#i like his spacesuit ^_^

[wouldobjectumsavethem]

RESULTS:

BEING OBJECTUM WOULD SAVE DAVID BOWMAN!

DAVID BOWMAN from 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY

REASONING:

"If he just kissed the damn computer it probably wouldn't have killed everybody"

[therealraewest]

Lemire/Smallwood Marc Spector gathering his alters like ah yes I'm glad you could all join me. Steven. Jake. Me but in a spacesuit.

[gamebunny-advance]

(Source)

I really liked these unique scenes that were made for the Pikmin Garden website entry on caves. Technically, neither of these use unique assets, but it's kinda cute that they went through the trouble of making these scenes just for character building.

It almost gives me hope for DLC~

[aria0fgold]

Honestly, having been in the Kaitou KID nightmare trenches of: They Won't Ever Let Him Wear Anything Else But That Wretched Outfit. Seeing official merch and art for mp100 took me awhile to realize that "Oh. Reigen can wear any outfit actually." cuz I was Absolutely prepared to see him in his signature suit only to keep seeing him in different outfits fitting for the theme.

[oh-meow-swirls]

remember that yo-kai watch/pokemon au i came up with like a year ago at this point. cuz here's a meowthanyan. jibameowth. one of those.

also zoom in on this part cuz some of the text is hard to read in the full size version.

[lotuspikmin]

Just remembered that line in Welcome to Night Vale that mentions Carlos wearing a "casual weekend lab coat" on a date, and now I'm sitting here all "welp, hello new Russ headcanon!"

[hubrishazard]

Only two 3rd doctor stories left for me to watch. There will finally be at least one classic-who-era doctor I've seen all the episodes for. Terror of the Autons is definitely my favorite--Inferno and Frontier in Space had several really good moments too

[starboye]

happy birthday

(first of happy birthday to the bestest, most wonderful, full of heart, and amazing friend @dangerousstrawberryshark hope you get lots of birthday presents and birthday dick maybe 😛 but no joke i hope it's a great birthday for you pookie❤️)

it was the break of dawn and mark was wasting no time at wishing you a happy birthday, knocking so hard at your door it sounded like he was gonna break it "mark, its seven am what are you doing" you groggily said and you couldn't even fully open your eyes before he was pulling you into a big kiss

"happy birthday baby" he cheers making you cover your ears a little at the sudden loud noise "while a love you a lot mark this is a little to much you could've just texted" you smile at the sweet gesture "but if i did i wouldn't have been able to give you your gift" he's cheerfully shaking at this point from how excited he is

"well what is it" you ask "close your eyes first" he waits for you to close your eyes before setting a package in your hands, a pretty heavy one at that, and you open your eyes, a nicely wrapped box sat in your hands "i wonder what it is" you smile unwrapping and opening the box to see a suspicious looking suit

"what is it" you ask checking it out front and back "its a spacesuit" he says and he could see your eyes go wide "for real" you start to get more excited already knowing what this means "yeah" he cheers with you and in no time your in your room putting it on, it fit perfectly i wonder how he got your exact size

"are you ready" he picks you up and carries you outside "mhm fly me off superman" you say posing like superman flying "hey im way better than him" mark sounds a little offended "you're right, im sorry for comparing you to that faker" you chuckle giving him a kiss on the cheek and he shoots you both off into the sky, soon making it to the edge of the atmosphere and flying out

getting a perfect view of the earth in its entirety, it looked amazing "its beautiful" you sound astonished "well not as beautiful as you y/n" you smiles "best birthday ever" you cheer "really i haven't even shown you the best part of it all" he flys you back down to the ground and lands at his house "cover your eyes its a surprise" he says grabbing your hand to lead you in

"okay you can look" he says and what stands in front of you is a bunch of snacks and drinks with a stack of movies, the couch covered in pillows and fluffy blankets "oh. my. god." your to excited to even act right, jumping into marks arms again to hug him "yeah my parents are gone for the weekend so we have the house to ourselves

"you're the best boyfriend ever" you compliment "no you're the bestest boyfriend ever" he says and you couldn't resist pressing kisses all over his face "oh is that all i get for this" he preps his lips for a kiss and after rolling your eyes you lean in and press a sweet kiss on his lips "happy birthday y/n" he says one more time with a sweet tone before picking you up and jumping on the couch

xoxo, starboye 💋

(but once again happy birthday berry hopefully its a fun one)

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🏠┆home in your arms

song mingi x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one where mingi missed you

│genre: fluff

│trigger warnings: none!

│roulette prompt 6 + mingi + galactic

You put the key into the lock, making sure you're quiet enough not to wake Mingi up—your flight was delayed and you landed in the middle of the night. You were about to turn the key when the door suddenly opened. Mingi stood there, his hair disheveled. You smiled at him and wanted to say hi, but before you could open your mouth, Mingi pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. He breathes in your scent, and you can't help but smile against his chest.

"I missed you," he whispers, arms tightening around you. "Don't go away for that long again."

You laugh. "Baby, it was only three days," you say as you gently pull away to peck his lips, but he only pulls you back in, burying his face in your neck.

"Three days too long," he mumbles against your skin, and you can't help but melt into his warmth.

He hums contentedly, swaying you both gently from side to side in the doorway. The cool night air wraps around you both, but you can barely feel it with how warm he keeps you. His fingers trace patterns on your back, and you can tell he won’t let go even for a moment.

"Will you at least let me close the door?" you ask yet your arms tighten around his waist.

Mingi chuckles, "Fine, but only if you promise not to leave my arms for the rest of the night." You smile and nod against him, letting him shuffle backward just enough for you to kick the door closed behind you.

You lock eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips. He smiles into it and pulls you closer to kiss you, slowly, lovingly.

"I missed you too, love," you say, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. His eyes are filled with so much love and adoration that it makes your heart skip a beat.

Mingi pulls back slightly, a pout forming on his lips. "You better have missed me just as much," he teases, his eyes twinkling. "I might be devastated if you tell me you didn't think about me every single second you were away."

You giggle, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Every single second? Even when I was sleeping?"

"Especially when you were sleeping," he says with mock seriousness. "I expect detailed reports of all your dreams about me."

You laugh, playing along. "Well, there was this one dream where you were a galactic cowboy, riding through the stars on a glowing space horse..."

Mingi's eyes light up with amusement. "A galactic cowboy? Do tell more."

You can't help but giggle at his eager expression. "You were wearing this ridiculous sparkly spacesuit with cowboy boots and a hat that had little twinkling stars all over it."

He bursts into laughter, the sound warm and rich. "Sounds like quite the fashion statement. Maybe I should try that look sometime."

"Please don't," you say through your giggles, burying your face in his chest. He kisses the top of your head, and you both stay like that for a while.

"Come on," he whispers, tugging you gently toward the bedroom. "Let's get you to bed. You must be exhausted from your flight." You nod sleepily, finally feeling the tiredness settling in now that you're home. As you both curl up under the covers, his arms still wrapped protectively around you, you know that no matter where you go, coming back to him will always feel like coming home.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[getaapologist]

I Keep Falling, Maybe Half the Time

A/N: Well, here we are. We know next to nothing, this was gleaned from conversations with @prettycalla and a fun scenario that developed. This is a companion piece to the fic @prettycalla might be working on........ I've used the 8-20 seconds of Johnny from trailers, etc to come up with this version of him. I cannot pretend to know what he's going to be like in the movie, but I just hope you can appreciate this version of him. This'll be my Johnny, probably regardless, even after the movie comes out. Thank you for reading. It means a lot. If you feel like chatting with me about him, by all means, please do! Maybe more to come? We'll have to see.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: none? Slight fluff? It's still early days here. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

“You alright, Johnny?”

There was nothing but care and concern in your voice, but it still made him bristle up in defense of his sour mood. It had nothing to do with you, and yet everything to do with you. Not that he’d confess that.

“I’m fine, I just want to get to work.”

He was not fine.

And over what? The flowers? Those dumb flowers that he wanted nothing to do with? That were for his sister? They said ‘Storm,’ what was he supposed to think?

Of course that brief moment of embarrassment wasn’t still currently haunting him, hours later. Because that would be…

Crazy.

Maybe he was a little crazy. It’s not the end of the world. At least he was high-functioning. It had been a couple days since he last set himself on fire, maybe he was due a flight to blow off steam. Maybe then this wouldn’t bother him so much.

You offered him a small, if uncertain smile, and nodded, unfurling the schematics the two of you had been working on the day before. Some plans for a new spacesuit. Something more hardy. Something better suited to their new selves.

Johnny got stuck for a moment, stuck watching you, as if this wasn’t a daily phenomenon. As if he hadn’t noticed you before. Even if this happened yesterday, and the day before that, and each day since you were assigned this role.

No. Work. Distraction from a distraction.

The plans. Schematics. Drawn up just yesterday, but it was like any information about them had melted and poured out of his ears.

He tapped his lower lip with the pen, mind racing, desperate to catch hold of some relevant knowledge to save him from this spiral.

Because it wasn’t the flowers, was it? It was more, something he was too afraid to say out loud–

“Have you thought about materials?” 

You interrupted his jumbled thoughts, saving him, as usual. Even if you didn’t know it.

“Materials. Right.” He scanned the schematic, his mind completely blank. A rare occurrence, but not one to celebrate. For as he tried to drum up compounds and fabrics, other thoughts filtered back in instead. 

Nothing scares him. He’s seen enough in his work. But you? 

Absolutely terrifying.

“Uh, this line here, we should use that hose, the black one, it’s… three-quarters.” He ducked down and scrawled in a tiny measurement beside the line in question.

“It’s five-eighths, actually,” you mumbled, worried the loose cannon was about to explode.

And explode, he did.

The pen clattered across the table and flew onto the floor, his hands spreading wide, threatening to scrunch up the plans laid out before you. Or set them on fire.

And when he looked up at you, you knew you were in for it. You steeled yourself for a rant about different hoses, or materials, or some other inane event that had clearly soured his day.

But nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his lips.

“Do you know no one’s ever bought me flowers? Ever?”

He looked at you like you held all the answers in the world. Like this was both your fault, and a problem he wished for you to solve, all at once.

“And, I know it’s more of a gift for a girl, but times are changing. Girls are asking guys out, surely that means it wouldn’t be weird for a guy to receive flowers–”

“Johnny?” you finally interrupted.

He looked up, pausing his rant. 

“Are you asking me to buy you flowers?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not what I…,” he trailed off, turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest. 

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend like his heart hadn’t sped up minutely at the sight of the card sitting there waiting for him. It felt like a cruel joke, the way his hopes were so quickly tossed out, and having to own up to it to his own sister?

He wanted to leave. Itched to let loose and fly out of here.

But you. You were a problem he didn’t have an answer to. And maybe he never would.

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay? I need to… I have stuff I need to do.”

Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him more, he was out of the room, the door whirring shut gently.

As you knelt down to pick up the pen he’d thrown, you knew you’d have to make a stop on the way home.

The next morning, Johnny wandered into the kitchen, already making a beeline for the cabinet. He pulled out the box of bran flakes and dropped it on the counter. 

Breakfast of champions. Even if it tasted like cardboard.

“That’s not breakfast,” Ben chided, nursing a pan of soft-scrambled eggs. “Take some of these.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Johnny sighed, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him appreciated Ben looking out for him. 

His eyes caught sight of the bright red petals, the arrangement sitting right where yesterday’s had. 

Taunting. Gloating on behalf of Sue, surely.

The small spark of hope in his chest was ground up and shoved down as quickly as he could manage, a brief flash of the embarrassment from yesterday enough to tamp it down.

“Delivery for you,” Ben gestured with his chin to the flowers. 

He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge.

“They’re not for–”

“They’re for me,” Sue interrupted, earning an eye roll from her brother that she graciously chose to ignore.

Again? Once wasn’t enough? When would it stop? When their whole kitchen island was covered in the small flower arrangements? Who was this mysterious suitor after his sister?

“You hoping it’ll spontaneously combust?” 

Johnny turned back around, sour at the sound of his sister’s amused voice. He poured out a slightly unreasonable amount of cereal before adding just a bit more, setting the open box on the counter.

Nothing like bland bran to start the day.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.” 

Johnny could hear the smile in her voice, listened intently as the small envelope was opened, the card pulled out.

He could imagine the soft smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for being so happy. He just…

He burned with envy.

The silence hung heavy, the only audible sound being the sliding of paper on paper as the card was placed back into the envelope.

He set the milk down and turned, risking a glance over his shoulder. The card was tucked neatly back in among the flowers.

Sue looked up at her brother for a moment, the look communicating everything. There was a flash of curiosity there too, but Johnny brushed it aside, abandoning his breakfast to walk cautiously around the island.

The flowers were big, layered densely with soft petals. They were vividly red. All he knew was that they weren’t roses. 

Sue offered him a small smile before walking away. She was always the more graceful loser.

Finally, Johnny’s eyes fell to the card. 

Storm.

But that handwriting was impossible to mistake as anyone else’s. 

His spirit dampened. You’d bought him pity flowers.

That’s what this was, right? His insane rant the day before had spurred you into action. As if the mere gifting of flowers was what he was after, and not… 

The intention behind them.

It was silly to ask that of you, and yet…

He really, really wanted it.

Because the city’s admiration of him paled in comparison to what it felt like to earn a laugh from you. And for a long time he resisted what that meant.

Johnny plucked the card from the arrangement and flipped it over, fingers sliding under the envelope flap, gripping the small card and tugging it free. He wanted to see what made Sue look at him like he was keeping secrets. Because he wasn’t, not that he knew of. 

Was he stalling? Yes. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t bring his eyes to scan the handwriting he’d seen scrawled into margins on his reports, penciled into drafts of schematics and written a bit larger on bright orange sticky notes pasted to his workstation in your absence. That he absolutely, definitely did not have a drawer full of.

Read the card, already.

Johnny let his eyes lower and scan over the small square of cardstock, the blue pen vivid against the cream colored paper. 

I’m very happy to be your first, Johnny.

His fingers traced over your initials and he couldn’t get rid of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He clutched his newest prized possession to his chest and darted off to his room.

“Who are they from?” Ben called out. When Johnny emerged from his room, now flower-less but tucking a dress shirt into his pants, Ben raised his eyebrows. He gestured to the sad, soggy bowl of bran flakes. “What about your breakfast?”

“Don’t want it!” Johnny answered, stepping into the elevator.

Johnny felt fired up, like he was going to burst into flames at any second, but that would be bad. He had no clue what he would say to you when he saw you. Nothing felt right. He might be good with numbers, but he was absolutely terrible with words.

As the door slid open, there you were, already hard at work. You were leaned over a worktable, fiddling with some circular steel fittings, wearing that yellow sweater he liked. 

Be cool.

As if he could be cool.

“Hey, I got some samples of different fabrics from R&D downstairs.”

Your smile was warm, small, comfortable. It sent his heart fluttering, like it always did.

Johnny couldn’t care less about the space suit right now. He had other things on his mind. He moved without a second thought. Normally overthinking everything, in this he was free.

“Johnny?”

His hands were almost hot on your skin as he pulled you in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. It was simple, quite chaste, but it blew through silent barriers that had been maintained all this time.

He felt the tension under his hands, his worry immediately flaring up as his hands fell to your shoulders, down to bracket your upper arms. Craning his neck as if trying to inspect some damage he’d done.

Idiot. Fools rush in? Is that how it goes?

“So… you got the flowers?”

He looked up, his gaze catching on the corners of your lips as they rose.

What a smile.

His cold, stifling worry was replaced by nervous warmth, sparking up with each heartbeat.

“I got the flowers.”

[webbluvrsugar]

Hellowww, love your writing.

I can't stop thinking about reader being tuned on by Ethan being such a nerd, like every time he says something smart or dorky she just wants to jump his bones.

a/n: since I’ve been so obsessed with the concept of my bully!reader, I decided to make her in this one. Final request that has pretty Ethan header because it consumes a lot of time and I can’t get them out quick.

not proofread

Ethan turns you on in the weirdest ways…

Ethan is always telling you some random nerdy thing that you didn’t even ask about but sometimes relates to what your speaking of, he blames his quick thinking and apologises when you mock him for it, what he doesn’t know is that… it’s attractive, in a way.

You don’t know where your fondness for nerds started, but it surely seems a lot more noticeable when he’s a sound, sure, you make fun of him and you curse him out but there’s always times that you find yourself biting down on your pen, slowly getting more interested in what he’s saying, it’s weird…

“I can’t believe his head exploded like — why would he take off his spacesuit?” You comment about a recent movie you’ve seen, completely disgusted by it, you sit down on your chair, Ethan, who’s sitting on the desk besides you, can’t help but listen it.

“You know… that’s actually not true.” He points out.

Your frown, turn to him with a scoff. “What?”

“Your head wouldn’t explode if you.. took off your suit.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It wouldn’t, it’s impossible.” He mutters. “You would just… go blind from the blood vessels in your head popping, then you’d slowly freeze and —“ he keeps speaking, your eyes go down to his lips, you can’t even remember what you were talking about in the first place. “You’d asphyxiate.”

Your lips are lightly parted, he thinks you’re confused but you aren’t, you’re just in a very.. very light transe from what he just said, eyes focused on his before he speaks up.

“S — Sorry.” He fiddles with his pen, sighing.

“Uhm…” you chuckle, almost if not believing him. “how do you… how do you even know that?”

“I… read a lot of books, google things often…” he swallows hard, nervous of your reaction.

“‘Course you do.” You mock, crossing one leg over the other. “Tell me, E, what other facts do you know?”

It’s the first time you really do seem interested in what he has to say without making fun of him and Ethan takes advantage of it, he starts rambling about some geek movie stuff, something that you quickly start ignoring once you feel heat pooling down your stomach, it’s unlike you, it’s unlike him to be seducing you — if he’s even doing so — but it just works so well, and after a matter of minutes, you’re not sure what you’re even staring at.

Somehow, Ethan notices it, this time, it’s going to be him who teases you.

“Got it?” He raises one eyebrow, tries to hide back the smirk on his face.

“Y — Yeah, totally.” You swallow. “But it was so hard to, I was getting distracted by all your geeky stuff, I mean shit’s so boring.”

Ethan chuckles, and it’s the first time he’s ever laughed at you, in your face. “For someone who’s so smart, you don’t seem to have a lot of brains when I’m talking.”

“What?”

“Just saying, you’re.. so dull when you’re talking to me.” He points out.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing, I just… I just think maybe you’re not so truthful about your hate towards me…”

You scoff, as if you don’t believe him, deep down, you know he’s probably right, but you’ll deny it.

“What? You think I find you hot or something? Get a grip, nerd, I wouldn’t like you even if you were born again.” You scoff, so upset that you stand, grab your things and leave.

Ethan know he should be offended, but he really can’t be anything other than glad when he sees the look on your face as you walk away.

[anghraine]

TMP is honestly this wild trip despite the glacial pacing at times, because it's like—

Vulcan woman: Spock, you've worked hard to purge yourself of all emotion, but your mind is picking up signals from some human and I guess some logic thing in space. my conclusion: you aren't racially pure enough to find your answers here

Spock: time to track down the pure logic thing and find the answers and meaning in my existence as a Vulcan that I've been searching for all my life and definitely never found in the past before all my previous character development got reset

[Meanwhile]

Kirk: so this unknown cosmic force is going to wipe out all life on Earth, and I've been placed in charge because I have a lot of experience dealing with bizarre dangerous cosmic shit as commander of this specific ship, in addition to my missing being in space because I was pushed into the admiralty at, like, age 39

Decker: *throws a series of tantrums about the prioritization of all of Earth above his ego for almost the entire mission*

Ilia: I have taken an oath of celibacy

Kirk: ... not super relevant. please just do your job

[Also, the transporter painfully melts some people we don't know into unrecognizable lumps of flesh. This is completely disconnected from the rest of the movie; it has no relevance to anything else, is immediately forgotten and never acknowledged again, and everyone acts like Bones is silly and paranoid for being nervous about going through the transporter]

Uhura: I think Admiral Kirk is obviously the person most qualified to command our incredibly dangerous and important mission, and we're damned lucky he got put in charge. if anyone cares

[everyone else]: *doesn't care*

McCoy: Jim, maybe you shouldn't make your mid-life crisis everyone else's problem

Decker: yeah! I should still be in charge! my solution is "don't take risks" when encountering the unknown and wait until systems are 100% safe before we do anything

Kirk: again let me reiterate that we need to act decisively even if it's risky or billions of people will die. we have to at least try, so waiting is not an option here

Spock: *shows up and, despite being icy and dismissive, immediately fixes all their most pressing technical problems*

McCoy: maybe we shouldn't trust him. he has his own agenda now

Kirk: wtf of course we can trust him he's Spock how dare

[Kirk quickly figures out the changes to the bridge, and from then on, his judgment and decisions are pretty much continually vindicated by the plot. Decker's advice goes from temporarily useful to unprofessional constant jabs with little sense of the real stakes and no better ideas. It becomes extremely apparent that Kirk really is far better equipped in temperament and experience to deal with the potential slaughter of Earth than Decker, especially when assisted by Spock—even this arctic version of Spock.]

Spock: *knocks out a crewman, steals a spacesuit, and tries to make contact with the cosmic acid trip/space vagina by traveling through what he unenthusiastically describes as its "orifices"*

Kirk: I ... guess maybe Bones was - no, it can't be - wait a moment, I -

Spock: *starts transmitting all the data he's gathering to Kirk*

Kirk: hah, I knew he would never betray me! Okay, everyone, you all stay here, I'm going to jump into space to catch him

[Spock melds with the cosmic space vagina and it violently ejects him through various orifices, as he might describe them, until he's thrown right into Kirk's arms, signifying nothing]

Bones and Chapel: melding with the cosmic logic vagina seems to have fried his brain :(

Spock, laughing: I should have known ...

Kirk: *seizes his shoulders* known WHAT Spock what are you talking about. please tell me your mind is intact. sweetheart it's okay what are you full of shame about this time *tries to shake the brain damage loose*

Spock: Jim ... I melded with the supreme logic being and discovered that there's no beauty or art or meaning in raw information or logic ... only a barren STEM hellscape without the humanities

[Spock slides his hand down Kirk's arm until their fingers wrap around each other, and their joined hands tightly cling together. unrelatedly, we have definitely seen Vulcans and Romulans use finger stroking as kissing and/or foreplay]

Spock: it was awful and empty and not at all what I've been searching for this whole time. and finally I understood that the real meaning in life comes from the simple feeling between you and me. The mechanized space vagina couldn't understand our love

[Kirk wraps his other hand tightly around his and Spock's clasped fingers. God knows what degree of obscenity they would be committing on Vulcan, but in any case, McCoy (as ever) politely pretends he's not seeing this happen right in front of him, since Kirk and Spock obviously have forgotten, yet again, that other people exist]

Kirk: 🥹🥰

[They stare tenderly at each other without speaking for a few seconds, but are definitely communicating on some level; after a moment's hesitation, Kirk nods slightly, then Spock nods in response, and it feels like we're missing half the conversation. Then Spock explains V'ger's existential angst in terms that obviously apply equally to his own past self, and by past I mean "for most of this movie until a few minutes ago"]

It turns out that V'ger, in addition to being a cosmic acid trip/space vagina/mass murderer, is also an annoying teenager, maturity-wise. I do appreciate Kirk and Spock having their "this is just adolescent angst and we are too middle-aged for this nonsense" reaction, and noping out to provoke V'ger into some measure of cooperation until they all figure out that it's trying to communicate with NASA.

In the course of all this, there's a point where Decker manages to be mildly helpful via the Ilia probe sort of remembering their old relationship, and he proves his value at last by welcoming the chance to orgasmically fuse with Ilia/V'ger, while Kirk is horrified and baffled at why Decker would find this remotely appealing. (ngl Kirk in this movie feels like the most purely gay-coded iteration of him; from the film itself, I could easily believe he has lost all attraction to women at this point.)

So thankfully, we're finally free of the weird and underwhelming Decker/Ilia duo via multiple cosmic acid orgasms, and the Earth is saved, etc. In aesthetics, it's all powerfully 70s, even in the awesome strange bits before V'ger looked quite so, uh, yonic. Somehow even the new bland sleepwear version of Starfleet uniforms seem very 70s; apparently Spock's kickass robes and the muscle-revealing quasi-polo top that Kirk promptly switches into consumed all available stylishness.]

Scott: everything's fine now, so I guess we can drop you off at Vulcan, Mr. Spock

Spock: my experiences today have, uh, resolved my need to stay on Vulcan, so there's no reason to detour for me. I'll just tag along to Earth for >_> no reason

Kirk: [deeply vindicated for about the twelfth time that day, but this time also managing to exude Spock is getting laid tonight without saying a word about him] Mr. Sulu, ahead, warp one.

[pankowcrumbs]

Request for Will Poulter. Actress! Reader and Will Poulter participate in the GQ Couples Quiz. Kind of a hard launch.

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

I stared into the mirror as the makeup artist added a final dusting of powder to my cheeks, and I could already feel the butterflies having a party in my stomach. You’d think after years in front of cameras I’d be used to this, but this felt… different.

Because this wasn’t a film. Or a series. Or a red carpet where I could pretend it was all press and PR and walk away untouched. This was us. Me and Will. Together. In front of cameras. For the first time.

“This is such a bad idea,” I muttered, half to myself, half to the poor stylist adjusting my jumper.

From across the room, Will turned his head. He was mid-laugh with one of the producers but still caught it.

“Oi,” he said, making his way over. “Don’t go getting all nervous on me now.”

I looked up at him. “You realise this is basically a hard launch? Like… full-on ‘yes, we’re together and adorable and here’s our quiz to prove it.’”

Will smirked, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “You are adorable. But I am rugged and masculine, remember?”

“Oh yes,” I said dryly. “The very picture of masculinity especially in those lilac socks.”

He glanced down at his feet and grinned. “Fashion-forward. The GQ way.”

“God help us,” I mumbled, taking a deep breath as we were called over to the set.

The setup was simple: two chairs, a small table with cue cards, a softly lit backdrop with GQ’s signature aesthetic. A few cameras pointed in our direction, a producer giving the countdown.

Will sat first, beaming. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“I know,” I groaned, sitting beside him. “You’ve been weirdly excited about it.”

He turned toward me. “We’re doing the Couples Quiz, Y/N. The quiz. I’ve watched the Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively one like five times. This is our moment.”

I tried not to laugh. He was like a kid at Christmas. Still, the moment the cameras rolled, I sat up straighter, adjusted my jumper, and tried not to sweat.

“Alright,” Will said, reading from the cue card. “What is my favourite film of all time?”

I smirked. “Hook. Final answer. You quote it in your sleep.”

Will gave a dramatic gasp. “Correct. And you do a terrifyingly good impression of Robin Williams, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I said with a mock bow. “I trained at RADA, you know.”

“Brag.”

We breezed through the first few questions, laughing more than answering. Favourite meal, dream holiday, weirdest habit; He said mine was putting crisps in sandwiches; I told him that was a national treasure, not a habit.

It was light, funny, and playful. But somewhere halfway through, the tone shifted just a little.

He picked up another card, chewing his bottom lip. “Alright… When did I know I was in love with you?”

The laughter faded from my lips. “Oh.”

Will looked up. “Too much?”

“No. Just… you’re going there.”

He nodded, soft and serious now. “Yeah. I want to.”

I bit my lip, heart racing.

He exhaled. “I knew… I think I properly knew, the night we wrapped on Eclipse.” (Eclipse being the sci-fi film we’d met on he was a hardened war pilot, and I was the scientist who saves humanity, naturally.)

“You came to my trailer,” he continued, “still in that ridiculous spacesuit, with mascara running down your face from laughing so hard… and you gave me half your sandwich even though you were starving. I just remember thinking, ‘She’s it. That’s her.’”

I swallowed hard. “Will.”

He shrugged, smile shy now. “I think I’ve known longer, honestly. But that was the moment it all clicked.”

I reached for his hand. “You’re going to make me cry on GQ.”

“Good content,” he teased.

We kept going, now taking turns. I asked him my favourite city; Barcelona, my go-to karaoke song; “Valerie,” always, and what I do when I’m stressed; clean the flat until it sparkles like I’m preparing for royalty.

He got them all right. Smug git.

Then it was his turn again.

“What’s my biggest fear?” he read.

I blinked. “Blimey, you’re not holding back.”

“I didn’t write the questions!” he laughed.

I paused for a moment. “Losing someone you love.”

He looked at me for a second too long before nodding. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

The producer gave a soft call of two minutes remaining.

Will leaned in, his voice low. “Last one. What do I do that annoys you the most?”

“Oh, this list is long.”

He laughed. “Be gentle.”

“Okay,” I said, pretending to think. “It’s when you pretend you’re bad at things so I’ll help you. Like when you ‘forget’ how to use the coffee machine.”

“I’m intimidated by all the buttons!”

“It has two buttons, Will!”

“Too many.”

We both broke into laughter again, the mood light and lovely. And just like that, the interview wrapped.

The cameras stopped. The crew clapped. Someone shouted, “That was perfect!”

Will turned to me, his expression soft.

“You okay?”

I nodded slowly. “I am. Actually, that was… really nice.”

“Told you.” He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Hard launch success?”

I smiled. “Hard launch complete.”

Later that evening, after the adrenaline had faded and we were curled up on our sofa with mugs of tea and leftover pizza, I scrolled through the early reactions on social media.

“People love us,” I murmured, showing him a post with a picture of us mid-laughter and the caption: ‘If this is what love looks like, I want it.’

He leaned over my shoulder. “Look at us, being couple goals and all.”

“Can’t believe we were nervous,” I admitted.

“Well, you were nervous. I was composed, charming, and devastatingly handsome.”

I elbowed him. “You tripped over the light stand on your way in.”

“And recovered beautifully.”

I laughed, settling into him. “Thank you for today.”

Will looked down at me. “For what?”

“For showing the world what I already know. That you love me.”

He kissed my forehead. “Every second of every day.”

I grinned. “Even when I steal your hoodies?”

“Especially then.”

[matrix-headquarters]

Here he is! I tried not to change too much, just added extra spacesuit inspo sense he was specifically chosen to go into space and would need the proper equipment. The biggest changes are the added stars (I like stars what can I say) and an extra layer of armor for a space helmet and a thruster on the back to propel himself forward in zero gravity :3

I also gave him a human name! Jair Meister! I chose Jair specifically because a nickname for Ricochet is Rico, and Rico is Mexican so I looked at Mexican names and found Jair! Which means "He Shines"/"To Shine"! Meister was just because he calls himself "The Jazz Meister". Meister is German for "Master" incase you're wondering :3

OH! ALSO! I made his color palette cooler because Cybertron doesn't have a Sun and is lit up with artificial light! On Earth, or any planet with a Sun, he would be more warm! :3

AU is by @keferon :D

Under the cut are alternate fits because I love designing outfits :3

In order we have: Undersuit, Flightsuit + Gloves, Flightsuit V2, Project Star Jacket, and Jazz's Personal Jacket He Snuck onto His Mecha

[simon-roy]

One of the funnest parts of doing a kickstarter (perhaps the only TRULY fun part) is asking online pen-pals if they'd like to contribute to the book. I was very keen on getting something from Tom Kilian - @tkilian on here - who I've followed for ages (and talked with about a couple story ideas, too) to do a piece, and lucky for me, he went WILD on it!

Above is the incredible final piece he cooked up. But below, here is his exhaustive process, in his own words:

When Simon approached me to do a pinup for A STAR CALLED THE SUN I was torn between impending deadlines for other work and the fact that I really wanted to do one. One of my all-time favorite Simon Roy stories, “The Oxpecker and The Elephant,” is appearing in this volume, and I’ve spent years wondering what happened to the two tiny human figures visible among the wreckage at the bottom of the last panel. That, I decided, would be my hook: imagining one of those possible futures where the events of the comic had become an oral history or creation myth for future generations of humans. 

I initially had this overly elaborate idea of showing the same story told three different times around three different fires: one of miserable survivors in the comic’s immediate aftermath, one in this world’s equivalent of the Neolithic era, and one involving the ritual dance of a rich and prosperous culture. 

First I dashed out a quick thumbnail for the Neolithic cave-painting scene. I figured that this idea was strong enough to stand on its own if I couldn’t make the more complicated idea work or started feeling pinched for time, which ultimately is what happened. I like the concept work that I did for the invented history though!

I started by feeling out some ideas for repeatable motifs that I could pull from the comic. Since I wasn’t drawing anything directly from the book, I still wanted readers to be able to make that visual connection. I also wanted there to be some visual link between the three time periods, and settled on four red dots (for the elephants’ eyes), paired braids (for their main feeler arms/trunks), the triangular “assemblage” symbol, and some kind of draping brood-skin shape that would be associated with motherhood in some way.

You can also see me working out some stuff like “how to abstract that weird spaceship from the opening into a 2-D symbol” and “how many points does a Simon-Roy-style star have?” (it actually varies, but I think the stories set on Altamira all use 4-pointed stars), as well as what materials would be available (leather, bone, something very like wood, probably pigment derived from the planet’s yellow soil). 

The local mammal-equivalents don’t seem to have hair, but the ticks at least have quills. The idea of quillwork suggested a Native American inspiration for clothing and decoration, and since the first human settlements would likely have gone up near the shores of the Great Lake that pointed me towards the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest.

Since the world of the comic appears to be very hot, I tried to communicate the idea of an advancing material culture without leaning on the crutch of “more clothes = more advanced”. My main angle was that in the Later Period the clothing could be more embellished and less practical, to reflect increasing wealth and specialization. Going by the comic, the standard seems to be that you can be totally comfortable in a loincloth, but that my prospective Oxpecker Lake Culture would have inherited the crew’s taboo against women displaying their breasts (the dresses seen here evolved out of the undershirts worn by the female crewmembers in the comic). Dusting red ochre skin dye on the shoulders and hands to mimic the pattern of the crew’s spacesuits then became a way to decorate oneself while still wearing minimal clothing.

I went through several different iterations of a formal shawl or wrap that could symbolically mimic Elephant brood-skin, as well as what they would be used for. I eventually settled on the multi-purpose blanket. Highly detailed to be given as gifts or to form dowries, with the elders draping them about the shoulders of the young in symbolic mimicry of how Elephants nurture their offspring.

Here I started working on ritual masks and costumes for the Later Period ritual dance. The events of the comic are now re-told in ritual dance during yearly solstice festivals. The three Elephants are represented by large, heavy, and expensive costume/puppets, whose fringed shawls (again reminiscent of brood-skin) and tasseled trunks move with the dancer. Each of the three Elephants from the comic would by now have accumulated various symbolic associations, as seen in the masks’ crests (meant to resemble assemblages) and robe decorations.

Settler and Tick masks are less elaborate, allowing the dancers more freedom of movement for athletic displays as they act out the story around the Elephant dancers. The male and female Settler masks are based off of the first two humans to approach an Elephant in the comic, while the War-Maker is based on that one guy with an atlatl. I imagined that in the mythic version of the story the last Tick bargains for its life with the War-Maker, teaching him how to kill his brothers in order to take their possessions.

Really surpassing my brief now, I started thinking about wall art for an Oxpecker tribal leader's grand hall. In a hypothetical 4th Age, new god images are emerging: filling similar roles but less 1-1 in their symbolism, and more work is going into glorifying the accomplishments of the Lake Culture – by this time now only one of several extant human cultures in the region. Notably the ship of the original settlers has been conflated with the boats that the people of the Lake Culture use to traverse the Great Lake. Many people probably believe that the spaceship was a fanciful metaphor. The double triangle, which originally meant "Elephant's Assemblage" is now a generalized one for "Land/Home". Possibly the conflation has religious origins: the visible world is Greatest’s assemblage.

I imagined that by the later period the humans would have spread out from their original home on the lake. Some people would move into the forests as hunter-gatherers (the Elephants appear to eat entire trees in the comic, which would regularly open up large forest clearings that could be exploited for game and fast-growing shrubs), some might have crossed the great lake, and some might build huge towers along Elephant migratory paths where they could latch on, hunt for ticks, and then hop off at the next tower. I like the idea that the Elephants would appreciate these humans, like reef animals visiting a cleaner-fish station, but that other humans would consider them unclean due to their diet of blood (by way of the Ticks, which at this point have been demonized).

Each culture might interpret the "two trunks, four eyes, red shoulders and hands" elements that I'd settled on for the original culture in different ways. Their religion and culture has probably morphed too: does the Lake Culture consider themselves superior, as the original humans? Are the Far Shore traders a Lake Culture splinter group who sailed across the lake, or are they the descendants of a different group of survivors who floated across in the aftermath of the Eviction? Are their weird island castaway cultures descended from a handful of people who floated away on a log at the end of the comic? How long until somebody realizes that megafauna are made of very large quantities of meat and other useful materials? Can Elephant and Man ever learn to communicate, perhaps in some far future Age?

At this point I’d realized that my original idea was much too ambitious and I tried a few layouts to prove it. We can also see some me working out different bonfire building methods and trying to work out a few steps of the ritual dance – a big development here is the idea that the elephant costume heads would be more like a hat rather than a mask to give the dancer added height. I also attached marionette poles to the end of the trunk tassels so they could be used for big, stately gestures in the dance.

The last bits of development went into the dress and appearance of the Stone Age storyteller. I scaled the headdress back to a simpler four reddish stones and four tassels (two long manipulator arms and two short feeder ones). Her dress is a costly garment representing her respected position within the group. It’s made of the skins of several animals and decorated with their bones, quills, and teeth (the ticks have them, it’s gross!), as well as shells from the Great Lake. I hypothesized a Tapir animal – essentially a larger ground-dwelling relative of the Tick – to provide the settlers with meat and hides. This conveniently let me base all the colors and stuff off of the animals in the comic.

Lastly, here is the full set of cave paintings, since in the final image I prioritized atmosphere over legibility. Read from left to right they retell the story of the comic in simplified form. Due to the way I organize my color photoshop painting I wanted this linework on a separate layer from the final drawing, seen below. Huge thanks to the ancient artists of Lascaux Cave for the inspiration!

Huge thanks to Tom Kilian for this post, and all this marvelous world-building - I absolutely love it all! A whole new world, implied through a single piece...