#token and 2 sketches

[vampirecatprince]

Will we remain stuck in the throat of gods?

Will the pain stop if we go deeper?

[reallemonmeat]

never stop drawing

[etherealvoidechoes]

A little Wip of Elli around Act 2 to 3 in her story. In the main, it's [REDACTED]. Mostly avoids the nasty face scars the other have(have a few scratches to add), but her neck ends up with the unnatural scars. And she gets a full head of hair quicker than Jynn. Jynn would be jealous.

[seeminglydark]

How do I read about the punk and the cheerleader? The pic I saw of them passing notes was too cute!

ahaha oh god, where do i start, Carrie and Sully are my hyperfixation couple so uhhh theres a lot. Pretty much all the art on this blog is of them at some stage in their lives.

Fyi: my comics are all lgbtq+, supernatural/horror, found family, finding self, and there's angst and some heavy subjects but all with hopeful outcomes. I'll focus on their teen years for this post since that's what the detention piece is of. So lets seee. You can look at the tag '#the punk and the cheerleader' for more art of their teen years here on tumblr!

Here's a couple of character sheets from when they were teens

They star in my comic (cartoony horror) Prom Night which you can read for free here on Ko-fi

and here's a list of the mini comics I've made of them.

First kiss! (canon), sketch only

Schoolyard flirtin’ (canon), sketch only

Unidentified Flying Objects part 1 (canon, queer vibes)

Unidentified Flying Objects part 2 (canon, queer vibes)

The Punk and the Cheerleader (canon)

Tokens of affection (canon)

Not exactly a comic, but a round up of their teenage years right up until they lose eachother (canon/angst)

annd if you enjoy all of that, you can read my comic Seemingly Dark where they are side characters later in the story, as adults. Or read my comic Mil-Liminal which is about them specifically as adults in their 20's after reconnecting. Both can be found on Tapas or Webtoon. Annnnd finally you can listen to the Mil-Liminal Podcast where ever you get audio fiction, which is run by the 'cheerleader' after the punk has left their life and focuses on spooky stuff, finding identity and coming of age. ANNND I'm coming out with a new book in June called Creaky about the punk's trying to rebuild his life after everything falls apart. There's a cat in it <3

Phew that was a lot. Thank you for the ask!

-RJ

readin' him their fave book <3

[dworkism]

𐙚⋆° — reparation

pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader

warnings : i made this story from a dream i had guys pls pls sorry if its bad, reader is in support course :0, slowww buuurrnn, kind of IMPLIED but not explicitly said to be fem!reader (they just hang out a lot with the girls cause yea), LOTS of dialogue, and SWEARING , suicide joke SORRY

a/n : IM SORRY I MAKE SO MANY HANTA STUFF ZZZZZ i think i'll make eijiro next cAUSE this was kinda based off of this

➤ masterlist!

4,1k word count!

The Sports Festival was the first time you saw him. That lopsided grin present as his name flashed on the screen. Your first thought was how funny he looked. Sure, he’s cute, but those elbows are such a characteristic. You couldn’t help but snicker a bit. Seeing him get absolutely devoured by a certain two-tone haired, yet that smile persisted, as if it’s a stubborn stain, refusing to be washed away. 

You remember that time, texting Kyoka about it.

[ 12:30 ] you : was that guy from your class lol [ 12:30 ] you : he’s kinda cute :P 

And maybe that was the trigger point. 

When Higari asked your class to create a gear design based off of a quirk, you didn’t sketch out a gear for yourself, or a pro-hero, no. Maybe it was just inspiration, or maybe just admiration; but you made a gear based off of him. The page is still stuck in your notebook until now, complete with little notes of each parts’ functions and whatnot. Even Higari himself nodded in approval. Yet the gear never came to life.

Or so you thought.

It was the middle of the semester when students in the heroics course started flooding the workshop. Around that time Mei seemed to work tirelessly day and night from how many requests she’s gotten from them. You were not much different, although the requests sent to you were quite a bit easier. Then one morning, that same lanky figure, lazing grin and laid back voice was present. In flesh, Hanta Sero. 

His first awkward greeting to you was when you were carefully screwing shut a small contraption. 

“Hey uh…” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck while his other hand was holding something, like scraps of metal or something.

“C-can you help me uh… fix this?” His grin grew, a look of guilt present in his face, mixed with sheepishness. 

Your face contorted to confusion, brows stitched together while you attempted to figure out what was supposed to be fixed when all he held out was scraps of metals and screws. 

With a sigh, you lifted up your goggles, and said; “I can’t fix scraps,”

“I’ll just make you a new one. Just describe to me what your gear’s supposed to do.” You chuckled, hands already snaking to the table to grab your notebook and pen.

And now here you are. Second year, second semester. You had grown close with the girls in the heroics course, especially Mina and Kendo, since they visit the workshop a little bit too often.

It was lunch time, you sat with the girls from 2-A, chattering and laughing about.

“How about you, y/n?” Tooru’s voice chimed through your daze. “You never tell us anything!”

You raised your eyebrows in interest, a hum to respond. 

Tooru giggled, “You never tell us who you’ve got your eyes on! Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

You blinked. 

Someone..?

You huffed a chuckle, “Nah, probably someone soldering iron right now.” 

But then your mind flickered to that one page in your notebook. That lazy grin and those cheesy jokes he’d throw around while you measured his elbows, and how you’ve somehow memorized his blazer’s smell that always reeked of tangerines. Or maybe how he sometimes would bring your favorite snack with him, giving it to you as a token of gratitude.

Your eyes fell to your tray, your lunch still half eaten while your chopsticks hovered over your rice. “I dunno,” You shrugged. “M’ not really thinking of that stuff right now,” 

Mina whined, “See? I told you! It’s hard to get y/n’s mouth to open about these kinds of stuff!” 

A smirk tugged at your lips as you took a portion of rice into your mouth, chuckling at her acts. 

༉‧₊˚.

You hummed to the song playing in the workshop as you carefully placed a small chip into the gear laid in front of you. A small tweezer pinched in your hand as you slowly descended the small piece, only for the door to open with an ear-cracking holler.

“yyyyy/nnnnn” Hanta’s voice whined, his feet dragging him to your desk.

“My gear broke, again! Such horror…” He dramatically collapsed himself, placing a hand on his forehead as he handed out his wrecked gear.

You stifled back a laugh, rolling your eyes as you focused your attention on the gear on your desk again, carefully placing the chip.

“You do this every week like it’s a routine,” You chuckled.

He gasped, placing his hand on his chest. “Foul creature!” 

He stood up, pointing his finger to the sky while his lips twitched to a smile. “I must tell you, this gear is simply not able to contain my true power!” 

“Falling down the stairs is not true power, Han.” You grinned, screwing shut the gear as you examined it one last time.

“...Okay, fine I dropped it.” He huffed, “But it just means your work needs to be evaluated!” He argued, pacing back and forth as if lecturing you.

“You’re one to talk,” You snorted, setting aside the small gear to a box before turning your chair to face him, to face his stupidly grinning face.

He laughed, getting on his knees as he handed the gear on his palms to you like it’s an offering. “Pleaseeee, pleaseee, fix this, pleaasee?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you snatched the gear, placing it on your desk for the umpteenth time, your hands already readying the same screws, bolts, and everything the gear needed, already embedded into your memory like it’s your mother’s recipe. “I don’t even have to ask what’s broken anymore, Han, it’s that often.”

“Hey, it makes your job easier, riigghtt?” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you, don’t you miss me sometimes?” He asked, pulling a chair to sit.

You smiled, hands pausing on the gears casing as you were unscrewing it. 

“I guess,” You mumbled.

He chuckled, the sound coming out more like a shriek more than anything. 

“I gueeess” He imitated, you can even hear him sticking out his tongue at you. “Lying is bad y/n. Admit it. Your workshop feels dead without me,” 

“I like the quietness better, actually.”

He giggled, “Ouch, man, here I thought we were long lost siblings.” With a creak of the chair, he leaned to your desk, eyeing you from the side. “I’ll pay you back, ‘kay?”

“With what?” You chuckled, eyes fixed on the gear. 

“Banana milk,” He snickered, “And maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll also buy you those steamed cakes you always eat since our first year.” 

“The fuck?” You snorted. “You remember that?”

He pssh’ed, “Duh?”

“You eat that shit like it’s a reward every time you’re done with like… five gears or something,”

Glancing sideways, you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re weird.”

“You love me,” He teased, pushing himself to stand up from the chair. “Those steam cakes are ass, you’re weird.” 

You mumbled a mock to him, sticking out your tongue as you reached out to grab a mold from the drawer. 

His steps receded as he laughed, hands buried in his pocket while he walked backwards towards the door.

“I’ll get the original flavour,” He yelled. “Byeeee,” 

Clack.

An hour and thirty minutes.

It took an hour and thirty minutes for you to finish that damned gear. To be exact, an hour and thirty minutes after you’ve finished the other gears before that. With a small groan, you stretched your arms above your head, your body’s slouch finally stretched out to fix your posture. 

07:30 P.M. — The clock blinked, red bold digital numbers as if reminding you to stop and close the workshop for the day. So you did. 

With a soft click, you locked the workshop’s doors, sighing softly to yourself while your other hand clutched your bag, keeping it on your shoulder. The floors of the building squeaked with the rubber soles of your shoes as you dragged your feet, echoing against the empty building.

Tucked away carefully in your bag was the reason. His gear, you even painted it in his signature colors; white, black, and yellow. Maybe that was the reason your clothes smelled like fresh paint all over, but you didn’t mind. You’d stuck a small note on it, written in your handwriting;

‘Don’t break this one >:(‘

The conversation from earlier rang in your mind again. Tooru’s sweet voice chiming that casual question, but somehow it bugs you a bit. “Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”

Someone.

You chuckled softly to yourself as you mindlessly made your way to his class, no need to remind you again; his desk was third from the back, second from the right. 

With a small noise, you placed down the gears, securing it into his drawer before you silently made your way out of the dark, empty classroom, then making your way to your dorm. 

༉‧₊˚.

“Jeez,” Hanta muttered in awe, carefully examining the gears now resting on top of his desk. His grin grew as he saw the note, an expression—that of amazed and amused. His thumb grazed carefully over it, as if afraid to smudge it. 

Even the colors were spot on, too, his colors. Small details you had implanted to the gear—maybe it was to ensure that he doesn’t break it again, or maybe it was just your way of evaluating your work. Either way, he finds himself grinning from ear to ear as he chuckles, looking at his newly fixed gear. You’d put an additional hole on the strap so he can adjust it more accordingly, the edges were smoothed out so that it sits comfortably on his arms.

“Shut up,” He laughed, the sound coming out more gentle—awestruck, adoring.

༉‧₊˚.

Knock knock knock! — The workshop door opened slightly, creaking as a shuffling sound made its way into the room. He’s right behind me, isn’t he.

“Moooorning,” He sang out, shaking the plastic bag in front of you. 

“Banana milk, and steamed cake. Just how my favorite mechanic likes it.” He placed the bag beside your arm, “Yooouu’re welcome,” Pride laced his voice.

God, all you can do is smile, as you slowly peeked your hand into the plastic bag, peeking inside with the exact things he said. “You know you don’t have to do this aaall the time, right?”

“I know,” He shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But I wanna,” 

“...You’re just bribing me,”

“I’m for reeaaaalll”

“...Thanks, Han.” You hummed, smiling softly as you reached into the bag, unwrapping the small steamed cake. The plastic rustled against your fingers as you tried to open it.

“You suck at opening shit,” He snickered, snatching the cake from you, ripping it open before handing it back to you. “Hm, eat,”

You blinked at him, feigning offense. “I was getting there.” You said, chuckling. 

“Sure you were,” he teased, plopping down onto the nearest stool like he owned the place. “At the speed of a dying turtle.” The noise he made next was ugly. Imitating a grandma talking. 

“Screw off,” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at him but took a bite anyway.

He watched you, arms crossed and chin propped on the edge of the worktable, eyes all full of mischief and… something else. Quieter. Warmer.

“You should smile like that more often,” he said out of the blue, his smirk faded into a small smile.

Your chewing paused. “…Like what?”

He leaned back with a stretch. “Like you actually like me.”

You shot him a look. “Han—”

“Kiddingg!” he grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Juusst kidding.”

After a small pause, he spoke up, “I gotta go now, my first class is heroics,” Hanta smiled, slapping his palms to his knees as he stood up. 

With his hands in his pockets he walked to the door. “Byyyee, don’t miss me,”

“Oh, and finish the cake, it was super expensive.”

It had been like that for a little over a year now. He’d come to you, whining about his broken gear, begging on his knees for you to fix it—and every time you did so, you threatened him to never break it again or you’re not fixing it ever again. But that never happened. Every time he whined back to you, you’d fix it, no matter how much you groaned about it, you still fixed it for him. And he’d come to you the next morning to bring your favorites; always the same banana milk and steamed cake. 

And honestly? It stuck to you. It became a small little routine for you, something you’d grown used to. But today—after yesterday’s little chat at lunch—it felt special, somehow. It felt like he saw you, like he…

…cares about you. 

But that was just a silly thought. 

You snorted. 

Hanta’s nice. That’s what he is, nice, friendly. Welcoming to everyone, and you were no exception. 

༉‧₊˚.

God, these projects show no mercy. And if you weren’t that much of a procrastinator, maybe these wouldn’t be stacked up into a bundle that you had to finish by tomorrow. A small grumble left your lips as you tweaked the final blueprint, scratching down the stiff paper before huffing a small celebration, rolling it up to tuck it behind your desk. 

The clock showed the time—06:30 P.M.

Ugh. You missed your show again. With a small sigh, you stepped towards the door, rummaging through your pocket to ready the keys and lock the door. 

Clack. The door closed, the lock clicking softly as you turned it to the right, jingling before you stuffed it back into your pocket. 

“Like you actually like me.” His joke echoed. 

His joke.

You brushed it off, even though a small smile tugged on your lips as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, steps light towards the exit. 

Wait. Is that…?

Standing by the gates was that same lanky figure, tall and lilt, hair slicked from the rain while his laugh echoed through it. You almost smiled, almost laughed at his face. Almost. Before you saw her. A small girl standing next to him, smiling so sweetly at him while his blazer was draped over her, fitting and perfect. The same blazer he usually draped over your shoulder when the workshop felt too cold, and he felt too warm. The one that had a small twinge of oil stuck to its cuff. The one that smelled like tangerines.

He said something. Something that made her laugh. And he smiled at that. He smiled at her laugh.

Like he was proud of it. 

You felt your chest twist. Scrunched up and stretched. The rain wasn’t making anything better. The fact that you’re tired and pent up from today made everything worse. 

So you ran. 

You ran past them, bag over your head as you picked up your pace, your face was wet, and cold, not just from the rain. You hoped he didn’t see you, didn’t see that grimace you had on your face, didn’t see the way you bit your lip. But you hoped he did. Hoped he saw you. 

The streets were blurry by the rain, thunder clapping above your head as you ran to the dorms. And you slipped. Slipped just enough to make you drop to your knees and scraped your palms. You groaned in frustration, in hurt.

So all this time you were just his fixer upper? Cool.

༉‧₊˚.

Two weeks.

It took him two weeks to notice something was wrong. Sure, you still fixed his gear, although he didn’t break them this time. Said they were ‘too pretty’ to be broken, but even that didn’t earn your usual witty remark, you just smiled faintly to him. 

But he brushed it off. 

Maybe you were just tired, maybe his trick of ‘breaking’ his gear was starting to piss you off. Maybe he needed a new excuse to see you other than fixing his gear. 

Maybe you were growing tired of him. Naaaahhh. No way, jose. 

You like his company, you enjoy being around him. He sees that, he sees you. 

…But why were you pulling away? Did he say something? Okay maybe he did throw a small offensive joke. But you always laughed at that! So what was wrong? What was so wrong that you’re not even laughing at his jokes? His actions? Him?

Okay, fine. Whatever. Maybe you just needed some space. 

So he gave you that. 

But the moment he came into the workshop shaking your usual banana milk and steamed cake combo, and you rejected that? 

“I’m good, Han. Thanks.” You replied. Blunt, short, precise, to-the-motherfucking-point.

Oh he screwed up. He screwed something up. 

“Oh, uh..”

“Okay, I’ll uh… give this to Denks then, dude eats everything.” He chuckled awkwardly, the plastic rustling by his side.

“Mhm, okay.” 

Shiiiittt he’s so screwed. 

You didn’t even chuckle, and that’s how he knew.

༉‧₊˚.

“They hate me. They hate me so bad. I’m killing myself.” Hanta whined to his pillow, Kaminari perched by the edge of his bed.

“They didn’t even CHUCKLE at me, Den.” He groaned, his muffled voice cracking as he threw his arms up.

Kaminari sighed, arms folded as he glanced at the ravenette. “You’re being dramatic, Han.”

“No I’m not!” He protested, shooting up from his bed to sit up. “I’m not, okay? I just—I don’t know what I did, I just—...” He sighed, flopping back into his bed, groaning as he ran his hands over his face. “I don’t wanna lose them, Den..” He mumbled in a trembling voice.

“Then tell them that.” Kaminari shrugged, a chuckle on his lips as he scooted closer, patting Hanta’s thigh.

“...How?” He croaked back. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, dude I just…”

“Two weeks ago we were fine, I even made risky ass jokes to them and they laughed! And when I was lending that girl my blazer—”

Kaminari whistled. “Bingo.”

The bed shuffled as he sat up, head darting to Kaminari’s way while his mouth hung open. “Shit.”

“Go, Han.” 

༉‧₊˚.

The halls of UA had never felt so… suffocating. He’s been here before, like hours like these too. Just now he feels like he’s risking his life as he stares at the slightly cracked open door of the support course workshop. His steps felt heavy, like lead weights dragged through the ground, and his mouth felt dry, like water had never touched his tongue, and suddenly the plastic bag in his right hand felt too plastic-y. The faint tune of your favorite song was humming through the air, as well as the consistent whir of the sanding machine. 

As he slowly pushed the door open, the creak felt loud—too loud. Loud enough for you to dart your eyes to the door and paused your hand. His throat fell dry, drier than before.

“H-hey,” He grinned. It felt too wide, too stiff. But he didn’t care.

You held your gaze on him for a moment, brows furrowed, and he swore even when he couldn’t see your eyes through your goggles, he felt your stare pierce through him. 

The sanding machine came to life again, louder this time as you ducked your head back to the gear in your hand. “Hey,” you mumbled back, not bothering to look at him.

“I uh…”

“I wanted to talk to you,” He chuckled, stepping just a bit closer, his hand gripping the plastic bag tighter.

Perhaps his portion of response from you had run out. You stayed silent as you continued sanding the casing of the gear, stopping briefly to examine it. 

“...Y-you’re mad, at me, …I think,”

“And I uh…I just… I wanted to fix that, y/n.” He shifted his weight between his feet, chewing his bottom lip as you slowly paused the machine, setting it aside on your desk.

“Why?” You bluntly asked. Perching your elbow on your armrest as you lifted up your goggles. 

God, you’re such a sight to him. Even angry and frowning at him like this, you took his breath away, if not more.

“B-because—...”

“I care?” 

“I mean–! I care, I care, …I care… a lot,” He grinned again, nodding as if convincing himself before he cleared his throat, louder than necessary. “I care… I care about you, y/n.”

His gaze fell to the ground, pressing his lips into a thin line, he shut his eyes. “I…I made a mistake, okay? A-and… I hurt you, and I’m… real sorry, y/n.”

“...I don’t…wanna lose you,” He breathed that out, coming out barely above a whisper while his hand gripped the plastic bag tighter.

“Look–.. that one time, y-you saw me with that girl at the gate? S-she meant nothing, okay?”

“I just…wanted to be nice,” He muttered quietly, almost as if in shame. 

“You’re always nice, Han.” You blurted, finally opening up your voice. It felt cold, different from what he was so used to hearing. “You’re always nice to everyone, aren’t you?” Your voice shook.

“...You probably think this is stupid, I don’t care.” You spat, your voice held a small tinge of anger in it.

“You made me think that you… you liked me, and—” 

“Because I do.” 

The words hung there, waiting for your response as the air conditioner hummed through the air.

“I…I do like you, y/n.”

“A lot.” He whispered quietly, his arms swinging in nervousness as he chewed on his lip, suffocated by the silence you answered with. 

You stared at him. 

Not just because he was standing there, but his words rang to your ears. It was what you wanted to hear. That confession, that maybe he cared for you for a reason. And he did. He did care for you for a reason. 

“For a long time now, okay?”

“I—... I don’t even know when– I just–...”

He sighed. “I just… really like talking to you, I like how you understand my dumb jokes, and you even—...it’s dumb, but you flirt back when I do, okay? And that shit was hot… for me.”

He groaned, wiping his eyes with frustration in his movements, throwing his head back as he stammered; “I’m screwing this shit up– I’m..” 

“y/n I’m just… sorry,” He said, finally looking at you. Hints of tears threatening to fall down his cheeks while he stared at you with desperation written all over his face.

“Please don’t… don’t leave,” 

And you wanted to cry, and laugh, at the same time. Cry because you’ve never seen him like this, because did he really just lay his heart bare to you? Laugh because God he looks ridiculous right now. So desperate, so sad, if this was a less serious moment, maybe you’d pull out your phone and record him. 

So you smiled, “I like you too,”

“H–..What..?” He croaked back, his voice unsteady as he looked up at you again.

“I like you, Hanta, I like you, back.”

He breathed out a laugh, finally smiling after what felt like his face was stretched down to the earth for the past few minutes, he grinned, running his hand through his hair. “You– what?” 

Ahem. “Okay wait, pause—” 

“C-can I–..?” A hand reached out to you hesitantly, sheepish and nervous, twitching slightly as if scared you’ll break if he touches you. 

Slowly, you reached back, enveloping your hands into his, letting him slowly pull you into his embrace. Warm, quiet, and… smells like tangerines. A small giggle escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to your hair, carefully caressing it. “Shit, I’m so— happy right now,”

His heartbeat was fast, shinkansen speed-kinda-fast, you heard it as you slowly buried your face to his shoulder, your arms awkwardly wrapping around his waist, and you couldn’t help but smile widely, nuzzling yourself into him. 

“I thought I messed this up, I swear— like, real bad, y’know?” He murmured into your hair, a hand gently resting over the line between your hip and waist. “I thought I lost you,” 

With a swift motion, he took off his blazer, carefully resting it on your shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you again.

“S’ yours now,”

“...What?”

“My blazer—...your blazer.”

You giggled, lightly pinching his shoulder. “Shut up,”

“Hey come on!” He chuckled, “I’ll even trademark it for ya,”

You grinned against his shoulder, arms wrapping just a bit tighter around him.

“C’mon, I know you looovee me that much, but I know you’re also hungry,” His hand nudged your arm with the plastic bag, “I brought my favorite mechanic’s favorites,” He hummed out.

“Steamed cake and banana milk.”

He grinned. “Just how you like it,” 

And in the warm, quiet thrum of the workshop, under buzzing lights and the soft scent of sawdust and tangerines, it finally felt right.

Like home.

dworkism | do not repost!

➤ masterlist!

i gotta write other things other than this man i swear

[daiourage]

TFO Dual Rulers (?) AU

I've been seeing people do like a "what if D didn't go fuckin' coconuts" AU, and it kinda inspired me to start thinking of what other events would be changed in those scenarios.

(yes i'm still in denial)

Please take these lightly colored sketches!!! Also I'm sorry for lazy handwriting;;

Also also, as always, please click/press the image for quality!!!

("Brief" explanations for each of the numbered panels is under the cut (the numbers are just the order of when I drew them, and not in chronological order of the scenes)!!!)

1. I think, because D won't be the one to shoot at Sentinel because he's grounded in this AU, Sentinel would be the one to use the last of his strength to try and shoot at D, only for Orion to block it. I couldn't figure out how to draw D in immense agony about it so I just decided to make this paper a collection of ideas. If anyone has any ideas, please tell me because I want angst--//shot (I also finally remembered to write my signature this time!!!) 1-2. The main problem I had trouble figuring out was how D would possibly let go of Orion... He'd still say the "Why did you do that, why?!" line, but I don't know where to go from there. Would Sentinel still have energy to kick D's hand? Would Orion be too heavy to hold on? Would Orion tell D to let him go? Maybe they wouldn't even be hanging over the ledge and D would just be holding him--but then what? There was too many things to ponder about just one scene, and I wanted to get my other ideas out before I forgot about them. Guyssss give me your ideas please-- 2. It always bothered me that Orion and Bee left D in Sentinel's office(?) to hold him off on his own;;; like, I get it, D won't listen, but at least tell him you're leaving??? 2-2. I think the "What did he do to you?" conversation would be much longer. Not as comical and cheesy as the comic I sketched a little bit back, but... 3. (Please read it right to left;;; I just got done reading manga when I had the idea to draw this panel;;; also the entire page honestly. I'm so sorry y'all--)At the High Guards' base, I think D'd be the one to initiate a fight with Starscream still, but do it calmly. 4. I wanted to keep this line, because it would make sense still. Also might hurt a little more *screams* (D would not do the Anime Girl Pose™️, but I wanted him and Orion to match oop--) 5. After apprehending Sentinel, somehow we'd get his (Megatronus's) cog and Orion (now Optimus) would give it to D as a token of trust. Based off of @/momonsalmonmon on Twitter/X's absolutely gorgeous comics!!! (I also DO NOT remember how the cogs looked I'm sorry for not doing further research ;w; Will do better next time I promise;;;) 6. Bee and Soundwave BFFs???? (+ annoyed Shockwave) Please. Also maybe bring back Senator Soundwave as a concept??? Miss he;; It might be interesting, with Bee also "working for the government" now,,, (Edit: 2/7/2025): Hi. just realized my typo and it's been months. Guys. It's Senator Shockwave guys. Why didn't y'all tell me;;;; I knew who I was thinking of I promise;;; guys please don't nod along to this and just ignore my huge ass typo 😭 (thank you for the support though but OH MY GOD) (Edit: 3/3/2025): GUYS. I FORGOT THEY WERE BOTH SENATORS AT SOME POINT (in different comics though but) GUYS. I'M A PUSHOVER. THEY CAN BOTH BE GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS AS A TREAT AJSDLKFAJLKSDJFLKA I'm a fraud ;w;)b 7. Headcanon that Orion is bad at math and confides in Elita and D for enforcing the taxes so the citizens don't become outraged but also so that the government has enough money to do stuff. D might be like "Aww he needs our help" and Elita would be like "godddd let me work out" 7-2. I feel like I draw Elita with an annoyed expression too much I'm so sorry milady;;; I promise I love you;;;

[fordiaz]

Tangled Up (Evan Buckley) ִ ࣪✮🕷⋆˙💥

“It’s just—sometimes when I don’t know what to draw, I just sketch people I see often. You’re always walking around in that hoodie, looking like you’ve got some secret life.” 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Synopsis: Spider-Man!Buck finds peace in the quiet company of his fire escape neighbor—an unbothered artist who couldn’t care less about the city’s chaos. What you don’t know is that he’s the guy swinging over rooftops… until the night he saves you, and you thank him with a kiss that turns his whole world sideways.

Genre: Romance, Fluff

AU: Spiderman!au

Pairing: Spiderman!Buck x Artist!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: Fun fact, the character of the reader is based on me! I graduated just recently as an art student in highschool (It’s kinda complicated but where I’m from we have 2 extra years of highschool and you major in stuff like engineering, business, and in my case, I majored in arts!) so I thought why not put a little bit of myself into this fic to honor my major? Also here’s to a self indulgent little fic of Spiderbuck because it’s been plaguing my mind for weeks. Love you guys and happy reading! Thanks for the support as always, with every like + reblog and comment comes a token of why I continue to do what I love! (

Evan Buckley was the kind of guy who was always a little too curious for his own good.

At twenty-two, he was a college student juggling a full course load in mechanical engineering, part-time shifts at a local auto shop, and an inexplicable tendency to be at the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

He lived in a cramped but homey Brooklyn apartment with his older sister Maddie, who worked nights as a nurse and had long since accepted her little brother’s chaotic energy as a fact of life—like gravity or taxes.

The day everything changed had started out completely normal.

Buck had cut class to fix the brakes on Maddie’s clunky old Corolla, spilled coffee all over his only clean hoodie (which he’d later keep wearing anyway), and gotten roped into a last-minute errand run that ended with him tagging along to a university-sponsored lab tour.

Science wasn’t really his thing. He liked taking things apart, sure—but the molecular level? That was more Chim’s speed.

Still, there was a certain comfort in watching the glass-encased spiders of the university’s bio-genetics program crawl in their terrariums.

Buck had stared at one particularly twitchy red-and-blue arachnid, laughing to himself about its resemblance to a Fourth of July parade float, before a series of moments blurred together: a distraction, a bump, a crack in the glass no one noticed. And then—

A bite. Sharp. Hot. Quick.

The pain had radiated up his arm and burned like wildfire through his veins. He didn’t remember much else except nearly blacking out on the subway home and waking up sprawled on his bedroom floor, sweating through his sheets with the overwhelming urge to… climb.

And so began the freakishly strange, secretly exhilarating new chapter of Evan Buckley’s life: learning to web-sling through alleyways, punch through steel, and crawl upside down on ceilings—all while still managing to grab groceries for Maddie and pretend he wasn’t literally climbing the walls.

But despite all the chaos—the nighttime patrols, the bruised ribs, the suit he sewed together by hand with shaky fingers and leftover fabric from Maddie’s DIY Halloween bin—there was always one constant in Buck’s world:

You.

His next-door neighbor. The girl on the fire escape.

You didn’t talk much, not to him anyway.

You always had paint on your fingertips and headphones on, lounging on the rusty fire escape outside your window like it was a throne.

Sometimes you sketched in charcoal, sometimes you painted in oils, and sometimes you just laid there with your eyes closed and a cigarette tucked behind your ear, completely unaffected by the world spinning madly around you.

Buck would catch glimpses of you when he came home from patrol, exhausted and aching. The moment he saw you sitting on that fire escape, illuminated by the yellow glow of your window, something in him stilled.

You never looked up—never noticed the way he lingered by his window to watch you—yet somehow, your calm bled into him through the walls.

He liked to imagine what kind of art you made.

Whether you drew the city like it was, gritty and unforgiving, or how you wanted it to be. Maybe you drew the man in the red mask who was starting to appear in headlines and blurry phone videos—the masked vigilante who flung himself between danger and disaster, who arrived just in time and disappeared just as fast. The man the internet had nicknamed Spider-Man.

He wondered what you would say if you knew it was him.

But for now, Buck kept his mask on — both literal and metaphorical.

He swung through alleyways and over rooftops with city wind tearing past his ears, adrenaline roaring in his blood, balancing the impossible weight of his double life:

Evan Buckley, college burnout with a tendency to care too much, and the faceless vigilante the internet had started calling Spider-Man.

And still, no matter how chaotic the night had been — whether he’d stopped a robbery, pulled a kid from a burning building, or barely escaped with a cracked rib — it was always your window that he looked for when he came home.

You, on the fire escape, one leg dangling off the side, sketchpad balanced on your knee, music low in your headphones. You never looked up. Never said anything. But somehow, your stillness reached through the chaos like a tether.

It grounded him more than any rooftop, any anchor line, ever could.

Maybe one day he’d say something. Maybe he’d knock on your window. Maybe he’d show you who he really was — not the mask, not the headlines, just Buck.

But not yet.

For now, he’d just watch from the window, heartbeat finally slowing, the world briefly at peace as you drew under the stars.

And for the first time all night, he’d breathe.

It was raining again.

A soft, cold drizzle that stuck to your jacket and turned the streets of Brooklyn into one giant watercolor palette—muted grays, splotched browns, wet cement smeared with light.

Buck tugged the hood of his sweatshirt tighter over his head as he jogged across the street, nearly slipping on the corner thanks to some particularly slick cobblestone.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath, water dripping down his neck.

The city always had a way of testing his limits, even when he wasn’t in the suit.

He made it into his building, boots squeaking across the tile as he shook out his jacket and hit the elevator button, tapping his foot impatiently. He was running late — of course — and Professor Harley didn’t give second chances.

Then the elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal you.

And everything else just… faded.

You were hunched slightly under the weight of your tote bag, sketchbooks crammed into your arms, a few charcoal pencils sticking out at odd angles from a roll that looked like it was held together by a shoelace.

You didn’t seem to notice him at first — your headphones were still in, your hoodie sleeves slightly stained with paint, your mind probably a thousand miles away in some idea or image you were trying to pin to paper.

Buck stepped in quickly, offering a small nod, but his bag knocked into yours. Your sketchbooks teetered, and before he could say anything—

Everything spilled.

“Oh no—shit, I’m so sorry—” Buck dropped to his knees immediately, hands scrambling to catch one of your sketchbooks before it could land spine-first on the grimy floor.

Pencils clattered, a kneaded eraser bounced once and rolled toward the elevator wall.

You blinked at the mess for half a second before crouching down with him, laughing softly under your breath.

“Guess gravity’s not a fan of me today.”

Buck looked up just for a second before he fully looked up at you.

You were smiling.

The soft kind — not performative or polite, but effortless, like you’d found something quietly funny in all of this.

Your eyes met his, a glint of curiosity in them, and for a moment, Buck forgot where he was. Forgot the elevator. The rain.

The fact that he was, technically, very late.

It was as if the whole city paused.

The hum of fluorescent lights, the distant honk of a car, the muffled conversation from the floor above — all of it blurred behind the simple click of that one moment.

“Seriously,” Buck stammered, clearing his throat and handing you a battered sketchbook with a corner bent. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

You shrugged, brushing your thumb over the bent edge.

“It’s okay. Honestly, I’ve done way worse. Last week I spilled ink all over a professor’s desk.”

You smiled again, a tiny self-deprecating tilt of the lips. “This is nothing.”

“I’m Buck, by the way,” he said, still crouched, handing you the last pencil.

You tucked it into your roll. “Y/N.”

And then, something shifted.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

“Wait. You live upstairs, don’t you? I’ve seen you come home late sometimes.”

Buck tried not to panic. “Yeah, uh—night shifts. Campus security.”

Half a lie. It sounded like a job a sleep-deprived student might have. It also covered for the nights he swung home bruised and limping with smoke in his lungs.

The elevator dinged again, and you both stood. Buck didn’t even realize he’d hit the ground floor button.

“What major are you?” he asked as you rebalanced your tote on your shoulder.

“Studio arts,” you replied. “Painting concentration. You?”

He almost said, Spider-Man, full-time disaster, part-time community college bio major, but instead: “Engineering. Sort of. Still figuring that part out.”

The two of you walked out of the building together, the rain now just a whisper on the wind. Buck hesitated a second before glancing over.

“You taking the subway?”

“Nah,” you replied. “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk.”

He nodded. “Cool. I’ll walk with you.”

You didn’t protest. Just slipped your headphones around your neck and fell into step beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For the first five minutes, neither of you spoke much. But it wasn’t awkward — it was easy.

You pointed out a mural someone had defaced and then half-fixed, a new bakery you were meaning to try, and Buck listened, letting your voice settle into the quiet corners of his mind.

It was stupid, maybe, but he felt like he’d stepped into one of your sketches — something warm, a little offbeat, a little messy but real. Brooklyn didn’t seem so gray anymore.

When the two of you turned the corner onto campus, he gestured toward the arts building. “You’re in here, right?”

You nodded. “Yep. First class is figure drawing. Which is basically two hours of wondering if your proportions are garbage.”

Buck laughed. “I think that’s just… college.”

From across the quad, someone whistled. Buck turned to see Chimney and Eddie walking toward them with Ravi trailing behind, coffee in hand. Chim cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Is that a smile, Buckley?”

Eddie raised a brow. “Didn’t know your face could do that this early.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “Ignore them.”

You laughed, already heading toward the doors. “I’ll try. Thanks for walking with me.”

He watched you go, shoulder brushing your sketchbag back into place, headphones back in. Then he turned back to his friends, still grinning.

“Who was that?” Ravi asked, clearly interested.

Buck didn’t answer right away. Just shoved his hands into his pockets, the morning gloom finally giving way to something a little brighter.

“Just my neighbor,” he said simply. “She’s an artist.”

Eddie nudged him. “You like her.”

“I—what? No—shut up.”

They all laughed, but Buck didn’t fight it.

For the first time that day, he really did have something to smile about.

Buck leaned back against the brick wall of the fire station’s rooftop, the city sprawling endlessly beneath him—a chaotic, restless beast that never truly slept.

The orange glow of streetlights mixed with neon signs and the occasional flash of emergency vehicles weaving through traffic.

The hum of Brooklyn at night was relentless, but somehow, it was the only soundtrack that made sense.

His classes were finally done for the day, and for once, he’d thought maybe he could take a breath. Maybe catch up on sleep, or hell, maybe even cook something edible. But the city had other plans.

A fire at a nearby warehouse, a car accident with trapped passengers, a mugging in a dark alley—each call pulled him away from any semblance of rest.

When the last siren finally faded into the distance, Buck swung silently between rooftops, the familiar rhythm of web-slinging a brief balm for his restless mind.

His muscles ached, exhaustion tugging at the edges of his focus, but the city was safe. For now.

He landed softly on the fire escape outside his apartment, the metal cold and slightly slick from the evening’s drizzle.

The window to his room was just above, cracked open to let in the cool night air. He wiped a hand over his sweaty face, peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto the floor inside before unzipping his hoodie.

Finally, some relief.

That’s when he saw you.

You were perched on the fire escape just a few floors down, knees pulled to your chest, sketchbook balanced on your lap.

Your hair was pulled up messily, strands falling around your face, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp below. You looked up just as he shifted to climb inside, and your eyes met his.

You smiled and gave a small wave.

Buck smiled back, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. “Hey,” he called softly.

You nodded, your fingers twitching as if you wanted to say more but held back. For a moment, the world felt smaller, quieter, and somehow more manageable.

He climbed into his room and closed the window behind him, the familiar scent of his sister’s incense and textbooks greeting him.

Maddie was in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred a pot on the stove. The clinking of dishes and the warmth of the overhead light made the apartment feel like a refuge from the city’s chaos.

“You’re home early,” Maddie said without turning, her voice carrying a teasing edge.

Buck shrugged off his shoes and tossed his hoodie over a chair. “Work’s been… lighter, today. Maybe the city finally gave me a break.”

He settled at the small kitchen table, rubbing the back of his neck. “You ever notice the girl on the fire escape downstairs? The one who’s always sketching?”

Maddie glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“You mean Y/N? Yeah, I know her. She lives alone in that little apartment with the big windows.”

Buck leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’ve met her?”

“More than a few times,” Maddie said, stirring the pot again. “She’s quiet, but she’s kind. Always polite when I’ve bumped into her in the hall. Seems like she keeps to herself mostly.”

Buck nodded slowly. “She seems… grounded. Like she’s not trying to fight the chaos, just living through it in her own way.”

Maddie smiled softly. “Sounds about right. You think you want to say hi? More than just a wave?”

Buck felt his cheeks heat up and looked down at his hands. “Maybe.”

Dinner was simple—spaghetti and meatballs, just like Maddie’s favorite from their childhood.

They ate quietly at first, the kind of easy silence that only siblings shared. But Buck’s mind kept drifting back to you—your quiet presence on the fire escape, the way your eyes caught his in that fleeting moment.

After the last bite, Maddie pushed her plate aside and looked at him pointedly. “You’re going to talk to her, aren’t you?”

Buck hesitated, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’m ready to try.”

Back on your fire escape the next evening, Buck found you again, sketchbook open and pencils scattered around your lap. He lingered a few feet below, careful not to startle you.

“You’re still drawing?” he called up, voice softer than he expected.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before a small smile curled your lips.

“Yeah. Helps me think.”

Buck shifted on his feet, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you patted the spot beside you.

He climbed up slowly, settling next to you. For a while, neither of you spoke, the quiet interrupted only by the scratching of your pencil on paper and the distant sounds of the city.

Finally, Buck said, “You ever think about how weird it is? We’re neighbors and never really talked until now.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. Guess we were both busy in our own worlds.”

He nodded. “Yours looks a lot more interesting.”

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “And I’m not just saying that because I want to see what you’re working on next.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push him away. Instead, you handed him the sketchbook.

“Here,” you said. “Maybe you can’t swing from rooftops, but you might have an eye for art.”

Buck flipped through the pages, genuinely impressed by the swirls of charcoal and bursts of color.

“This is amazing.”

Your smile grew softer, more real. “Thanks.”

For a moment, you both sat there, the city sprawling below, the night wrapping around you like a secret.

And for the first time in a long time, Buck felt like maybe the city’s noise could wait.

Because here, on this fire escape, everything felt just a little bit clearer.

The morning sun filtered through the early autumn trees on campus, scattering dappled light across the pavement.

The quad buzzed with its usual weekday chaos—students rushing to class with coffee cups in hand, flyers being shoved into backpacks, music playing faintly from someone’s speaker across the lawn.

Buck adjusted the strap of his backpack as he jogged lightly across the courtyard. He was cutting it close—again.

Physics class was on the far end of campus, and his last patrol the night before had stretched far too late into the night. But the city had been oddly quiet that morning, which gave him time for something he hadn’t done in a while: sleep.

He rounded a corner just as you were coming down the path with a friend, laughing at something she had said, your arms swinging a bit more freely than usual.

You had your sketchpad tucked under one arm, hair caught in a messy bun, glasses perched lazily on your nose as the clouds had started to gather.

Buck’s pace slowed almost unconsciously.

“There’s our friendly neighborhood science major,” your friend teased when she noticed him approaching.

You looked up, surprised but not unwelcome. “Hey, Buck.”

He offered a smile, adjusting the hoodie he hadn’t bothered to zip. “Hey yourself. Didn’t think I’d run into you before caffeine.”

“Me? I’ve been up since seven,” you said, lips quirking up. “Studio time.”

“I don’t know how you manage that. I can barely make it to class with both shoes on.”

Your friend snorted and nudged your elbow. “He forgot his coffee and his left brain last week.”

Buck chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Harsh, but not inaccurate.”

The conversation lingered for another minute—light and easy, the kind of small talk that made him wish he had nowhere to be. But your friend tugged on your sleeve.

“We’ve got to go if we want a table,” she said. “C’mon, Van Gogh.”

You rolled your eyes and started to walk away, waving to Buck as you did. “See you around?”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you go. “Definitely.”

As you and your friend disappeared down the path, Buck caught her voice floating back: “So, what’s the deal with Hoodie Guy? You two flirting or what?”

Your flustered laugh followed immediately after, and Buck found himself smiling like an idiot all the way to class.

That evening, the city still held its breath.

No sirens, no car crashes, no desperate police radios begging for backup. Just the normal hum of traffic and soft city chatter.

So Buck went to the fire escape early.

He didn’t even change out of his hoodie and jeans—no suit, no mask, just Evan Buckley in socks and sweats, sliding open his bedroom window with the casual ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times.

The cool breeze greeted him as he climbed out and onto the rusted steps. The scent of paint, graphite, and street-level incense drifted upward. You were already there, cross-legged on your usual step, sketchpad open and pencil in hand.

You glanced up, mildly surprised.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d get the early shift Buck tonight.”

“City’s calm,” he said, settling down beside you. “Thought I’d come hang out.”

You nodded and returned to your sketching, the moment folding into a peaceful, wordless quiet.

Buck let his gaze drift, watching how your pencil moved across the page—careful, deliberate, intimate. You worked like you breathed, natural and steady.

Then, almost shyly, you tilted the sketchpad toward him.

“I’ve been drawing you,” you admitted.

Buck blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Not like… creepy drawing,” you said quickly.

“It’s just—sometimes when I don’t know what to draw, I just sketch people I see often. You’re always walking around in that hoodie, looking like you’ve got some secret life.”

He laughed—sharp and genuine. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing. You always look like you’re running toward something. Like you’ve got purpose.”

Buck’s throat tightened a little.

There was something too real about that observation—too close to the truth he constantly had to keep hidden.

He took the sketchpad and flipped through the pages, gaze softening.

There were drawings of him laughing on the fire escape, one of him in profile looking out toward the skyline, and even a half-finished one of him leaning against the brick wall, hoodie bunched up at the sleeves.

“They’re really good,” he said, voice quieter than before. “You’ve got an eye for… I don’t know. Soul.”

You shrugged again, this time a bit more bashful. “I draw what makes the world feel a little less loud.”

A silence settled, heavy but comfortable. Buck leaned back on his palms, letting the quiet wrap around them. Your elbow brushed his, barely, but it was enough to anchor him.

For a moment, he forgot everything else. The pressure. The responsibilities. The secret tug of the red suit folded away under his mattress.

Then—sirens.

Buck’s head snapped up as the whine of fire trucks echoed down the street, distant but growing louder. He turned just in time to see three engines blur past the avenue below, red lights flashing wildly against the apartment windows.

You straightened too, watching them. “Wonder what that’s about.”

Buck stood abruptly, his body already moving toward the window.

“I—uh—I should head in,” he said quickly. “Promised Maddie I’d help with some stuff.”

Your brows drew together slightly at his sudden shift. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just… gotta go.”

You didn’t push. “See you later?”

Buck gave a tight smile. “Always.”

And then he was gone—slipping back through the window, heart racing, already halfway into the suit before you could even put your pencil down.

There were little things about Buck that didn’t quite make sense.

He always looked tired. Not just college tired, but the kind of tired that made you want to cradle someone’s face and ask, What are you carrying?

His hands were always scraped, his knuckles bruised more often than not. Sometimes you’d catch a fresh cut just beginning to scab over, and when you’d tilt your head questioningly, he’d brush it off with a half-lie about “tripping on a sidewalk” or “burning himself on a hot pan.”

You weren’t oblivious. You noticed things. Like how he always seemed to disappear right before something happened—sirens wailing, smoke curling into the sky, chaos blooming somewhere in the city.

But you didn’t ask.

You really, really liked him. And liking someone for once felt simple. You didn’t want to ruin it with questions.

Until the first time Spider-Man saved you.

It had been late. You were walking back from the print shop off campus, earbuds in, when a guy on a bike zipped past you and grabbed your bag right off your shoulder.

The adrenaline hit like a punch to the chest, but before you could even scream, someone in red and navy streaked across your peripheral vision and had the guy webbed to a telephone pole within seconds.

You remembered blinking, breathless, when Spider-Man dropped from the rooftop and handed you your bag, his mask wrinkled at the nose, his chest rising with heavy breaths.

“You okay?” he’d asked, voice soft but roughened by fatigue.

“Yeah,” you’d whispered. “Thanks.”

You were too shaken to notice then—but later, as you curled up in bed, a creeping familiarity itched at the edge of your thoughts. Something about the shape of his shoulders. The way he stood. The blue of his eyes when the mask caught the streetlight just right.

You didn’t say anything. Just tucked the memory away.

But it happened again.

And again.

Once when your cab skidded on a rain-slicked road. Another when someone tried to break into your studio space on campus. Always, somehow, Spider-Man was there. Steady. Reliable. Familiar.

And every time, afterward, Buck would show up to the fire escape looking tired, moving a little slower, smiling a little more like it hurt.

Today, the sky was clear and too blue—an omen, maybe, because that’s when the worst stuff always happened.

You were walking back from your last class, sketchpad under your arm, when you caught sight of a crowd forming on the pedestrian bridge near the quad. Your heart skipped.

There was shouting. Someone yelling about an unstable piece of scaffolding. You edged closer before anyone could stop you.

And then the world tilted.

You didn’t even register what gave way, only that the rail near where you stood suddenly cracked loose. Your foot slipped. The edge of your boot lost traction and—

Free fall.

For a split second, the only sound you heard was the rush of your own breath before gravity claimed you.

But then—

Thwip.

A web caught you midair. Strong arms followed.

You crashed into something warm, steady, secure.

“You really have a knack for this,” came a familiar voice.

You clung to the suit in stunned silence. He landed you both gently on a rooftop, crouched low to keep you close.

You looked up—his mask covering everything but his eyes, breath huffing out behind the fabric.

“Spider-Man,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he said, casual like it was the hundredth time.

And that’s when it hit you.

The voice. The hands. The way his shoulder curled slightly when he caught his breath—like he was carrying something heavy.

“Buck?” you whispered.

Spider-Man stiffened.

You blinked slowly. “Evan.”

He looked like he stopped breathing entirely. Your hands, still clinging to the suit, slid up toward the base of his mask.

“Can I…?” you asked.

He hesitated. Just for a beat. Then he nodded.

You reached up, fingers grazing the fabric, and tugged the mask halfway up—just enough to reveal his lips and his nose.

Yeah. It was Buck. No doubt about it.

You didn’t ask why. Didn’t press. Instead, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth—firm, slow, deliberate.

When you pulled back, you were smiling.

“I’ll see you later,” you whispered.

Buck was still frozen, stunned into silence, a dazed smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Uh-huh,” he said dumbly.

And then you hopped down the fire escape, the echo of your kiss still buzzing against his mouth as you disappeared around the corner, sketchpad bouncing at your hip.

The city buzzed outside the window—horns blaring, chatter echoing up from the street below—but inside your apartment, everything felt warm, slow, still.

Buck sat cross-legged on your floor, a carton of Chinese takeout balanced on his knee. He was in sweatpants and a hoodie that had clearly seen better days, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from a post-patrol shower. A smear of lo mein sauce sat smugly near the corner of his mouth.

You’d been sitting opposite him on your tiny couch, legs pulled under you, chopsticks dangling lazily from your fingers—but now you were leaning forward, elbow on your knee, fully focused on what he was finally ready to say.

“I didn’t mean for any of it to happen,” he began softly, eyes cast down into his food. “It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday.”

You waited.

“I got roped into running an errand for one of Maddie’s friends. She needed a signature for some campus form, and I was already nearby, so… I figured, why not?”

You smiled gently. That sounded like him.

“One thing led to another, and I somehow ended up tagging along on a university-sponsored lab tour. Just me and a bunch of overachieving STEM kids with clipboards and fancy pens. I didn’t belong there, not really. But I was curious. Always am.”

You nodded, heart open. “And then?”

He looked up, finally meeting your eyes.

“There was this spider. Red and blue. Looked like it had been dipped in fireworks. I remember staring at it, kind of laughing to myself about how ridiculous it looked. Like a walking Fourth of July.”

You stifled a grin. “Sounds cute.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t laughing when it bit me.” His voice turned wry.

“There was a distraction. Some guy dropped a camera, I think. Everyone turned their heads. No one saw the crack in the glass. No one saw the damn spider crawl out. Except me.”

His fingers flexed instinctively at the memory, like he could still feel the sharp pinch. “The bite was quick. Hot. And then everything changed.”

You stayed quiet, but your expression told him to keep going.

“I made it home, barely. Almost blacked out on the subway. And when I woke up, I was on the floor of my bedroom, drenched in sweat, burning from the inside out. I remember trying to grab my phone and instead sticking to the ceiling.”

You let out a surprised laugh, and Buck grinned, cheeks pink.

“Yeah. It was a mess. For weeks, I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Maddie. I tested things. Pushed myself. I got stronger, faster. Could see and hear things I wasn’t supposed to. And when I realized what I could do… I couldn’t not help. You know?”

You nodded slowly, still absorbing everything. “So that’s why you disappear. That’s why your hands are always bruised.”

“And why I’m terrible at texting back,” he added sheepishly.

You reached out, resting your hand on his knee.

“I figured something was going on. I mean, the disappearing, the exhaustion, the fact that Spider-Man always seems to show up five minutes after you vanish…”

Buck gave you a lopsided smile. “I thought I could keep you out of it. Keep you safe. But after the third or fourth time you almost got hurt…” He paused, swallowing thickly.

“I realized it wasn’t if you’d find out. It was when. And I needed you to hear it from me.”

You looked at him for a long moment, letting the weight of the truth settle.

“I love you either way,” you said quietly.

His brows lifted.

“I mean it, Buck. I don’t care if you’re Spider-Man or just the guy next door who eats like a raccoon and forgets laundry in the washer for three days.” He snorted, but you continued, voice soft and sincere. “You save people. You care. That’s what matters to me.”

Buck’s throat worked as he looked at you, expression open and stunned, like the floor had dropped out from under him and he hadn’t expected you to be the net that caught him.

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “You’re not alone anymore.”

He closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “I really, really love you.”

You smiled, letting the moment stretch around you like a cocoon. The city could keep buzzing. Emergencies would come and go. But right now, you had each other, Chinese takeout, and a shared secret that somehow made everything more real.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[gracedreems]

ok so i watched muppets in space recently and got to thinking about a muppets casting of tma and i had some ideas but the important thing is i think it would be really funny if kermit was cast as elias. do i think its the correct cast? no absolutely not but i decided to do a drawing of pre brutal pipe murder cus i think its funny :3

ok so more blabbing about this... au?? ig u culd call it that under the cut :3

ok so firstly i will admit i havnt really got concrete ideas for the main cast yet but i have some ideas! i feel like tim could be gonzo or maybe rizzo?

then sasha im a bit stuck on as there isnt very many like, female presenting muppets overall (there may be more in sesame street but i am not hugely familar with it) but i did vaugely think of kermit due to constantine but i feel maybe that might not be much of a change lmao and miss piggy does not fit (def smthn to do with the slaughter) and janice doesnt either. and i dont want her to be a chicken :(.

martin is also tricky buttt maybe fozzie but i feel maybe he would be a good michael (long set of jumps in my mind) so not 100 percent on that

and i feel jon would be a fairly good token human, but i kinda think elias would be good as that too augh (also no clue for jon honestly :/)

onto side characters i feel like animal could be grifters bone maybe??

i think statler and waldorf would be breekon and hope for like, obvious reasons (small sketch below)

thats p much all i have rn but i WILL add onto it more...

feel free to suggest stuff also id LOVE 2 hear otherpeoples opinions on this!!!

[lunarriviera]

uts meta: two cops eating pizza cause they're not gay (The Drawing, part 2)

[spoilers for s2 in general and ep 17 in specific, and i really hope you've already watched it because, wow. it deserves to be seen.] this whole scene is off the chain but perhaps what's wildest about it is that this has happened once already! shen yi already gave du cheng a drawing! and now he's doing it again! either he wants a marriage proposal or to be [redacted], and honey, you're absolutely gonna get [redacted] tonight. even though you messed up dinner.

when our scene begins, beijiang's finest are about to dine in shen yi's concrete bdsm dungeon new house. but wait, shen yi's a terrible cook, you say? never fear—product placement is here!

glowing, radiant, suffused with light. in the troubled city of beijiang, pizza hut™ shines forth like a beacon of edible hope and justice. even if they do keep putting pineapple on top of it.

(all of s2 we've been subjected to such heavy-handed sponsorship as the team drinking exclusively some kind of fruity (?) tea (?); du cheng barking orders at xiaomi, his new car's shipboard computer while shen yi theatrically changes the cabin temperature; shen yi treating everyone to invisible air coffee (because no property person has ever figured out all you need to do is put some water in the cup); and jiang feng popping up like a prairie dog clutching a green box of cold medicine whenever anyone sniffles. but pizza hut has been the most egregious of all, truly the wolong nuts of uts2. if only dragon city had a pizza hut™! then shen wei wouldn't have had to wear zhu yilong's clothes.)

unfortunately, actors can't actually eat human food, plus shen yi's supposed to be a vegetarian, so here is tan jianci consuming the smallest molecule of pizza possible while pretending to enjoy it. pretty sure tjc last had a junk carb in the hu jintao administration.

after this brief token simulation of eating, shen yi and du cheng have a Serious Conversation about the late captain lei. pls note their blocking here, as it's the only time in s2 you will EVER see tan jianci looking DOWN at jin shijia, who is of course a giraffe.

then shen yi whips out this little baby, and hands it to his partner.

(let's hope our sketch artist had the foresight to spray some fixative on what looks like conté or pastel, before du cheng started smearing pizza grease all over it.) du cheng is, of course, touched. why are they drawn in red? not entirely sure, though it's a color shen yi seems to default to when he's very emotional and/or inarticulate about things.

anyway shen yi mentions that the piece needs a title and he hasn't thought of one yet, so du cheng volunteers a suggestion.

(at this point i started screencapping in chinese, reasons unclear.) du cheng offers 改变我人生的人, "the person who changed my life."

it's a dumb title for an artwork but GUESS WHAT, he's no longer talking about lei-dui. if you thought you might question this, jin shijia is going to make sure you don't, because of the sickeningly transparent infatuated look on his face. but wait, it gets worse!

确实是改变了我人生的人, shen yi responds; indeed, this person really did change my life. HE'S ALSO NOT TALKING ABOUT CAPTAIN LEI.

tjc doesn't want you to feel any confusion about that, so he deploys his patented shen yi gaze. here, you need to see this to believe it.

jianci has developed this little trick as shen yi of speaking with his eyes lowered, and then when he finally lifts them, it's like he's setting off a BOMB. he's fine-tuned this to the point where it's weaponized.

and honestly he's making it so obvious they're talking about each other i don't even know how to say it in human language. those two took these innocent respectable lines about a past case and made them indecent. they did that. all by themselves. no one made them.

at the end of the scene, though, it's this look. this one right here.

the absolutely unbearable tenderness. "yes, you did change it. you changed everything. nothing will ever be the same again, because of you." in conclusion: pls bury me with this, because i suspect it's the most in-love it's possible for a human being to look, outside of a wong kar-wai film BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE [runs away sobbing hysterically]

[velvetvexations]

apologies for not having links but i blocked everyone on the whole thread and i don't care to willingly seek it out again but on the subject of dropout discourse – i saw someone say there needed to be a list of which dropout members were white vs poc in a similar vein to the tme vs tma trans people stats list and........ do.... do you not see how that's literally tokenizing real life people and their identities.... do you not see how sorting REAL people into groups to determine if a media company is diverse enough is.... not exactly the leftist praxis you think it is? maybe instead, idk, support & uplift comedians of color instead of argue about identity politics online? maybe do antiracist work in real life instead of just infighting? or even actually write to Dropout and articulate any worries you have with regards to diversity & inclusion?

(and if you want to make it worse someone on the thread said they weren't "sure if some people (specifically Zac Oyama) 'counted' as people of color" like?????? 1) if you admit to not being sure if someone counts as a poc then maybe you, a stranger on the internet, is not qualified to make a list about real people's identities which can be both fluid and personal 2) maybe such a list isn't actually as useful as you think it is 3) there was literally a College Humor sketch about parodying the idea of being Asian 'enough' featuring Zac *years* ago)

it also just feels like such a clear example of taking the latest queer discourse and trying to justify it by going "well WHAT IF we apply this to race??" when 1) it's usually white people drawing those comparisons (though idk if these people were white or not) and 2) as such is usually a gross misunderstanding of racism and 3) often makes the original point *much* worse.

his last name is Oyama what do these fucking people want

no, you know what? I hope they do it, please Dropout fandom, make the racism version of the tee em ay stats, I dare you

[pqt-tumble]

@femslash-february BINGO Chaggie festival. Didn't do much with just a sketch but I had fun drawing them enjoying fair food!

DO NOT REPOST! DO NOT USE FOR AI! Reblogs encouraged all other uses please ask!

And I got one last BINGO with this piece BINGO sheet and other FF2025 pieces under cut

OTHER FF 2025 BINGO

Shower Sex - Emolly fic

"Do you regret it?" - Immvee comic

Power Exchange - Elsabela painting

"Who Else But You?" - Emolly Fic Chapter 1

"Does That Feel Good?" - Emolly Fic Chapter 2

Token - Korrasami doodle

Once in a Lifetime - Lumity doodle

Opposites -Wenclair Doodle

NON BINGO FEMSLASH FEBRUARY

Emolly Pokemon Illustration

[bryce-bucher]

500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #16

WISHLIST IT PLZ!

Green Demon!!:

This whole post is gonna be about the green demon challenge that I implemented. For those unaware, the green demon challenge is something that originates from mario 64. It's a self imposed challenge in which you try to complete a level after spawning a 1up without letting it touch you. I love the concept so much, so I decided to add in a lil challenge on certain contracts where you summon a green demon and run around to grab 4 token pieces before it catches you.

The process of making the green demon's graphics was v fun. First, I made a sketch.

Then, I rendered out the head and hands in blender. (The animation is only 6 frames of the head and hands bobbin up n down.) Then, I brought those frames into csp and drew the same face on each frame.

After that, I shrunk that bitch down and dithered it with web colors like I had done with the environment textures.

The final result is something that feels like a geocities gif, and I'm really happy with it.

During playtesting I realized that players need to be able to figure out where the token pieces are gonna spawn before the demon is summoned, so I included these green token pieces to take their place before they spawn. Honestly, the only reason I'm mentioning this is because something in my lizard brain tells me to get very excited when I see floating green collectibles in games. I think it is because of how cool and special I thought the green stars were in Mario Galaxy when I was younger.

Conclusion:

I am aiming to have a demo of this game done with a couple contracts you can play by feb. We will see if this will happn... Other than that I don't got a lot 2 say. Next week u might be seeing some v cool ui if I manage to get it done.

[seeminglydark]

Mini Comic Masterpost

Thought it would be fun to round up all the mini comics I've done with John and Caro around this site, so they are easy to find all in one place! They will go in canonical (or not) order, not creation order. Here we go!

The Main Projects

Starting this off with the mini-comic about my main webcomic Project, Seemingly Dark

And an introduction to John and Caro's comic, Mil-Liminal

Next up: Teenager things

A silly story about two kids in love, not canon, just cute. I drew this before i knew how their highschool story really went.

First kiss! (canon), sketch only

Schoolyard flirtin' (canon), sketch only

A reminder their story is a horror story, and a teaser from Mil-Liminal (canon)

Homecoming Queen (not canon cuz Caros hair was never short in highschool, one panel)

Punk Rock Princess (canon, one panel)

A teaser and a link to Prom Night, (canon)

Unidentified Flying Objects part 1 (2 coming soon, canon)

The Punk and the Cheerleader (canon)

Tokens of affection (canon)

Not exactly a comic, but a round up of their teenage years right up until they lose eachother (canon)

Adulthood

Teaser for a story about Johns life after prison (canon)

Caro's back (canon)

Caro gets sick, John, who doesnt know them yet very well as adults, takes them back to his house, they wake up and hes at work, shenanigans ensue (canon)

First kiss as adults (canon)

Ace of Hearts link (canon, johns story as an asexual)

I love you (not canon)

Coffee Maker (canon)

Then and Now (canon, mild spice in the sense they are shirtless)

Menace (Canon, Spicy/suggestive, nothing intense)

Halloween Interruption 1: The Void Motel (future canon, linked)

Background and Compilation of their story minis

Look How Far We've Come: intro to Mil-Liminal (canon)

Who are John and Caro (canon, character introduction)

And Finally, AU Stuff, not canon

Mermay

Werewolf (non spicy)

Werewolf part 1 (suggestive)

Werewolf part 2 (suggestive)

[s0urfangs]

The mushroom dad... :) Larry... Mr Larold... I made him as a shitpost and still have no idea what he's doing apart from his best. What I can tell you is:

- DIVORCED

- Commander? But Not For Long. He just wants to help people, and hit things. Zhaitan is all well and good, but after Mordremoth it gets complicated. He's not a fan.

- Third(?)born, but somehow had No Dream until Zhaitan. Links with Fedsys.

- About that. Fedsy is his adopted sonboy (this is not an intentional decision) which makes Aurene his beloved granddaughter

- priory archivist...ish. he felt a significant disconnect from the dream so set out without much of an aim and ended up there. He's a good artist, does a lot of observational sketching or recording for the priory. Other than that? He slaps things for the dungeon delvers. Protects them. Makes him feel useful!

The violence also helps a little. Provided it's Simple And Righteous.

Also, the fullbody chibi is based on the lil guys from this 2 minute token editor

[yakutarts]

Yakut’s Commission Sheet 2025

[OPEN]

Finally made a brand new commission sheet!! I really like the way it turned out, and if I spot any mistake now I Will cry myself to sleep, because GODAMN it took fucking 12 hours to make this.

Transcript, T.o.S., and other important information under the cut!!

Yakut Arts Commission Sheet

Sketch

Headshot - $5

Bust - $7

Half body - $10

Full body - 15

Line Art

Headshot - $17

Bust - $22

Half body - $28

Full body - $36

Flat Color

Headshot - $20

Bust - $26

Half body - $32

Full body - 45

No line art: + $5,50

Cel Shaded

Headshot - $30

Bust - $36

Half body - $42

Full body - $55

No line art: + $15,50

Soft shaded

Headshot - $46

Bust - $52

Half body - $64

Full body - $76

No line art: + 25,50

Detailed

Headshot - $60

Bust - $70

Half body - $90

Full body - $130

Other stuff:

More characters: + %50 of the price per character

Background: + %70 of the price

Complex design: + %15 - %30 of the price

Hard to draw: + %10 - %40 of the price

Currencies that I accept:

$ - United States Dollar (USD)

€ - Euro

R$ - Brazilian Real (BRL)

Payment via:

PayPal

Stripe

PIX

* All the prices are the same, no matter the currency. If you want a $20 Flat Color Headshot but only use euro, then you will pay €20;

* If you are american or european, you CANNOT pay in BRL;

* While PayPal is the most popular and most used option, I highly recommend Stripe, because you don’t need an account to pay and I can safely send you an invoice via e-mail.

Prices before and after comparison:

I will draw:

Furry, Anthro, Feral, Animals, Creatures, Fanart, Fruit/Candy/Regular gore, NSFW, kinks, suggestive art, Complex designs, Partially mecha, Horror, Weapons/Armor, Cosplay, Magic, Skeletons/bones, Latex, Copyrighted characters, and others.

I won’t draw:

Humans, Extremely heavy gore, Fully mecha (Synths are an exception), Offensive art, Some fetishes, Watersports, Scat, Things that make me really uncomfortable, Commercial commissions, Things I can't draw because it's above my current level.

Terms of Service

1. Commercial Commissions:

- I do not work with commercial commissions. Any use of your commissioned artwork is for personal, non-profit purposes only.

- It is not permitted to use the commissioned artwork for commercial purposes, such as resale, mass reproduction, or any other form of profit.

2. Usage Restrictions:

- The commissioned artwork is not allowed to be used for artificial intelligence training or any form of data analysis.

- Reselling the commissioned artwork, especially as an NFT (non-fungible token) or any other form of tradable digital asset, is strictly prohibited.

3. Copyright and Intellectual Property:

- I retain all copyrights and intellectual property rights to the commissioned artwork, even after delivery.

- The client does not have the right to claim authorship of the artwork or use it in any way that infringes upon the artist's rights.

4. Use of Images and Promotion:

- I reserve the right to use images and information about the commissioned artwork, including the final product, for promotional and marketing purposes, unless specifically agreed otherwise.

- When reposting the images, it is highly recommended that you repost the version that is watermarked and/or glazed/nightsahded, which will also be delivered to you along with the "clean" version of the image, to prevent stealing and it being fed to A.I. models.

5. Custom Designs:

- Custom designs created by the artist are not to be resold or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission from the artist.

- If reselling is permitted, the price of the resold design must be equal to or lower than the original price set by the artist, but never higher.

6. Payments and Refunds:

- Payments for commissions must be made as agreed between the client and the artist before the start of the work. All transactions must be conducted in United States Dollars (USD), unless otherwise agreed upon.

- No refunds will be granted after the commencement of the creative process unless there are exceptional circumstances agreed upon by both parties. In that scenario, if the client does not want to continue the project, a partial refund will be granted based on how far I have completed the commission, but if for any reason I am the one who cannot work on your project anymore, I will give you a full refund.

- If you are Brazillian, you will have the special option to use the currency Brazillian, Real R$ (BRL) and pay via PIX.

7. Privacy:

- During the payment and commissioning process, both parties may have access to private information such as full legal names, addresses, and contact details. Both parties agree to respect each other's privacy and refrain from disclosing or doxxing any private information shared during the transaction. Breach of this clause may result in legal action.

8. Limited Liability:

- The artist will make every effort to provide high-quality work and meet the client's expectations. However, the artist is not liable for any damages arising from the use or interpretation of the commissioned artwork. [Example: The infamous YouTuber Verbablaze commissioned a $50,000.00 animation of him and the Hazbin Hotel character, Charlie, where they were being shown in a suggestive situation. Verbablaze posted the animation and got criticized and made fun of because of it. If you were to commission me, and then get into a controversy because of what you commissioned, I would not be held responsible and I will reserve the right to rather or not make a statement on the situation and/or get involved.]

9. Delivery Timeframe:

- While I do not work with strict deadlines, it is generally expected that the commission will be completed within a timeframe of 1-2 weeks to 1 month. However, please note that the actual delivery time may vary depending on the complexity and workload of the project.

10. Revisions:

- I understand that clients may have specific requirements or preferences. I am open to accommodate up to 10 major changes to the commissioned artwork. Please note that these revisions must be requested and finalized before the rendering process begins. Once the rendering process has started, I can accept up to 5 additional minor revisions, but major changes may not be feasible at that stage. Any revisions beyond these limits may be subject to additional charges or renegotiation.

11. Modifications to the Terms of Service:

- The artist reserves the right to modify these terms of service at any time, with prior notice to clients.

By proceeding with an art commission from me, Yakut, the client acknowledges that they have read and agree to these terms of service. Any violation of these terms may result in appropriate legal actions.

Here are some artwork quality examples:

Commission sheet creation Timelapse:

To make a commission request, you can send me a direct message (DM) to me on Tumblr, Bluesky, Twitter, or Instagram. I am not active on Discord so there’s a 90% I won’t see your message.

[vampiregremlin]

More of the Sleep Token sketches in my sketchbook

Don't be confused by the different signature than last time lol. I've had a bit of an art journey over the past 2 years and changed how and where I wanna share my art and also changing my online nickname and artist name. The sketchbook has 3 different signatures in it