#gig's comic search

[gigachad-joker]

Interesting that they chose to display Bruce’s autism traits with him engaging in lining up, sorting and categorizing his fanmail

#I love the Bruce has autism headcannon leave me alone #gig's comic search #Batman #Bruce Wayne #legend of the dark knight

[aangarchy]

Netflix atla live action review ep 4-6

So, they completely ruined Bumi. Spoiler warning.

The more episodes pass by the more confused i get with the choices that were made. I wrote down commentary for the episodes and the thing that i wrote down the most was "why does this happen?". The writing is incredibly confusing and messy, feels too rushed in some spaces and too slow in others. There's just... so much going on and so little at the same time. They brought in elements that in the OG don't get introduced until later in s1, s2, the comics, or even the legend of Korra. The reason these things get introduced so early here is not clear at all, because they don't serve any purpose other than to be an obstacle to Aang, Sokka and Katara on their way to the North.

Mai and Ty Lee are.. there. They get introduced earlier but they don't serve any purpose at the moment other than stand around, watch Azula train, ask questions so that Azula can give us the answers the viewer needs. My guess is they only got introduced for the audience who watched the OG to go "oh we know them!". We get the secret tunnel story earlier too, but it has absolutely nothing to do with love. Somehow "love is brightest in the dark" now correlates to the badgermoles being able to sense a human's emotion. It's a waste of a storyline, doesn't teach us anything about love, gives us Omashu lore which is useless bc neither Sokka nor Katara actually use love to escape the tunnels. Also Oma and Shu are lesbians now, but you only know that bc they changed Shu's pronouns. Wow, so progressive! We have lesbians in the story now! Boy do i feel represented as a sapphic!

We get Koh early on as well, but his entire gig got changed. Now suddenly he doesn't steal faces but he "feeds", and hunts using the fog of lost souls (which is tlok lore mind you) as a tool to trap humans. We introduce the mother of faces (comic book lore!), or rather pendant of her that Koh owns. There's no reason for her to exist in this story though other than to be an easter egg to everyone who read the search (Not even the majority of the fandom!) and to offer a solution to this problem we've created, which is Koh capturing our friends in order to eat them and us not being able to convince him into letting them go. There's no feeling of dread in the Koh scenes at all because the whole problem of not showing emotion is just not a thing now. No suspense, no fear, just a weird cgi clown face worm. The worm doesn't even menacingly circle around Aang to invoke a feeling of being surrounded, it just sits there. I also just don't understand why Koh is here already bc now who is going to give us information about Tui and La?

This decision also creates a problem that Hei Bai's story just isn't about Hei Bai anymore. We get fed a few lines from a talking fox about how the forest spirit got hurt, but there's really no solution? Aang buries a pinecone in front of the statue and tells him not to give up hope but he didn't even really need to do that, because Hei Bai wasn't the one kidnapping villagers! It was Koh. Why did we appease Hei Bai if Koh was the real villain? Hei Bai/Koh's story leads us to Roku, but Roku is completely useless. All he does is undermine Kyoshi's advice to Aang, tell Aang about the mother of faces pendant so he can appease Koh, and then we leave. I knew in advance Roku wasn't going to warn Aang about the comet here bc Albert Kim already told us working with a deadline like that with child actors is just impossible. But with Roku suddenly not being Aang's main Avatar guide he just gets nothing to do. There's no suspense in this part of the story either, bc the time limit of the winter solstice isn't a thing here at all. Aang also ends up flying over Fire Nation borders without issue, and gets led right into the sanctuary without the puzzle of figuring out how to open the door, and without the problem of Zhao's soldiers waiting for him when he comes out. It creates this issue of there not being any excitement, at least for me. I genuinely am getting a bit bored with the show, which was never an issue with the OG for me. There's a reason all of this extra material didn't get introduced until later on. There's too many characters and they all get too little time to really do anything useful, they're not fleshed out, the stories aren't thought through and it ends up getting very confusing and boring. I'm genuinely curious for the perspective of people who have never watched the OG cartoon, bc i wonder if they're even able to follow along without prior knowledge of this universe.

Bumi is just... not Bumi. They completely changed his character to be this bitter old senile man that resents Aang for abandoning the world. This doesn't make any sense because in this version of the story Bumi shouldn't know that Aang is the Avatar at all, because Aang was told right before he disappeared! So why does Bumi immediately know that Aang is the Avatar, and why does Aang immediately recognize him? Also the original point of Bumi's tests is to get Aang to approach fights and puzzles from a different angle, so he can learn versatility as the Avatar. But here the tests are just happening because Bumi is mad at Aang for leaving and wants to get back at him for being gone so long. He says some lines about Aang having to learn to make hard choices and you can't rely on your friends, but Aang ends up proving him wrong in the end! What is even the point of Bumi's part in the story now, except for him just being another obstacle on the way to the North Pole?

There's a lot of instances where I feel like the bond between characters gets completely lost. We barely spend any time with the side characters like the mechanist, Teo, Jet and the freedom fighters, and the people in the spirit village. It makes some scenes feel very out of place. These storylines all happen at once, and they don't get their individual moments to shine. We have no room to feel betrayed by Jet or Sai, because we barely got to know them to begin with. Jet and Sai only spend time with One member of the gaang each, but when their betrayals come to light the rest of the group acts devastated, as if it was their dear friend. Sokka also gets really mad about the Jet thing, but he only met Jet once when he smuggled them into Omashu, and Jet didn't even tell Sokka his name. He said it afterwards when Katara met him again. It makes absolutely no sense why Sokka is yelling at Katara for trusting Jet only bc she finds him attractive, when Sokka wasn't even there during all of that!

The sense of family between the gaang that we get from the original also just doesn't happen here. Especially because these characters so far have spent more time apart than together. Aang constantly gets separated from Sokka and Katara, leaving no room for them to bond. We get Katara and Sokka bonding, but they shouldn't need those types of scenes because they're already siblings (which isn't very clear in the show either btw!). I ended up forgetting that Sokka and Katara were trapped by Koh, bc we spend so much time away from them (a whole episode, which is now an hour!).

I have little to no criticism for the Blue Spirit story. Want to guess why that is? Bc they left it pretty much untouched. We even get a little bit of an extra scene, with Zuko and Aang talking while Zuko recovers after getting hurt during the escape. I liked this choice, especially bc it highlights how conflicted Zuko is.

This is where we get Zuko's backstory. I have one question here: why did they make Ozai more sensible and less ruthless? Was that a Daniel Dae Kim decision? Bc it feels like a Daniel Dae Kim thing to do. They're very on the nose with the way Ozai is abusing Zuko and Azula, but then they turn around and make this man visit Zuko after he burned him and praise Zuko about finding the Avatar. I understand that they did this to show how Ozai uses Zuko's accomplishments in order to push Azula, but even if it were to do that: the original Ozai would NEVER. The problem here as well is that they don't let the viewers draw any conclusions themselves anymore. They're holding the viewer's hand through the whole thing, leaving no room for nuance or doubt.

I just finished episode 7 and 8 and I have Things To Say. None of which are good. Writing it down is challenging so it might take a day or two.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #netflix atla #atla netflix #natla #netflix #atla live action #atla live action spoilers

[stnexus]

(not so) lyrical genius…!

band members au

NSFW, R RATED, MINORS DNI, 18+

yuki tsukumo x black!fem!reader x choso kamo

summary: every artist faces writers block at some point, but you and yuki are there to ensure choso gets just enough inspiration.

cw: nsfw, smut, 18+, use of pet names, poly!couple, established relationship, explicit language, threesome, (1) creampie, oral (m + f receiving), fingering, blowjob, swallowing partner’s release, light dom!yuki, little bit of switch!reader, sub!choso, face riding, cowgirl, praise, good deal of kissing in here

names used(?): baby boy, baby, pretty girl, ma’am, mommy (like twice), pretty boy, good boy

wc. 4.4K+

tags + note: @chososluv @shemaycry @uc1wa when i say it’s actually comical that i got writer’s block while writing a story about writer’s block. something like that would only happen to me i swear. but ahhh band mates choso and yuki, i hope you all enjoy! comments, reblogs, and tags are always welcomed.

a guitar amp sat on the hardwood flooring near the end of the bed. black cords and cables decorated the floor and trailed upwards onto the bed. mindless riffs and melodies were pushed through the amp, sounding around the occupied room. yuki’s fingers lightly strummed over the guitar strings as her blonde hair framed her face, her bangs slightly covering her eyes as she peered down at her guitar.

“this is useless,” choso huffed from the upper part of the bed, interrupting yuki’s actions as the sounds emitted from the amp halted. his legs were stretched out as his sock-covered feet almost grazed yuki’s criss-crossed legs. in his sudden little outburst, choso dropped a notebook and pencil onto the black-silk bed sheets, right between yourself and him. your two barbie ponytails swayed a bit as you looked between your two lovers, peering over your phone.

“there’s gotta be something, cho,” yuki almost groaned. the three rings on her right hand sending out a ‘ping!’ sound around the room as she accidentally tapped the neck of her guitar. “you don’t usually get so…” yuki seemed to search for her words.

“stuck. i feel fucking stuck,” choso interjected, finishing yuki’s sentence. another stress-filled huff flowing past his lips as his fingers pinched at his nose bridge. the solid black tattoo that adorned it was manipulated by his actions.

“well, i don’t think beating yourself up about it is going to help.” you joined the conversation, dropping your phone into your lap. reaching over to run a hand through choso’s hair, loose from the confines of his usual two high ponytails, your nails running over his scalp. “when’s the next gig?”

“in three weeks,” yuki announced, fiddling with the tuning pegs on her guitar. “the band has got everything done. but we’re lacking in the lyrics department, as we can see,” yuki tried to joke with a little smile. though the joke seemed to push choso further into despair as he groaned and leaned into your touch.

“at least you’ve got time.” you tried to be positive as well, letting your hand slip from choso’s hair when he began to move away.

“that’s the thing; we had two months.” his already deep voice deepened a bit more as he spoke. rubbing a hand over his face quickly.

being in a relationship with two artists almost felt unreal at times. but as you all sat in bed, pajamas on, and somewhat relaxed — the moment was as real as ever. it had been almost two hours that you all sat, choso trying to write lyrics onto the notepad he had just recently thrown aside.

complaints about how time was running out were thrown around between the two at random times. the two members of a completely independent band were left stumped. yuki was just unsure of how to help her boyfriend at the moment. knowing they had the idea of producing a new single before their next show, the chances of that idea taking place were becoming slim.

setting her guitar on the bed, right below choso’s feet, yuki wrapped a hand around one of your ankles to grab your attention. rubbing at your soft brown skin with a soft — almost apologetic — smile for choso’s down in the dumps attitude.

“baby boy, it’s just writer's block. how do you usually deal with it?” yuki questioned, still sending a soothing touch over your ankle.

if choso could throw a full-on tantrum, you doubt he would hold back. his brain seemed to taunt him with a lack of creativity, blanking out completely when his notebook was in front of him. the lack of inspiration boiled into frustration, and that, in turn, pissed him off even more.

“it’s been a minute since i’ve had a block this bad,” choso confessed. watching as yuki tugged at you, beckoning you towards her for a gentle kiss. his eyes trailed over the matching pajama sets you both wore. a plaid black and red pattern decorating the bottoms and a simple black fitted baby-doll tee complementing you both beautifully. 

in the quick moment, his constant feelings of luck set in. he always felt lucky to have you two, and he knew that would never change. he was simply weak for the both of you; hell, sometimes he could rarely fathom that you two interacted with him.

“is there something missing?” yuki questioned as she pulled away from your lips, dragging you into her lap. facing choso. her hand resting on your thigh as you placed your head against her shoulder. the sensation of her cool rings could be felt slightly through your pants. “we need to know where your head is in order to help.”

“we’re not mind readers ya’ know…” you jokingly poked fun at your other partner. inhaling yuki’s scent as it surrounds you. feeling choso eye the two of you for a moment, he searched his mind for the right words. a small frown playing at his lips but his eyes were a bit hooded as they flickered over both you and yuki. a look that your girlfriend did not miss when it took place.

“inspiration. i’m lacking inspiration right now,” choso admitted while sighing. dropping his hands to smooth over his heather-gray sweatpants, his fingers brushing over the hem of his white baggy tee in the process.

“that should be easy to fix, right?” you attempted to help again. “i mean, cho, i’ve seen you take inspiration from the smallest of things.”

“she’s right, ya’ know.” yuki agreed as her fingers played at the end of one of your ponytails. with a slightly raised brow, she tilted her head to the side, taking in the man before you two. his frustration had begun to teeter along the edges of something else and she knew just what it was. 

“i don’t know where to even start,” choso confessed once again. mind drawing a blank for what seemed like the thousandth time. though, that left him clear to take on another range of emotions with the way he started to grow a bit warm with you two in front of him. 

“you can find inspiration in anything— i mean not to judge, but have you heard some of the songs these other bands are making?” yuki said, a small laugh leaving her lips in her slight show of cockiness. but they died down as an idea flickered through her mind. if a cartoonish light bulb could appear over her head, it would shine as brightly as it possibly could. especially when her lips dropped to your ear, whispering words that choso couldn’t hear.

it was evident that the words made you a bit flustered as you let out a giggle, squeezing at yuki’s arm lightly. until a hum of agreement was pushed from you during her low-spoken words.

“you’re right. but that still leaves me with nothing.” choso nodded. brows furrowing a bit as he watches you two converse. yuki planting a kiss on your cheek as you let out a hum in place of a reply. 

“well you’ve gotta start somewhere. what vibe are you going for?” you spoke up, feeling your girlfriend’s hand gently move from your thigh to your waist. tucking underneath your shirt to soothe you a bit, just as she had done earlier. though this time, a small hiss left your lips when her cool rings kissed at your warmed skin. “your rings…they’re cold.” you laughed a bit at the sensation.

“oh, i’m sorry, baby.” yuki apologized but her hand stayed exactly where it was. 

“something…sensual…maybe?” choso spoke like he was questioning you two instead. “we have a number of upbeat songs. we need something…different.”

“look at it this way,” yuki started with choso again, “our biggest inspiration is right in our faces at this moment.”

a look of confusion overtook the man for just a moment as he let out an inquisitive hum. though he watched as yuki’s gaze flickered from his face to your own in a sort of silent reply. though her words caught up to her soon after.

“our pretty girl,” yuki said in a sure tone. “i mean look at her; she’s gotta be the best inspiration—”

“both of you are. you are both part of my inspiration.” choso rushed out. watching as yuki’s hand trailed a bit further into your shirt. no doubt — her fingers grabbing at you from what he could see.

“mmm, you want us to give you a little more inspiration? huh, cho?” yuki questioned as she locked eyes with him. nimble fingers grabbing at one of your nipples as a gasp was pushed from your lips.

“y—yes,” the man stuttered out a bit flustered.

“yes, what?” yuki demanded as she planted a kiss on your neck, her eyes never letting up on choso. 

“yes ma’am,” choso corrected himself, a slight blush of pink presenting itself along his cheeks. to which yuki gained a lazy smirk before speaking.

“why don’t you go give our pretty boy a kiss, sweetheart?” yuki persuaded you as she pulled her hand from beneath your shirt. helping you off of her lap, yuki watched as you maneuvered yourself over to choso. his arm wrapping around you as he pulls you sideways into his lap. wasting no time in pushing his lips up against yours.

the kiss was heated, full of hunger on choso’s end. as if he had been waiting to get close enough to one of you. your pace mirrored his own in an attempt to bring balance.

“softer.” yuki ordered as she stood from the bed, tucking her guitar and amp away into a corner of the room. grabbing a hair tie from somewhere in the room to tie her hair into a ponytail — her bangs still hanging freely. then pulled her rings off one by one, setting them down somewhere she knew she’d be able to find them later.

on her cue, choso slowed his movements. there was no room for being indifferent today. he knew the best way to get anything he wanted was to comply. so his lips were soft against your glossed ones; the flavor of your lipgloss danced across his tongue. small moans of want meeting between the two of you.

“that’s it, good boy,” yuki cooed as she knelt onto the bed. pushing herself into the bit of open space between you two as she placed a kiss on your cheek, then choso’s cheek. ultimately ending with the three of you kissing at once. a mixture of sounds flooding the room. 

your eyes closed as you felt choso’s hand snake up your torso, palming at your clothed tits. pinching at your pert nipples through your shirt at random. the kiss glided into just him and yuki as you worked to pull your shirt off, welcoming the air around the room to cool your warm body. hardening your brown nipples even more.

“fuck…” choso stated almost breathlessly as he and yuki separated, his eyes landing on you. which only earned a laugh from yuki as she tugged her own shirt off.

“we are about to fuck, choso.” she jokes sarcastically. letting the woman’s joke enter one ear and go through the other, his heavy hands grabbed at you. furthering the actions he had begun earlier, tweaking and pulling at your nipples at random. soon lowering his head to wrap his lips around one. groaning around you as yuki came into view, allowing him to grab at her with his free hand. her pert — almost pinkish colored — nipples being manipulated by his movements.

with her legs tucked below her, yuki pushed herself forward to reach for the waistband of your pajama pants. tucking her hand below the material as her fingers pushed against your panties. the fabric pressed into you underneath her fingers as a wet spot had begun to form. an almost whimper was pushed from your lips at the feeling of both of them.

“that feels good, yuki,” you assured as her fingers worked over your clothed clit in slow and light circles. the way your hips move and chased after yuki’s touch was enough to keep choso pliant as he removed his mouth from you. his cock hardening even more with each movement you made.

“i bet it does,” yuki almost whispered next to your ear. her fingers pushed your panties aside, two fingers swiping at the wetness between your legs. dragging her fingers heavily from your hole to rub at your clit momentarily. the little bud throbbing under her fingertips.

only a whine of disapproval left your lips as she pulled her hand from below your waistband. fingers glistening under the warm light of the bedroom.

“hush, shouldn’t we give choso a taste? we are trying to be inspirational, right, honey?” yuki asked, while your hips continued to grind over choso. in search of his hardness to help the ache that began to grow between your legs.

“yes, mommy.” you complied fully. watching as she pressed her soaked fingers against choso’s lips, and allowed him to wrap his lips around them. a grumble of delight muffled around them as he worked his tongue over her fingers. moving his hips so you could push up against him.

“ ‘taste so good, baby.” choso compliments as he looks at you as yuki slips her fingers out from between his lips. a mewl of thank you brushing past your lips in gratitude for the words and the help he provided you with.

as you felt your clit bump against choso repeatedly, yuki took her time ridding herself of her pajama pants. her black hipster-cut panties being the only things left when she got herself back onto the bed. moving to kiss as choso’s neck. allowing you time to do just as she did and remove your bottoms. 

“would you look at that,” yuki giggled just a bit. “she’s so wet, she left a wet spot…through her pants.”

the mere sight almost made choso cum. a little wet spot sat perfectly over his bulge, and it sent a shiver through him as yuki palmed at him over the stain. his hands grabbed at her wrist to pull her into a straddling position.

yuki’s comment turned you bashful, as you were made completely aware of your wetness seeping through as you pulled your bottoms off. thighs a bit sticky from the mess as you left your underwear on, getting onto the bed again. 

slipping her hand under the band of choso’s sweats and briefs simultaneously, yuki gripped at his length. slightly hovering over him instead of sitting firmly in his lap — leaving room to stroke him slowly.

“shit, yuki—” choso hissed out as he tried to focus on thumbing over her underwear, her clit attentive under his finger. your lips met his again as his groans began to accumulate, your hand caressing his jaw.

“you both,” he started in between kissing you, “oh fuck— are going to be the death of me.”

you and yuki let your laughter envelop the room. giving him a momentary break to help him remove his shirt and sweats. throwing in haphazardly around the room.

both leaning down to plant a kiss on his clothed cock, a small stain of presumably precum could be slightly seen and felt against the black material.

“can we take them off him now, yuki?” you nearly whisper. your words match exactly what choso had been thinking. knowing better than to ask and possibly receive longer teasing from yuki. your eyes locked in on yuki as she laid the palm of her hand on one of your cheeks, one of your ponytails brushing against her hand.

“yes, baby,” she agreed with a smile. “we’re just here for inspiration today, so i don’t think we need to prolong the teasing. unless he wants us to be mean…” yuki’s words trailed off. both of you look to choso for an answer to yuki’s words.

 “nono, ‘just want you two,” he spoke flustered. his own hands trying to maneuver to push the briefs down. only for you and yuki to push his hands back.

“nah, we’ve got it baby.” you replied sweetly. helping yuki to pull them off him, only needing him to lift his hips. his cock springing free from its confines, slapping against his lower stomach. choso was once a bit reserved about showing himself off, shy at the thought of what his two pretty girls thought of him. but over time, you and yuki made him well aware that with his girth and length, there was absolutely nothing to be shy about.

the normally pale tip was a blushy pink color, mirroring his cheeks as he looked at the two of you. spitting into your hand, you wrapped it around his base as yuki took a lick at the precum threatening to dribble from his tip. you followed suit, as well as working towards stroking him.

watching as you both licked up the side of his shaft, only to meet at his tip — choso swore his eyes could have rolled out of his head from his reaction.

“holy shit—” choso stifled a moan as both your tongues ran repeatedly over his tip. like you two were kissing, and he just so happened to have been placed there.

placing a chaste kiss on his tip, you moved back. allowing yuki the room to wrap her lips around him completely. bobbing her head as she worked towards pleasing him. your hand worked in unison with her, stroking him, especially in areas she couldn’t fully take in. your free hand playing with his balls. 

“they’re trynna fuckin’ kill me…” choso moaned to himself in disbelief. hips rutting up a bit, mindlessly. switching places with yuki, she sent choso a cheeky smile. lips riddled with spit and precum.

“inspiration, baby. we’re trying to inspire you not kill you,” the blonde woman teased.

with your lips around him, tongue working against his length, a hum of agreement was emitted from you. heightening his sensitivity to you and yuki’s actions. his hips jutted upwards — pulling a gagging sound from you in the moment as he quickly moved to pull his hips back.

“shit, baby, ‘m sorry,” he whined out, placing a hand lightly on your head in a soothing manner.

“ ‘m okay,” you confirmed as you let him slip from your lips. your voice a bit raspy from the way he had fucked up into your throat. your ponytails swayed as you and yuki went back to simultaneously licking at his tip. drawing sounds from him every second it seemed. 

feeling him twitch below your tongue, you and yuki continued. the verbal warning and begging of i’m gonna cum, please don’t fucking stop falling from choso’s lips.

one final lick from the both of you, paired with stroking him, led him to his peak. cum spurting from his tip in thick ropes over the tongues of both his beautiful girlfriends. repeated swears said by him floated around the room as you both swallowed the milky white substance he had given the two of you. his hands weaved through his own hair for just a moment.

“such a mess, huh?” yuki questioned you as you both looked at the man. she almost laughed at his current state.

“mhm, and he tastes good too.” you nodded.

“well…i guess i’ll let you choose today, d’you want his tongue or do you want to ride him?” yuki asked casually, as if he weren’t sitting there panting. but at her words choso felt his abdomen clench, a feeling of warmth flooding his face once again as he began to harden.

it wasn’t long before you let yuki know you wanted to ride him. leading the both of you to ask him to lay in the very middle of the bed. his body surrounded by the silky sheets on the bed. straddling him, you slid your panties to the side for just a bit, a string of arousal clinging to them as you lowered yourself to grind against choso. your slick hugging into his cock.

with a sensitive grunt, his hands found your waist, helping you move your hips. yuki took the time to remove her underwear and kneel over him, drooling cunt hovering just above him as his anticipation began to grow. a giggle leaving her lips as she leaned forward to kiss you.

“take them off, pretty girl.” to which you complied once again with no indifference as you pulled off your underwear. throwing them off the side of the bed yuki leaned forward as she pushed herself onto choso’s tongue, the warm and wet muscle immediately seeking out her attentive little bud. which drew a gasp from her. yet and still — her hand wrapped around his cock as she helped push his cock into you.

your walls fluttered at the feeling, welcoming him with a sticky coating of your arousal as you took him inch by inch. feeling utterly done for when you felt the head of his cock beginning to push past your most sensitive spot. only to have him nestled right up to your cervix once completely in.

in your process of taking him, it was almost like you had droned out yuki in front of you. until she grabbed at your hands, intertwining your fingers with her own. 

she had begun to look dazed with the way choso’s tongue lapped at her wetness. the sound was nasty and vulgar, causing a knot to form in your lower belly. circling your hips, you could hear choso groan beneath yuki as he began to grip at her thighs.

eventually you worked up the nerve to begin bouncing on his cock. a sheen of your slick wrapping around him as you did so. letting out a dragged-out whine, you looked at yuki in front of you, her hands still holding on to yours as she pulled you into kiss her. the moans falling from you two were like music to choso’s ears. like the lyrics he couldn’t seem to find.

you clench stupidly when your bouncing leads to angling your hips just right. allowing choso’s tip to abuse your sweet spot over and over again. your grip going slack on one of yuki’s hands as you freed yourself to plant a stabilizing hand against choso’s abdomen.

“his tongue is so fucking good, he’s so good.” yuki began to mewl against your lips. her brows furrowing each time choso’s lips latched around her puffy clit, sucking for a split second.

“he feels so good too…” you reply weakly. your search to motivate him had begun to crumble into fucking yourselves silly with the use of your boyfriend’s compliance. the praises you both sung went straight to his head, his mind fuzzing up below the two of you. though it pushed him to lend a helping hand even more.

one of his hands climbed up between yuki’s thighs, fingers finding purpose right up against her entrance. barely hesitating before pushing one finger in, the second finger being pushed into her not long after.

“fuuuck,” yuki almost whined into your mouth as she felt his fingers dragging along her walls — his tongue still working against her cunt. her kisses began to slow when choso worked towards picking up his pace. her breathing becoming ragged and her hand squeezing at your own. “you’re gonna make me cum, keep going cho.” yuki announced as she leaned away from your lips, voice shaky as she held onto every bit of dominance that she could.

as your bouncing continued almost mind numbing sounds of you and your lovers exclamations and skin slapping against skin ensued. a sharp gasp escaped yuki’s lips as her cunt tightened around choso’s fingers, gushing around them due to the fact that he’d started bullying her most sensitive spot. her rushed announcement of her peak mimicked the way choso had sounded not long ago.

her eyes squeezing shut in pleasure as she freed her other hand to make herself stable just as you had done. her breathing harsh as she drifted back to her senses.

“you gonna cum for him, baby?” yuki questioned slowly, her blonde bangs shielding her eyes as she leaned forward again. this time dipping lower. “you gonna cum for our pretty boy?”

“yes— yes mommy,” you replied, feeling choso shift under you. his feet were planted into the soft bed below him. careful to secure his footing over the silk sheets as he began fucking up into you. feeling yuki press kisses onto your chest, she continued to do so all the way downwards. stopping only when her face was level with your cunt. watching how choso disappeared into and reappeared.

“taking him so good. poor clit looks lonely though.” yuki almost teased as she pushed herself back to eye level with you. a hand gripping dangerously close at the junction of your thigh. 

“please touch her, ‘wanna make her feel real good.” choso pleaded from under yuki. her spent cunt still hovering over him.

“mmm. he’s such a giver,” yuki smiled as she pushed the pad of her thumb against your clit. rubbing the pleasure spot in heavy, lazy circles. placing loving kisses on your cheeks as choso bounced you up and down. “even when we’re supposed to be helping him, he’s a giver, choso’s such a good boy.”

“yeah, yeah…he’s a good boy,” you spoke with a heavy tongue. shaking a bit as yuki quickened her fingers against you.

“you gonna let him cum in you? come on pretty, give him something to write about.” yuki spoke lowly and persuasively into your ear as you nodded. one more roll of her thumb over your attentive clit and you were pushed over the edge. your stomach tightened then relaxed as it felt like a cord snapped. creaming around choso as he pushed up into you for the final time.

“cum in her, baby. give it to her…” yuki spoke to choso softly as she moved away from him. sitting next to you both, a bit winded as she watched him empty himself into you. praising him as he grunted out, grabbing your hips to keep you upright.

“you should have inspiration for days at this point,” you giggled breathlessly as you calmed down, shuddering as choso pulled out of you. the mixture of the two of you sticky between your legs, dripping from your cunt, and his face glistening with yuki’s slick. both of you supplying him with soft kisses pressed into his lips.

“might’ve been a little too much inspiration,” yuki chuckled as you both took in choso’s reddened face. his hair sticking to his face a bit.

“writing…” he spoke softly, “should be a breeze.”

#✧ read along #choso kamo #yuki tsukumo #yuki tsukumo x reader #choso kamo x reader #yuki tsukumo x black!reader #choso kamo x black!reader #fem!reader #yuki x choso x reader #choso x you #yuki x you #choso x y/n #yuki x y/n #choso x reader #yuki x reader #smut #jjk smut #jjk yuki #jjk choso #jjk x black!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

[thewebcomicsreview]

Comics of the Week, January 8th- January 14th

It's Not the Destination...

It's the Journey! It's truths revealed, friends made along the way, and lessons learned.

Clover and Cutlass - Maggie is a reluctant heir to the local warlord, who falls for Jolene, a burnt-out healer. Unfortunately, Maggie's parents want Jolene dead.

The Chronicles of Oro - Magic, crimes, dragons, and babysitting. Juniper Snow is spirited away to another world and is now now implicated in a teenage crime spree, entangled in the fate of the world, and must deal with all this while also managing an unexpected babysitting gig.

Sao and the Glow of Memories - A young boy searches for his abducted clan. The world he ventures into is one where men, monsters, and spirits are at war, each scarred by a legacy of conquest.

#SpiderForest #Comics of the Week

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 26

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

There is no normal with Lloyd. Never expectations. But you resume the former delicate balance. Distance is the only comfort you have and he makes that fleeting. His interruptions are blunt, demanding, over just as soon as they begin. As if he’s messing with you.

Well, he’s always messing with you.

Several days blend together and blow over the dramatic episode of his drunken return. No more arguments, only terse conversation between stretches of suffocating silence.

His anger persists, though you assume it’s as much at himself as you. The way you find him rubbing his upper lip with a frown is next to comical. How could a man be so attached to a hideous patch of fur?

You scroll on your phone in a rare moment of latency. Your determination to find a way out has not yet magically conjured an escape. Job postings that pay less than your last gig, apartments that cost more than your mortgage, and cars with a questionable state. All the pieces are there but unobtainable.

There is another way. One that makes you content with staying. You’ve spent enough of your pride. You’re not ready for that

You drop your phone, exhausted from searching for gold in a mountain of sand. You take the tall glass off your nightstand and go to the door. You listen through the wood. You’ve made sure to avoid Lloyd when you can, never an easy endeavour as he sneaks up on you often.

Your steps are deliberately light as you descend the stairs. You know you heard him earlier but it was all muffled by the jet of shower water buzzing from the faucet. You go into the kitchen and push the glass against the lever, filling it with filtered water from the fridge. The subtle drone adds to the static of the large house until suddenly it erupts.

A door opens above and a female voice squeals. Impatient steps, a pair stomping and unstoppable, the other stumbling and slipping.

“Get out,” Lloyd snarls, “you ever shut the fuck up?”

“What the hell, dude?”

“I told you,” he barks as she cries out and his heavy steps bluster down the stairs, “I don’t wanna hear it. How hard is it to shut your damn mouth and play with my dick?”

You take your glass of water and follow the argument as it lands at the foot of the staircase. Lloyd drops the girl on her feet and tosses a pair of heels at her as she stumbles. Oh, you had no idea about that. Her.

“You’re gross dude.”

“And you’re not the only slut in the world, go.”

“Wow, really?”

He growls and crosses his arms, his bare back racking above his dark pants, slack and hanging askew from his hips. The woman, bleach blond, a passing resemblance to someone else, rolls her eyes as she bends and shoves her feet into her heels.

“You can at least pay for my uber.”

“Pay for what? You can’t even get me hard.”

“Ha, like that’s my problem–”

He grabs her by the throat and marches her backwards across the foyer. He stops, ripping her coat from the closet with his free hand before swinging open the door. He flings her through and throws the coat out after her.

“Fuck off!”

He slams the door and you shy back, barely able to see him as he paces angrily. He snarls and a sudden crash echoes off the high ceilings, the smash of glass and scattering of smaller items. You hold your breath and wait as he huffs in fury.

The house grows silent again, only the noise of his irritated mutters rising and falling. He goes into the den and you weigh your chance to flee. No, not enough time. You hear the clink of glass and his feet slap against the floor and to the stairs.

You emerge only when you’re certain he’s gone. You enter the foyer and look around. The console table is overturned, a vase shattered in a messy mosaic, and several silver pens littered around it as the slender drawer has been dislodged from the larger frame.

You put your glass on the little round table in the corner and cross the room. If you don’t clean this up, it’ll be waiting in the morning. Besides, you don’t feel like walking into this minefield then. You lift the table up and slide it back against the wall. The leg is bent, it won’t stand. You turn it on its side and lean it perilously before tucking the drawer against the foot.

You carefully toe around the glass, focused on not catching a stray shard as you fetch the broom. You bring a box and pick out the large pieces and gather up the pens before you start sweeping. You try not to think of the woman.

Did he sneak her in? Or had you just missed his attempt to flaunt her?

You bend to gather up the mess in the pan and as you stand, a cold stream splashes down your shoulders and soaks the back of your loose nightshirt. You gasp and nearly drop the broom and pan. You turn back as Lloyd holds the glass upside down with a grin.

“You hear all that, sweet cheeks?” He taunts as you shiver, water dripping down the back of your thighs.

“What the fuck–”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he winks.

“What are you talking about?” You look down at yourself, a puddle of water at your feet.

“I know you were listening,” he accuses.

You stare at him and shake your head. You sidle around him and march to the kitchen, pushing your foot down on the pedal to pop open the bin and dump the pan. You clip it against the broom handle before pushing it into the closet. You take out the mop as he looms in the archway.

As you near him again, he stretches his arm across the door, blocking your path. He holds up the glass and releases it. It hits the floor and smashes against the tiles. You recoil as it breaks and sends another scatter around your toes.

“Look at me, making all these messes,” he intones.

“Accidents happen,” you shrug defiantly.

“And didn’t I make a mess of that slut,” he snickers, “pretty blond thing like her, really knows how to work that neck–”

“You think I care?”

You turn and go back to the closet. You just want to lay down, get away from him. You know he’s playing with you but why? Why does he think you care if he’s fucking around? It saves you trouble.

“Ah, I mean, all your men keep chasing after blond bimbos, it’s a bit of a pattern, isn’t it?”

You ignore him as you push the glass into a pile. You understand now. She did kinda look like Ali, same round cheeks, same big eyes.

“You’re not mine, are you?” You squat down to collect the jagged pieces in the pan, “so not really.”

He scoffs and steps closer. You stop and face him. The frustration roils off of him as he glares down at you. You wince as he reaches for the pan and plucks up a sharp triangle and holds it up. He turns it between his fingers and sucks his teeth with deep consideration.

He swipes the pan out of your grasp and grabs your chin, urging you back blindly until you hit the counter. You gasp as he angles the point against your throat. You blink up at him as you cling to the lip of the marble countertop.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone in your position,” he sneers.

You gulp and don’t say anything. He drags the edge along your skin but not hard enough to break the skin. A shuddery breath escapes him and fans over you.

“Stubborn. Little. Bitch.”

He stops and pokes until a prick makes you whimper. He slices slowly up your throat, too shallow to do more than split the flesh but deep enough for the blood to trickle out. You hold you breath as you lean away from him.

“You think you’re special,” he growls as he carves down to your collarbone, “you think I wouldn’t slit your pretty throat right here. Watch you choke on your own blood like a dying fish–”

“Lloyd,” you quiver, startled by his dilated pupils.

How little you know of this man. You live in his house and know little more than his name. But you know he’s dangerous. The clues have been there. Somehow, you never expect it to turn in your direction. You tremble as you fight to keep still.

He pulls the glass away and throws it. His hand is bloody too, gashed along the inside of his knuckles. His other falls to the front of your shirt and clutches it as he jerks you away from the counter. He puts his bloody fingers against your cheek and smears his blood down your face as you grimace.

“Lloyd, please–”

“You think I can’t get fucking hard? No, you didn’t fucking break me,” he spits, “feel for yourself, peaches. I’m hard and I need that cunt on me. Now.”

You search his face, a sinister shadow defining the angles of his nose and cheekbones, a grit in his jaw that makes you weak. You tear your hands from the marble and gently touch his forearm.

“Yes, daddy, I know,” you move his hand cautiously away from your face, the metallic scent of blood curdles in your nose, “how do you want it?”

“I want you–” he brings both hands to the collar of your shirt and rents the fabric, “I want—” he gruffly pushes the cotton back on your shoulders and shoves it down your arms, “here.”

The shirt falls under its soaked weight and piles at your heels. He reaches past you and slaps the counter. You nod and glance back. He surprises you as he he reaches around you and lifts you onto the marble. Just as quickly, he has his arms hooked under your knees as your head hits the cupboard.

You can't stop him. You can't do anything as his rage consumes you. You've always been powerless but not like this.

#lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #the gray man #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #unsolicited

[sirianasims]

We had dinner at the food stall behind the gallery, talking about everything and nothing. Paul asked about my costumes and I showed him some of my cosplays and even a few original designs on my phone. He could name every single character I’d done, and I was quite thrilled to discover that he was just as much of a geek as I was. I don’t know why I had expected otherwise, considering the kind of roles he played.

He told me he’d loved comics and superheroes since he was a child, so when the casting call for a live-action Llama Man series went out he had jumped at the chance even though he knew the risk.

And he’d been right. By the time the series ended, he was too established as Llama Man and casting directors were passing him over for more serious roles.

He didn’t seem to mind that much though. He said that being a lead actor was hard work and he much preferred smaller roles where he could have some more creative input. These days, he mostly worked on Llama Man: The Animated Series and a few other voice acting gigs.

After the gallery closed, we found ourselves on a bench outside. The night was warm. I didn’t feel like going back to my apartment yet, and Paul didn’t seem to be in any hurry either.

“Finally, the director told me that if I didn’t get it together, he was going to replace me with an actual llama next season. So, obviously I had to bring a llama for the launch party. He did not appreciate the gesture. Turns out very few llamas are house-trained.”

Our laughter echoed slightly in the empty plaza.

“You know, you remind me a little of my grandfather.”

“Ouch. You wound me. I’m not even forty, you know.”

“No, I mean, he was an actor as well. Conrad Richards. He loved pranks like that too.”

“Conrad Richards was your grandfather?”

“Well, he married my grandmother, but he was always grandpa Conrad to me.”

“That’s amazing. I was a big fan of his, actually. I liked how he always seemed to have fun with it, not like those actors who take themselves too seriously.”

“Yeah, he never took anything seriously. In every memory I have of him, he’s laughing.” My voice wavered slightly. “Sorry, I still miss him a lot.”

“Understandable.”

Paul took my hand.

“I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but the truth is, it doesn’t. You just get better at carrying the pain.”

He looked away, seemingly lost in thought.

“When my father died, my mother told me that grief is just love that no longer has a home. It has nowhere to go. So, what you need to do is give it a new home. Surround yourself with friends and family. Love the ones you have left even harder. It doesn’t make the grief go away, but they will help you carry it.”

He cleared his throat and gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. I immediately missed the warmth.

“Thank you, Paul. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome. Julia.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then, he looked at his watch and smiled at me, back to his cheerful self.

“Sadly, as much as I’d love to, we can’t sit here and chat all night. I have to catch a flight back to the Valley in the morning. So unless you feel like walking me to my hotel to make sure I don’t get lost, we should probably part ways.”

“Sure. Where’s your hotel, then?”

He hesitated, his eyes searching my face.

“ZenView Heights. But -“

I leapt to my feet. “It’s this way.”

Paul grabbed my wrist and looked at me with a serious expression.

“Julia, it was a joke. And that’s way too far to walk. Are you really sure about coming back to my hotel?”

I tried to listen for that little voice in my head, the one that was supposed to warn me when I was about to do something stupid, but there was only silence. 

And Paul.

I nodded, slightly surprised at myself. Paul sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing any more,” he muttered as we walked to the street to find a taxi.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #paul romeo #cw: grief #my sincerest apologies to all you Conrad fans out there

[bugbart]

UPDATE: help a weird trans artist in between jobs

(Original Post Under Readmore)

Thank you so much to everyone who helped me out! I am thankfully EMPLOYED again after a longass time job hunting!! The donations I got have been very helpful bridging the gap for things like groceries and gas, so thank you again!!

hey guys its me, bart @bugbart, and i hate to do this but i need to ask for some support

i wont get into the nitty gritty but my job has been an extremely transphobic and unhealthy place for me to work. my manager even agreed that a lot of the issues i was having with both the owners and customers were due to being gender non-conforming. there were lots of other issues but that was the biggest one for me.

My anxiety and mental state at this job has gotten so bad that I was at risk of harming myself last night. I am safe now, but it made me realize I need to get out of there (no job is worth k*lling yourself lol). So i put in my notice.

i thankfully have enough $$$ to pay for rent/bills for november, and am actively going to be searching for another job, gigs, and opportunities to sell my art in the meantime, but any support to help me through to december would be really appreciated.

if my art has ever made u smile and you have some spare cash laying around, it would really really help me through this situation and i would be so so grateful. its also my birthday in november so you could consider it a bday gift.

ko-fi.com/bugbart (my comic is here too if you haven't checked it out yet, its choose your own price)

v*nmo @ bugbart

0/$550 (what ill need for rent in december)

thank you again 🤘

#transmasc artist #not art #mutual aid #support trans artists #boost

[mayakern]

hello!! if you don't mind me asking, what was your professional art journey like? (esp the earlier years) was MonsterPop! your first big project online? were you still taking client work when you opened up your shop? you're a very inspiring artist and I hope to be in a similar position as you one day! thank you so much for your time!

oh boy this is a doozy! and also a lot of this involves devin bc our success is completely intertwined

i went to art school (MCAD) from 2009-2013. i majored in comic art but had a secondary unofficial focus in illustration, specifically product design, and i interned at paper bicycle (the company of my product design teacher) my senior year, the same year they opened up light grey art lab. i mailed out a LOT of tarot decks. they didn't have a label printer so this took forever.

during that time i took some freelance illustration and comic gigs and also created some comics that got an amount of traction online (mostly on tumblr but i also got an io9 article written about me iirc). i also started making monsterpop (in 2012 i think?).

in 2012 i ran my first kickstarter to crowdfund an anthology of some of my short comics (how to be a mermaid, the little robot girl, fairyfail) and got my first taste of proper self publishing. sadly this was before i created redden (which was my senior thesis comic) so it wasn't included. i didn't have label printer so mailing out the books (i think i sold around 200) took forever and i ended up throwing a pizza party with my friends and having them help me.

after graduating i moved to the LA area in search of work. it honestly sucked ass and most things didn't pan out but eventually (2014) i got a remote job contracting for gaiaonline and i moved right back to minnesota bc i absolutely hated LA.

i met devin (my wife) 20 days after moving back to minneapolis. in 2015 i ran a kickstarter to fund printing the first volume of monsterpop and people bought almost 400 books. it was insane. i was dying under the stress of trying to mail it all out those packages and didn't own a label printer yet. between having to hand write the addresses, being both dyslexic AND slow, and getting headaches from the fumes, i could send out a max of like 10 packages a day. once again i was planning to throw another pizza party to have my friends help me out, but devin swooped in and got 100 packages done in just a couple hours and when i tell you that no one has ever done anything sexier for me in my life, i truly mean it.

at the time devin and i were both broke living paycheck to paycheck. gaia didn't pay well and the patreon money i got helped, but wasn't that much. i took some freelance/commissions and got some store and convention sales, but i was making around 22-26k and was constantly overworked. devin was in significant credit card debt and was barely scraping by between managing a gas station and school. i started making my very first skirts and then at the end of 2015 my arm, the thing that made me what little money i did make, gave out.

i couldn't draw anymore. this could have literally ended my art career, but instead devin stepped up. they took a look at all the things i was already selling in my store and figured out a way to repackage/bundle the items together in a way that was fun and appealing. and people actually bought the bundles! at that point the vast majority of my sales were at conventions and i wasn't very good at selling online, but that was the beginning of a new era. devin started working with me part time to manage the online store and go with me to conventions and things started getting better. at some point during this saga we finally bought a goddamn label printer.

by 2017 devin started working with me full time. we also got married and moved across the country to upstate NY. in 2018 we got a CPA and became an SCORP and monsterpop became a finalist for the prism comics award, which scored me an invite as a guest at SDCC. i really wish i had enjoyed that experience, but unfortunately i was dealing with some Bad Medication Issues and was extremely sick the whole weekend. otherwise it was great tho and devin had enough fun for the both of us. this is also around when i officially stopped taking freelance work. prior to that i'd only been taking a couple jobs a year, but the store was finally making enough that i could stop.

in 2019 i made the difficult decision to end monsterpop. this came with a lot of heartache but it was the right thing to do. i am much better now for it. i think 2019 is also when we became an SCORP.

we hired our first employee (lindsy) in, i think 2021. it might have been the end of 2020. and in 2022 we hired our second employee (ariel), who had been modeling for us already for a couple years bc she is our very close friend and actually the reason we moved out to NY in the first place. in late 2022 we started working with ash, who now manages our product supply chain and also is patterning new garments for us.

there's probably a bunch of stuff i've missed but this is roughly it! neither devin nor i were able to succeed until we started working together. our strengths and weaknesses complimented each other well and somehow things just worked out.

and if you take away nothing else from this, please leave with this info: if you sell and ship any amount of product online buy a goddamn label printer

#ask #faq #long post #there was also a monsterpop volume 2 at some point i think 2017

[miranda-mundt-art]

I know this is like a Big Question but are you planning on ever perhaps making Muted a physical print in the same way, for example, Lore Olympus did? Kind of curious and interested because Muted would be one of (if not the only) physical book I would purchase because of how dear the series was to me lol

I am!! I forgot to announce it here but I was able to find an agent after searching for one for like... 6-7 months al;skfjda but she's super sweet and we're going to work together to present Muted to print publishers to see if they would be interested in it!!

It's a very long process though - the reason why I'm hoping to get it printed that way instead of just doing a kickstarter though is because ideally I'd be able to hire help to reformat it from vertical scrolling to page layouts with the publishers assistance instead of.... doing that all myself LOL Which is sort of funny cuz I have recently gotten a couple of comic layout side-gigs where I am reformatting some friends WT's and it is fun for me to do........... but only cuz I don't have to stare at my old art all day LMAO i get to just try and may my friends' stuff fancy

anyway yeah here is my announcement i madeee

#m answers asks #m announcement

[gigachad-joker]

I’ve always found this interaction in Batman Superheavy between amnesia Bruce and our supposed Retired Joker to be so interesting as well as gut wrenching. DC’s choice to show us what both of these men could have been like without the trauma that made them what they are only to throw both of them right back into the bitter, harsh reality of their defined purpose in Gotham, somehow left me feeling like it was a cop out. There was never a happy ending for Joker, even in his ‘retirement’ he was ready to commit suicide and there was never a happy ending for Bruce either because the city would always find a way to make him Batman. No matter what happens to either of them, they can’t survive without the other and will always find ways to come back to each other. Even in his sanity Joker couldn’t stop himself from speaking to Bruce. It’s why I find this scene so confusing, why Joker wouldn’t want Bruce to become Batman again, so much so that he begs him not to. When Jokers actions, the gun, tell us a completely different story. They tell us that he misses Batman, he misses their dance. So why beg for the opposite of what you want?

#gig's comic search #gig’s joker takes #joker #dc joker #dc universe #comic books #the joker #joker comics #joker meme #batman comics #dc batman #Batjokes #joker meta #comics #amnesia bruce #retired joker

[poelya]

actually, speaking of lore consistency, i've been thinking about a lot of the tie-in material for the sequels here lately and i have to say there's a lot less consistency I feel like than there could have been. and i'm not just talking charles soule 'oh fuck what tfa said about the fall of luke's temple actually', but like...generally speaking i feel like so much emphasis being put on, at the time, that everything expanded 'verse worked consistently with the films, actually harmed the perception of the films themselves.

because when you divorce the films from their book/comic tie-ins, they flow very well. better than typical criticism will have you think (and before anyone brings up Rey's parentage, first off I lived through tasm2. that shit WAS nonsensical. second off, traumatized brains genuinely work like that. doylist explanation of the writers waffling - something very common in star wars, unless you've forgotten luke and leia's romance fizzling out because hanleia was more popular and george last second retconning them to be sibs - could be criticized, but the watsonian explanation that Rey's memories are that badly fucked up from trauma fits. source: my memories are that badly fucked up from trauma). the only thing is that the movies don't remain consistent with the tie-in material.

which, duh. they're the source material, not these one-shots. the opening scrawl of tfa says that leia has support of the senate behind her with the resistance, which is why poe introduces himself as commander of the new republic fleet. it's why the resistance is in dire straits in tfa/tlj, they just lost their support system. but tie-in material built off a deleted scene, where the senate largely doesn't take the resistance seriously. so we wind up in this bizarre land of "the senate didn't support the resistance but actually they did". if it had been better fleshed out, it would've worked (my partner came up with a great explanation for how both would work and it's simply not there in the 'canon' text). then you have the poe comics, which decides that despite tfa making it extremely clear that looking for tekka was ren's responsibility (with battlefront ii backing this by having him torture del), we get....random first order intelligence officer being in charge of the hunt, because soule was more interested in doing mission impossible-esque stories than the kinds of stories that would better fit the tekka search. this isn't even counting the back and forth of poe's character development in the comics (listen i love those comics, but there's a LOT of two steps forward, three steps back, especially in regards to Poe handing Tekka over. That arc perfectly set up Poe from BTA growing into the Poe we see in the films, annnnnnnnnnnnnd then Soule like. retracted it in the very next issue. This does not upset me in the slightest, why do you ask [chewing through drywall] and like. poe and leia have no familial dynamic to them in those comics either, to the point that watching tlj for the first time was a tRIP for me because i had a !!! oh!!! they're family!!! moment bc that's not present in the comics, with the exception of maybe l'ulo's funeral)

and of course my favorite example of the source material going "ew wtf" is tros just. point blank. saying "who the fuck is resistance reborn?" specifically through poe. iconic, showstopping, i love it to pieces because that novel deserves a slow death rotting at the bottom of the ocean.

the best tie-in material is often either ones built AFTER the films all released (looking at u free fall) or the rare time you can tell the author genuinely loves the characters/era and writing it isn't just a gig. my point is i think by having authors largely ignoring the canon text, and making this very inconsistent lore built around a deleted scene, etc, very seriously harmed the sequels.

#like i don't think it's a coincidence that CASUAL fans like those movies a ton #but a lot of the hardcore invested in the lore fans doesn't #like the tie in for them is SO inconsistent and throws a middle finger to the source material so frequently it's depressing #don't even get me STARTED on the tlj visual dictionary just point blank /rewriting/ poe's arc entirely #and releasing ahead of the movie which i'm sure had 0 impact on people's opinions of him #anyway. #just my thoughts lmao #nym speaks #sw negativity #I GUESS? #i didn't actually mean to be that negative but it's fairly critical so #long post

[oathofoaksart]

i wouldn't say kit is the way she is because of her mentor-- but he certainly didn't help.

charlie m. jenson, or tome when under the cloak, is a self-taught wizard who specializes in searching and archiving mystic objects. he keeps them safe in the spiral, a massive magical library he's taken ownership of through ways unknown to kit.

outside arcane shenanigans, charlie wears many hats-- owning a comic shop, running an exotic pet rescue gig on the side, and d.ming bi-weekly campaigns.

by looks alone, he and lei don't seem to have anything in common, but their thirst for knowledge and knack for theatrics binds and bonds them.

they're also fucking insane.

#young justice oc #dc oc #yj oc #oc #oc art #leiko ara #charlie m. jenson #yj kitsune #yj tome #gar's oc #gar's art #oathofoaks #i love them your honor #it's also important to know charlie's vc is jack black

[andriylukin]

I've never looked for gigs on Tumblr before, so let's try it!

Hi! My name is Andriy and I’m a graphic designer & comics letterer from Ukraine. I've designed logotypes for comics, TTRPGs, music albums, action figures & many other things! I've also worked on various titles such as Dagger Dagger, Lower Your Sights & others as a letterer & won this year's Mad Cave's Talent Search.

Take a look at my portfolio!

Contact me if you need me to design:

✦ Logos & logotypes

✦ Cover art

✦ Book interiors

✦ Comic lettering

Thank you!

#my works #my logos #graphic design #logo design #logotypes #logotype

[infinite-orangepeel]

hi ! if you’re looking for young (pre-canon, freshman steve/sophomore eddie) slow burn steddie with lots of yearning & sexuality crisis—then i would love it if you’d read the excerpt down below :)

it’s one of my favorite things i’ve ever written (& happens to be ch. 1 of my ongoing ao3 fic that is currently sitting at 10 chapters)

fic title: i wore his jacket for the longest time (link to the full fic down below)

pairing: steve harrington x eddie munson (steddie)

ch. summary: steve harrington’s 15th birthday bash is the greatest night of everyone’s lives, except for the guest of honor himself (who is in the middle of a panic attack) & hawkins very own freak (who really wishes he didn’t need the extra money). as fate would have it, the two end up finding comfort in the most unexpected of places (each other) and spend the night hiding away from the rest of the world on steve’s rooftop. nothing is ever the same.

TW: panic attack, use of homophobic slurs to insult a character (brief), themes surrounding sexuality crisis

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Part 1, Chapter 1: the great abyss

July 28, 1982

Eddie Munson is playing God or The Devil. He can never be quite sure on nights like this. The longer he’s kept up the gig, the more the lines seem to blur. It’s an odd job, but one he takes a sweet, sadistic pleasure in. Okay, so maybe that does make him Satan’s understudy more than a devotee of the “big guy in the sky.” But, who can blame him for seizing the opportunity to supply forbidden fruit to the poor sinners down below? There is nothing more gratifying than watching his heartless classmates tear each other apart from the gorgeous view of his twisted throne. All the while, knowing that the ensuing madness is a direct result of the vice-inducing treasures he stashes away in his aluminum lunchbox. And, to think he gets paid for it? He’d be a fool to let his already gray tinged morals prevent his sole form of employment. Especially, when said employment puts food on the table and delays his uncle’s need to apply for food stamps.

Usually when he “caters” events like this, the time passes quickly. It passes really quickly if those he’s dealing to aren’t complete assholes and let him partake in the festivities. That being said, after two years of high school, it’s become increasingly rare that he interacts with anyone that doesn’t respond to his presence like he’s a gory creature that just slithered out of the sewer.

It’s nearly comical. The ones that torture him the most in the halls of Hawkins High are also the ones that plead to him late at night like he’s the Fairy Godfather of Teenage Substance Abuse. He didn’t sign up for it, but more often than not, one jock or another is on his knees begging Eddie for a better price and just a couple more ounces of his drug of choice.

Eddie would be lying if he claimed the switched power dynamic of those moments didn’t give him a head rush and a mouthful of sick satisfaction.

He discovered he could name pretty much any price. Hawkins had a limited number of dealers and even fewer that would risk dipping their toes into the murky waters of selling to such a young clientele.

In true Pavlovian manner, all it took was Eddie undoing the clasps on his lunchbox to lure his prey into the trap. Suddenly, they would be thrusting their hands desperately into the deep pockets of their letterman jackets, in search of Daddy’s money to offer up for the exchange. The high he got from it was better than any strain his pale fingers might have rolled into a sharp tipped joint. Pure heady intoxication.

He rides that feeling until he’s wrung it dry in a perfunctory attempt to make tonight bearable.

It might have even been an effective tactic if he hadn’t been knocked off his high horse by Tommy Hagan and his squad of goons.

Eddie had hardly stepped through the massive double doors of Steve Harrington’s Loch Nora manner before he found himself pinned to the wall of the entryway. Hagan primally leered over him like he was tomorrow’s mystery meat and spit directly into his left eye. Gross.

“We’ll take it from here, don’t want guests scared off by the town freak,” Hagan wrestled Eddie’s lunchbox free from his white knuckled grip and made a show of emptying out its plentiful contents onto the pristine floor.

Eddie should have been enraged, should have lunged forward and put up a fight. But, as Hagan sauntered off with the stolen loot in hand, he couldn’t lift his gaze from the dark wooden boards beneath his scuffed Reeboks. He had the half-complete thought of what it might be like to slip and slide across such floors in those fancy wool socks he was certain Harrington had drawers full of upstairs. Wondered further if Harrington had ever known the struggles of a shotty heater and the lack of circulation one got from wearing four pairs of cotton socks to cope. Doubtful, he had decided.

Hagan hadn’t actually paid Eddie yet. Based on his reaction to Eddie’s arrival, it was vastly unlikely that he would be doling out the cash any time soon, if at all .

In theory, Eddie could have strode right back out the doors from whence he came and retreated to his side of the tracks, but he was viciously stubborn and had a bad habit of letting it rule him. Plus, Hagan had stripped him of his entire stash, which was not going to bode well for Eddie when Rick eventually sought him out to reap his portion of the earnings.

So, Eddie stuck around in hopes that Hagan would draw upon the miniscule shred of goodness left gnarled within his frozen heart and listen to the little angel poised upon his freckled shoulder. Again, unlikely, but if DnD had taught him anything, it was that anyone’s luck was subject to change even in the eleventh hour.

As it turns out, Harrington’s party looks just as repulsive from a bird’s eye view as it did on the ground. Eddie’s rooftop throne is admittedly a bit uncomfortable, but it’ll have to suffice for the time being. He’s not going to wait for Hagan’s change of heart out in the open. Lurking down below would only heighten Eddie’s chances of a broken nose and empty pockets. Eddie may be hard headed at times, but he’s not an idiot. He’s smart enough to know the deck will only be stacked higher against him if he accidentally pokes one of Hagan’s overly sensitive buttons. It’s a tripwire he’s not willing to trifle with.

Guests are packed like sardines into every breathable corner of the house and somehow, a line is still queuing up near the entrance. Girls in neon mini-skirts and guys drenched in cologne elbow past each other, willing to do whatever it takes to solidify themselves as permanent members of King Steve’s guest list.

Ah, King Steve.

How a rising sophomore that looked like something straight out of a Gap catalog had become a local legend was still unclear to Eddie. Not only was the guy popular, he had earned himself a royal moniker that somehow wasn’t used to mock, ridicule, or disparage him. Rather, King Steve was widely respected, admired, and adored by his loyal subjects. People worshiped the squeaky clean ground he walked on. His peers would practically throw themselves at his feet just to get a closer glance at his golden-boy smile and a whiff of his signature hairspray. Eddie really didn’t see the appeal, but maybe that was because people like Steve Harrington weren’t trying to make people like Eddie Munson part of their target demographic.

Eddie’s trying not to burn his fingertips on his silver lighter, a birthday gift from Uncle Wayne that he has yet to master. He can roll identical sets of perfect joints that rival the uniform efficiency of factory machines, but struggles to not flinch at the sight of a blue lipped flame. The potential to burn makes his hands shake and forces his tongue to stick out between his front teeth in itchy concentration. He’d never have a great career as a surgeon, but that was obvious long before he started smoking a few years ago.

Head tipped skyward, Eddie exhales the remains of the first hit and his lungs warm with an earthy heat. The touch of mother nature is soothing and brings him out of the present moment enough that he can focus on internally whispering the names of the few constellations he can remember.

Orion, Cassiopeia, The Big Dipper, and its’ little counterpart.

The trash pop music dulls to a mindless artificial hum of drums and synth with each consecutive hit he takes. He slips off the protective armor of his leather jacket, feeling safe and hidden enough to reveal the bare expanse of his forearms. Goosebumps prickle to the surface of his skin in immediate response to the summer breeze, but Eddie finds it grounding and doesn’t jump to reverse the decision. It serves as a fresh reminder that he’s a real person and not an inanimate object that Hagan and his lackeys get to smack around like a punching bag.

The joint softens him around the edges, encourages him to lean back on his elbows, belly-up and unafraid of what exists out past the infinite blackness of the night sky.

He’s lost in thought. The voices in his head curving in snake-like switchbacks this way and that, so at first he thinks the quiet grumble of someone clearing their throat might be coming from him.

Then, it happens again. This time, it’s followed by unassuming footsteps that clamber down the slope of the roof until they pause somewhere over Eddie’s left shoulder. Like the person is desperate to fill in as Eddie’s shadow now that his actual one has disappeared with the fully set sun.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, man. Didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” his shadow says apologetically.

Eddie’s confused. He makes a mental note to ask Rick if this strain is laced with something else. He eyes the dying joint suspiciously from where it is pinched between his thumb and index fingers.

He must have accidentally taken a hallucinogen, because there’s no other explanation for the timid, anxious tone coming from Steve Harrington’s mouth. There’s no other explanation for the way Harrington cautiously lowers himself to a hunched seat. The way he chooses to sit beside Eddie, like they aren’t part of two entirely separate spheres of existence.

It feels forbidden, Eddie thinks, like wearing the patches of bands you don’t actually listen to.

“Unless I’m mistaken or this joint has me really fucked up, I’m pretty sure this is your house, Harrington,” Eddie remarks, keeping his gaze trained on an imaginary point beyond the treeline that surrounds the wealthy neighborhood.

They’ve never had any sort of verbal exchange, but Steve’s last name snaps from Eddie’s mouth like a biting insult. He won’t do him the favor of using his first name. Not when his henchmen were so eager to sharpen the blade of the guillotine for Eddie’s neck only a couple hours earlier. It’s too personal, reserved for those that get to bask in the King’s good graces. Eddie isn’t under the delusion that he could ever soak up such glory by association with the boy sitting beside him.

However, he’s only human, which means that he’s not immune to the magnetic pull of curiosity. It goes against every fiber of his carefully curated public persona to take any interest in what King Steve looks like up close, but he can’t stop his eyes from wandering. His peripheral vision working overtime to track Steve’s uncertain movements, to follow the shaking line of his body as he sinks further into himself. Seemingly weighed down by a crown that has become too heavy.

“Dude, I was trying to be polite. It looks like you’re having a private moment out here and I didn’t want to intrude on anything,” Steve’s sitting close enough that Eddie can smell the faint sour hint of alcohol lingering on his breath.

It’s no shocker that he’s had a few drinks. Eddie wasn’t exactly hired to supply gumdrops and candy hearts at this party. The buzz of alcohol must be clouding Steve’s mind enough that he doesn’t realize the implications of being seen in casual conversation with Eddie. Not that anyone else has thought to join them on the roof, but it would only take one or two guests looking upwards from the crowded backyard to see the odd pairing hiding in plain sight. How would Steve explain this away?

“Well, dude,” Eddie mimics Steve’s locker room-esque fraternal lingo, “Forgive me for being caught off guard, but you’ll have to fill in the blanks as to why the belle of the ball has chosen to grace me with his presence instead of holding court down below? No offense, Harrington, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to give his company to a lonely stoner like myself just because it’s the charitable thing to do.”

Eddie still hasn’t allowed himself to fully take in Steve’s image. The corner of his eye has provided a jumbled puzzle of how all the pieces fit together. Eddie can see that a picture will form there, but can’t yet imagine the final result, so he has to go off of the limited information he has gathered.

For now, that’s a dorky striped polo that calls to mind what a cartoon captain might wear aboard his ship. The nautical navy hues make Eddie feel a little nauseous as if he’s the one out at sea. The buttons are undone half-way, which makes it appear that Steve is trying to achieve some sort of Peter Parker effect. Like, revealing an inch or two more of his chest automatically transforms him into the version of himself that’s a known party animal. The guy that girls swoon over even though he offers no promise of calling them up in the morning.

Other than that, Eddie’s thrown off by the quivering lip and uneven breaths that are making Steve’s polo-clad chest rise and fall in an off-kilter pattern. He thinks he’s imagining it or projecting his own anxiety onto the boy, but Steve’s breaths get louder and less easy to ignore. It sounds like he’s choking on the warm July breeze, itself. The exact one that had made Eddie feel so at peace before Steve had interrupted his sanctitude.

He bites his tongue hard before he says it, but the words tumble out despite his efforts to threaten them with the stinging consequence of physical pain.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that came off harsher than it should have, I didn’t mean to make you all emotional,” Eddie awkwardly spews and hurriedly brings the joint back to his lips.

Mostly, so he can have something to do with his hands to distract from the growing tension between him and Steve. He’s never known what to do with them in instances like this. If he should keep them to himself or offer them up as comfort to the other person. Harrington would more than likely knock him off the roof if he tried to do something stupid like pat him on the back.

A few beats pass before Steve explains the catalyst behind the increasing volume of his strangled sounds. It’s what one might think would come out of a wounded woodland creature, not the guy who’s destined to win nine out of ten superlatives by the end of his senior year.

Luckily, someone has decided the already blaring music isn’t loud enough. The recent increase further lessening the chance that anyone else would hear Steve’s small cries.

“It’s not you, Munson,” Eddie jolts at the idea that Steve not only knows him by name, but has elected to use it instead of one of the jabbing insults the rest of his group has assigned.

“I’m being a little bitch because of this stupid party. I never wanted it in the first place. Would’ve much rather gone to dinner with my parents or something,” he finishes and Eddie hears a mumbling thought exit his lips, but can’t quite make out the sentiment.

The mention of wanting after his parents strikes a chord in Eddie. It rings out clearly in the space between his ribs, akin to the clarity that washes over him in the aftermath of nailing down a particularly tricky riff on his guitar.

“Hm, what do you mean? Thought parties were kind of your thing, certainly hear about them enough around school,” Eddie says, finding that he wants Steve to elaborate and open the door to his private trembling thoughts just a little more. Just so Eddie can get a glimpse inside and maybe locate the thing that’s unexpectedly drawing him into the conversation with sparking interest.

Steve wavers again before answering, like he has to sort through an unforeseen dilemma. Like he’s at war with himself over needing a shoulder to cry on and wanting to swallow it all down and run in the opposite direction.

“I’m, um, kind of panicking? I don’t know what to call it, man. It happens to me sometimes, like I just freak out and start breathing all weird. Uh, today’s actually my birthday and Tommy H. made me let him invite everyone over to my house, like we were all going to celebrate or whatever, but I don’t think a single person has even wished me a ‘Happy Birthday.’ My Mom and Dad are on one of his lame work trips, so she can make sure he doesn’t cheat on her like last time. They haven’t even called and it’s almost midnight, so it’s destined to be another year of late apology money stuffed in a card signed ‘from, Mom and Dad,’ not even ‘love, Mom and Dad.’”

Eddie pushes himself up from his reclined position and finally turns his head towards Steve. He looks at him, really looks at him for the first time.

Of course, he’s crossed paths with Steve many times before tonight. In the halls of Hawkins High and around town running errands. The closest look he’s gotten has been when he’s done a deal with Tommy H. and any combination of the nameless kingsmen that all blur together and flock to Steve like he’s their shepherd. Eddie doesn't try or care to tell them apart, has no reason to memorize the repetitive nature of their names when they’ll shuck out the cash regardless. All identified by a last initial or physical trait that sticks out to him.

Steve’s been in the background in some of those instances. Eddie’s watched him from afar as Steve has waited for his skeevy sidekick to finish up. He appears untouchable behind the manufactured cool of his Ray Bans. Even when the clouds wake from their months-long hibernation, it’s impossible to ever tell where Steve is looking or who he is looking at, because his overpriced shades never get a day off.

So, this is markedly the first time Eddie has ever made eye contact with Steve Harrington. He lets out a small gasp when they latch onto each other’s gaze. Hopes that Steve will assume he’s only exhaling another hit, regardless of the fact that there’s no telltale trail of smoke to elicit such a conclusion.

Steve’s eyes are honeyed. That’s the only way Eddie can think to describe them. They’re a warm amber color that pulls him in with a hypnotic sheen that may or may not be the result of leftover tears. Though, Eddie’s pretty sure, Steve would never claim them if they were.

The shape of Steve’s eyes is another thing entirely. They’re downturned just slightly and Eddie’s never come across someone that takes up so much space and also happens to be so soft beneath the mask of his commanding exterior. Without the shield of sunglasses and with his attention fully directed towards Eddie, Steve arrives at the destination of his own youth. He’s much younger than he often portrays himself as being. He’s not some larger than life thing of myths and fantasies. He’s just a freshly fifteen year-old boy who hasn’t yet learned to deny himself the dream of gaining his parents’ love and approval.

And, Eddie? He knows something about that. Much more than he’d like to share, but Steve has just put into words the feeling Eddie’s been trying and failing to kill off for quite some time.

“That’s super fucked up,” it’s all Eddie can say without dropping his hand of cards and revealing what he’s been keeping pressed hard against his chest.

A memory strikes him and he’s reminded of the few times in his life that he’s felt really taken care of. For some reason, he won’t allow himself to begin to investigate; he has the odd desire to make Steve feel that way.

“This might sound weird and if it does, just tell me. No need to punch me in the face or anything,” Eddie is well aware that it is going to sound weird and probably, come off as way too intimate of a proposition.

“Why would I punch you in the face? I’m not a total asshole, y’know,” Steve counters defensively, still gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“Because of them,” Eddie gestures generally in the direction of the ongoing festivities beneath the roof, “Because Tommy H. fucking hates me and he made that very clear when he stole all of my shit earlier without paying a dime for any of it.”

“He did what? Wait, did he do that here, like at my place?” Steve furrows his brow like the little people’s complaints could possibly matter to someone in his position.

He’s being political, Eddie thinks, he wants me to be fooled into thinking he’s so “different” than them, so I’ll stay on his side.

“Harrington, let’s not play games. It’s sweet of you, really, to put on a face like my problems mean something to you, but we both know they don’t. It’s not like I haven’t seen you laugh along with the rest at my misery,” Eddie points out bitterly.

Steve startles, but doesn’t break eye contact. He seems offended by Eddie’s suggestion that he could be so callous, when it’s clearly an undeniable fact. Some are predators, some are prey. Eddie has unfortunately fallen into the latter category for most of his young life. It’s just the way things are. He doesn’t see a reason to dance around and sing songs of unity like Steve’s never stomped on his toes. Maybe not deliberately, maybe not on his own accord, but Steve’s definitely never been one to stand up and stop it from happening.

Before Steve can jump to defend himself again and swear up and down that he’s “not like that,” Eddie backpedals to his initial goal, which was to play the hero to Steve’s damsel in distress.

“It doesn’t matter, dude. Shit like that happens all the time when you’re someone like me. I wouldn’t expect you to know much about it.”

Steve nods slowly like he’s accepting the fact that Eddie has caught him in the act of deceit.

“But, let bygones be bygones or whatever. I, um, I’ve had panic attacks, too. That’s what they’re called, by the way. Panic attacks,” he says it a second time, so it can sink into Steve’s brain for the inevitable next moment that he will have to face one.

Sometimes, Eddie has learned, labeling a scary thing with a name gives it less power over you. If you bring the thing into the light of day, it loses the cloak of mystery and obscurity. That’s why it hurts him so much that no one, except his uncle, calls him by his first name; as if it's more fun to keep him in the role of the unknowable monster.

“Panic attack. Okay, so this is a panic attack?” Steve tests out the term in his mouth like it’s a foreign dish from some place half-way across the globe. Like he’s trying to get his palate to adjust to the exotic flavor.

“As far as I can tell, that’s what you’re experiencing. The heavy breathing, the gasping for air, the racing thoughts, the shaky hands; all pretty common panic attack symptoms,” Eddie explains, reflecting upon the first time his mom had taught him about the psychology behind the inescapable anxiety he felt whenever his dad entered a room.

“It kind of feels like I’m dying. Is it-is it supposed to feel that way? Do you feel that way when you have them?” Steve’s eyes are blown wide and Eddie is suddenly convinced that none of the fear is fabricated.

This isn’t some elaborate prank or ruse to mess with the school freak and embarrass him in front of the entire student body. Or at least, the portion of it that has achieved a social status high enough to be here.

“Yeah, it sucks. It literally feels like I’m going to have a heart attack when it happens to me. Sometimes, I kind of wish I would have one, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them all the time,” Eddie admits and immediately pinches the inside of his elbow, because he knows he’s said too much about who he really is.

It’s more ammo than Steve should be allowed to have, but here Eddie is, willingly giving it up to the guy and practically begging him to utilize the information in future torture campaigns.

Then again, Steve has provided Eddie with an equal amount of weaponizable information. The only difference is that everyone takes Steve’s word as truth from a higher power. By comparison, Eddie’s word falls flat as mere sticks and stones that would only ricochet off Steve’s impalpable form and backfire against him.

“There’s this thing though that my mom taught me,” Eddie finds it unnecessary to add that the woman is no longer in the picture, would rather let Steve wonder.

“It’s called ‘The Great Abyss,’ which is a badass name considering what it actually is. It’s a pressure point,” Eddie explains and Steve cocks his head in a way that conveys he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“Pressure points. They’re these little places on your body that can be used to heal all sorts of things. The whole idea of it came from ancient China, I think. They discovered that certain points were associated with all this internal stuff. Like there’s ones for getting rid of headaches and sore throats and even hangovers.”

Steve laughs at the mention of a hangover cure and the lightness it carries encourages Eddie to keep talking. Makes him believe for a second that Steve Harrington isn’t as closed minded as he originally seemed.

“Anyways, ‘The Great Abyss’ is on the inside of your left wrist,” Eddie grinds the butt of the joint into the roof’s shingles and tosses it aside so he can properly demonstrate,“There’s this hollow part, right here,” he leans closer to Steve to show him the spot beneath his thumb, where his palm and bony wrist meet.

Steve’s listening intently, like Eddie’s teaching a seminar on all of his greatest interests. If he had a notepad and pen to spare, he’d hand them to Steve just so he could relieve the intense pursed focus that has taken over his face.

“It feels weird, at first, because you have to get the hang of pressing down hard enough that it works. It took me a while to figure it out, so don’t worry if it seems like it’s not working when you try it. You hold down for a few minutes, no longer than five or you might pass out and let’s be clear, I don’t have the money to pay for any medical damages you may inflict on yourself,” Eddie smirks, but simultaneously, presses down with a moderate amount of force on his own wrist.

“And, if I was having a panic attack, the healing magic of ‘The Great Abyss’ should kick in right about now. You’ll feel your breath slow down and go back to normal. Then, with it, your heart rate will chill out and your thoughts should get noticeably less catastrophic,” Eddie concludes and releases the hold, throwing his hands up in a “ta-da” motion like he’s a magician who just pulled off an awe-inspiring trick.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just sits there frozen, so Eddie takes this as his cue to leave. Figures Steve probably won’t want Eddie staring him down if he decides to give the ol’ Great Abyss a try. He knows he doesn’t have the world’s most calming effect on people, so he hops to his feet and faces the window that he had initially crawled out of.

But, as he begins to scale the sloped roof, Steve’s voice yanks him out of the thick concentration he’s in the middle of, not wanting to fall to his death in front of a crowd that would applaud such an occurrence.

“Where are you going? I can’t do this by myself. Can’t you show me?” Steve says in a frantic tone, shaking more than he had been when Eddie was beside him.

“You want me to do the pressure point on you ?” Eddie clarifies, shocked that Steve would suggest they touch in any capacity, when the rest of his peers avoid even brushing shoulders with him or passing him a pencil in the back of a classroom. Like they’ll catch a disease from simply breathing the same slice of air.

“That’s what I was getting at, yeah,” Steve confirms and is quick to amend his statement with, “Unless that makes you uncomfortable or you have somewhere else to be. I’ll be fine, really.”

The conundrum lies in that Steve doesn’t look fine, at all. He looks miles from it. Stuck out in the barren wasteland of conflated fear and self-loathing. Eddie hates that Steve’s looking at him like he’s an oasis in the desert, like he can wave a magic wand and cure him instantly.

He hates it even more that he finds himself under Steve’s own spell. The same one he seems to employ on a daily basis to woo the likes of peers, parents, and teachers. Eddie’s transfixed by his boy next door charm, struggles not to find his suburban helplessness endearing. Like this is the first real problem he’s ever faced.

“Okay, sure, I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal,” Eddie lies through his teeth. He knows before he’s even sat back down next to Steve that this moment will very much so be a big deal in the trajectory of his life. It carries an undeniable weight.

With feigned nonchalance and a grimace to hide his racing heart, Eddie settles back into the world he and Steve have created for the time being. Population of two, location unreachable by anyone not in their strange anxious little club.

“When do your parents get back?” Eddie asks, hoping small talk will prevent Steve from noticing the emotions that have to be incredibly obvious on his face. The heat rising up the line of his cheekbones tells him so and he can’t exactly blame it on the alcohol he hasn’t consumed a drop of.

“Don’t know,” Steve shrugs and his tense shoulders almost hit his ears, “They never really tell me. I just see the packed suitcases by the door and know that means I’ll have the house to myself for the next few days, sometimes a week or two.”

Eddie nods, imagines how empty the trailer would feel if Uncle Wayne left for more than a night or two at a time. How empty it would feel if it happened more than once or twice a year. Even more so, if he lived in a house with so many vacant rooms and no one to fill them but his selfish peers.

Eddie was starting to see why Steve was able to get away with having so many parties and more importantly, why Steve would want people over all the time in the first place.

“Can I see your left wrist?” Eddie implores, breaking away from his own thoughts and half- expecting Steve to laugh in his face, like the suggestion that they touch wasn’t his idea.

Steve obediently pushes up the sleeves of his heinous polo and presents Eddie with his right wrist.

“Your left one, dipshit,” Eddie laughs good-humoredly. It’s hearty and he finishes off with a goofy snort, but then, Steve’s cracking up alongside him, so he figures it’s okay.

“Wow, it’s my birthday and I’m in the middle of a panic attack,” Eddie takes pride in the fact that he taught Steve something new when he hears him use the term again, “And you’re making fun of me for not being able to tell my left from my right. Pretty dick move of you, Munson.”

He’s still laughing and clutching at his abdomen. When he leans back, an inch of his tan, well- defined stomach is revealed and Eddie tears his eyes away before he can begin to consider why he wants to touch the line of skin that sits below Steve’s navel. He shakes his head back and forth in hopes that the thought will fall right out of his ear and become a corpse beside him.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. I promise not to insult your less than optimal ability to follow directions. You have my word,” Eddie swears, theatrically waving an imaginary white flag in one hand, “Now, your left wrist, please.”

Steve calms his laughter and glows from the aftermath of their banter. His cheeks are flushed and pink near the apples, but Eddie knows the ruddy hue must have more to do with the beers he no doubt chugged earlier in the evening than it does with Eddie sitting so close to him.

The correct wrist is now within Eddie’s line of vision. He reaches down towards the place where Steve has it hovering over his criss-crossed lap. He tries to pay no attention to the smattering of moles and freckles that dot the inside of his arm like they belong somewhere up above next to Orion and Casseopia.

They’re not holding hands, but they might as well be as Eddie circles Steve’s wrist and begins to apply mild pressure to the hollow dent he had described before.

Steve lurches a little from the initial contact, but quickly self-corrects and lets his lids flutter closed after a second or two, providing Eddie with his trust. An innocence paints its way from his chin to his hairline, as if he’s never participated in even the slightest of sinful acts. As if the minute touch holding them together isn’t the very definition of sin, itself.

“Just keep breathing, slow and steady. Try not to think too much and just focus on the feeling of my hand on your wrist. I’m going to hold on for the next few minutes, but if it hurts or you want me to stop, just say so,” Eddie instructs, trying not to feel too foolish about the hippie dippy words coming out of his mouth.

Steve’s eyes remain shut, so Eddie helps himself to another lingering study at the enigma of the boy sitting only inches away from him. This time, he compares the open palm of Steve’s hand to his own.

Eddie’s fingers are longer and bonier, knuckles jutting up through the pale overlay of his skin. Yet, he still has trouble fully encircling Steve’s wrist in his hand despite the falsely perceived advantage of his lankiness.

Steve’s palms are wider. Flat, firm expanses covered with the rough spotty texture of calluses formed from years of playing a laundry list of sports. None of which Eddie knows or cares to know the rules of.

Eddie’s hands are made for stretching across the keys of a piano and skillfully painting the smallest details of the figurines that adorn his desk. Steve’s hands are made for exerting force on a grassy field and shoving his devoted followers into their assigned places in the pecking order.

“Okay, you can let go,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie rips his hand away, worried that he had gotten too sidetracked by his analysis and hurt Steve in the process.

“Woah, man, it’s cool. You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, that really helped. I just told you to stop, because I feel much better now,” Steve explains kindly, but Eddie’s tuned him out, because now, Steve has his hand resting on the inside of Eddie’s nearest bicep.

He’s rubbing his palm back and forth like Eddie’s a spooked horse. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t rush out now that he’s gotten what he wanted out of their interaction. Not like Eddie’s used to people doing. No one ever sticks around on his account, certainly not to make sure he’s okay.

And,no one has touched him so gently since his mom died. He wants to cry, can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, but can’t find the courage to let them out. Not here. Not when Steve’s just made the incomprehensible decision to give him the rare gifts of kindness and comfort. Not when he knows that this means much less to Steve than it does to him.

Eddie indulges in the feeling for a minute more and the two sit in a mutually agreed upon silence, like they’re old friends and don’t need to fill in the gaps all the time. Like they aren’t afraid of scaring the other off by not knowing how to put their thoughts into words.

He looks down at Steve’s hand on his arm one more time and commits it to memory. For what usage? He’s not sure, but it feels important.

Once it’s safely tucked away, Eddie shrugs out from under Steve’s hand and says, “If I had known this was technically your birthday party, I wouldn’t have shown up without a proper gift, but,” he digs around in the pocket of his discarded leather jacket, “I do have a few joints, rolled by yours truly, that I’d like to give you for keeping me company up here and not being a total dickhead to me.”

Steve breaks out into a huge lottery-winner’s grin and accepts the joints from Eddie’s hands, tucking them into the front of his light-washed Levi’s, “Thanks, dude. That, um, that’s really cool of you and probably the only birthday gift I’ll get until my parents get home with the apology money.”

“My pleasure. Happy Birthday, Harrington,” Eddie smiles genuinely at him and wants to say more, but can’t quite figure out how to escape the confines of needing to appear socially normal and at ease in front of Steve. He’s never been one to speak his mind without coming off as offensive or dramatic, so he keeps it simple.

Steve reaches across himself and looks like he’s considering drawing Eddie into a hug, but he lets his arm fall into his lap instead, having thought better of the idea. Halting himself from crossing into a territory that he can’t come back from.

“I don’t really know how to say this and I don’t want to make anything weird, but-” Steve hesitantly starts and Eddie feels his pulse lurch into the back of his throat. He thinks he might die from the way he’s hanging on Steve’s every word which is slowly knotting a noose around his neck.

What did Mrs. Douglas call it his freshman year when they were studying ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’? A dark comedy? Plays and stories defined by sharp ironic scenes and gutting satire.

That’s what this has to be, because the events that follow are nothing but a sick joke to Eddie and he never gets the chance to hear the end of Steve’s confession.

Because Tommy H. shows up leaning his head through Steve’s bedroom window, like he’s Rapunzel and Steve is the Prince on the verge of coming to his rescue. Eddie has to cough out a choked laugh. It’s humorless, awkward, and makes Tommy sneer in his direction, but he can’t hold himself back from the dark hilarity he finds in the unfolding scene. The tragic irony that has befallen him makes him sick and hopeless, anew and erases any progress he thought he had made in the last hour.

“Harrington, what the fuck are you doing hanging out with this fag ? I’ve been looking all over for you. Whaddya get too drunk and confused by the long hair? He’s a guy, at least I think, hard to be sure when no one would ever dare get in his pants,” Hagan spits out each word with increasing hatred, never taking his beady eyes off of Eddie. It’s vulturous, as if he might swoop down and tear into Eddie’s flesh any moment just to prove his loyalty to Steve.

For his part, Steve leans away from Eddie to scramble to his feet and it cuts him to the core.

Had he really thought their one interaction would change anything about their dynamic in the grand scheme of things? Had he really deluded himself into a hole so deep that he could imagine a world in which they waved hello to each other in the school hallways? A world in which they ate lunch together in the cafeteria and divulged petty secrets? A world in which they eventually dropped the act and attempted to master the commitment to each other’s first names?

No. Because, he wasn’t Eddie to Steve. He was never going to be Eddie to Steve. He was that other thing that lurked in the darkness, scared people’s children, and got maced in the face simply for walking down the sidewalk.

The Freak. The Fag. The Queer. The Monster.

“Let’s go, dude!” Tommy whines at Steve’s clear reluctance to return the weighty crown to his perfectly coiffed head of brown hair, “Tammy Thompson told me she’d give you a blowjob, if you came out of your hiding spot to take a shot with her. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“Gimme a second, I’ll be right there,” Steve swallows past a lump in his throat and doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by the opportunity Tommy has just thrown on the table. Doesn’t lunge at it like some of the more perverted guys they go to school with would. Treats it like Tommy just told him there’s a ham sandwich on the counter for when he’s hungry.

His demeanor shifts in the direction of apathy. Maybe, even disappointment. But, that’s likely, because he has to go back to socializing with the exact people he was trying to run away from, not because he has to leave Eddie’s side and abandon his confession to hang in the air of what could have been.

Tommy H. ducks his head back in through the window, leaving the boys with a translucent brand of privacy. He’s tapping his foot on the carpet just on the other side and has his freckled arms crossed so tight he could easily break apart a watermelon if it happened to tumble between his chest and forearms.

Steve makes up his mind, eventually. He’ll give in to his subjects' wishes, grant them the company of their beloved figurehead. He’ll put aside the gnawing feeling of his remaining anxiety and drown it in as much of his parents’ liquor as it takes. He’ll let Tammy Thompson have her way with him, let himself pretend any of her touches actually make him feel held.

So it will be, so it always has been.

This is what it takes to be the King, Eddie realizes, the throne is not always a comfortable place to sit.

Eddie’s ready to go home, no longer cares if Tommy H. pays him or not. He’ll bust his ass to scrounge up the money through other odd jobs, like mowing lawns and washing windows. He just can’t be in the vicinity of this mess for a minute more, because if he stays and watches Steve get drunker and sadder, he knows he might do something he’ll really regret.

As he slips on his leather jacket, he almost misses Steve’s final words, which might have prevented him from falling prey to Steve’s charm again and again in the coming months. Unfortunately, he hears him.

Steve clears his throat, like he did when he first came out here to alert Eddie of his arrival. It’s subtle, but just as effective as it originally was at grabbing his attention.

Eddie looks over from his crouched position and finds Steve with one foot through the window and the other still firmly planted on the gray shingles of the roof; divided between the two planes of being. The person he wants to be and the person he has to be.

“I, uh, I gotta go, but I’ll see you around?” Steve says with an awkward lilt at the end, solidifying the fact that it is very much a question and not an assured statement.

“Yeah, I’ll see you when we get back to school,” Eddie replies quickly, not wanting Steve to think that he had assumed their paths could cross anywhere but the halls of Hawkins High.

“Sounds good. Bye, Eddie,” Steve salutes him with an upward nod of his strong chin and disappears back into the world in which people like them never even think about touching beneath the moonlight of a warm, July night.

#kissing u on the forehead for reading #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie angst #steddie fluff #steddie precanon #ao3 steddie #steddie ao3 #steddie ao3 fic #steddie fic excerpt #steve harrington needs a hug #eddie munson needs a hug #eddie munson x steve harrington #gay eddie munson #gay steve harrington #bisexual steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steddie thoughts #steddie blurb

[bloggingboutburgers]

Heyo again! I wanted to say that your comics are lovely to read, Keep it up!

You don’t need to respond to this but I also want some advice from ya, its been pretty bumpy road for me on my art Journey, The good and the bad stuffs, I started drawing again in last year for almost 3 years and I have been improving my art style, I have a small but lovely followers on two social medias, I enjoy making that I love and even making my own artwork but sometimes I feel like I am not artist enough or interested enough, so I maybe ask you for some art advices? Any advice is fine but I want to do a story to draw and tell but I’m not good at writing or experience at least, I also want to start commissions if possible if anyone interested in my artworks but I don’t have a payments yet for now,

I probably search up these things but I want wanted someone who experience just before possibly

You might not understand this submitted question cuz I don’t know how to Express my thoughts and feelings if that makes sense, and you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to if this isn’t your thing, that’s all from me hope you have a good week

Hi bean! Sorry I'm replying so late! Don't worry, I think you were pretty clear in formulating your question!

I just am not sure if I'm the best person to answer or give advice on that because... I'm not that good an artist at all. I have trouble sticking to discipline, I only ever draw what I like without challenging myself too much unless I REALLY want to, and... Yeah. No wonder I'm at the tiny level I'm at in my 30s, to be honest. The only reason why my art ever gets positive reactions is because I happened to draw something that people liked enough, and even that is super dependent on timing and other factors. It's very tough to get noticed, so I've found, or if it IS easy, then I must be a bit dumb, because I haven't figured it out.

One thing that I feel HAS positively helped me a lot though, has been entering art challenges and contests, and there are plenty of those out there, which is good! If it's anything that can help me practice more towards my goals, then it's a good experience. Be it a writing challenge, a drawing challenge on a specific theme, a comic-drawing challenge or whatnot... Personally I find they always give me an opportunity to develop ideas in a way I like, and to end up with a final product which I don't necessarily always like, but which at least showcases my progress.

I really don't do commissions often because I don't need the money that much, so the extent of my experience goes to IRL stuff and iterances where someone has specifically seeked out a commission from me, so I'm also not the best at giving advice regarding commissions either TwT But if that's something you want, I'd really recommend to go for it! I set up a paypal account to receive payments when I was about your age for translation gigs, it's tough at the start but then it pretty much rolls off pretty easily, and I've only sworn by that, but I'm sure there's many other trustworthy options out there as well! (I really don't have that much experience in that sense, haha TwT)

But yeah... Also overall, I guess, no matter how hard impostor syndrome tends to hit when you're an artist, especially when you're still developing what you want to do and all, it's definitely important to actually go out there and show yourself out. Dare to say "Yeah, I make art, so I'm an artist, let me in on the artist scene." If you want to make art and show your art, overall, nobody has a right to tell you not to, or to tell you you're not an artist, no matter how much societal pressure there is against that. One's gotta have the courage to say they're an artist, or at the very least an aspiring artist, if they wanna be one, it's actually a key part of the process. (Arguably I haven't been good at it lately. I haven't put myself out there much for art gigs or challenges and whatnot. I should really go for it more.)

But yeah TwT Sorry, I feel like I've been writing a whole lot not to say that much, but I hope it's been a little helpful at least! Also from what I can see, and especially from the first years I've known you, your art already has improved a ton, so from my point of view, you're doing good! Don't give up, do your best not to be scared and to fight off that voice in you that tells you you're "not enough of an artist". And hopefully you can keep having fun drawing what you want to draw, that's super important, at the very least to me, I've kept swearing by that, whether what I like drawing is popular or not.

(PS: Listening to music and imagining situations to it and reading new comics that speak out to me are two surefire ways to get my inspiration going too, in case that helps!)

#lazybearzlol #...but yeah seriously i don't have much valuable advice #i'm kind of a failed artist if you consider the whole extent of when i've been drawing in my life #but i hope it's been helpful at least a bit TwT #artist on tumblr

[chayscribbles]

space heist intro but it's a comic sans powerpoint i put together in like 15 minutes five months ago

get the pretty, more coherent intro here

text transcript below

slide 1:

THE GEMINI HEIST

a wip by chay luna

working titles include “space heist” and “be gay do crime… in space”

slide 2:

A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR FAR A— *micky mouse sniper gunshots*

we find ourselves in the Wild West of space, where outlaws and criminals can do whatever the hell they want while those supposedly in charge look the other way to protect their own interests

Captain Leonore “Leo” Callisto of the Siren leads a small crew doing various gigs and odd jobs for people all around the sector. yknow, smuggling shit, stealing shit, selling stolen or rare shit, etc

but after the team’s spy, Zeya (who Leo was showing favoritism to for No Particular Reason) takes off with a shitton of money after a spat with Leo, the rest of the crew, no longer trusting Leo’s judgement, decides to ditch her as well, save 2 loyal but very inexperienced members: engineer Gabriola “Gabi” Franco and the crew’s muscle Euna Li

slide 3:

okay so that’s the context, now let’s get to the plot

while searching for work on Space Kijiji, Leo comes upon an offer from a rich, eccentric art collector calling themself the Curator, offering a large money reward to steal a statuette from the House of Dyonas, a powerful and wealthy family on the planet Vihelda that passes along wispy purple telekinesis powers from generation to generation

the statuette is one of the two Gemini Statuettes, which are believed to depict a pair of twins in the Dyonas family from a few generations ago, but the House Head, Andlyn Dyonas, refuses to sell, so the most logical thing to do is to pay someone to steal it, as one does

strapped for cash, Leo accepts, even tho the House of Dyonas is notoriously hard to get into (she has a few tricks up her sleeve ofc, including getting one of the Dyonas House Heirs, the runaway Illiana, to help her)

BUT as she and her tiny ragtag crew embark on this quest, they quickly learn that they’re not the only ones with their eyes on this prize, and ~someone~ on a quest to sabotage them always seems to be a step ahead 👀

slide 4:

okay CHARACTER TIMEEE

[ID: a tall, dark-skinned woman with brown eyes. she has a long, dark braid with ends gradually lightened to blonde. she wears a long, deep red coat with gold accents, a white shirt, tight black pants, black fingerless gloves, and high black boots. there is a weapon with a golden hilt strapped to her leg. her expression is serious. she holds up a black blaster pistol with glowing red accents. end ID.]

CAPTAIN LEONORE “LEO” CALLISTO, the Mastermind

28 years old, she/her, from Tharrekan

is actually a Capricorn, not a Leo

picked up business and finance skills from her relatively successful business people parents

but then one day disaster struck, and Leo had to turn to a life of thieving and smuggling to get by, eventually saving up to get her own ship and crew

she’s really good at making connections and manipulating negotiating with people with her jacked up charisma stat. not so great at forming genuine relationships tho

claims to be an “honest criminal” but yeah that’s a lie, along with pretty much everything else that comes out of her mouth

gaslight gatekeep girlboss <3

is completely normal about Zeya Kade

yeah i really made a wip called “Gemini Heist” and then named my main character LEO kjdfkjs

slide 5:

[ID: a short, chubby light-skinned young woman. she has short brown curls, hazel eyes, and a nervous expression. she wears a white shirt, a green bomber jacket with orange accents, brown arm guards on her forearms, black fingerless gloves, baggy dark blue pants, silver knee pads, brown boots, and a brown tool pouch around her waist. silver tools are tucked into the front pockets of her jacket. a pair of orange-tinted goggles rests on her head. end ID.]

GABRIOLA “GABI” FRANCO, the Engineer

21 years old (the baby of the crew), she/her, from Plana D’Ezza

was studying mechanomedicine (which is, as the name suggests, a mix of mechanics and medicine, specifically to work w cyborgs) in university

secretly did unauthorized repairs on cyborg parts for people who couldn’t afford it, but got caught and got in Big Trouble

anyways now she has a criminal record hanging over her head and massive student debt lmao

idealistic, arguably naive, trying to toughen up (but isn’t very good at it)

has a MASSIVE gay crush on Euna. she thinks she’s being subtle about it but like EVERYONE has noticed. (except for Euna herself, of course.)

slide 6:

[ID: a tall, light-skinned, muscular, east asian-coded woman. she grins as she runs towards the viewer. her peach-coloured hair with dark roots is straight and is half loose just below her shoulders, with two buns at the top of her head. she wears a white tank top with pink straps, an orange jumpsuit tied at the waist, and black boots. a simple silver blaster is tucked into a black holster at her hip. her right arm is a cybernetic prosthesis, attached right above the elbow, and is white with pink accents. end ID.]

EUNA LI, the Brawns

24 years old, she/her, from Siung-Katsa

used to be a moderately successful competitive athlete but preferred performing to competing and impulsively joined a space circus only to find herself trapped in a shitty contract with bad working conditions

and then the Accident™ happened in which she lost her arm, and she was swindled into buying a super expensive cybernetic prosthesis bc she thought it would enhance her performance with the circus

but since it took “too long” for her to recover, the circus managers replaced her without even telling her :( so she pretty much joined the Sirens to pay off her medical bills rip

big arms to give big hugs

doesn’t have the highest intelligence stat tho but she’s trying her best!!!!!

completely oblivious to the fact that Gabi is in love with her lmao (she’s convinced Gabi is only interested in her fancy prosthesis)

slide 7:

[ID: a light-skinned woman with purple curly hair. her eyes glow purple, and she is floating with her arms outstretched, holding two glowing purple wisps in her hands. her expression is serious. she wears a long, white coat, a black sparkly top with purple edging, a purple crystal pendant, black leggings, silver wristbands, and tall white boots. end ID.]

ILLIANA VIVIENNE, SECOND HEIR TO THE HOUSE OF DYONAS, the Informant

23 years old, she/her

daughter of Lord Andlyn of the House of Dyonas, House Head

has an identical twin sister, Kalenora Ismerie, First Heir to the House of Dyonas (yes all their names are like this), who is a few minutes older

Illiana has always been better than Kalen at mastering their inherited powers, which has caused ~tension~ between the sisters over who gets to be the next House Head when their father dies

so Kalen did *stuff* to secure her position and forced Illiana to go on the run and hide out in what is essentially Space Las Vegas under an alias

she gets roped into the heist to help them get into the House of Dyonas, although she is very reluctant to go back there (but is very tired of washing dishes in some dingy Space Vegas bar)

she will get her loyalties tested in more ways than one <3

slide 8:

[ID: a short woman with medium-brown skin. she has straight black hair that reaches just above her shoulders, the left side shaved in an undercut. she is smirking and has a piercing over her left eyebrow, two piercings on her right ear helix, and a navel piercing. she is wearing a black crop top, a blue bomber jacket with purple and pink accents, black leggings, black boots, black fingerless gloves, and two black belts with silver buckles. she is holding two glowing plasma wands (like lightsaber daggers), one pink and one blue. end ID.]

ZEYA KADE, the Rogue

27 years old, she/her

5’1” (this is important i swear)

known as Shadowblade for being sneaky and elusive (and stabby)

so sneaky and elusive, in fact, that even i don’t know much about her

???????????????????????

that’s a lie i know a lot about her i’m just being sneaky and elusive <3

slide 9:

IN CONCLUSION:

[ID: two memes. the first is a picture of Leo with the phrase "I am so normal about Zeya Kade", with the words "I am obsessed with" hidden by the first part of the sentence. the second is a picutre of Zeya with the same text, but the name has been changed to "Leo Callisto".]

that's it that's the wip

#wip gemini heist #wip intro