#will draw something for this when i'm not in class

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bill Griffith's 'Three Rocks'

I'm in the home stretch of my 24-city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in LONDON NEXT TUESDAY (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

What better format for a biography of Ernie Bushmiller, creator of the daily Nancy strip, than a graphic novel? And who better to write and draw it than Bill Griffith, creator of Zippy the Pinhead, a long-running and famously surreal daily strip?

https://store.abramsbooks.com/products/three-rocks

Three Rocks: The Story of Ernie Bushmiller, the Man Who Created Nancy is more than a biography, though. Griffith is carrying on the work of Scott McCloud, whose definitive Understanding Comics used the graphic novel form to explain the significance and method of sequential art, singling out Nancy for special praise:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Understanding_Comics

For Griffith – and a legion of comics legends who worship Bushmiller – the story of Bushmiller's life and the story of Nancy and its groundbreaking methodology are inseparable. We watch as Bushmiller starts out as a teenaged dropout copy-boy in the bullpen at a giant news syndicate, running errands for the paper's publisher and, eventually, its cartoonists. Bushmiller burns to get into the funnies, and he's got a good head for gags, but his draftsmanship needs work. He secretly enrolls in a life-drawing class, which does him little good, but he applies himself and applies himself, and eventually is given his big break: taking over Fritzi Ritz, a daily cartoon serial about a sexy flapper.

Bushmiller's run on Fritzi Ritz outlasts flappers, and, as he struggles to keep the character relevant amidst changing times, he eventually hits on a "Cousin Oliver" gambit: adding in a sassy niece named Nancy:

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CousinOliver

Cousin Oliverae are rarely successful, but Nancy turned out to be the exception that proved the rule. Nancy took over the strip, and "Aunt Fritzi" receded in importance, taking a backstage to Nancy and her pal Sluggo.

As Nancy came into her own, so did Bushmiller. Bushmiller combined an impeccable sense of the gag (he started with his punchline panel – "the snapper" – and worked backwards) with a visual style that he refined to something so pure and refined that it inspired generations of comics creators.

Bushmiller was the master of simplifying, and then simplifying more, and then simplifying even more. Visually, his characters and his furniture (especially the iconic "three rocks" of the title) are refined to something so iconic they're practically ideograms. While some accused Bushmiller of re-using a small set of drawings, Griffith makes the convincing case that Bushmiller perfected a small number of icons, and repeated them as motifs. Indeed, these characters are so perfect and finely tuned that when Griffith inserts Nancy, Sluggo and other characters from Bushmillerville into his graphic novel, he doesn't re-draw them – rather, Griffith carefully crops these characters out and collages them into his own panels. Every image of Nancy in this book was drawn by Ernie Bushmiller.

This pared-down, severely restricted graphic style provides the perfect toolkit for the Bushmiller gag, which, at its best, is profoundly surrealistic, often playing on the form of the comic itself (for example, when Nancy asks Sluggo to give her a push on a bicycle, Sluggo obliges by stepping out of the comic and tipping the final panel at 45 degrees, sending Nancy rolling "downhill"). These meta-humorous gags give rise to Griffith's key insight: that Nancy isn't a comic about what it's like to be a kid – it's a comic about what it's like to be a cartoon character.

This is such a good organizing principle for understanding Nancy's staying power and influence. Other cartoons like Peanuts are nominally about being a kid, but are actually about being a small adult. Nancy, meanwhile, shares a lineage with, say, Animaniacs and Bugs Bunny and Groucho Marx (who, we learn, wore out his welcome with Bushmiller and his wife by relentlessly hitting on the latter at celebrity dinners at the Brown Derby). It's no wonder that Scott McCloud, the prophet-explainer of sequential art, loves Nancy: she practically invented stepping outside the frame and making us think about how these pictures and words worked, and why, and she made us laugh the whole time.

Bushmiller had a unique mind. He was a workaholic, turning out a 7-day/week strip for decades, even as he shouldered a variety of side-projects and other strips. Once he started making money, he moved to the Connecticut suburbs where he could have a work-room big enough to accommodate four drafting boards, so he could work on four strips at once. He would sometimes get a year ahead of schedule with his publishers. It was only very late in his life that Bushmiller took on any kind of assistants, and even then, he obsessively supervised them, counting the spikes in every depiction of Nancy's hair to ensure that they fell within the regulation 69-107 spikes.

Despite his massive following among artists, hipsters and intellectuals, Bushmiller insisted that the secret to his success was in his devotion to simplicity and the universality it brought. Bushmiller's editorial process seems to have consisted almost entirely of his removing words, images and lines from his panels, paring them down further and further until they became, essentially, narrated pictograms – almost funny Ikea assembly instructions.

Griffith – a daily cartoonist workaholic who has been turning out Zippy strips since 1971 – bursts with admiration for Bushmiller, and this biography saves a lot of space for Bushmiller himself, with long sections given over to reproductions of some of Nancy's best outings. Griffith has had more than half a century to think about what makes surreal comic-strips tick, and, like McCloud, he pours these out on the page, but largely confines himself to illustrating his insights with Bushmiller strips and panels. The result is a heady volume: a great biography and a great book of literary criticism and comic arts theory.

Nancy is still around, written and drawn by the amazing Olivia Jaimes, whose first collection of new Nancy comics I called "incredibly, fantastically, impossibly great":

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/10/17/the-first-book-collecting-the-new-nancy-comic-is-incredibly-fantastically-impossibly-great/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/27/the-snapper#69-to-107-spikes

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. <three.> four. five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N truly believed it deep in her heart. She was the wrong Y/L/N. The words kept playing over and over in her head, a low, sad hum behind her ears.

Her brother, Gabriel, was the flashy one, the loud one, the one who could charm anyone without even trying, and that included Megan. He was like the sun around whom everyone else seemed to turn and Y/N? She was the quiet one, the one who watched from the edges.

She felt things very deeply, but she kept those feelings locked away, hidden tightly inside. She was the one who loved from the shadows, like an invisible hand giving comfort and doing thoughtful things that Gabriel then simply took credit for.

This had become a pattern, a painful rhythm to her life that had gone on for years, like a broken record playing the same sad song. She felt stuck, always watching, always aching inside. She had almost, almost, started to accept this as her fate.

She told herself, “Just keep loving her from a distance, just keep doing good things in secret, and maybe, just maybe, Megan will always be happy, even if I'm not the one making her happy.”

It was a small, sad comfort she tried to hold onto, a very fragile shield against her own growing heartbreak.

But sometimes, the world has its own plans. Sometimes, even when you think everything is completely set in stone, fixed forever, a tiny, almost invisible crack appears, and through that small crack, a sliver of unexpected light can pour in, bright and surprising.

The change started in a very subtle way. So subtle, in fact, that at first, Y/N barely even noticed it. It wasn't about big, grand gestures anymore. It wasn't about the stolen chai lattes or the study guides Gabriel had claimed as his own. This was something different, something much quieter, much more personal.

Megan was, little by little, starting to seek Y/N out. Not to ask for favors, not to complain about a class, but just to talk. To share thoughts. To just be together.

The very first clear sign came on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon. Y/N was sitting on a simple bench outside the university library, sketching in her old, worn notebook. The air was cool, carrying the familiar smells of damp earth after a light rain and the tempting scent of street food from a nearby vendor.

She was drawing one of the ancient, gnarled mango trees that stood like old guardians all over the campus, focusing on the twisted roots that broke through the concrete walkways. She was completely lost in her own quiet world, the gentle sound of her pencil moving against the paper filling her ears. Then, a soft shadow fell over her page.

"That's really beautiful, Y/N," a soft voice said, making Y/N jump a little. She looked up, startled, to see Megan standing there. Megan had a small, genuine smile on her face.

She wasn't rushing, wasn't looking around for anyone else. She was just… there, standing quietly, looking at Y/N's drawing with true interest.

"The way you captured the roots... They look like old hands reaching up from the ground. I never noticed that about these trees before."

Y/N’s face warmed, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She quickly closed her sketchbook, feeling a sudden wave of shyness. "Oh, thanks, Megan," she mumbled, trying to sound casual. "Just messing around, really. You know, doodling."

Megan shook her head gently. She then moved to sit on the bench beside Y/N, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them. "No, seriously," Megan insisted.

"You really see things. You notice details others completely miss. Your brother always just rushes past these trees, always on his phone, probably texting or scrolling. He probably doesn't even know they're here, or how amazing they look."

Megan chuckled softly, a light, airy sound, but there was a hint of something else in her voice – a touch of thoughtful sadness, maybe?

"You really pay attention to the world around you."

That was the first crack in Y/N's carefully built wall. Y/N’s heart did a strange little flip-flop, a dizzying somersault inside her chest. She had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady, to stop herself from showing any sign of the sudden earthquake happening deep inside her.

“She noticed me. She saw me. And she... she compared me to Gabriel. And I came out on top.”

It was a quiet thought, but it vibrated through her whole body, making her feel both incredibly vulnerable and strangely powerful.

After that moment, the "coincidences" started piling up, one after another, until they weren't coincidences at all. Megan would stop by Y/N's dorm room more often. Sometimes it was just for a quick chat before class, a passing "Hey, how's your day going?" But then she'd start to linger.

She’d lean against Y/N's doorframe, then slowly, casually, she would just fall onto Y/N's worn bean bag chair, sprawling out in a relaxed way that showed she felt completely comfortable and at ease there. Then, before Y/N even realized it, hours would melt away as they talked about everything.

One evening, it was raining very hard. Megan knocked softly on Y/N's door, looking a little tired and stressed about a big upcoming philosophy exam.

"Mind if I just... exist in here for a bit?" Megan asked, her voice quiet, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a headache. "My roommate is on a super loud video call with her family, and I seriously can't focus on anything."

"Come in, Megs," Y/N said, a warm, soft feeling spreading through her chest at Megan's easy presence. Megan settled onto the beanbag, letting out a long, tired sigh.

"This philosophy stuff is seriously killing me, Y/N," Megan confessed, opening her thick textbook with a groan. "I just don't get it. Like, at all. Gabriel tried to explain it to me earlier, but he just kinda... summarized the slides really fast. I need to understand the why’s, you know? Not just the facts."

Y/N paused from her own reading, setting her book down gently. "Which concept are you stuck on?" she asked softly, truly wanting to help Megan figure it out.

Megan pointed to a confusing paragraph in her textbook. Y/N read it, taking her time, then looked back at Megan with a thoughtful expression.

"Okay, so think of it like this..." And for the next whole hour, Y/N didn't just explain the answers, she broke the confusing ideas down piece by piece, drawing little diagrams on a scrap piece of paper, using simple, everyday examples that made sense. She watched Megan’s eyes closely, seeing the exact moment understanding clicked, like a light suddenly turning on.

"Oh my gosh," Megan breathed, leaning back against the beanbag, a look of pure awe and relief on her face. "Y/N, that actually makes so much sense! Why didn't anyone explain it like that before? Seriously, you make it so clear, even to me."

She shook her head slightly, a small, thoughtful frown appearing on her brow. "Your brother just told me to Google it and then gave up. He said, 'It's just philosophy, Megs, don't sweat it too much.' "

She chuckled softly at the memory but there was a hint of something else in her voice, a touch of disappointment, maybe, or a dawning realization?

"But with you, it’s different. You actually make me think. My brain actually lights up, you know? It's exciting."

Y/N’s heart did that dizzying somersault again, only this time, it felt stronger, more real, like a solid, joyful thump.

She had to swallow hard, fighting back a sudden lump in her throat, a wave of emotion she didn't want to show.

"Yeah?" she managed, trying her best to sound casual, like this was a normal, everyday thing for Megan to say.

"I mean, I just like talking to you, Megs. You have a really interesting way of looking at things. You make me think too. It's cool."

Megan smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that wasn't just on her lips but shone deep in her eyes, making Y/N’s whole world pause and tilt. It was a smile of true connection, a deep, quiet recognition.

"You too, Y/N. You just… get it. Like, you see things that no one else does. You see me.”

The last part was spoken almost to herself, a quiet realization that seemed to ripple through the air between them, making the silence that followed feel deep and meaningful, not awkward at all.

It was as if Megan was discovering a new, important part of herself, a part that was perfectly reflected in Y/N’s quiet understanding and presence.

In that moment, surrounded by the drumming rain and the quiet hum of the university dorm, Y/N felt a connection with Megan that went far beyond any stolen credit or public praise.

It was a raw, real, authentic thread, woven between just the two of them, untouched by outside expectations, untouched by Gabriel's charming but often surface-level presence.

It was a connection that spoke directly to Y/N's pining heart, whispering a dangerous hope. Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a different name. The doubt, however tiny, was beginning to grow in her mind, not about Gabriel being a bad person, but about him truly being the right person for her.

That Gabriel was the wrong Y/L/N all along.

These deep conversations, mixed with moments of easy laughter, started to become a regular thing. Megan would often just appear at Y/N’s door, sometimes with a new book she was excited to talk about, sometimes just to vent about a frustrating class, but always, always, ending up talking about something deeper, something that truly mattered to her.

They’d talk for hours about the complex plots of their favorite true-crime podcasts, debating theories, arguing playfully over who the real suspect was. They’d dive into the hidden meanings of Emily Dickinson’s poems, comparing their favorite verses, discovering new layers together that neither had seen on their own.

Y/N would find herself quoting lines from stanzas, and Megan's eyes would widen in genuine surprise and delight.

"You get that too?" Megan would ask, a rare, unbridled excitement in her voice, leaning closer to Y/N. "I thought I was the only one who saw that! Gabriel just shrugs and says poetry is too deep for him and walks away." There was a little sigh in her voice when she mentioned Gabriel.

One evening, Megan brought over her laptop, looking completely defeated. She was stressed out about a particularly confusing coding problem for a group project, a huge part of her final grade. Gabriel was supposed to be helping her, but he’d "had something come up" – probably another party or a casual hangout with his friends.

Y/N, who had a quiet knack for logic and coding puzzles, even though it wasn't her main subject, just patiently sat with her. She didn’t just give Megan the answers, she gently guided her, step by step, explaining the why behind each line of code, watching as understanding slowly dawned in Megan’s eyes, like a light suddenly coming on in a dark room.

As Megan finally fixed the frustrating bug, a smile lighting up her face, she leaned back, looking at Y/N with a profound, almost reverent appreciation.

"Y/N," she said, her voice soft, filled with wonder. "You're amazing. Seriously. Your brother just tells me to Google things or tries to do it for me, but he never actually explains it. You actually make me understand it. It’s... really cool. You make me feel smart, like I can actually learn this stuff."

Y/N’s stomach fluttered, a rush of warmth spreading through her veins. This was new. This was truly different. Gabriel never made her understand. He just did (or claimed to have done) things, without teaching or truly helping her grow.

The contrast between her conversations with Y/N and her interactions with Gabriel became clearer and clearer to Megan every single day. With Gabriel, it was easy laughter, surface-level fun, and big, obvious gestures that sometimes felt hollow.

He was charming, yes, and always there for a party or a quick favor, but Megan was starting to feel like he was playing a role, like he was always putting on a show for her and for others. With Y/N, it was deep. It was a thoughtful conversation. It was an intellectual challenge and quiet, steady comfort.

It was the feeling of being truly heard, truly seen, not just admired for her soccer skills or her bright smile. It felt real, truly real. Megan was slowly, painfully, starting to grasp the difference, a slow dawning of realization that was hard to ignore.

Y/N, on her part, began to notice Megan watching her, too, not just in passing glances. Sometimes, Y/N would be sketching in her notebook, or quietly humming a song under her breath as she studied, and she’d look up to find Megan’s gaze already on her.

It was a soft, thoughtful look that made Y/N’s cheeks warm and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the casual glance Megan gave everyone else, it was something deeper, more intense, a look filled with curiosity and a growing warmth that felt almost like a touch. It was a look that made Y/N’s heart pound a desperate rhythm against her ribs, a rhythm that was both terrifying and utterly exhilarating.

Then came the moment that felt like a quiet explosion, a turning point that would change everything, a conversation that echoed the exact pain Y/N had felt for so long from Gabriel’s thoughtless actions. They were sitting outside, on a surprisingly warm afternoon in late November, beneath one of those old mango trees whose roots twisted like ancient veins above the ground.

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in beautiful hues of orange and purple. They were talking about their dreams for the future, something Y/N rarely shared with anyone, especially not Gabriel, who usually just joked about getting rich and famous without much effort.

Megan was quiet for a moment, tracing patterns on the ground with her finger, a thoughtful frown on her face. Then she looked up.

"Y/N," she began, her voice low and steady, almost a whisper that carried immense weight. "Do you ever feel like... like you're talking to someone, but they're not really hearing you? Like they're just waiting for their turn to talk, or they only hear what they want to hear, or what benefits them?" She looked straight into Y/N's eyes, searching for understanding.

Y/N froze, her blood turning to ice, then back to fire, burning with a new kind of intensity. This was it. This was the conversation she’d always both dreaded and secretly longed for. It was the moment the hidden pain of years might finally be revealed.

"Yeah," Y/N admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the word catching in her throat, a lump forming. "Yeah, Megs, I know exactly what you mean. It's... it's really frustrating. It feels very lonely."

Megan nodded slowly, her eyes wide, searching Y/N’s face for understanding, for shared experience, for a sign that Y/N truly knew this feeling.

"With you," she said, her voice filled with a profound softness that made Y/N’s breath hitch, "it's never like that. You actually listen. You remember things I say, even the small ones. You… you just get me. Like, even the weird, small parts of me that I don't show anyone else. The parts that like poetry and get stressed about philosophy and worry about the future and what comes next." She paused again, then a small, sad smile touched her lips, a deep regret shadowing her eyes.

"I actually feel more like myself when I'm with you than I do... with anyone else. It's like I can finally breathe."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, with years of hidden longing finally being acknowledged, even if Megan didn't fully realize the full depth of what she was saying, or the full impact of her words on Y/N.

Y/N’s heart was absolutely pounding. It felt like it might burst right out of her chest, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared. Megan was seeing her. Truly seeing her, for the first time. Not just as Gabriel's sibling, not just as a classmate, but as Y/N, the person who understood her.

Megan then sighed, a small, thoughtful sound, a new kind of doubt clouding her usual bright eyes. "It's weird," she continued, almost to herself, her voice tinged with a confusion Y/N recognized.

"Gabriel's great, he's so much fun, but... sometimes it feels like he's acting or like he's just playing a part that he thinks everyone wants to see. Like he just knows how to make everyone think he's thoughtful, but... it doesn't always feel real, you know? It's like a shallow pond, pretty but not deep."

Her eyes met Y/N's again, a hint of deep realization, and a touch of hurt, slowly dawning in them. "But with you, it's always real. Always. You’re... just you. And that's... everything."

Y/N could only stare back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, the emotions too big, too overwhelming to contain. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared.

The confession hung in the air, a fragile, beautiful thing, a delicate bubble that might pop if she breathed too hard. It felt like a missing piece of a puzzle had finally snapped into place, not just for Y/N, but for Megan too, revealing a beautiful picture neither of them had fully seen before.

Megan wasn't talking about romance yet, not with direct words, but she was talking about a connection, a deep, undeniable pull towards Y/N’s true self, a bond that ran far deeper than any superficial charm.

Her heart ached, not with sadness this time, but with a mix of hope and vulnerability. Hope that this quiet shift meant something more, something real and lasting. Fear that it might all disappear, or that the full truth about Gabriel, and Y/N’s own hidden feelings, would cause more pain than she could possibly bear.

Yet in that moment, under the old mango tree, with Megan looking at her with such raw honesty, with her usual dazzling eyes now filled with a new kind of wonder, Y/N felt hope bloom in her chest.

Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a very different name – a name that was, finally, Y/N’s own.

previous part | next part.

[tsaheylutales]

Found this in my drive, convince me to finish it?

i think it's either set in the russian base or the bathroom in season 3. reader has acne btw (me projecting lol)

also guys pls talk to me, i rebloged some ask games? (ik i look desperate, i'm rlly bored)

“You know I sat behind you in Biology for two years?” The words come out sharper than you expected, trembling at the edges. You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest. “Sophomore year… you used to bully me, Steve.”

He looks confused, like the sentence doesn’t register. Like you’re speaking another language. You push on, bitterness curling in your throat.

“You and your friends, you made my life miserable.”

You pause, just for a second, long enough for the old memories to start flooding in. The snickers behind your back. The cruel whispers. The way his laughter, once just background noise in the classroom, became a trigger for dread.

“I liked to draw…” You say quietly. “And I was spotty, worse than I am now. I wore these ugly clothes and… you guys made fun of everything. Every sketch. Every pimple. Every time I raised my hand in class.” You exhale shakily. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe when you were near. I was constantly terrified I’d do something wrong, or weird, or just exist the wrong way in your line of sight.”

Your voice shakes, but you don’t stop.

“You guys ruined my life. For ages. I was so… insecure. So anxious all the time. I didn’t belong anywhere.”

You can see something shift in his face, guilt, maybe, or confusion. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve carried this for too long to soften now.

“Oh, [Y/n]…” Steve begins, his voice low and regretful.

But it makes something twist in your stomach, not comfort, not validation. Something worse. Something unfair.

You laugh, bitter, hollow.

“And now I work in this stupid ice cream store, wearing this stupid outfit, serving stupid sundaes to stupid, rude customers.” Your fists clench at your sides. “And I smile like nothing’s wrong, like it’s all okay and it doesn’t still haunt me.”

“Hey! Hey, I’m really sorry, I… I don’t even remember you-”

That’s it. That breaks you.

“Right.” You whisper, stunned. “So that makes it all okay? That you don’t even remember me? That the comments, the laughs, the jokes at my expense meant so little to you, you just forgot?”

Your eyes burn. You blink fast, furious at yourself for almost crying.

“You ruined my life, Steve! School was the only place I felt like I could escape, and you made it worse! You made me feel like a joke.”

You force yourself to breathe,  shallow, rapid breaths that don’t do anything to calm you down.

“While you were making out with Tammy, or Tina, or Nancy in the bathroom,” You spit, “I was in the stalls. Crying. Hoping it would all just… stop.”

Silence falls between you like glass shattering.

Steve’s face is pale, stunned into stillness. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

And for the first time, maybe ever, you see it, a crack in the shiny, golden-boy armor he always wore. And for the first time, maybe ever… he sees you.

[ni-namutree]

foxes' prank war

the foxes, after aaron's trial, slowly start to get to know each other. sure, they are all trauma-bonded and family, but they still dont really like each other all that much (even tho they do love each other). them all having movie nights and group bonding sessions that no one acknowledges as bonding sessions

no one knows how it happened or when it started but the foxes start a generational prank war. at first it was small things like gluing jars shut or drawing on someone's face when they were sleeping (they tried to keep that to the non traumatized ones specifically the ones who didnt hit first think later).

then things started to escalate (nothing crazy where someone got hurt) but hair was dyed, mattresses were stolen, and cars were painted (with extremely removable paint bc andrew would kill everyone if they did something to his car he couldnt fix easily)

boundaries were extremely necessary but they were the foxes, they were NOT about to bring that up lmao

then one day andrew and aaron tell bee about the most recent prank. someone shaved nicky's hair.

andrew doesnt think hes ever seen bee's professional fascade fall so abruptly. she goes pale and gapes in horror before scrambling for her phone.

"where is he right now?" she asks while rapidly clicking buttons on her phone, "where is nicky?"

aaron and andrew share a look. (how far they have progressed)

"he should be at the dorms, i think he has class in an hour"

betsy brings the phone to her ear and the twins can hear the soft sound of the ringtone. they hear nicky pick up.

"where are you, nicky?"

theres no response for a moment.

"so you heard?"

they watch bee grasp her phone tighter. "where are you?" she presses.

"i'm in the dorm," a pause. "with matt and neil"

bee lets out a breath. "are you okay?"

"yea i'll just bust out the old trusty wig" he says with a laugh, his voice light, suspiciously so.

"nicky..." betsy glances their way. "i want you to check in with me every hour for the next week. if i dont get a call or text from you, i'm going to send emergency services to your location."

"isnt that bit of an overreaction?"

andrew doesnt know what's going on but hes slowly putting the pieces together.

"is it?"

nicky sighs. he then says something the twins cant make out but bee can.

but they can hear the dial tone signalling the end of the call.

bee wrings her hands together. "im sorry, that was quite unprofessional of me."

tbc

[martyryo]

paitn

[goldbiscuit]

disinterested tops >>>>

[thetriangletattoo]

uh? what is a consistent style?

[soggy-fishsticks]

guys ive been drawing so much lately I've been starting to actually hate it 🙁

[pidgeonlaguz]

howdy!! it's been a minute but i'm still around. fair warning-- i have been lurking the whole time and have about. 100+ posts drafted 😵‍ you'll be seeing these shortly, i'll try my best to space them out as i get around to tagging them

[dooxliss]

AU?????????????????????????? DO YOU HAVE ANY CRUMBS OR LORE YOU CAN SHARE WITH THE CLASS

hiiii :^)

due to a number of factors (job, slow drawing pace, being wips georg, etc) i don't post about it super often but you can see just about everything gathered in this hashtag on my art blog here (hope that will properly link) plus some stuff i might've missed on main here but trust i am always thinking about that thang

but basically tldr: this au is based on the concept of peach actually being a toad that masquerades as human (the bros are regrettably isekai'd here to make it happen)

she's meant to be the ruler and protector of the kingdom but due to you know. everything. she's really struggling with the idea that (even if her loved ones deny it) everything is her fault and she's putting people in harms way even when she's trying to relax/have fun sooo she's a bit of a workaholic about it 🩵

[miramisaki]

36(???) days until Charlie...

[ushstuff]

Sometimes I read my own comics or listen to my fanfics and I'm like "fuck yeah this is what I'm talking about, this is what I wanted to see/read"

[jackpot-art-dude]

hey gusy i'm not dead!!! yayyy

i've been gone for a hot second but here's a birthday emu doodle i did in my study hour :) my favorite emu event ❤️

i've been kinda busy with birthday stuff lately but have a doodle in these trying times :)

[crunchworldsupreme]

catch me doing dishes instead of my homework because I don't have to present my sink to the class.

[silent-sentinels]

well. woke up. too worried to go back to sleep. too sleepy to do anything else. we'll be here i guess hgghf

[blessedcactus]

Trying to code for our first coding assignment like: googling how to insert image header with css, img src not working???

Help, I am not smart!!

Also I love this image but because it's why I'm struggling I want her head on a pike: