#long post but it's necessary

[flame-shadow]

hey did you know??? that if you stop stretching and maintaining mobility in your body then it goes away?? things get tight and you can't move the way that you used to??? and when you decide to try getting a stretch routine going that the first week fucking sucks because you keep going 'damn i used to be able to do this no problem' and then you have to switch gears and be kind to yourself and just focus on getting better from here instead of berating yourself for dropping the good habits in the first place??? and your body never stops aging so you gotta keep taking care of it and sometimes you gotta take care of it extra in certain areas because of things that happened when you were younger and it's boring and sometimes hurts but it's so necessary???

i am yelling this at myself right now i am going through An Experience (trying to get into a routine of body maintenance again for my physical and mental health)

[kensatou]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[etoilesdeglace]

Colin. Could I ask you something? Of course. Would.... would you kiss me? Penelope... It would not have to mean anything, and I would never expect anything from you because of it, but I am nearly on the shelf and I have never been kissed and I am not certain I ever will be. I could die tomorow— You are not going to die tomorrow. But I could and it would kill me— You would already be dead? I do not wish to die without ever having been kissed!

[charmac]

Mac and Dennis not having sex.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #10: Inter-Dimensional Bake-Off

Alfred was checking the mail the manor had received that day when he found it. In between bills, fan mail, and company missives was a regal purple envelope addressed to one Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth. Intrigued, Alfred set aside the rest of the mail and sat to open the letter.

Inside was a high quality cardstock invitation of a metallic silver color decorated with luxurious midnight green script. It declared on the front:

“You Are Cordially Invited”

Alfred raised an eyebrow and flipped open card.

Dear, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth You have been cordially invited to participate in the first annual inter-dimensional bake-off to celebrate the coronation of the young, King Phantom, age 21, Ruler of the Infinite Realms, the Great One, Protector of Souls, Keeper of Peace, The Perfect Balance, The Infinite King, Ancient of Space and Reality. We have discerned that you are among the top 25 bakers in the 11 most stable and prominent dimensions with an open connection to the Infinite Realms. Thus, we would like to offer you the opportunity to show off and test your skills against talented competitors. Should you accept, all transport, accommodation, amenities, materials, and potentially needed medical care shall be provided by the King and his court. If you would like to bring any specific ingredients or tools you are welcome to file a request for them when you arrive and they shall be summoned to you at the start of the competition. You are allowed one plus one either as an assistant or moral support. Should you have any questions please write them down and place them on the sigil on the next page and recite the incantation bellow: “bonvolu respondi mian demandon” The event shall occur in a fortnight upon the weekend before the kings official coronation ceremony. In order to confirm your participation in the competition please burn this letter with one of your most recently made baked goods. In order to decline simply dissolve this message under running water. Please confirm your attendance or absence within a week’s time. Kind Regards, the Council of Ancients Advisors to the Good King Phantom

Well, it seemed like Alfred had earned a place in a rather prestigious event. ‘It seems a finally have a reason to make use of all those vacation days Master Bruce keeps insisting I must utilize.’ He smiled to himself, tucking the letter into his pocket. ‘I wonder if Master Jason would be amicable to accompanying me for a weekend of baking in a magical dimension?’

~ Just in case anyone has trouble reading the letter:

Dear, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth You have been cordially invited to participate in the first annual inter-dimensional bake-off to celebrate the coronation of the young, King Phantom, age 21, Ruler of the Infinite Realms, the Great One, Protector of Souls, Keeper of Peace, The Perfect Balance, The Infinite King, Ancient of Space and Reality. We have discerned that you are among the top 25 bakers in the 11 most stable and prominent dimensions with an open connection to the Infinite Realms. Thus, we would like to offer you the opportunity to show off and test your skills against talented competitors. Should you accept, all transport, accommodation, amenities, materials, and any potentially needed medical care shall be provided by the King and his court. If you would like to bring any specific ingredients or tools you are welcome to file a request for them when you arrive and they shall be summoned to you at the start of the competition. You are allowed one plus one either as an assistant or moral support. Should you have any questions please write them down and place them on the sigil on the next page and recite the incantation bellow: “bonvolu respondi mian demandon” The event shall occur in a fortnight upon the weekend before the kings official coronation ceremony. In order to confirm your participation in the competition please burn this letter with one of your most recently made baked goods. In order to decline simply dissolve this message under running water. Please confirm your attendance or absence within a week’s time. Kind Regards, the Council of Ancients Advisors to the Good King Phantom

The Esperanto translates to “please answer my question"

Edit: now with possible contestants

[jimmysea]

Do you still think I feel pity for you?

LAST TWILIGHT SERIES (2023)

[hermit-frog]

[neversetyoufree]

Since we'll hopefully be getting out of the VnC hiatus soon, and this new arc seems to finally be turning the spotlight back to Noé and calling out some of his more troubling traits for the first time, I've been thinking a lot about him recently.

I've talked before on this blog about Noé's inability to recognize or process bad things when they happen to him alone. He bounces back from and idealizes almost any experience as soon as it's over, even when he absolutely shouldn't. It's one of my favorite traits of his, and it's been lampshaded a couple of times in-manga. Louis calls out how weird his attitude toward his kidnapping is during the mémoire 9 flashback, and the "be a little bothered" from Vanitas and co in mémoire 57 has the same effect.

We also recently got a whole extended sequence of Vanitas and Domi complaining about how Noé also never anticipates harm before it might come to him. He waltzes into dangerous situations like it's nothing, almost as if he thinks he's unkillable. Combined with the above, this is just more of his strange brand of optimistic denial. Everything is fine in Noéland! It can't possibly not be fine! He always trusts and thinks the best of people and situations by default, never wanting to expect they may do wrong, and so long as a given event doesn't involve harm to external innocents and/or Noé's loved ones that he can't rationalize away, he compartmentalizes and denies harm once it's done. Thus he carries on in blissful ignorance, his past suffering having no effect on the blithe trust with which he treats the world.

But in addition to all that, Noé is also very notably divorced from the consequences of his own actions. It's not that he's *incapable* of considering his own effect on people, and he certainly tries to be kind and decent, but much of the time, it just doesn't seem to occur to him that people will have reactions to the things he does. He does as he sees fit, and when his deeds impact the people around him, especially if they produce a reaction that could upset him, it bounces off his mind in the same way that potential traumas do.

On the more lighthearted end of the spectrum, this leads to things like Noé never noticing when people are attracted to him. It may also have something to do with his airheaded messiness—the way he's always thoughtlessly making a mess of the hotel room and incurring Vanitas's wrath in bonus materials. On the heavier end of the spectrum, this causes a lot of genuine problems for the people around him. He's largely oblivious to the depth of Dominique's mental health problems until she's pushed to her breaking point at the amusement park, despite the fact that he's inextricably entangled in the cause of them. He also completely loses sight of Vanitas's reactions to him when he gets caught up in his protective rage at the start of the vanoé fight, and it takes an outside reminder from Jeanne and a literal mirror to make him realize that his own actions are part of why Vanitas has devolved to such a state.

This lack of self-perception on Noé's part feeds back into the other problems I laid out at the top of this post, his obliviousness toward his interactions with the rest of the world helping to facilitate his denial. It's part of the happy little insulating bubble that he interacts with the world through. And as the other side of that coin, his automatic, unthinking denial of things that could hurt him is part of what enables him to ignore his own impacts on the people around him. You can't reckon with or worry about harming other people when you live in Noéland where everything must be fine. I think the fact that he wants to be a good person that doesn't harm others actually makes it harder for him to confront the truth of how he impacts the world, because him hurting others is a Bad Thing that would cause him mental harm.

We've seen Noé mess up, understand his mistake, and apologize for it before. He apologizes to Vanitas for making assumptions about him after the bal masqué, he apologizes to Vanitas again at the end of the amusement park fight, and he apologizes to Riche for speaking with ignorance about dhampirs. However, I think the bigger a mistake of his is, the more harm it causes other people (and the more understanding would hurt him as a result), the harder it is for Noé to comprehend his wrongs. He's clearly trying to make things right with Domi, and he's told her that he values her, but I don't know if it's yet occurred to him to conceive of their mess as a situation where he's done her active wrong. He also literally passes out on her mid-conversation, leaving Domi and Vanitas to carry him back to bed when he was supposed to be comforting her.

But I think the most fascinating example, the moment where all this comes together into Noé's most feeble and blatant act of denial yet, is the first time he sees Misha after clawing up his face. The anime actually changes this detail, which is its own can of worms to get into, but in the manga, when Noé sees Misha's injuries in the light of day after attacking him, he immediately fucking turns around.

At the end of his wits at the amusement park, Noé claws a child across the face in a fit of anger and protectiveness. I'm not interested in condemning Noé for this, especially given that the child in question was actively trying to stab Vanitas at the time, but I will say that his actions are quite extreme. Given Vanitas's response and the way Misha's injuries are portrayed, I think it's clear that the manga wants us to see how Noé hurts Mikhail as something troubling and extreme. He gives that kid a pretty horrible injury, and Misha will likely have scars on his face for the rest of his life.

And regardless of how justified he may or may not have been in hurting Misha in defense of Vanitas, it's clear that Noé himself is upset by the true extent of what he does to Mikhail's face. When he looks at him in the light of day, when he sees a numb-looking child with his face wrapped in still-bloody bandages, though we only get to see a small segment of his face in that moment, he looks sick. He knows that he's done something troubling, and I'm sure he feels all kinds of heavy and unpleasant emotions.

This is one genuinely bad thing he's done that Noé cannot deny. He can't rationalize this one away and make it all copacetic. He can't conveniently forget the emotional reality of suffering and harm, because that reality is standing ten yards away from him. And he can't just apologize for things either, because apologies cannot undo physical harm, and frankly, I'm not sure he'd be able to give an honest apology for his one. Sickness at the results of his actions doesn't mean he fully regrets hurting Misha, at least not at this moment when emotions are still raw.

But Noé, confronted with this undeniable source of guilt and pain, is still ultimately unable to look the pain he's caused in the eye. A problem piercing through the happy veil of Noéland and forcing him to acknowledge it doesn't mean he's capable of reckoning with that problem. Instead he just. turns away from it.

Noé, forced to acknowledge a harm he's done and unable to employ all the many layers of automatic insulation that usually protect him, physically turns around because he cannot bear to look at the person, the child, that he's hurt. He employs the very last possible form of avoidance available to him, even though it's useless in the ways that matter. Not looking at Misha doesn't mean he gets to un-know the fact that he maimed him, but he simply cannot bring himself to look.

Noé is extremely good at playing "I do not see it" with things that hurt him. He's good enough that I think he has genuinely no idea he's doing it a vast majority of the time. Whatever mental shield he has that's protecting him is automatic enough that the badness that could hurt him doesn't ever even seem to cross his conscious mind. But no matter how automatic and subconscious, this tendency of his is still, and the end of the day, nothing more than an unhealthy coping mechanism, and this moment helps to put that to our attention.

What's the difference, really, between him cheerfully acting like Jean-Jacques and Chloé's assaults never upset him and him turning around so he doesn't have to look at the wounds he gave Mikhail? Noé can't look at pain, can't acknowledge the things he finds upsetting (at least not things that cause him alone pain, as others' pain often triggers his savior complex and spurs action). This scene with Misha throws that into the light, forcing Noé to desperately cling to his avoidance in an obvious and physical way.

Even when there's no way to deny the harsh reality of having done something he finds horrific, Noé Archiviste cannot make himself look directly at a painful truth, be it others wronging him or his own wrongdoing. It takes an external hand to step in and force him to turn his head and acknowledge/reckon with a problem. And even then, who knows if intervention can always be successful.

The start of the dham arc so far has drawn a lot of attention to this pattern of behavior, with Vanitas having to sit Noé down and explain to him in detail why his words said in well-meaning ignorance make Dante so upset. This is Noé being forced to look at a harm he caused because he couldn't or wouldn't look at and comprehend the problem (his fellow vampires' racism) in the situation he was in. But upsetting Dante is ultimately a low stakes problem for Noé. He put his foot in his mouth and offended a peer; he didn't shred Vanitas's little brother. He's able to accept his wrongs and feel his discomfort without resorting to physically turning around and avoiding the issue.

I want to know what Noé will do if/when this arc forces him to confront a source of pain he can't handle in a context that's more high stakes than a social faux pas. I want to see what he'll do when something really forces him beyond his ability to believe that everything is fine. How badly would he have to be hurt to lose his ability to filter an event/events through rose colored glasses? How badly would he have to hurt someone else? Or is his instinctive shield good enough that he'll never get out of it on his own? And if so, who else might step in to make Noé own up to reality?

Teacher and the Archivistes are becoming plot-relevant now, and our attention is being drawn to Noé's issues. I think there might be something coming soon that even Noé can't turn away from and cheerfully pretend isn't hurting him. Teacher even ends his appearance at the amusement park with a little speech about having to "wake and face reality," which makes me even more certain that a wake-up call for Noé is imminent.

Either that, or Noé's going to mess up and hurt somebody even worse than he hurt Misha later this arc, and in that case, we might get to see a feat of denial even worse than him literally turning around to avoid looking at the wounds he caused.

[glassofpumpkinjuice]

boys who giggle together stay together

(2013 - 2023)

[zilabee]

I love how ridiculously warm John would feel about the fact that Paul still loves him so much and sings with him at concerts and wanted to finish another song with him after all this time, and I love how John would kind of just feel it all behind his beautiful face, looking down, trying to be nonchalant about it.

The way that Paul loves John, so absolute and steady. The way that John didn't feel loveable like that, but craved it, but didn't recognise or trust it, and the way it was there and real anyway despite him. I don't know. I like that Paul is so relentless in loving him.

[masterwords]

Corporate needs you to find the difference between this picture:

And this picture:

They're the same picture.

Bonus:

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

[rillils]

🌸 post-catws stucky + lovers’ kiss

one.

The thing about grief is, it has a habit of dropping by every once in a while, unannounced and insistent like a nosy suburban neighbor.

It’s a contrary little creature. Some days it strikes hard, and crushes Steve’s chest with the brutal force of a frothing waterfall. Sometimes, though, it comes in droplets; little pills that get stuck in his throat for a minute, until he can swallow them down.

Steve doesn’t mind those too much: sure, the aftertaste is bitter – but there’s always a spoonful of honey at hand to help wash it down.

two.

There’s a morning ritual Steve is particularly fond of.

When the coffee has been made, and the first sip taken, he nudges their mugs to the side, and crowds Bucky back against the kitchen counter, arms braced on either side of him to box him in. Bucky watches him come with a knowing grin, a gleam in his eyes that says, well, all right, he’ll let Steve believe that he’s leading this little dance here, just this once.

But it’s Bucky who pulls him in the rest of the way; Bucky who sets his hands low around Steve’s waist, and brings their bodies flush together from hip to knee, delight written in the pretty curve of his lips.

“Hey there, sailor,” he teases. His morning voice is a dark, rich thing, rough around the edges but soft at its core, sweet with that old Brooklyn drawl that brings Steve right back home.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he chuckles against Bucky’s smiling lips, their breaths warm between them. “Fancy meetin’ ya here.”

It’s a ritual. Aren’t all kisses a ritual? Well-learned steps and a worshipful heart, the motions so ingrained they come naturally to your limbs.

Their mouths brush together, easy. Unrushed, like time will slow down for them if they’ll just deign to ask.

Bucky’s head tilts just so in Steve’s hands, and the kiss opens up, spilling its molten heat on Steve’s tongue, stroking inside to taste him, easy, easy.

It’s a long-practiced dance. If Bucky pushes, Steve will give; if Steve strays to flutter kisses all over Bucky’s bristly cheek, Bucky will grin and chase after him, and steer Steve back towards his lips.

It’s lazy. Uncomplicated. It’s their first conversation of the day, and Steve can just make out the words in the whisper of Bucky’s hair running through the gaps between his fingers; in the hushed rustle of his own t-shirt, when Bucky’s hand slips under the hem and slides warmly up the dip of Steve’s spine, leaving a trail of pebbled skin in its wake.

You’re here, Bucky’s touch says, awed and reverent.

Always, Steve says back, and kisses that vow to Bucky’s lips for Bucky to find later, when he’ll brush his fingertips against it, and the well-loved flush of his mouth, red and sweetly sore, will remind him of this. Of always.

Parting from him is agony, but breathing is an unfortunate necessity in life – so Steve pulls back, though only just enough to drink Bucky in, his arms wrapped snugly around Bucky’s waist to hold him close.

He’s a sight to behold, all soft and loved up and ruffled from Steve’s own hands, his smile like a ripe fruit framed by the fullness of his beard. His eyes crinkle with it, each little crease a testament to his happiness – and Steve knows he’s gonna have to take his time kissing each and every one of those later, or he’ll simply be driven to madness.

He should get to have a whole lifetime of this, Steve thinks – a lifetime to dedicate just to this little pleasure. Seventy years at least, to make up for the seventy years gone by that could have seen them grow old and gray together, but were stolen from them instead – and then seventy years more, ninety, a hundred, as many as his old withering body will stand and breathe for.

This will be his only job: the worship of Bucky’s laugh lines, of the curling wisps of his bedhead, of his eyelashes fanning darkly against the pad of Steve’s thumb. Cherishing this treasure he holds in his hands – the one he once thought gone forever.

There it is now: a little pill lodged in his throat. The cold hand of grief squeezing around his heart again, just for a moment.

Bucky’s palms cup his cheeks, drawing Steve’s gaze up to meet his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gentler than before, his thumb stroking soothingly over Steve’s cheekbone. “You’ve got your thinking face on. What’s wrong?”

Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, turning his mouth to it to kiss the warm, unyielding metal of Bucky’s palm.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he promises, leaning in to nudge to tip of his nose against Bucky’s, like a puppy. “Just busy coming up with an excuse to kiss you some more.”

Bucky’s breath puffs warmly against his lips. “Yeah? Had any luck yet?”

Steve hums pleasantly, “Mm-mmm”, locking his fingers together just above the small of Bucky’s back, and gently sways the two of them from side to side. Bucky snorts, amused, but he allows it; dropping his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders as Steve rocks them slowly, left to right, right to left.

“Here’s what I think,” Steve rumbles. “I think I ought to give you one kiss for each day we were apart since 1945.”

Bucky stares back at him, his lips parted slightly in surprise. He takes Steve in, wordlessly, studying him from the arch of his eyebrows, to the half-crooked slope of his nose, to the hopeful smile Steve knows he must be sporting right now. There is much left unsaid, Steve can feel its weight hanging in the air between them, recognizes it by taste and sound.

But Bucky’s gray eyes shimmer, nearly crystal-clear, and they fill with the kind of big, heart-twisting emotion that cannot fit under a single label; one that is equal parts ache and tenderness, and Steve understands – his chest feels too-tight around that same ache, too.

“That’s a lot of kisses,” Bucky rasps softly, and his hand skates up Steve’s shoulder to curl over the nape of his neck, herding him one inch closer into Bucky’s space.

“Yes,” Steve whispers, leaning in the rest of the way to mash their foreheads together. He can feel his own heart beat inside his chest, a quick and steady rhythm, and a rushing sense of victory bubbles straight up to his lips, sweet and light as air. “Exactly.”

Bucky laughs, a little wetly, and laughs ever harder when Steve tries to kiss him and gets all teeth and half a nostril instead – his head thrown back and his whole body shaking joyfully, while Steve ducks in to kiss what bristly portion of Bucky’s neck he can reach.

A treasure, Steve thinks.

A treasure in his hands, and forever to hold on to it.

three.

He sits himself down at the table with a sheet of paper, a pen and a calculator, a bunch of dates marked down and circled over and over in the topmost corner.

Bucky watches him from across the room, amused and – Steve believes – a little bit impressed.

“You’re really gonna do this?”

Steve smiles up at him, throwing in one teasing wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure.

“I’m a man of my word.”

It takes nearly a whole hour of focused scribbling before he looks up again, a wide grin lit up like Christmas on his face and a torn piece of paper held up in triumph. “I have the number.”

25109.

Seventy years’ worth of daily kisses.

It’s quite the commitment. It requires dedication. But good things are always worth putting in the work, Bucky tells him, eyes dancing with laughter; and when he settles in Steve’s lap, heavy and warm in Steve’s arms, and brushes their mouths together to claim the first of what he was promised, Steve can’t help but agree.

four.

25109 kisses Steve owes him, and he initiates quite a few; but mostly, he lets Bucky ask for them, when and where the mood strikes him to do so.

When he’s right on the verge of sleep, his face half-swallowed up by his pillow, and he can’t even peel his eyes open long enough to receive his kiss – he just tips his chin up and waits for Steve to scoot closer and find his mouth, drowsily humming in satisfaction.

When he lets Steve slip into the shower with him, and slides his hands up Steve’s chest, sweet and proprietary, and their breaths mingle with the hot steam.

When he’s got his head in Steve’s lap while Steve reads, and Steve’s fingers carding through his hair at leisure; and Steve catches Bucky watching him from under his eyelashes, and trying to hide that private little grin of his, because apparently Steve was silently mouthing the words again without realizing it.

“Kiss me special, Stevie,” he’ll croon, and Steve will know.

And he’ll be all too happy to comply.

five.

Steve is supposed to keep score. He does, too. For the most part.

Once every couple of weeks or so, though, he’ll just so happen to conveniently lose count.

He’ll roll out of bed with singular purpose, and break the tragic news to Bucky over their morning coffee, barefoot and forlorn. Bucky never buys his little sob story, but that never stops Steve from batting his eyelashes at him all prettily, either.

He’ll guide Bucky’s arms to loop around his neck, luring him in, soft and stealthy like a thief, and he’ll mumble real close to Bucky’s lips, “Let’s start over again.”

And Bucky, sweet, merciful, long-suffering Bucky, will accept his fate and be kissed breathless once more, right in front of their placidly steaming mugs.

“There,” Steve will murmur, again, and again, and again. “One down, 25108 to go.”

Oh, one life won’t be enough to see the end of this, no.

And that’s exactly Steve’s plan.

***

little sidenote nobody asked for lol: obviously the number of days/kisses varies depending on when you think the boys were reunited; my wishful thinking headcanon for this specific fic is: post-helicarrier, they find each other again sometime in the fall, 2014. the ficlet is set sometime in late spring 2016, and ignores everything that comes after catws.

[ricecaqes]

funny how we get attached to the struggle

hey guys i already posted about this but. guess whogot farewell golden (its me....). ive had this idea for a drawing for like probably a year now but i didnt let myself do it until it had officially Done It. and we're here now! and it still feels so surreal ...

it is genuinely impossible to try and express what celeste means to me beyond being my favorite game and a special interest. its just like. i cant even articulate it. it means the whole world to me and ive spent the past 6 years growing n changing and it has stuck and helped me with shit. and getting fwg inevitably in Some Form means im closing the book in terms of how far i can go w the base game but i am nowhere near done w celeste and i hope i never will be. sorry for beang sappy i huave autism about this game really bad. peace and love on planet earth yall

[anonymouspuzzler]

everyone has been so darned kind about the update!! to everyone who has taken a peek at our work, explored the site, shared it with their friends, drawn fanart, done ANIMATICS, MUSIC VIDEOS, everything and anything - thank you, thank you, thank you!!

also here's a lot of little doodles i found i did during production that i completely forgot about until now. the last little comic is a True Story that happened when i was hosting the exhibition

[Image IDs/transcripts under cut!]

[Image 1 ID: A full-color, digital drawing of a puppet version of Puzz lifting up Wally on her right hip. Wally is smiling gently and waving with his right arm. There is a light green and blue gradient behind them, and rainbow text above their heads reading "THANK YOU!" with little heart symbols in several colors. End ID.]

[Image 2 ID: A photo of Puzz and the Wally puppet, with a caricature of Puzz's face drawn over where her head would be. She is wearing read heart earrings and has her hair in a curly updo similar to Wally's pompadour. She is smiling with her tongue sticking out, looking into the camera. Wally is also smiling into the camera, one arm resting behind Puzz's back and the other hand on her arm. There is an arrow pointing to Puzz with handwritten text reading "PUZZ!" in blue colored pencil, and various yellow- and blue stars drawn around the image. End ID.]

[Image 3 ID: A black-and-white digital ink drawing of Puzz sitting at a messy L-shaped desk. She is wearing a baggy black t-shirt over a striped long-sleeve shirt, a grey skirt, and tights with a swirly pattern. There is a laptop to Puzz's right, a takeout container and cup of pens to her left, and a monitor right in front of her. There is a close-up image of Eddie's smiling face on the monitor. Puzz leans in close with an intense, thoughtful expression, going "hmm...". End ID.]

[Image 4 ID: A black-and-wite digital ink drawing showing Wally watching in horror as Puzz, spinning in circles with a vapid grin, ascends into the sky with a giant box balanced on top of her head. Her tiny top hat is in turn balanced on top of the box. End ID.]

[Image 5 ID: A black-and-white digital ink drawing of puppet Puzz and Wally. Puzz is standing in front of Wally, back facing the viewer, with an empty grin. Wally, who is about a full head taller, looks down at her with dumbfounded horror, apparently unable to comprehend someone being smaller than him. There are several question marks above his head. End ID.]

[Image 6 ID: A black-and-white digital ink drawing of Wally. He is leaning against a surface holding a phone, staring at the viewer with a gentle smile. He is holding the phone to his ear with his left hand and twirling the cord around his finger with his right. End ID.]

[Image 7 ID: A black-and-white digital ink drawing of Frank and Barnaby. They are recreating the meme image of two men in the snow, with Frank looking off to the right holding a small snowball in his hands, while Barnaby jumps up behind him holding a huge snowball, grinning widely and prepared to Dunk. End ID.]

[Image 8 ID: A black-and-white digital ink comic about Puzz and Wally at the Playfellow Exhibition. Puzz, wearing a N95 mask and dressed up like Wally, holds the Wally puppet on her left. In front of them is a woman with a short bob haircut and striped shirt, holding the toy phone receiver up to her ear. In the first panel, the woman says, "this is your voice?", to which Wally nods and Puzz looks on. In the second panel, the woman cheerfully adds, "you have a sexy voice!", to which Puzz and Wally both look shocked. The third and fourth panels shows Puzz and Wally looking at each other, then back at the woman. The final panel shows Wally covering his face with one hand and ducking his face into Puzz's shoulder in embarrassment, while Puzz and the woman both laugh good-naturedly. End ID.]

[musical-chick-13]

This is the only thing I'm going to say about the election until it's over:

Anyone who did not vote for Harris or who attempted to dissuade people from voting for Harris, you are indirectly responsible for whatever shit Donald Trump does if he gets elected. That blood is primarily on his hands, yes. But it is also on yours. I hope you can live with that because I sure as hell wouldn't be able to.