ‘for my dearest, kinich & almighty dragon lord, ajaw.’ the small note said with your signature right below it as well as a wax seal at the corner. your penmanship makes kinich smile and before ajaw can open his mouth, he takes the grapple on his waist and zips away to find a secluded place to open your gifts. they were sacred to him and therefore had to be treated with utmost care.

when he lands on teticpac peak, he sits down by one of the rocks and gently peels away the seal. kinich makes a mental note to stop by a market to get a new container for all your letters, after all, his bedside drawer can only hold so much of you over the years. 

‘to my dearest, kinich,’

with just four words, you had him smiling like a fool. one hand propped behind his back to support his weight as he leisurely soaks in your stories like a sponge. ajaw sits by his shoulder, impatiently demanding him to open the box that came along with your letter. kinich was not even half way with reading before he relented—you always had a knack for making pages and pages of stories, but he didn’t mind. you have been away for nearly 7 years now and send only a letter or two every few years. kinich learned to appreciate the pages of your love every time they arrive.

“hurry up!” ajaw demanded, waiting with bated breath as kinich opened the box. “learn to be patient, ajaw.”

the dragon only huffed and turned around but it didn’t take long before he dove head first into the array of gifts. while his little companion drowned in material luxuries, kinich took out items in piles and made a mental note to give them to their respective owners.

kinich tucked the small pouch with xilonen’s name along with your letter for her at his side. he will deliver these to her first, he concludes. as he’s sifting through the items, kinich catches a glimpse of ajaw sitting on a toy fox’s head with a small note with kachina’s name. the final item that seemed important was a small box containing colorful seashells with mualani’s name on it.

his brows furrowed in confusion as he sets all the gifts down carefully and sifts through the package one more time. and again, and again, until his lower back felt sore. ajaw noticed his antsy behavior and decided to look at what all the fuss was about. kinich sat down, head lowered with his bangs covering his eyes—ajaw was beginning to worry (but he would rather die than verbally admit it).

“hey!” ajaw turned to kinich who had stiffly stood up. clutching at your letter as the sliver of expectancy in his eyes dimmed. “don't tell me they actually forgot about you?”

“let’s go back,” he says with a subtly sullen voice. “we have to deliver these to the others.”

ajaw makes no further comment and sits on his shoulder as they zip from one place to another. he doesn’t point out the way kinich’s eyes looked duller and the way a frown tugged at his lips—he was upset. 

“hmph! i'll be sure to show them a piece of my mind when they get back!" the dragon complains to him as they arrive back home. kinich beelined his way back to his residence, a bit more aggressive than he normally would.

he doesn’t want to admit that he was upset—it was stupid. so what if you didn’t get him a gift after not hearing from you for almost a year? but how come everyone else had one? hell even citlani and mavuika received one, so why didn’t he?

with a click of his tongue he pushed past all the people in his way, muttering half hearted apologies here and there as ajaw kept calling his name. kinich was not upset nor was he disappointed—he wasn’t a child chasing after the trail of gold you left behind anymore. he was an adult now, someone people look up to and admire. kinich was no longer the shy kid that always wondered if he could ever chase after you.

“kinich!”

with the shout of his name, he was taken back to memory lane. how you would call to him from the ground, a pair of wheels at your feet as you glided through the rocky terrain as if it were made of ice. the smile you flash him as you point to your finish line makes his heart skip a few beats, rendering him only to reply in a nod because his mind has turned into a mushy puddle. 

“kinich!”

you have always been golden in his eyes. smiles bright like the sun, kindness gentle like its morning rays, and hypnotizing in the starry trail you leave behind. kinich remembers the first time he tried his hands on rollerblades. he felt unwittingly afraid of standing on his own two feet, the possibility of his world turning upside down with one single step scared him. but you were always there to ward away his fears. it wasn’t long before he took them off and said with a dead expression that he will never try them again. the laugh that he managed to steal from your lungs made all his suffering worth it.

“kinich!”

he doesn’t like letting things go, not when you’ve taught him how to cherish every little thing. but he’d hate himself if he kept you from your dreams. so there he was, all those years ago, standing by natlan’s borders, unable to say goodbye as the rest bid theirs. you had to make him face you—gently cupping his jaw with both hands and flashing a small smile, giving him a tempting offer.

“let me stay,” you said. you were willing to give up your dreams if it meant making him happy. kinich didn’t want his happiness, he wanted yours.

“leave,” he said bluntly. it made you laugh because it sounded incredibly rude, but the way he held your hand in his shaking hold, lip bitten until it almost bled, everyone knew he was struggling the most.

“i’ll give you souvenirs,” you offered as consultation and it took every willpower he had to say he only wanted you. 

“i’ll keep them safe.” he replied and you smiled.

“kinich!”

urging you to travel has been the best and worst decision in his life—you were enjoying your life but he was stuck missing you. his longing for the sun in his life greatly outweighed his happiness for you. how can he be happy when happiness is spelled with your name? the way you smile, and the way you leave a golden trail?

“kinich.”

“ajaw, enou—” his sentence was cut off when he turned to look at the smiling faces of his tribe. brows furrowed in confusion as he searched the crowd for a certain green dragon, but all his eyes could see was gold.

the wind in his lungs was stolen as the images of smiling faces turn to fade, his attention solely on you in the distance, ajaw by your side as you both waved him over. as fast as the winds could take him, kinich ran straight in your arms—his home. your laugh ringed like morning birds and your hands felt warm like the afternoon heat. you were home; you were his gift.

“pasalubong, for kinich,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice. 

“pasalubong?” he repeats, hands coming to cradle your smiling face. “what does that mean?”

you smile wider and hold his hands with your own. “it means gifts given by homecomers. but,” you tuck away a stray piece of his hair behind his ear as you tempt him in another embrace. “it can also mean ‘to meet again.’”

kinich laughed—airy and bright, like the setting sun. this was so you, he thought, burying his head in your neck. trying to make up for all the lost physical contact he had missed. 

“thank you for the gift.” he said with a smile.

you pat him on the back and hummed in delight. “i came back just for you.”

“i’m honered,” he jests and takes a step back, not letting your hand go. “you should be! the trip back home is nothing short of tedious!”

he chuckles because kinich knows he’s a goner. no need for xilonen’s amused teasing, mualani’s persistence and kachina’s curiosity. everyone in his tribe and maybe even natlan knew, kinich would wait for you knowing you’ll eventually come home to him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[zarvasace]

Whumptober day 18: possession. Image description under cut!

Edit: next>>

This comic is done in tall pages with a gray background. All the lines have a pencil-like texture to them, and it is not colored. Most lines and text are in black, with white and red being used symbolically and sparingly.

Page One

Panel one: A sketched landscape that evokes the Dueling Peaks of Wild’s world, lit in bright red by a full and bloody moon.

Panel two: A line of silhouettes, lit slightly in red light for some detail. They are walking toward the right side of the page. From right to left: Wolfie, facing forward. Time. Warriors, looking backward. Wild, looking up with his slate in his hands. Legend looking around. Hyrule, jogging to catch up. Wind, shading his eyes and looking up. Sky, glancing backward. Four, fully stopped and looking back down at his shadow on the ground. The text reads, in quotes as if recalling something from a memory: “Monsters stalk the shadows here, once they’re dead. Blood moons bring them back.”

Panel three: We see Four’s head and hand, reaching out toward something slightly below him. His expression is concerned. He’s lit in red light, including two little reflected red blood moons in his eyes. The text is not in any quotes or speech bubbles, as if they are Four’s thoughts: “...bring them [underlined] back. Could it?”

Panels four and five: Four, still in silhouette, kneels next to a puddle of bubbling shadow, lit in red light. First he reaches down toward it, and in the next panel, his hand pulls back suddenly as the shadow begins to extend upward. Flecks of red evoke the Malice in the air, and become more intense in the fifth panel. The fifth panel is interrupted by a large (loud) exclamation from an unknown source, with a dash before to indicate that the speaker interrupted themself: [all caps] “—FOUR!”

Page Two

Panel one: Four glances over his shoulder, still lit in red light with flecks of red flying around him. There are tiny tears in the corners of his eyes, and he’s smiling. He says: “Calm down, its [underlined] okay!”

Panel two: A copy of the previous panel, except for a few differences. Four’s tears are gathering a little bigger. The red flecks in the air have turned to flaming shapes. Four says: “It’s just my S—” but is cut off by the next panel.

Panel three: Four is still looking back, but a bright flash of red interrupts what he’s saying. His eyes go round, his tears fall, and he stops speaking. The red lights in his eyes are bigger. 

Panel four: Four kneels down in the middle of the panel, while shapes that suggest the other Heroes gather around him, indistinguishable from each other. Red flecks fly around them all. Text fills the background, as if from the Heroes muttering, but there is now way to tell who is saying what: “FOUR! That doesn’t look good. What happened? He doesn’t usually linger behind. Give him some space. He said to calm down? That’s the opposite of what we should be— Who has the Ma— [cut off by shapes] He has a moon pearl, right? He never touches the thing.”

Panels five, six, and seven: These panels are a sequence left to right, separated by dotted lines instead of solid ones. In them, we see Four, but not any of his facial features. In panel five, he stands up (there’s a word to make it clear: “RISE”.) In the next, he raises his hands to look at them, and lines indicate that he’s wobbling. His feet are turned in ever so slightly. In the last panel of this sequence, he is still looking at his hands, but there is less wobbling and he’s standing more firmly. All through these panels, he doesn’t say anything, and red wiggly lines surround him. 

Panel eight: A shot of Hyrule, looking grim with a shield already out, Legend, looking a bit worried with a hand on the hilt of his sword at his back, and Wild, who’s definitely worried. They’re all outlined in red light, but don’t have any red shining in their eyes. Wild, in a wobbly speech bubble, says: “...Four?”

Page Three

Panel one: This panel takes up most of this page, and shows Four looking up, with one hand on his head and a huge, maniacal smile on his face. His eyes are fully red, and he’s still lit in red light. Flecks of red fly around him, and the panel is shaded and has more detail than the others have had. A series of “AHAHAHA” laughing is repeated behind him. He says, in all-caps with a red speech bubble: “I KNEW THE LITTLEST WOULD BE EASIEST TO TAKE!!”

Panel two: This isn’t Four, but it is his body. Not-Four laughs, one hand up by his face, and keeps speaking with red speech bubbles: “The idiot let me right in! Me, his dead friend?”

Panel three: All eight of the other Links with swords and some shields out, making angry eyes as they stand in a line. The sky is red behind them. We see the top silhouette of Not-Four’s head, and he says: “oh… uh…”

Panel four: A copy of the last panel, except now each of the other Links looks either surprised or even angrier. They all shout: “STOP!” but the silhouette of Four’s head is now dissolving into red light. He says, “catch you suckers later!”

Page Four

There is only one panel on this page, and it is quite spread out to illustrate a lull in the action.

At the top, we see the moon outlined in red, but now with white on the inside and around it, as if the blood moon is disappearing. 

Text, without speech bubbles but staggered so that each sentence seems to come from someone else, without any hints as to who says what: “Does anyone have any idea what that was? …nobody? Where’s Four? What was that? He’s possessed?!” And at the bottom of this block, there is more text: “Guys… Who’s that?”

At the bottom of this page, we see a Four-like figure lying slumped on the ground, a few sparkles of white around him. He looks to be asleep. The end of his hood is curled above him without a charm, as if floating with a mind of its own.

The very bottom has text in white, the artist’s signature: “mina @ zarvasace”

[externalmemorycomic]

Image description: A black and white illustration, designed to look like a book cover. On a decorative ribbon, the title at the top reads “External Memory”. A scroll work border of leaves and flowers divides the illustration into three rounded panels. The largest panel is in the center and shows a caravan surrounded by greenery, puddles and potted plants. The two smaller panels beneath it show a cartoon cat and mouse respectively, facing each other. At the bottom is another decorative ribbon with the text “a diary comic by My Murphy”. After the cover follows an 8 page comic. The style is cartoonish and the colours are soft pastels. Page one: An orange cat waves and says “Hello! I’m My.” The cat holds up a white mouse and says “This is Mouse, my girlfriend.” Caption: My name is actually My, but Mouse is a nickname for comic and privacy purposes. Caption: When I started this project, me and Mouse lived on a little island off the Swedish coast. The panel shows a stylised, tiny island with a lighthouse, spruce and birch trees, leaning houses and a little dock with a row boat tied to it. The cat and mouse are standing on the cliffs and a swan floats on the water in the foreground. Page two: Caption: Now we’ve moved to Ireland where we live in a caravan in the middle of nowhere. A small caravan, surrounded by greenery, overgrown trees, rocks, puddles and potted plants. The caravan has two windows and the cat and the mouse are looking out of one window each. Caption: We lived on the island to be close to my family. A ribbon with writing on it separates and labels four characters: “mom”, an ermine, “dad”, a wolverine, “brother”, a marmot and “step mom”, a squirrel. The ribbon has been torn in between “mom” and “dad”. Caption: and we moved to Ireland to be close to Mouse’s family. Three characters are shown, each with their own ribbon label. “mother-in-law”, a deer, “sister-in-law”, a jack russell terrier and “brother-in-law”, a hedgehog. Page three: Caption: Me and the mouse are currently in our thirties. The cat lounges on an antique fainting couch and the mouse sleeps on a cushion on the floor. On the floor is an open bag of “let’s” crisps and a laptop. Caption: We’re both pretty decrepit in various ways, so for this comic I draw couches and beds as often as I draw people. Caption: Disability isn’t especially interesting to me, but if a fish made an autobiographical comic… A fish under water paints a four panel comic with a brush held in its mouth. The panels the fish has painted show bubbles, waves and splashing water. Caption: …it’d probably be partly about water, whether the fish cared about water or not. Page four: Caption: My memory has always been pretty crappy. If a friend asks me: “do you remember when...” The question is shown asked by a red robin Caption: I usually have to answer: “no, I don’t.” The panel shows the cat giving this answer while looking away and blushing. Caption: There are many things in my life I’d like to remember. Mom the ermine watches as the cat opens a Christmas gift in front of a Christmas tree. The cat is much smaller than usual, its tail is bushy with excitement and it holds up a big book, “Mort”, with a skull on the cover. Caption: This comic is my EXTERNAL MEMORY so I can capture some of those moments… The cat admires a butterfly hovering above its outstretched paw Caption: …great or small. Page five: Caption: I try to make one strip per day, give or take. Pages with dates written on them blow off of a daily wall calendar by a strong breeze. As they turn over, comic pages are revealed to be drawn on the back. One comic shows the mouse with long fangs, biting the face of the cat and then hissing behind a bat wing. One comic is a pastiche of Tim Buckley’s “Loss” comic and one features a portrait of Frasier Crane and the Seattle skyline. Caption: and on the days when nothing interesting happens A close up shows the cat’s paw drawing a comic panel. In this panel a smaller, rounder version of the cat runs happily in the sunshine carrying a backpack. Caption: I reach back and draw something from my past. Caption: If you read this comic and wonder: A coyote looks at the comic on its phone, strokes its chin suspiciously and asks “did that really happen?” Caption: the answer is always yes. Caption: If you read this comic and wonder: A monkey reads the comic in zine form and think “did they really say that?” Caption: the answer is usually yes. Page six: Caption: When a specific phrase is the point of the strip, it’s recorded verbatim. The mouse says “you’re marching to the beat of the potato drum.” Caption: is a direct quote. Caption: When the point is something else, I sometimes take small liberties to make the memory fit well inside four panels. The cat sits at its drawing table, holding a pair of scissors in one hand and a paper with two comic panels in the other. Caption: Usually that means I make myself or the mouse play the part of the straight man because it will improve a joke. The cat and the mouse, dressed as clowns, stand in a circus tent. The cat pulls the clown nose from the mouse’s face and holds up a pie, ready to strike. Caption: In reality, neither of us is much of a straight man, but all art demands some sacrifices. Caption: In every way that matters, this comic always tells the truth. The cat looks up at a large, glowing, winged sphinx statue version of itself. The statue and framing is a reference to the all knowing Southern Oracle from the film adaptation of “The Neverending Story”. Caption: I am doing this to aid my memory after all, so it wouldn’t be very helpful to make my life seem more funny, interesting or relatable than it really is. The cat draws a comic while watching paint dry on the wall. Caption: That would be a pretty cruel joke to play on my future, more confused self. The cat scratches its head at a drawing of themselves as the winner of a beauty contest, wearing a sash and crown, waving to the crowd and holding flowers. Caption: She’ll probably have enough to contend with… The cat looks suspiciously at its own reflection in the mirror, not recognising it. The drawing is a pastiche of a panel from the webcomic “Gunshow” by KC Green. Caption: Maybe some of my comics will be funny or interesting or relatable to you anyway. That would make me very happy. The cat smiles and presses its paws to its face in joy, seeing that a bear and a horse are reading the comic together and laughing. Cartoon hearts float over the cat. Caption: Some of the comics probably won’t do much for anybody but me, but that’s okay too. The cat presses a page of the comic to its chest, looking contented and protective. In the last panel, the cat and the mouse are floating on air with a blue sky and white clouds behind them. The cat is smiling and twirling around, holding a paint brush out like a wand. From the brush flows paint that swirls around the two figures and making shapes of green leaves and orange and yellow flowers. On two looping blue ribbons appear the last captions: This is a record of my silly little life. Good or bad, I’m glad I get to share it. End ID.

Here’s a little introduction to External Memory! It was fun to make a proper neat and full colour comic - it’s been a while ^^

(If you like this project, please reblog this post! You can also subscribe to my patreon where I post one comic every day ^^)

[masterfuldoodler]

I went so insane drawing this. I was having the best time ever, I had to pause so often to freak out at my own art xD and then there is the pain. My friends knew everytime I sat down to draw the end (the last five pages) I plagued them dsbknfh

I even made a playlist for specifically this.

The End of All

I've been brainstorming the final confrontation of the keepers. Tehvlar has finished recreating his body into fully chaos and is mostly dead at this point. It starts as Rhyin and Tehvlar's reunion and spirals out of control.

[heckcareoxytwit]

A preview of X-Men: The Wedding Special #1

X-MEN: THE WEDDING SPECIAL #1

WEDDING EXTRAVAGANZA! Mystique and Destiny are one of the most beloved — and longest running — gay couples in history. Somewhere in their 100+ years together, the pair married, but we’ve never seen the event on the page. This year MARVEL’S VOICES: PRIDE makes history with Marvel’s first woman-to-woman wedding in a story by superstar X-Men scribe Kieron Gillen! And with a couple as complex as these two, you know there’s a lot more to the story. We promise party crashing! Villainy! Romance! In the classic tradition of FANTASTIC FOUR ANNUAL #3 and X-MEN #30, this anthology will be a must-read for every comics fan. Featuring the Marvel debuts of award-winning writers Yoon Ha Lee (Ninefox Gambit, Machineries of Empire) and M. Louis (Agents of the Realm), and much more talent to be announced!

Written by: Kieron Gillen, Tate Brombal, Tini Howard, Wyatt Kennedy Art by: Emilio Pilliu, Jenn St. Onge, Phillip Sevy, Rachael Stott Cover by: Jan Bazaldua Page Count: 84 Pages Release Date: May 29, 2024

[bun-z-bakery]

what if dogday got into baking? , maybe you could try writing about him learning to baking stuff?

✧. ┊𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝛢𝑤𝑎𝑦

A/N: This was such a cute ask! I hope you enjoy! This ones short but still sweet!^^

Making sure Dogday was out of the kitchen was your top priority during mealtimes. 

You know he means well, but you didn't want to run the risk of him breaking more plates or setting anything on fire… again. 

You sat outside on the grass, enjoying the fresh air and nice breeze on your skin. 

Dogday decided to sleep in, Poppy and Kissy wandered around looking for flowers which meant you had some much needed alone time. 

The sound of pots crashing made you jump to your feet. Quickly you rushed inside and called out for Dogday. 

“I-In here.”

You rush to the kitchen, stopping at the doorway as you take in the mess. 

“Angel, before you get mad-”

You couldn't help but laugh. 

Dogday stares at you with a confused expression and tilts his head. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn't be mad when he's covered in flour and holding a tiny whisk in his giant hand. 

“Anddd what have you been up to?”

You snort as you get closer and dust some flour off of his nose. 

“Angel I'm sorry, I'll help you clean up…”

He sighs in defeat. 

You noticed he was standing oddly and quickly tickled his sides, making him squirm in the process. 

“Dogday what's this?”

You hold up the baking book you never remembered buying. 

It was slightly sticky from the batter but the pages were still very noticeably new. 

“it gets boring here… And wanted to learn something that might lessen some of your responsibilities…”

He looks like a puppy that's being reprimanded. You couldn't help but chuckle. 

Adorable. 

You thought to yourself. 

“Dogday I'm not mad I'm happy you're trying something new! A $20 book on the other hand-”

“$20?!”

“Tell you what,”

You skim through the pages while he curiously hovers over you. You slam your finger down on the page that had the most delicious looking cake in the photo reference. 

“Make this and if it tastes good then I'll let you off the hook!”

Your proposition seemed to have made him perk up. 

He grabs onto his tail to avoid any more damage to the kitchen. 

“Alright deal! Let me work my magic.”

He points the comically tiny whisk at you and you raise your hands in defeat. 

“Alright alright, I'll be on standby.”

You joke as you leave him to his experiment. 

Throughout his time in the kitchen, the sound of pots and spoons falling and the smell of something burning made you question if letting him bake would lead to a house fire. 

“Sunshine, how's it go-”

You look around the kitchen, your mouth agape. 

“You act like I don't clean up after myself.”

He shakes his head in disbelief with the little faith you had in him. 

The kitchen was almost spotless, impressive was an understatement.

He motions towards the cake he had made and calls out to the others for a taste. 

“Wow it smells great Dogday!”

Poppy exclaims as soon as she and Kissy walk in. 

“It does smell pretty promising!”

You agree before taking a seat at the table. 

Once everyone is served and seated, you begin to inspect the cake. It seemed well made and you were eager to taste it now. 

“Alright on the count of 3!”

You say as you four hold a piece of cake near your mouths. 

“3,2,1!”

“...”

“It's… good?”

Your words instantly shift his mood. 

His tail begins to wag as he continues to eat his slice. 

“Does this mean I can help out in the kitchen?!”

Dogday’s eyes light up. Seeing him heartbroken after such an accomplishment would crush you. 

“Fine, if you can keep the mess to a minimum.”

“Deal!”

A/N: I got my PC back!! this is my first post using my pc and wow is it 10 times easier than on my phone. I've been a bit busy recently but keep sending in requests! I'm still working on a few projects and will post them hopefully soon! If you read this far dont forget to reblog and like <3

[heartfullofleeches]

Maus and LoverBoy

Yan Artist + G.N Reader

-

"Hey."

It's dark. He hated the darkness. A callous, unpredictable foe; stealing the sight from his eyes when least expected. Sealed within the four walls of the room where he lay his head, of which there is no discernible difference between the average adolescent's bedroom and the grave, a greater enemy lurks beyond the eye to the outside world.

"Hey!"

A small stone no bigger than the petrified mouse's crumpled fist knocks not once, but twice against the window panel. A shadow looms over his bed, yet he dare not remove the covers wrapped tightly around his head - a truce between him and his longest adversary for their shared hatred of the celestial body sharing her light with the slumbering world.

"I can tell you're awake. I can see you trembling from here. Open the window, I have a surprise for you."

"Run..."

A tiny voice squeaks - like a tiny rodent in fear for its life.

"If you're outside for too long she'll catch you. If I open the window to let you in, she'll get me."

The shadow howls in laughter; the rock in their mitts cascaded to the winds as they clutch their stomach ready to burst from the sting of their giggles.

"Who?? Do you mean.... her?"

The little mouse doesn't have to look to know where the shadow points next. Nor the courage.

"....yes."

The moon. She had tried to take him once. Her gorgeous light reflecting on the water's edge. Her beauty was a trick. A ruse to drag him into the ocean's depths - never to be seen again.

"It's a good thing I showed up when I did. My big surprise will help you get over your fear. Tonight, I will show you how to fall in love."

Love?

"But with who?"

"Everything." A blissfully sigh falls from the shadows lips, hands nestled gingerly over their heart. "The evening air. That busted street lamp at the end of the road. Her. It isn't as much of a matter as who, but as what. By the time morning rises, I'll show you everything there is to love about the night. And in due time, I'll teach you to love the day too."

At long last, the mouse cautiously pulls his head from beneath his blanket. The first air he takes his crisp and fresh, like a glass of cool water after stewing in his own sweat attempting to fall back asleep after a nightmare. The light from his window isn't as harsh as he remembers; a stagnant shadow shielding him from the moon's rays.

As the moonlight reveals the shadow's face, its as if he's opened his eyes for the first time.

"Who.... Who are you?"

"My name is Loverboy, but as your new best friend- you can just call me your Lover."

.....

.....

....

"So.... What did you think?"

Silent eyes scan over each image as a hand switches back and forth between pages, brows scrunched in concentration. Piece upon piece depicting a vibrant haired boy wearing mouse next to a figure with heart shaped eyes.

"I... loved it!"

The sandbags weighing your dear friend to his seat roll effortless off his shoulders. He corrects the crook in his spine against the back of your couch, pink dusting his ghostly pale cheeks as he leans onto your arm.

"I'm glad you liked it... I've been debating if Maus and Loverboy should speak in the comics I make with them included, but this one wouldn't have many much sense if they didn't... Maybe Lover speaks for Maus instead.... He can't really do much without them anyway.."

"Question?"

Here it comes... "Yes?"

"The R in Loverboy's name.... The way you write their name makes it kinda look like an A sometimes. Like, Love-a-boy.. Does that mean anything or is it just an artist thing?"

"Haha...... It's just a me thing, actually."

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 11 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, Reader has a baby bump and stretch marks (briefly mentioned), talk of insecurities

WC: 1.2k

A/N: this was inspired by an ask that I got for Eddie feeling so grateful when he witnesses a sweet moment between Ms. Sweetheart/Reader and Harris, but I can't find who sent it. If it was you, thank you!

November 1999

“Har? You ready for bed?”

Harris nods, peeling back his Spider-Man comforter and slipping beneath the covers. He points to the laminated list that’s Velcroed to the back of his door. You run your finger down the column where he’s used the dry erase marker to check off each task in his routine: shower, comb his hair, brush his teeth, pee, and change into his pajamas.  

“Nice job!” You walk—though at this point in your pregnancy, it’s a bonafide waddle—from the doorway towards the small bookshelf in the corner of his room and pluck the newest Magic Treehouse from its spot. Removing the bookmark, you cautiously lower yourself onto his bed, resting your free hand on your belly to keep steady. 

He snuggles into you, head nestled against your arm as you read aloud. “Chapter four,” you begin, but before you can continue, Harris speaks. 

“Mommy?” His voice is tiny, very much unlike his usual boisterousness, and you can’t help but feel worried. 

You brush an unruly lock of his hair from his forehead. “What’s up?”

Harris pauses for a moment, singular front tooth scraping over his bottom lip anxiously. “What if Baby Brother doesn’t like me?” His hazel eyes are shiny with incoming tears. “What if he doesn’t think I’m a good big brother?”

Your heart splinters into a thousand pieces when you hear the concern in his voice. “Oh, Har,” you murmur, shifting your weight to find a more comfortable position, “he’s going to love you. More than that; he’s going to look up to you. You’ll be his role model.”

“But I don’t know how to be a role model.” He keeps his gaze trained on the webbing shooting from Spider-Man’s fingers. “An’ everyone keeps saying that being a big brother is a really important job, but I’ve never been one before! What if I’m not good at it?”

You consider your words for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret?” you finally ask, softly smiling when his attention immediately snaps back to you. “Do you remember when I was your teacher, and you wanted me to be your mommy?”

“Mhm. An’ now you are.”

“And now I am,” you agree with a laugh. “But when your dad and I first started talking about me being your mommy, I was so scared.”

Harris’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You were scared?” His nose wrinkles as he tries to discern your reasoning. “Why?”

“Well, being a mommy is a super important job, too,” you tell him, tucking the bookmark back between the pages and setting the paperback down on the bed. “And I didn’t want to mess up or make any mistakes. But guess what?”

“What?” He places his hand on top of yours. 

You lean in and whisper, “I’ve messed up and made mistakes.” Your tone stays lighthearted, but both of you know that the words are spoken with truth. “There have been times where I should have been tougher, and times that I should have been more easygoing. And sometimes, I look back and think, ‘why did I do that?’” You shake your head to combat the memories of missteps you’ve inadvertently conjured up. “But you still love me, just like Baby Brother will always love you.”

Harris exhales with a heaviness that’s almost comical coming from a seven-year-old. He’s not wholly convinced, so you continue. 

“Har, you are gonna be the best big brother the world has ever seen.” The promise is honey-sweet and just as natural. “There are so many things you’ll get to teach the baby that Daddy and I can’t.”

He allows himself to look at you once again, curiosity overtaking nervousness. “Like what?”

“Like…drawing,” you say, scratching an itch on the side of your stomach where a stretch mark has formed. “You’re our resident artist; no one draws a family portrait better than Harris Munson.”

He giggles at this. “Yeah, an’ you guys don’t know a lot about superheroes; only a little bit.”

“Exactly. Only what you’ve taught us.” You kiss the crown of his head. “Baby Brother is so lucky to have you.”

Harris nods, letting out a yawn that alerts you to the time. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed so you’re not snoozing in school tomorrow.” You lower his pillow from where he’s propped it against the wall, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I wanna say good night to Baby Brother.” He rests his cheek on the swell of your stomach with his hand just above your belly button. “Good night, Baby Brother. I love you, and I can’t wait to meet you in…” he rotates his neck so you’re looking directly at his nostrils, “how many days?”

“Thirteen, if he comes on time,” you say, adding a gentle reminder, “but sometimes babies show up a little late, so he might not get here until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He considers this for a second, his gaze shifting back and forth from your belly to your eyes. “If he comes on Thanksgiving, do I still get to eat mashed potatoes?”

You shrug. “I don’t see why not. As long as you save some for me when I get home.”

Harris harrumphs at the prospect of sharing and you laugh, which gives you the urge to pee—again. “Sweet dreams, Har Bear.” You kiss his scalp again, slowly rising to flick off the light switch. There will be a time when he eschews the nickname, labeling it babyish, but it lives on for another day. 

In your beeline for the bathroom, you find Eddie waiting just outside Harris’s room. His cheeks are pink as though he’s been caught, and you notice the glassiness coating his chocolate eyes. 

“Eds? You okay?” You murmur the question under your breath, not wanting to alert Harris. 

“Mhm. Yeah, ‘m fine.” He hooks his fingers into the white cotton sleeves of his undershirt and wipes at his face. “Just pregnancy hormones,” he teases with a soft chuckle, and you nudge his hip with yours. “Really, though; everything’s good.” 

You want to press him further, but the full-term baby tap-dancing on your bladder has other plans, so you have to surrender. 

Eddie sighs, contentment flooding his body as he blinks away the blurriness and closes Harris’s door. Domesticity has wrapped itself around him, and the softness with which you talk to Harris only has him falling deeper into its embrace. 

He used to describe himself as lucky, but you’re always quick to point out that luck has nothing to do with it. He’s deserving of his little family and the unconditional love that comes with it. 

But deserving doesn’t explain you showing up at the Hideout three years ago, or him picking you out of the crowd, or you being Harris’s teacher and fostering an awkward but necessary reunion. There’s a solid chance that he’d still be the angry and defensive man who’d shoved his dreams away, because holding hope that they would come to fruition was simply too scary to consider. But now, despite years of self-sabotage, he’s got everything he could ever want. 

So, yeah. Eddie Munson is a lucky man. 

--

[dilemmaontwolegs]

If you need ideas for the Temptation snapshots, I've got one. It's Scotty's wedding, Daniel's Kitten is a bridesmaid. She looks stunning in a curves complimenting dress. Daniel can't take his eyes off of her but she doesn't have time for him. She's running around, helping everybody with everything till Daniel decides he can't wait anymore and drags her to the bedroom for a quickie only after that they realise that they've fucked in the newlyweds bed

Temptation Snapshot || DR3 {6}

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 1.4K F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Snapshots: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

The Bachelor’s Party/Hen Night Vegas baby! That was the caption to the clip of Daniel arriving in Las Vegas for Scotty’s bachelor party - the two Australians 100 percent ready to unleash hell on Sin City with their close-knit group of friends. At just over 2000 kilometres away, you were boarding a private boat with Chloe in Vancouver as her hen night began far more sedately. While the next 24 hours with the bridal party was all about pampering and enjoying the beautiful views out on the water, the groomsmen were making promises to each other that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Come morning light everyone would start making their way to Venice where the big event was going down - for better or for worse. You had a feeling the boys would certainly be feeling worse.

You were utterly relaxed after a massage and a soak in the hot tub on the top deck with the girls, the stars glittering in the night sky. Chloe’s friends were an endless stream of gossip and it was hard to keep up with their exciting lives until your phone started to vibrate on your sunbed. 

“Excuse me,” you apologised as you stepped out of the warm water and saw a facetime call coming in from Danny. “Hey, I thought you would be too busy to call?”

“You should come here, kitten,” he slurred as the camera moved erratically and you heard Scotty’s laugh in the background. “Look,” he tried to pan the video around and you guessed he was somewhere on the strip from all the bright lights. “White Chapel! We could get married right now.”

You tilted your head so you could properly see what he was showing you. “You want me to come to Las Vegas and get married at a White Chapel?” you laughed with a shake of your head. “You know my dad would never forgive you if he didn’t get to give me away.”

“I just want you all to myself, as Mrs Ricciardo,” he whined as the camera turned back to his face and a chorus of whipping sounds erupted from the guys around him. “Fuck off! You’re whipped too.”

“So you admit you’re whipped,” Scotty shouted happily and the call was dropped as they started a little scuffle, more like brothers than friends.

“You have that man wrapped around your finger,” Chloe teased when you slipped back into the steaming water.

“Look who's talking,” you said with a wink and grabbed your drink, raising it up to clink it with hers. “You mastered the art first.”

“I suppose I did,” she giggled before toasting with the circle. “To our boys, and their peak golden retriever energy.”

The Wedding Day “Behave,” you warned Daniel when he tried to corner you in the hotel’s corridor. “I’m a woman on a mission so keep your hands to yourself.”

“You know I can’t help it when my kitten gets all bossy,” he chuckled as he pinned you to the wall with his body. “No one will notice if we slip away for a few minutes.”

“Chloe would, since I’m meant to be getting her shoes.”

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a tiny book similar to what you would get when you bought a raffle. Licking the pad of his thumb he started to flick through the pages before humming and ripping a tab out. “Here,” he said as he tucked it into your cleavage. “That is contractually binding too, I might add.”

You fished the paper out and opened it to see it was a comical voucher for a quickie in the nearest room. “I’m sure my lawyer would agree with you,” you joked as you straightened his lapels. “Where did you even get this?”

“I may or may not have stolen it from Scotty’s presents, but I thought it would have been a waste to go to them. I know him and it would end up in the bin before they even went on their honeymoon. So?” His eyes darted to the door beside you and he wiggled his eyebrows. “You look ridiculously sexy in that dress, kitten, and it is doing all sorts of crazy things to me.”

“Well I would hate to get in trouble with the law, since this is contractually binding…”

His smile grew and he tested the door only to growl when it didn’t open, but the next one was left unlocked. “Better make it quick, baby, I have no idea who this room belongs to.”

The spike of adrenaline made you rush to lift your dress and Daniel’s belt snapped open as he shoved his trouser halfway down his tattooed thighs before pulling you onto his lap at the edge of the bed. Your bodies joined with a harmonious moan and you relished the full feeling when you hadn’t been prepared for him, something that rarely happened.

“Fuck, you feel so good, kitten,” he moaned, his hand reaching for your hair before you grabbed it.

“This took two hours, don’t mess it up.”

“Okay, okay,” he obeyed, settling his hands on your hips and using his strength to guide you up and down his cock. You didn’t have the same issue with his hair, the short curls still left untamed, so you dragged your fingers through them as you bounced on his lap.

“You look tired,” you commented before you lost all ability to think, noticing the dark bags under his brown eyes. “Did you conquer Vegas or did Vegas conquer you?”

A smirk played on his lips and he shook his head. “Sorry, kitten, the boys all made a promise. Scouts honour.”

Your head tilted to the side as you stopped riding him. “Is that how it is now?”

“Don’t stop, baby,” he begged as you started to climb off his lap. “Wait, wait, okay.”

“What happened in Vegas, Daniel?” you asked, neither pulling away nor lowering yourself back down him.

“Nothing like you’re thinking,” he muttered.

“Daniel…”

“I may have gotten a little bit shitfaced,” he admitted and you lifted an eyebrow that made him crumble. His head dropped into your cleavage as he confessed, “I was totally off my tit drunk and so was Scotty, and we may have crashed out on the same bed.”

You slipped back down his cock until you were saddled on his lap again. “That’s not bad, why were you trying to hide it?”

“Those assholes took photos of us cuddling and crying together because we missed out girls now can you please move before I start crying again.”

It was a quick jumble of words barely more than a whisper but you caught them, just, and they caught you off guard. In a split second your head was thrown back with a laugh and you cradled him to your chest.

“Fuck me, keep laughing, kitten,” Daniel moaned. “So fucking tight when you do that.”

It drove Daniel wild and he started bucking his hips as you rode him, hitting deeper with each change in the angle until your eyes screwed shut and your heart hammered. You wanted to kiss him like your life depended on it but the makeup hadn’t been set long enough and you weren’t willing to risk smearing the masterpiece.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy,” you whimpered as heat flushed your skin and you pushed through the ache in your legs from the position. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuuuuck,” Daniel groaned as your cunt gripped his dick like a vice and he filled you with the thick ropes of his cum. “Shit, kitten, you’re gonna kill me with that pretty pussy of yours,” he commented as you climbed off and rearranged your dress into place.

“I think you just need more self-control,” you teased as you looked around the room and froze. There on the table was the white Jimmy Choo box you had been sent to find, next to a plate of delicate handmade chocolates and a neatly written card dedicated to the newlyweds. “Oh shit.”

Daniel looked up from his belt he had rebuckled and saw you grab the shoes from the box, his eyes taking in everything as he came to the same conclusion. “Oh shit,” he laughed, biting his knuckle as the sound grew. He looked back at the bed and quickly swiped a hand across the blankets to smooth out the indents of his ass. “That bed is getting some action today.”

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover

[whorrorbellee]

Cherry Waves : one

Ghostface! Danny Johnson x f!reader

Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around.Just to play or course.18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence

ao3 prolouge masterlist

Three months later,

VETERANS MURDERED IN HOME

Adam webbing

Senior journalist 

See page four for more details.

Another violent murder has shocked the small sunny town of Roseville after the body’s of Daren and his brother Edward Small were recovered outside their home in the early hours of the morning. The Brothers fought bravely in the army during the Vietnam war, Darren was a well loved member of the Roseville community and along with his brother they led the local boy scouts on numerous camping trips and charity events, last year raising nearly two thousand dollars for the local animal shelter. 

The witness (who chooses to stay anonymous) found Daren slumped over on a lawn chair with multiple stab wounds, while Edward was found lying outside the trailer door in an obvious attempt to escape with a shattered leg and seven stab wounds to the back. The stab wounds were so brutal it shattered his rib cage and punctured his lungs. The Witness said she saw a man covered in a black shroud and white mask running from the scene before calling first responders. Darren died shortly in the ambulance after attempts to stop bleeding. 

Is this the work of a new killer, or a robbery gone wrong?

If you have any information please contact Detective Moore at the RPD +(000) 000 000

A memorial will be held later today at the Roseville Community Hall at 4pm everybody is welcome to attend.

Your hand traces the words, they're so tiny you could have missed them. White mask. You bite your lip. A month ago you would have called him a knight in a shiny black robe and a white plastic mask. And now you're unsure if he really was a saviour, a guardian angel. When you had thought about it a bit more he had seemed like a vigilante, the violent ones from the comic books, like the punisher, or maybe even Batman. Cloaked in darkness protecting people from rapists by beating them to a pulp, he had reminded you a bit of the crow, your own Eric Draven. 

And maybe he was just a vigilante, maybe the Small brothers had committed multiple offences during their time in Vietnam, you heard the stories. Rape, Looting, collecting ears. You had even heard about soldiers paying for certain commodities with children. But these were just maybes, maybe he was a saviour, a blessing in disguise, but he had also threatened you with a painful death if you would ever try to attempt again. 

And although it was Florida, where crazy crack addicts try to train gators, or break into houses just to watch TV for hours. There was something shocking about the turn of events that had happened in such a short amount of time. You had a near death experience while unknowingly being saved by a masked killer, and then two 50 something year old men the community worshipped on veteran day had been killed, stabbed. 

Shot in the head would've been easier to digest, but the brothers owned guns, they hunted, they had been in the army for god sake, they had killed people. Stabbed? When either brother is able to grab a gun and shoot? This was a completely different story. Whomever had killed them was not someone to mess with. He was dangerous.

And what if you were next, what if you crashed into the guy out of costume and he saw the scars on your arms, or a pot of pills from the pharmacy. What if you cut in line or told him to ‘fuck off’, would you be next, if you even thought about suicide again would he make good on his promise?

The Police thought they were clever, that it was NCIS level shit, the only problem was, when you have a town this small. Every detective or officer was someone you had spoken to. You could spot them from a mile away as they stood ridgid against walls holding candles like batons. The police were so sure the killer was going to be in attendance that you could make out the indentation of handcuffs in the jean shorts that half of them wore.

You walked, arm linked in arm with Aaron. He was on your recently completed college course, and had just landed a gig as a touring concert photographer with some band from the 70s. Made up of fifty year old men. It was high paying, and he actually got to go to like three places in Europe. So it was something worth being jealous over. The only thing you had managed to do was get a job at the paper as a photographer and assistant to the editor, running coffees while snapping photos for the paper wasn't exactly the hardest gig, nor was it the most riveting. But hey, you had bills to pay, and your uncle hired you as a favour from your mum. 

In Fact the only reason you were here at the Memorial service at all was to snap quick photos of mourners, you had shot some photos of candles being lit by the boyscouts hall, along with flowers laid upon each other neatly, swapping from a digital camera to a film camera when you realised you were gonna have to edit either one on the difficult software you had begged your manager to buy. Aaron pointed out different ideas for the paper, but you knew your Uncle would go with the lit candles anyway, so there was no bother. After you had got your shots you head back to the gazette, zig zagging across the crowd of people heading to the memorial. You wave goodbye to Aaron as you sling your digital camera over your shoulder ready to enter the building and suddenly you're crashing into the wall. Or a person. You gaze up at your victim. He's a little shy of six feet, dirty blonde hair swooping every which way. Brown puppy eyes staring down at you, he brings his hand up apologetically, and you watch the way the curves of his lips twitch into a smile. “Im so sorry” 

You squint back at him. “It's fine,” you wave your hand at him. “Really I should watch where im going” you pause, and then force a smile, reaching your hand out to grab the door handle, his hand follows and knocks your own, you both pull back quickly. 

“Gosh! Look at us.” He smiles again, eyes crinkling into a big fake grin, you only stare back. “Well, ladies first.” he nods. You don't look back as you swing the door open, and then pull yourself into the building, not bothering if the door hits him on your way in. “Did you go to the memorial?” he asks, in an odd cheery tone, the kind you put on when you answer the phone. 

“Yep” you mutter back, you're unsure if he even heard you as you turn in a twist of corridors, yanking doors and climbing up the stairs, until you're at the office. 

The Gazette is an odd shaped building, its L shaped, the gap allowing for a parking lot that's scarcely used. The Gazette is on the second floor, underneath a marketing or lawyer firm. It's a three story building at the edge of town, a short walk from your home, and the local coffee shop you hide in. 

Jed waves bye at you as you slip into the dark room, you spend thirty minutes developing the film and bathing it into baths of chemicals. You snip the roll into sections, hang to dry over the sink with film clips weighing each of them down. Then rebottling and labelling the chemicals you've used. You've got about two to five hours to wait-out until they're dry, so you sort the film from the other day into a clear folder, checking Jeds to see if it was dry. Your eyes glaze over the shots of a new cafe that opened up recently. Then you hurl yourself out the door. 

You carefully scan your film into the kodak 35mm scanner, it takes ages to see it fully appear on screen, Then  you work on editing the contrast and changing the photos from sepia to full colour. You finally print the photos for a final go over and head over to your uncle's office. You pass Jeds desk, perfectly organised, he swings around on his chair, you pause. 

“Your films dry in there, by the way” you smile lightly and watch him lean back on his chair before standing, the chair rolls across the floor at a hurdling speed, and you pop your leg out to stop it before walking away.

Micheal Thomas Jones wasn't actually your uncle, before your dad passed he was his closest friend. He helped your mum out financially before she remarried, even offering her a job as assistant when she couldn't work due to health reasons. He's a sweet guy, you remember him swinging you around his garden at a family barbeque when you were seven. You weren't sure if they were actually hiring for a photographer/assistant when he offered you a job, in fact Jed had only been hired four months prior to your appearance and he was already taking photos for the paper. But freshly graduated you decided to take whatever you could. 

You had learnt the office admired Jed, the ladies fawned over his perfect hair and the guys laughed at his crude jokes. You weren't sure how you stood with Jed, he was a seasoned Photographer/journalist that had crashed into the tiny town right next to your little apartment. Part of you wondered why Roseville, why a tiny town? With his experience he could have aimed for somewhere bigger. It felt like charity work, barely minimum wage for beautifully written articles about the intricacies of the town. He made potholes being filled sound like someone had won the lottery. It bothered you slightly, he was put on this pedestal, even a snarky remark had sounded like a lighthearted joke. 

You push the door open to Mike’s office, planting the images on his desk as he smiles up at you. “Do you want a coffee from down the road?” you ask. Mike nods, bald head shining under the light. He stretches out his arm to check over the photos as you grab the company card from his wallet and walk out. You already had his coffee order memorised. You walk around and ask the few in if they want anything. Your feet land at Jeds desk. You purse your lips at the empty chair.

He takes it black, right?Maybe you should check. 

Your arms sway against your body as you pull yourself up to the dark room. The red light isnt on so you plant your hand on the door. Slowly turning the silver handle. “Don't come in,” Jed hisses. You shut the door. Blinking quickly. “Sorry, the lights are off and I don't want to ruin these photos” You furrow your eyebrows, eyes glazing to the now shining red light above the door.

“All good, do you want a coffee?” you ask. You wait a few seconds and lean against the door, He doesn't reply. “Jed?” you wonder if you should leave. You clasp your hands and stretch them out in front of you. 

A few moments pass and you feel the door open, you scramble to balance yourself on your feet as Jed peeks his head out the door. “Hey” He smiles. The scar on his cheek lifting. You step backwards to allow him out the room, head blocking the photographs he's hanging to dry.

“Hi”, you answer. 

You watch him adjust his button shirt, pushing his glasses up before he tilts his head at you. “I'll come grab coffee with you!” He seems almost sincere. You nod your head as he leads you out the building. 

The walk is silent. All you hear is Jeds converse scuff across the sidewalk in quick succession, he walks on the outside of the road and switches over when you cross. Hand pressed against your back as he moves round you. When you head into the Coffee shop they're nearly closing, you're glad you're only ordering four coffees. The whirring of the coffee machine fills your ears, and you sigh into the smell of freshly ground beans. After you order you wait for the coffees by the collection point. 

You pick at your nails, Jeds hands slide into his back pockets and he kicks his feet against each other. “Sorry, I hope I haven't gotten the wrong idea, but do you hate me?”

His question startles you, you feel the wind knocked out of your lungs. It's too confrontational but not out of the ordinary for Jed. “No, what? Why do you think that” 

He breathes a sigh of relief, fingers combing through his brows, “well, I guess it's because we don't really talk and I catch you giving me these horrid looks sometimes?” 

Your eyebrow raises, lips snarling, and then you relax your face. “Look, I don't hate you. I guess I'm just a little jealous, I feel like Mike likes you more than me and I've known him for like, ever~” you watch him digest your words. There's a hint of a smirk on his face. “Maybe I'm just being cynical but it's like, everyone is so captivated by you and I have no clue why you are even here. Not in a bad way, just it's a small town in Florida literally outside Jacksonville, like Miami is right there. Maybe i just think you should aim a little higher, actually get your name out there” 

He turns his head towards the barista, smiling and thanking her for the drinks. He nods at you and you follow him through the door. When you're outside you take out the carton of cigarettes from your back pocket, sliding one into your mouth and turning to Jed, he looks down at you. You feel squeamish on the inside, soft eyes hitting your own, his arm bumps your own in a sweet jokey way. You're starting to get why all those ladies like him at work. Something in his boyish nature takes you back to highschool. With those heart crushing crushes on indie nerds. You feel your cheeks blush. You smile back, it's genuine this time. You hold out the carton to him, he plucks one from the pack, slipping it in the corner of his mouth you bring the lighter towards the Cig, his lips purse as he huffs smoke from the corners of his mouth.  

When Jed Olson waves you goodbye at your door with a smile, he steps into his cramped apartment and his face falls, shoulders arching inwards as he stomps off his clothes. Stepping into the shower, washing away the achy muscles of the day. Fresh scars burning as the water steams over them.He lets his hand run over his hair slicking it back until only a strand falls over his brow. He fishes out a black shirt from a pile on the floor and shoves it over his head. Wet skin sticking to the fabric. He needs a day off. Jed Olson is making him so sick. Keeping up appearances is only so easy when everyone wants a piece of you, he wishes Jed was less likeable. That he didn't feel the need to trap flies into his web with ease and yet he felt you edge closer to the centre of his cage, ready to be coiled into a prison of silk, just like the others. Because if everyone liked him, then Danny would have a far easier job.

Danny pulled out a small folder, and flipped through the number of photos he had taken over the past few months, Darren smoking a cigarette outside, Edward teaching a young boy how to tie a knot. Sally Hughes drinking a glass of wine and watching a trashy tv show and you . 

You're sitting on the couch with your hand between your thighs. Kyle Maclachlan is on the TV drinking a cup of coffee. Another of you crying, mouth gaping open, hand over your throat. Face red from the vice grip. There’s one of you pinching the fat on your thigh. Another biting your finger in a tiny lil leopard print thong in front of the mirror. You're on the floor cutting your thigh with a small knife, blood smeared against your cheek. You licking the knife clean.

He wouldn't have run into you if he had climbed into his apartment that night. You would have been dead, rotting into the sofa. Body inflating. But he just had to save you. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. Pressing the leather into your tongue until you had thrown up. Patting your head as you cried. Threatening you. Saving you poor sad life. He could've ended it all right there, started the chain of events. Pulling you away from deaths edge and then pushing you straight in. He had seemed to convince himself that he would have been caught if you were dead. Apartment ransacked leading to his questioning, he’d never figure out the logistics of it. But he just knew you would be important. 

So he slides himself over to the wall above his tv, pushing pins into the photographs, anyone else would call this a shrine. But really, it was his final plan. 

Danny Johnson dresses himself in a pair of cargos, he pulls his leather combat boots on and ties them up quickly. He buckles up his brand new Shroud and slips on a white mask. He slips out the window smoothly and creeps on to the fire escape, walking slowly along the metal before purchasing himself outside your window. And then he watches.

[orangedragon98]

"Who touched Sasha, tiny doctor? You, da? Now Heavy will touch YOU!" "Hoo-hoO-HOO-HAA! Zat isn't fair!! Isn't fa-aha-ahair!!" My first request here for @zerozerozio! Now I'm working at the same time with some mini-comic pages, three (or four, I forgot lol) of them are in sketch progress! So, because of them, I think I become better with sketches! I suppose, this debt is finished! What is left - Ranger with "ROBOTS!' Heavy! A-aand some comic stuff with Russian memes (but I'll try to translate it for you as much fun as it can be!)

Have a nice day and stay hydrated!

[scatterbrainedbot]

I need. I need more of TMSR (tweenage magical samurai rats). Please feed me I am starving

lol, not to worry, there shall be plenty more MFRoVA (mystical fighting rodents of Varying Ages)

but im afraid i am a very slow cook. so here, have a snack to help hold you over!

the babies, new to the sewers with their very first toys!!!

splints came across four off-brand carebear key chains in the a pile of trash as he was looking for a safer place to hide in new york, and well. four toys, four kids! the boys are like a couple weeks old so tiny keychain plushies are giant and perfect for them. they each kinda pick a favorite bear too which splints finds endlessly amusing.

(he actually kinda very loosely starts calling them names/nicknames based off the bears they chose lol. though around age four or so they all pick their own new names -- the new names of course being pulled from a book of renaissance artists. :) mikey was hyperfixating on the pages covering the sistine chapel, so he immediately called dibs on the name Michelangelo, and the others just kinda shrugged and went with it. (im working on that comic currently actually lol))

[homestuckreplay]

The Final Homestuck Update of 2009

(page 1082-1088; some general Dave and Rose thoughts)

I can’t believe Dave would pour some apple juice out for Cal. That’s his favorite drink, the king of juices, and not easy for Dave to come by. But Dave sucks unfortunately, and I was such a hater reading this update for the first time, because this absolute idiot is more concerned with his relationship with a torn up puppet who he only pretends to like than with his actual close friend who is in danger. Dave is okay in the small doses of pesterlogs and flashes, but I genuinely think part of the reason I’ve loved Act 3 so much up til now is because I haven’t had to deal with Dave’s bullshit, and I really hope this isn’t the start of an extended Dave section.

It’s good to get a glimpse of Rose on page 1088 – and Vodka Mutini, the tiny sleeping void – right at the end. She’s spent this entire comic so focused on getting people to play Sburb, helping John play Sburb, and finding ways to reconnect to John in order to play more Sburb. She’s basically always doing something and trying to solve a problem, and seems happiest when she’s busy, even if being busy involves actually making things worse (see: ripping out crucial parts of John’s house or dropping them into the abyss) and now suddenly she seems hopeless. There’s more she could do – it would be smart to create defined spaces for the cruxtruder, totem lathe and alchemiter, and mark them out for Dave, for example – but this feels like a moment where when she stops crisis response for even a second, the reality of the situation sets in and she can’t spring back into action.

The thing is, having seen Rose work really hard for hundreds of pages to at least try to help John, Dave on the surface looks really bad by comparison. And I’m trying to figure out how much of that is real – how much is Dave messing around with his sylladex, thinking about his possessions, and texting his friends more than Rose did – and how much is just their self-image. Rose definitely wants to seem like she’s smart, competent, level-headed, and capable of saving people from world ending threats, so she plays up those aspects of herself, and it’s easier to overlook a moment where she plays the violin for 40 seconds of the two minutes she has left (p.222) or reads her grimoire for no practical purpose (p.301-5) or considers passive-aggressive ways to get back at her mother (p.373-4), etc.

Conversely, Dave wants to seem like he’s cool, detached, ironically self-aware, and like he’s not overinvested in his friendships, so a scene like today’s where he’s fucking around with his sylladex reinforces this, and works like confirmation bias. It’s easy to skim over the fact that Dave just put himself in danger of physical pain and social ridicule from an authority figure, just to get these games for Rose, just on her word without evidence of her situation. Dave said ‘if you ever find yourself in the position where your life depends on me playing that piece of shit game, then ill play’ (p.333) and he didn’t say that ironically, he meant it when the time came. So it’s frustrating that he’s still talking about his bro’s ‘mysterious ways’ (p.1085) and that he wasted so much time gathering weapons that he didn’t end up using, but looking back, I don’t think Dave is actually handling this situation worse than Rose is. She was just more attuned to the specifics and urgency of the situation.

I think that all four kids have their surface image, and that Dave and Rose consciously construct theirs while John and Jade don’t realize they’re doing it. I think all four have a deeper layer to their personalities that is specifically intended by the author, although different readers might make different inferences about what that is. And I think that all four kids are really convincing with their surface image a lot of the time – they fool each other, they fool their guardians, and they fool the reader, because so much of Homestuck (including the narrative text) is written in their voices without much external commentary. I know I’ve fallen into the trap with all of them at times where I take them at their word and I’m sure if I was actually friends with them, I’d do it even more, so it’s a clever reflection of actual social relationships and the disconnects that actually exist between people. Especially when those people are young, traumatized, and have such different lives that it’s hard to fully comprehend each other’s.

And I can remind myself of this stuff all day but it does not change the base emotional response of: I love Rose and I don’t like Dave.

So overall, this is not my favorite way Homestuck could have ended 2009, but there’s always going to be disappointing updates and characters that I like less; we can’t get a page 1073 every day. And I know that some people love Dave and are thrilled to see him back. Even so, tabbing to the next page in Homestuck and getting Dave feels to me like biting into a delicious looking cake and getting mayonnaise instead of frosting, and holy shit, now I’m wondering if Dad did that to John as a prank once and that ties into his bad experience with cake. That’s totally an Egbert style prank.

> Dave: Make an April 14th’s Resolution to be an open and honest person.

[radaverse]

Wow those ocs looks amazing did you made them?

Ohh! You mean the ones from the Samurai Jack AU? (Paws of Magic ✨)

The SJ Kids

I didn't do everything, I made Mai but the other two are made by my comic teammates, @tireddovahkiin and @darknadaworld respectively. Their lore is all made by the 3 three of us yapping and brainstorming hehe

These OCs are pretty much here to make this Samurai Jack Gen2

Mai

Mai is Jack's adoptive daughter, she's a 8 year old Chiyuchilla (extinct species that looked like colorful chinchillas with (minimal) healing powers), She's a samurai like her dad bestie

Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, very stubborn and resilient. But also a bit of a scaredycat.

Roni

Roni is Aku's first son (aside from Ashi cuz nobody knew she existed atm). He's a 11 year old tiny Oni (or whatever Aku is lmao). He was created by Aku and he's the world's best and fastest machine builder.

Stubborn, determined, tough and stoic, definitely not talkative, but secretly kind.

Muran

Muran is Aku's second son (and Costar's only son). He's a 4 year old (later 5) mix of an Oni and Star folk. He looks like a dragon wiwi.

Curious, silent, excited, affectionate (with his fam) and a bit mischievous 😈

If you came from the Smile animatic part I posted, what you saw there was their adult versions.

(Muran wasn't in that exact part but you'll see him later ✨)

A little thing to add about Muran:

Like Aku, he can shapeshift easily so his height always varies. What you're seeing here are his small forms.

As a child his default height was 5'1/154cm. As an adult it's about 50 feet/15m. Scarily close to Aku. He might often make himself way smaller to interact better with his fam.

Another important OC of the au comics is Costar. She's not one of the kids and isn't present in the animation but it's still really worth mentioning.

She's a Star being that got thrown to earth, now living there with Aku and becoming his most beloved servant. Then some sort of empress of the earth. (cosku moment)

(Art by Darknadaworld)

Costar's full ref and info here

So yeah, these four are super important for the au!

The AU comic (only 2 pages so far but we're cooking lol)

[blueironywrites]

Title: First Impressions

Rating: PG

Prompt: Jockey from @wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 298

Summary: Sirius makes a new best friend when visiting Remus’s parents for the first time.

I am writing a fic for each of the prompts this month. You can read all of them here.

+ + +

Sirius placed a hand on Hope’s arm and she stopped turning the page of the photo album. Eyes wide with glee, Sirius brought the album closer to him and gasped. “Who is this?” he asked.

Hope laughed. “That’s Remus,” she said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “No, I know that’s Remus, but he’s tiny,” he said, in disbelief. “How did this,” he said, pointing to the photograph of a young Remus standing at the top of a playground slide, “Turn into that?” he asked, pointing across the room to where his six-foot-four bronze-medallist boyfriend was talking to his father, his long limbs comically sprawled all around him.

When Hope had asked if Sirius wanted to see childhood photos of Remus, Sirius had hastily said yes while ignoring Remus’s pleas for his mother to stop. After seeing the excitement on Sirius’s face, he had sighed and sat next to Lyall, a slightly pained look on his face as he watched Hope bring out no less than six albums from the cupboard.

“Want to hear a secret?” Hope asked, her eyes gleaming, gesturing for Sirius to come closer. “He wanted to be a jockey, but poor thing grew too tall by the time he was fourteen, which is why he switched to basketball,” she said.

“Oh, please tell me there are photos of him on a horse,” Sirius begged. His mind filled with visions of a tiny Remus riding a horse over the Welsh countryside and he was hoping to makes copies of photos if they existed for their new home.

Hope’s eyes gleamed. “There’s almost a whole album. I’ll go get it,” she said.

Sirius laughed out loud.  “Oh, Hope,” he said, kissing her cheek, “I think you and I are going to be the very best of friends.”