#mr. friendly

[chloesimaginationthings]

Was dissecting the SOTM trailer and apparently your monty is a mm member comic is now canon

ANOTHER WIN FOR MONTY ENJOYERS!!!

(Original comic)

[ivvyela]

i don’t care if he’s alive the last thing peter parker needs is daddy issues on top of his daddy issues

[dyrewrites]

The wheel chose my children's story, 'Mr. Friendly' so here's some kid-safe horror?

--

On one such night, when she did not come into the closet to see him, he wrote a different message. She had made sure he always had paper in a neat little pile on the floor, for practice, and had gasped and giggled when he showed her how he could lift it. But on that night, he could do more than lift paper. He could open the door. He could leave the closet.

And he did.

He slunk from his shadowy home, message in hand, and eased along the floors and walls past her bed. She slept fitfully, as she always did, moaning and weeping and he slunk further, fueled by those sounds. Using the house’s shadows as pathways into the other rooms, into the other closets, he found where the big ones slept. They snored peacefully, more comfortable than he felt they deserved, and he wanted to change that.

Then he checked his message, reading the letters he had written;

leave lottie alone or i will eat you

He didn’t know if he could eat them, but from some of the books Lottie had read to him it seemed a scary thing to be eaten and he wanted so much to scare them. He wanted to scare them so badly that they would leave and Lottie would be safe.

He left the message beside their bed, on a little table and slipped back to his closet where he coiled up tight on the soft blankets Lottie had put in there for him. He hoped then, with all his shivering dark, that they would see his message and either leave Lottie alone or just leave.

When morning came, they did see the message.

But they didn’t leave.

They got angry.

They got loud.

They made Lottie run and hide and scream.

So the shadow got angry…

and he made them scream.

Daily Sip 2/6

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You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[kidcore-nostalgia]

[clubsoft]

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⠀ ⠀ OVER THE MOON ⠀ ⠀ PROLOUGE ⠀ ⠀ REED RICHARDS A . K . A MR . FANTASTIC / F ! READER⠀⠀

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SUMMARY ⋆ reed richards has caught feelings for his student , making their casual , sexual relationship all the more difficult for himself . WARNINGS ⋆ no powers au / professor ! reed richards / he's divorced :3 / age gap ( reader is early to mid 20s ; reed is in his 40s ) / visualized size difference ; little to none character description aside from this / no smut in this one but it's implied so MDNI ty / lovesick , pining reed richards / just an introduction so more context will come l8r / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 1 . 35 k NOTES ⋆ contributing to the drought of reed richards fics !! enjoy !!

In Reed Richards’ world, the sun rises twice. 

First, at 6 in the morning, when his alarm clock buzzes on the nightstand and years of routine allow the blind reach of one long arm to silence it. Weighing down his other arm is the figure of his dream come true, slumbering, a cherubic delight amongst the cushions and furs encompassing her bare shape. In that moment, he lingers, soothing his hand over the silken expanse of her back, lower, lower, and lower still, alongside her hip, curling his digits to press their tips ever so gently into the plush of her ass, fondling the flesh with care, as to not wake her. The sensation of her under his palm marks her as real, as more than a sick — amatory fantasy of an old man like himself. His fingers travel once more, inwards, dimpling her thigh, so close to heaven itself — she stirs, he retracts his hand, and sighs. A solitary ray of light sneaks in, licks at the curve of her spine just as Reed finds the hem of the blanket and slips it up to her shoulders. 

Winter months don’t mesh with floor to ceiling windows, curtains of thick velvet can only retain so much heat, and a previously excruciating battle is made all the more difficult; it’s impossible enough to withdraw his warm embrace from the object of his yearning, but to do just that, and then press the soles of his feet against ice cold marble floors felt like punishment. Yawning, he heaves himself off the mattress, searches with lazy hands for his pajama bottoms, and after pulling them up his legs, pushing his feet into his slippers, making sure the girl is tucked in — snug, he yanks his knit sweater off the foot of his bed. The lights in the modern, minimalist home click to life, brightening his journey down the stairs and into the kitchen. Everything is on a sensor, finely tuned to his every need. He doesn’t even press a button, yet the coffee begins to brew in its pot; a perfect serving, one mug full. His guest doesn’t drink coffee, but she tries a sip when he asks, adamant on finding a ratio of sugar and creamer that she’d enjoy. In turn, Reed drinks a different flavor on most mornings he shares with her. He’s given up, truth be told, but he occasionally feigns continued effort, all to have her lips grace his mug so he can kiss her with each sip he takes. 

Tea is more her taste. Hot water, a paper tea bag, a pinch of sugar, a splash of milk. Instead of adding a setting to his coffee machine, he makes it by hand, stands above the steaming water and pokes impatiently at the tea bag with a spoon. The goal is to return to his bedroom with a mug in each hand, the brush of his stubble, the tip of his nose tracing the length of her neck, causing her to awaken with soft groans, the sound of giggles once the ticklish feeling truly registers. He doesn’t make it in time to wake her up himself, yet he’s content, beholding the sun as it rises a second time. 

The rustle of blankets, a delicate set of fingers wrinkling his half of the bed, searching for him. There’s a tug at his chest, a call to make everything right, fill his side of the sheets with his frame so that little hand finds just what it seeks, but he waits, watches, and his patience is rewarded by a soft smile as sleepy eyes finally find him, twinkling, taking in his tousled visage with a tenderness that mirrors his own. 

“Tea?” He lifts her mug. It’s the first word he’s spoken, low and thick with sleep, though the smoothness of his charming old school enunciation is permanent no matter how early it is. His slippers carry him across the distance between them as she sits up against the headboard, using a gray fur to modestly cover her chest. Reed doesn’t quite understand why. He’s seen, touched, kissed, licked — tasted every divine inch of flesh, left nothing to the imagination, memorized her very being within all five senses to where seeking her out has become a sixth … and yet, she divides them still. 

“Yes, thank you,” her wobbly morning voice calls him out of his thoughts, her fingers wrap around the mug, and draw it closer to herself. Reed’s large hand shoots out, takes hold of her wrist, pausing her movements altogether. Those big, youthful eyes stare at him expectantly, then shut for a heartbeat and a half when he tilts into her space to press a kiss to her lips. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, hovering inches away until she repeats it back to him.

“Morning, Reed.” 

He watches her over the rim of his mug through the symphony of sips and sighs, hers rushed, his anything but, slowing down time as best as he could. The first ever morning after, months ago, he’d woken up alone, left with nothing but her scent on his pillow. With each night spent together following that fateful encounter, she granted him more and more time in the mornings; his second sunrise, making him the luckiest man in the cloudy city of Manhattan. 

“Busy day today?” He inquires after his final sip of coffee. His mug is empty, and he plucks hers off the bedside table to finish what remains of her tea, getting in his kisses while she dresses herself on the opposite side of the room. Answering him with an absent nod, she trudges closer, the hem of her navy blue sweater, embroidered with the Columbia University lion, brushing her thighs. His sweater, stolen so long ago that she’s forgotten its origin. 

“Do you see my panties anywhere?” she mumbles the query with utmost bashfulness, as though he wasn’t the one dragging that small strip of cotton down her thighs at sunset. Hooking both mug handles onto his fingers, Reed uses his unoccupied hand to toss the covers around. His search is uninspired, clumsy, but fruitful. Soon enough, that little white piece of fabric dangles from his fingers, a smug grin on his lips. So cute, he thinks to himself as she snatches it away, whispering, “Thank you.” 

Her departure never feels real until she’s near the door, sliding small, socked feet into those damned, convenient, comfy shoes. Gators, or something silly, she calls them, not even allowing Reed the extra couple seconds that it takes to tie a pair of sneakers. 

“ —  you later, then, Reed,” she’s saying, squeezing all two of the large fingers she can easily fit in her hold. He frowns, just ever so slightly, returning the gesture, his hand engulfing hers. With a tug, he leans down, and she rises to her tiptoes to peck the corner of his lips. 

“Later? Are you coming by again tonight?” He asks, sounding embarrassingly hopeful, still holding her hand near his chest, gaze stuck on those soft, plump lips as they part to answer. Her words strike him like a dagger through his heart, the confusion in her voice twisting the god forsaken knife until his ribs are left hollow. A dramatic internal reaction to such a simple sentence. 

“Like, in class.” 

“Oh… of course, sorry. Looks like I’m still waking up. Anyway, are you sure I can't give you a ride? It’s like the dead of winter outside.” How pathetic he must sound, how visible the longing in his brown eyes must be, for she places her palm over his heart, and smiles in a manner that draws the air from his lungs, easing the tenseness of his broad shoulders. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll catch the bus.” Fixing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she steps backwards past his front door, turning halfway, pausing, then saying: “I’ll call you, and we’ll see about tonight.” 

He nods, the door shuts behind her, and if the world was watching, they’d see the genius Reed Richards break out into a joyfully lovesick dance in his drawing room.

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⠀⠀ ⠀ © CLUBSOFT⠀⠀ ⠀

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TAGLIST ⋆ @days1 / @luvrsluxe if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my fics , pls click this link && fill out the form !! u will be added immediately && get a notif for my next fic !!

[tesseractrave]

Happy Birthday, Harold Ramis!

[couch-house]

Okay I finally figured out Comet's origin story. Long version under the cut but short version is: knuckles finally got to reunite with the surviving echidnas but they didnt want to leave their homes to live on the floating island, so an alien felt bad for him and gave him a fankid <3

Okay so to recap stc canon: Knuckles has spent his entire time on the floating island believing he is protecting it until his people return. he doesnt remember, but he used to live in the ancient echidna city with Tikal and Pachacamac, but somehow was transported 8000 years into the future (present day). This happens after Tikal briefly brings Sonic back in time to help the echidnas fight off the Drakon empire--fish-shaped aliens that discovered chaos energy (the emeralds were made by the Drakons with the echidnas' sacred emeralds, then the echidnas "stole" them back and the drakons declared war). They succeed in beating them back for this battle, but my headcanon (which ended up being p close to what Kitching supposedly planned out) is that after this battle, the drakons come back and end up wiping the echidnas out--those that arent killed are taken off mobius as prisoners/slaves. At some point, some of them are able to escape and form a sanctuary away from the drakons.

Okay now we gotta talk about the Kaamdaarns. The Kaamdaarns are alternate dimension aliens that appear in 113, 119, and 120. They are peaceful aliens with "highly advanced science" indistinguishable from magic, which they use to disable any weapons on their planet and then also to free Shorty from his cybernik suit.

so the STORY WITH COMET GOES... Kintobor helps Knuckles to identify some kind of beacon signal that appears to be coming from other echidnas. Knuckles and Sonic hop into a spaceship (tekno and porker collab) and through a dimensional portal (tekno and kintobor collab) to find the source. they find a colony of echidnas long-established on a sanctuary planet under the protection of the kaamdaarns. the reunion is pretty bittersweet for knuckles bc like. these are people 8000 years removed from his culture. there are maybe some things still in common but otherwise their lives are completely distinct from how he grew up. and after 8000 years, very few if any of them consider the floating island home more than the place they are now. even those that might be interested in going back with knuckles are wary of the risk of leaving the safety of the kaamdaarn planet and being captured by drakons. and for a bunch of ruins... it's not really worth it

so knuckles has once again lost the whole Purpose of Everything He's Done and ummm well it goes about as well as the first time that happened

so he's hanging on by a Thread but the kaamdaarn that brought him and sonic to the village--her name's haven here she is--

says "you know what will fix that? a child." and see above: her making comet. GREAT idea, i agree. i mean the thought was more like "surely there is a way for you to both stay with your friends AND with other echidnas." but same difference. anyway sonic doesnt know what kind of egg that is.

thanks for listening. here's porker lewis as a reward :)

[uncharted-constellations]

Batman "I don't like working with others, I don't trust them, and I won't sacrifice Gotham to help out unless it's absolutely dire."

*Has an extensive network of vigilantes in Gotham and elsewhere, is on 85 different Justice League Rosters, would die for half of them*

Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man *fighting every hero he ever meets*

"Weird that no-one likes me, don't know what their fucking problem is, I should fight them"

[gagedraws]

We were fed a lot of HORROR games this year, huh?

[cosmokrill]

getting into Toon x Mobster reminded me of Friendly Neighbor Mr. Smith, so I just had to do a little portrait drawing and my yearly shouting from the rooftops for all you guys to go read it and support the author by reading her other comics too! this one first though

characters, as always, belong to @deeppink-man

ok back to my time prison thank yooouuu

[age-of-moonknight]

“Pathfinder,” Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 2/2024), #3.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Domenico Carbone; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[zerotab]

wtf im posting twice in a week thats rare

[deeppink-man]

Working on

[fadedrainbowbookshelves]

Frank better hope there’s never any rogue letters fluttering around his living room anytime soon…