#mock comic book cover

[ramsei501st]

he got a little too silly

[bobwess]

I'm pinning this for a hot sec because it took me 10,000 years (slight exaggeration) to make. I do sell some stuff of it on redbubble.

[itschr1spy]

Pain is an old friend... Isn't it?

[wraithsoutlaws]

CYBERPUNK 2077: PERFECT DRUG #1

since when do monsters fall in love?

[weaponizedmoth]

Reanimator mock up cover for funsies!

[eluvianarts]

Hot off the press: Twilight Bite’s origin story cover art! Prints available: HERE!

[rj-drive-in]

Fiction Pulp Fiction Department:

In the Summer of 1974, at the height of the comic-book monster craze, Mental Comics Group published the first issue of one of its most iconic monsters: The Queen Mummy! The story begins at the Boston Museum of Antiquities, where Professor Mando Asker and his three students-- Stephanie Ross, Yvette Khan, and Myron Valentin-- are eager to begin studying the mummy of Queen Neferhotep, which has just arrived from Egypt. Unknown to the rest, though, Stephanie has her own agenda, believing that a new translation of a spell from the Book of the Dead can restore the mummy to life. She sneaks into the museum in the dead of night and recklessly reads the incantation aloud. The spell works, but not as expected-- though the mummy crumbles to dust, the wrappings are imbued with supernatural life and wrap themselves around Stephanie's body, possessing her with the spirit of Neferhotep. For the next seventeen issues, the professor and his students tried in vain to seperate Stephanie from the cursed wrappings, even as she herself was embroiled in a constant battle of wills with the mind of the ancient monarch. Inevitably, the group also found themselves involved in various thrilling supernatural adventures along the way. Good luck finding back issues, though, because this particular title was never published in our little corner of the Myriadverse, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

© 2023 Rick Hutchins

[burquillos]

Random mock cover out of nowhere because watching the teen heroes anime reminded me of the teen heroes comic book

[mahboimahboi]

TEACHER'S PET x M!Reader (featuring Actor Mackenyu)

Smut (⚠️)

"Yo, our P.E Teacher is so fucking capital H-O-T. Do you think he's married?" You nudged your seatmate, eyes lingering towards the instructor who was standing at the front while he wrote some very important notes on the whiteboard. 'Damn, even the marker look so small in his hand', you thought to yourself, too lost in your thought. It was never your intention to especially fall in love with a teacher, let alone someone who's really strict, but it was the way how he looks so above average than the rest of the teachers in the school. He's so out of this world and looked as though he came straight out of a comic book. Oh, and let's not forget the biceps and the strong arms. He's just so ethereal.

"That's what I've heard," You got snapped out of your trance and looked at your classmate confused. She sighs and stops from listening to the lesson for a minute and turns to you, knowing you were once again daydreaming about the instructor who's literally a whole lotta years older than you. "I mean, I've heard that he's a married man and has a child. So, if i were you, I'd stop sending heart eyes to him, unless you want to get fucking obliterated by his wife." She deadpanned.

"Oh, well—"

"Mr. L/N. Yes, I'd really be glad if you'd come visit me in my office after our class." Your instrutor said, fixing the glasses he had on, before he looks towards you and eyes you. "Don't think I haven't caught you not paying any attention to my class. All you did is disturb your classmate. I can't tolerate that." He let out with a deep, authoritative voice. It sent shivers down your spine and you swore you felt yourself go pale at the sight of his tiger eyes eyeing you down with anger.

"Y-Yes, sir Maeda." You stammered, not even daring to look at his eyes. With all the times he taught the class, this is the only time he called your attention out for not listening to the class. You are finally at the last strike. Only for this specific teacher, you wanted to be seen as a good student. One who studies and does well in class to impress your instructor, but all you ever did so far was to irritate the male. So much for a good impression. Embarrassed, you buried your head in your arms, wanting to just vanish.

Later, after your class session with Mr. Maeda ended, the instructor gestures with his eyes for you to follow him to his office. You did as you are told, hanging your head low, ashamed of yourself. Usually, Mr. Maeda would talk to you about important stuff, but now it is rather silent and... awkward. The rest of the walk was quiet, too much that it was deafening.

Once you both arrive at his office, he lets you in first, looking up at him only to see him raise a brow at you. You squeaked in fear and entered the room quickly, scared with what he had in plan for you. "Mr. L/N. Your attitude in class is getting out of hand." Mr. Maeda starts, his voice low as he puts his books on his table before sitting down his swivel chair. "It's quite disrespectful staring at your teacher with so much going on inside your head." Hearing those words, you hesitantly look up to see the adult male with a smirk on his handsome face. He tilts his head to the side, then stands up from his seat and slowly starts striding his way towards you. "Tell me, what goes on in your head during my class... Y/N?" His voice came out like a slither, a spell from a book that entranced you.

You swallowed the huge lump that formed in your throat, looking away from the male. The male scoffs, leaning on the edge of his table, now stood in front of you, crossing his arms. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Y/N. Haven't I taught you proper respect enough?" You stayed silent, but you could already feel yourself start to get hard. You subtly moved your hands to cover your erection that made an obvious tent on your pants. "Well, look who got excited." He mocked. "Y/N. While I'm asking nicely, answer me."

"I-It's... too absurd." You answered him, but the other male was unfazed.

"Well, I don't care how absurd it is." But then, a bright idea flickers in his head and a soft chuckle moves past his lips. "Alright, if you're afraid to tell me," He trailed off, moving towards you. He sat down beside you, enticingly spreading his legs open and whispering to your ear. "Why don't you show me?" His smirk grows wider, when he notices the red color on your face.

You covered your ears and moved away as far as you can from him. "S-Sir. I mustn't. You have a child and a wife. I can't simply—"

"Who told you that?" He asks you, his voice stern and sounded frustrated. You didn't say a word. "Y/N, I'm starting to get fucking bored." You started to think about it, whether or not you'd take the opportunity, but the fact that he never confirmed whether or not what you heard is true, scares you and it isn't just right.

In the end, it only took one forceful and lust-filled kiss that was initiated by Mackenyu who had one hand behind your neck. At first, shock was the only thing you felt, before the male started to feel you up and down your waist. This wasn't right. It didn't feel right at all, but why did it feel so good at the same time? You, soon melt into the kiss and start kissing him back lavishly, following the same rhythm.

Much to the male's surprise, he didn't know you were that easy of a prey and he was a predator, ready to eat the result of his hunt. Too high in the clouds and your head filled with lust, you made your way to ride on his thighs, being careful not to break the kiss. Mackenyu notices how you still looked a little hesitant. Wanting to help, he pulls away and puts his hands on both sides of your hips. "Listen, Y/N. Don't believe everything you've heard about me. You're getting too stiff for me to handle." You blushed at his words, then nodded your head in reply. "That's a good boy." He commented, before pushing his lips back to yours.

Your bottom felt a slight poke, catching your attention. You pulled away from the other male, watching you start to stroke him. "Whatever you want, doll." He smirks.

You got down to your knees, feeling the warmth he gave off. Hurriedly, you unzip the zipper to his pants only to realize that he wore no under garments underneath, turning you on even more. Due to his tight pants and the girth of his cock, the button pops off, almost hitting you on the forehead. "Oh my, sir. I've always imagined just how big you are." You stated, smirking proudly to yourself now that you've finally made a dream come true.

The male groans and puts his hand on top of your head as you desperately wrap your lips around his cock. Mackenyu lets out a breathy moan, pushing his head back as he lets you do your own thing. It felt good to know a person is very skilled with their mouth. "Fuck, doll. You're making me feel so good." He hums in pure bliss, standing up as he takes a hold of your head and starts fucking your mouth out with his dick, surprising you. Fortunately, you have trained yourself enough to get through a rough mouth-fucking, but the taller male's size is a lot larger than what you've thought. You took it good, though and it was enough for Mackenyu who looked like he was having the time of his life. "Holy shit. Fuck." He grunts, biting on his lip.

This went on for a few minutes, before his thrusts started to get sloppy, indicating that he was near his climax. He doesn't say a word or heads up, only shocking you when he buries his thick cock in your throat and finishes. "FUCK!" He moans out with his mouth left hanging open, convulsing in place.

He gives your mouth a few more thrusts to ride out his high, before pulling out and taking out spare pants from his drawer. "Haven't felt that good for so long, no rather, at all." He told you, yet you are still in a daze with what just happened, smiling to yourself. "I don't think you'd want this to be the first and last, right, Y/N?" He asks you in a sultry voice.

"No, sir." You let out making the teacher smirk in success. You pass out in his office room and the male lifts you into his arms and puts you down on a bench near his desk where you can rest comfortably.

"Good pet." He laughs softly, before he goes out of his office and moves to his next class.

[cooketimm]

Hardboiled #10-25 (1990-98) cover artwork by Bruce Timm

Interview from Cool Stuff Magazine #1 (1995):

Gary Lovisi: Much of your work is characterized by raw, intense energy and action, or beautiful women in stylish, dangerous settings. Some is obviously influenced by the pulps.

Bruce Timm: I’m big pulp fan, have been since the early 70s, when I started reading Doc Savage and Avenger reprints. I can’t really say how they’ve influenced my artwork much, except when doing pulp-homage stuff like the Bob Price books. But I do sometimes wish I was born decades earlier so I could have worked for some of the old pulps, which was why it was so much fun doing the Price stuff, and the «mock 50s» paperback covers for your Gryphon Books.

The hero pulps — Doc Savage, The Spider, The Shadow, etc — did have a big impact on my approach to the Batman cartoons. It’s something I tried to inject into the show from early on, the atmosphere, danger and illicit excitement, and especially that Norvell Page-type feeling of impending doom — the «doomed city» mood. It’s also why I set the sense in a timeless, 40s-styled world of big cars, padded shoulders, gangsters, shadowy streets, etc. I only wish we’d gone farther with it.  

For instance, my original version of Batman himself was actually close to the Shadow: rarely seen close-up, speaking in short, clipped phrases, more mysterious, literally. I wanted to play him cold and remote, almost unhuman. But the network and our various story editors would have none of that!  «We need to humanize him», «He needs to have a sense of humor», «We need to more about Bruce Wayne, the person», etc! Whereas I could care less about Bruce Wayne! He’s much more fascinating if you don’t know what he’s thinking, or what drives him.

A few «Shadowy» touches did survive. Batman is rarely seen be the public, almost never on TV. Even when dealing with the police, he’s usually off in shadows conferring with Commissioner Gordon only. And when he’s in the Batcave, he’s almost always in costume. My way of saying he’s Batman, not the other guy, not Bruce Wayne. Like Lamon Cranston, his true, «legal» identity is a facade.

I’ d love to do straight-ahead pulp hero adaptation someday. Doc or The Shadow or The Spider, either in comics or animation, without the senseless updating and over-explaining «character development» like in the Alec Baldwin-Shadow-fiasco-film.  

Gary Lovisi: Your stunning covers for my Hardboiled mag are very popular with everyone who sees them. What are your feelings on hardboiled crime-related art?

Bruce Timm: It’s hard, actually, to define «crime-fiction» art. There’s pulp crime-fiction art, and digest crime-fiction art, both of which cross over with paperback crime-fiction art. Basically, I’m a fan of good illustration. Period. Regardless of subject matter. Composition, emotionally intensity, color and lighting effects are what I look for. And pretty girls, of course!   

My favorite pulp crime artist is H. J. Ward, hands down. Gorgeous gals in twisty curvy poses, painted in luscious, creamy, wet-on-wet oil technique. My favorite paperback artists include Robert McGinnis, Robert Maguire, and Mitchell Hooks, the usual suspects.

My approach to the Hardboiled covers is different from my earlier «homage» work. When the covers were black and white, I used to experiment with different b&w textures, coquille board, zip-a-tone, xeroxed newsprint, whatever worked. Now that I’m doing them in color, I’m trying to make them as exciting and eye-catching as possible, with loud color, sexy gals, exaggerated action, and simple, graphic, almost cartoony styling.

[tcustodisart]

What are some cute moments that occur throughout the different acts that aren’t necessarily in the game but live in your head rent free?

Oh, this one is going to be a long answer, because there's a lot of squatters in my head and there's a lot to be unleashed. Let's start with this doodle with the boys playing lanceboard at camp and continue under the cut. Lots of cringe and brainrot incoming, so brace yourself.

Act 1:

Connie is constantly bickering with Astarion over him stealing his journal. Gale suggest to cast arcane lock on it, but Connie knows it won't stop that gremlin from reading it so why bother.

This sad pile of rugs is where I imagine Connie sleeps in Act 1. Additional Astarion line: "Damn darling, you live like this?"

During the first romance scene Connie tells Shart about his family, about how he and his brother know the city inside and out, about his parents and the tavern they run, about the trap incident. It's the most he talked to someone who wasn't his family or his crow in years. He wishes that night would never end.

Connie sends letters to his family via Faust, he stops after entering Underdark.

Act 2:

I mentioned it before that Connie is not taking the Shadow Curse very well. He misses the sun, misses the grass, he's unable to contact his family, Shart has distanced herself from him. Karlach notices it and tries to cheer him up. They end up having long talks almost every night. That's the moment their friendship evolves from just friends to besties.

When Connie finds the second warding bond ring, he wishes he could give the other one to Shadowheart, but finds the moment inappropriate. He ends up giving her the ring at the beginning of Act 3.

Act 3:

I have a lot of stuff for this act.

This is inspired by one of Jaheira's lines: "'The Cub and the Crow'- sounds like a cautionary tale. As it probably should." Connie draws her a mock up cover for a kids book. Jaheira sticks it to the traveling chest (I mostly store food there, so to me traveling chest = fridge).

Connie goes through a serious breakdown at the start of this act (after a companion is abducted), he ends up crying and saying that for the first time he doesn't believe they're going to make it, that he'll never hug his mom, never hear his brother sing again, won't be able to tell his step dad that he saw Darkmaw the Wicked. He's being comforted first by Jaheira and then by the rest of his party.

His favorite armor gets damaged one time, he's very upset about it. But the next morning he finds it magically repaired (Astarion fixed it, from the start of Act 3 they become besties).

This wip that I'm very slowly working on happens during act 3. Connie makes some flower crowns and talks about how his mom taught him to do that. I'm not going to say more, because I really want to finish that comic.

Connie has a deal with Popper that he'll pay him double for every night orchid he finds (I actually did that in game, I bantered him more money for the flower than he asked for, I love that little guy so much).

This one is more funny than cute but when Connecticut Tav was younger and still lived in Baldur's Gate he used to visit Sharess's Caress pretty regularly because it was the best way to practice drawing people. He really enjoyed talking with the workers there, he eventually convinced them that maybe creating an union isn't such a bad idea. He ended up being banned from entering the brothel because of that. So when the party approaches it to meet Voss, he's very nervous that the owner will remember him (she does). There's a dialogue in my head but it would work better with some visuals, so maybe one time I'm going to draw it.

In my head, the cottage they end up living in is Connie's old hunting hut. So after the conversation with Shadowheart about her plans for after defeating the brain, he suggest that it would be the perfect place to go. He then draws the house to show her how it looks like, tells her that it's surrounded by a forest, there's a lake nearby, a small stable that can be turned into a barn if needed, and that he's not sure about the quality of the soil, but he did grow some herbs there, so maybe it's going to be good enough to grow flowers.

At the end of the game Connie decides to stay in Baldur's Gate for a while to help his family fix their tavern (which was heavily damaged). He tells Shart to go the house I mentioned before, because he wants her to start her new life as soon as possible + because it would be better for her parents. He stealthily puts his journal in her stuff with a note attached to it saying that he finished it this morning and she can read it if she wants to. He also gives her Faust so she can write him letters whenever she wants to. After 2 tendays he arrives at the cottage with some gifts (night orchid bulbs and a pamphlet about how to take care of them, there was supposed to be another gift, but he wasn't able to find it just yet, but that's for another story).

Epilogue party (because I'm that insane):

It's been sitting in my wips for more than two months, so I don't know if I'll be able to finish it. But during the party Connie and Shadowheart take 10 minute brake to visit the place from the first romance scene. They have a very similar conversation like before, but their roles are reversed now - It's Connie asking questions about Shart's current life. "Tell me something about yourself, but no tadpoles, weird artifacts, petty goddesses. Something about you."

[pochipop]

＃GENSHIN IMPACT !! ♡ — BLOOM WITH YOU (TIGHNARI X READER).

#. synopsis! — the three times tighnari was there to look out for you, and the one time you’re tasked with returning the favor(s) .

#. characters! —tighnari .

#. warnings! — nongraphic depictions of wounds .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

First impressions die hard.

You met Tighnari a long while ago, back when he was less of a renowned researcher, and more of an awkward young boy who loved to roam the forests in search of nothing in particular and hadn’t quite grown into his ears yet. He was smaller, as were you, and those big, sprouting ears atop his head looked fake if you stared at them for too long. Back then, you’d almost been convinced he was wearing a little costume. . . Until you saw them twitch for the first time, and then all such thoughts were thrown out the window.

Still, they were almost comical. When he, in all his youthful inelegance, all but tumbled over himself to check on your well being after you’d managed to land yourself in a precariously sticky situation, they shivered with worry (even for a stranger.) —A stranger who would become his “assistant” in the future— but a stranger nonetheless.

That was the first time you met Tighnari. Your right foot had been swallowed up by a sopping hole in the earth, which sent you falling directly onto your butt. At your age, panic set it fairly quickly, and you were less hurt by the odd way your ankle had bent, and more startled by the suddenness of it all. Whatever it was inside that hole had you in a deadlock, and the more you struggled, the less it seemed to want to let you go. But you were young and scared, and picking up on the subtle patterns wasn’t exactly going to be your forte in a moment like that. Instead, you found yourself tugging on your own leg, and when that didn’t work, you anchored yourself with your arms and your one viable foot, attempting to use the leverage to pull the other from the hole.

Needless to say, —it didn’t work. Fear set in quickly enough, and you found yourself crying. Though such a reaction certainly wasn’t irrational, it was painfully unhelpful. Or maybe it wasn’t. After all, it was thanks to those sniffles and muffled sobs that you were able to attract the attention of a certain someone with a keen sense of hearing and a (thankfully) kind heart.

Tighnari tracked you down from your whimpers quickly enough, and was somehow able to calm you down through his flustered pleas to stop crying and a jumbled explanation of “I can help!” —And help he certainly did.

“J-Just relax! Flailing around like that will only sink your leg farther in!” He stammered, reaching out to grab at the middle of your calf, but pausing and jerking himself away just before he made contact.

“Can I touch you?”

You all but froze at the ill-worded request, but quickly concluded that he had no malintentions. Sure, maybe it was unwise to judge a book by its cover, but those big, twitching ears paired with his shaky hands and his doe-eyed stare that watched you nervously as he waited for approval told you that he wasn’t planning anything nefarious. Plus, you really did need the help. . .

After an affirmative nod, he took hold of your calf, lithe fingers encircling a part of it with a surprising level of gentleness. His touch was akin to the soft pitter-patter of butterfly wings against fresh, spring air.

“Your muscles are tensed up,” he said, sounding almost clinical about it. “Relax them and let your foot hang limp.”

“A-Alright,” you said.

Somehow, despite your nerves and the anxiety flooding through your veins, you managed to do as he’d requested. From there, the removal process was easy, and if you hadn’t been so elated, you likely would have been more ashamed about the tears stains on your cheeks.

Still, Tighnari didn’t mock you for it. Not back then, anyway. . . Years later, that event would be fair game to poke fun at you for, but at the time, he was kind and gentle, even when his fingers shook as he wiped tears from your undereyes. He asked if you were okay, laughed with you (not at you) about the unfortunate loss of your shoe, and walked you out of the forest safe and sound.

It wasn’t until after you parted that you realized you hadn’t caught his name.

It would be quite a while before you ever saw Tighnari again. He’d grown both several inches, and into his large ears that seemed much less disproportionate by the second meeting. He also seemed to have matured quite a bit, —walking with more confidence, and appearing to be much more comfortable in his own skin. Unfortunately, you didn’t have much of an opportunity to admire said changes.

The forest has always been both undeniably beautiful and horribly intense. Creatures big and small lurk just around the corners, and some of them are painfully easy to aggravate. Even glancing in their direction can set some of them off, and that doesn’t bode well for curious eyes.

You learned that lesson the hard way.

On your way home from a taxing day, you decided that it would be a good idea to take a shortcut through the thick of the forest. It wasn’t the most familiar route, but you’d taken it several times over the years, and figured that you could manage it before late evening. That assumption likely would have panned out just fine if not for a sudden detour.

With time to spare and nothing to lose, the sound of a trickling stream somewhere off in the distance enticed you closer and closer. You thought it would be nice to sit along the land with your feet in the water for a bit, enjoying the natural beauty of Sumeru. Despite having grown up there, it came as no surprise to you that there were many areas you’d left completely unexplored, and though you weren’t much discontent with that, you also didn’t think a little adventure would hurt. After all, it was a straight shot through some thicket and trees to return to the “path” that weaved through the forest, and you made mental markers of the landscape on your way.

Getting lost wasn’t really the issue this go around, though. . .

As you sat along the bank of the stream, shoes off with your toes just barely submerged in the cold water, a sudden splash from somewhere farther up had your shoulders tensing and your head whipping to the side. A trio of Spindocrocodiles were angrily making their way towards you, their tails sputtering up water ferociously as a yelp escaped your lips.

You’d seen them before, but always knew to keep your distance. They were known to be aggressive, but typically wouldn’t cause any troubles if you left them be. Today, however, just your presence within their general vicinity alone was enough to tick them off and rouse them from their places upstream. In spite of their stubby appendages that were clearly ill-equipped to function on land, they were no less frightening as they bounded over one another, bumping into each other to see who could take a chunk out of you first.

Those razor-sharp teeth were truly nothing to sneeze at.

This time, both of your shoes were lost to the forest. You scrambled to your feet, forgetting all about them in your rush to get away. Having heard your little yelp from not-so far away, as well as the commotion in the water, Tighnari rushed to find the source of the sound and was shocked to find you of all people. You may well have changed since he last saw you as well, but he could never forget those eyes.

“This way!” He shouted, and you had little time to process who he was or why it was significant before you were bounding off in his direction.

He wasted no time, reaching out to grab your wrist and promptly leading you through the bushes and branches until the ill-outlined path was in sight.

“You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble, —do you?” Tighnari questioned, sounding a little breathless from the sudden sprint.

“I-It’s not like that!” You insist. “Maybe it’s your fault! You always seem to be around when these things happen!’

His eyes widen and the ears atop his head that now look much more appropriate there twitch a bit in surprise.

“M-Me?” He stammers, “If anything, you should be thanking me! This is the second time I’ve stepped in to save you!”

“You’re giving yourself way too much credit this time,” you say, shaking your wrist free of his grip to cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, “I would have run whether you told me to or not.”

“Knowing you, you would have run through the forest and gotten lost,” Tighnari refutes, mimicking you by crossing his own arms over his chest as well.

“Or maybe you would have gotten your foot stuck in another hole.”

Your jaw slacks a little at his mention of that.

“You don’t know me at all,” you answer, “—even if that did happen, I know how to take care of it myself this time anyway.”

“Are you sure about that?” He cocks his head to the side with a look of disbelief crossing his soft, rounded features.

“Yes,” you reply curtly, “I am.”

Silence reigns for a short while before Tighnari breaks it, returning his arms to their proper places at his sides.

“Seems you’ve lost three shoes to the forest now,” he says pointedly.

You glance down at your bare feet, sighing at the sight of them.

“One really was enough,” you mutter. “I really liked those shoes.”

“In any case, I’m Tighnari,” he says, reaching his hand out for you to shake. “If I’ll be acting as a guide for you again I figure we should get to know one another.”

Somehow, you find it within yourself to not give him a snarky response. Instead, you take his hand in an awkward handshake. His skin is soft and warm, and his eyes all but sparkle in the dying sunlight that filters in through the breaks in the fickle canopy of leaves above.

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself begrudgingly.

But as it turned out, he wasn’t that bad. 

The third time was just plain overkill, in your opinion. By then, you were fairly certain that Tighnari really was some kind of bad luck charm. 

In your defense, whoever thought it was a brilliant idea to set a trap for prey along a forest pathway was both stupid and wrong. Seriously. . . Who does that?

You were innocently walking along, attempting to decompress from a stressful morning with a stroll through nature, only to find yourself trapped in a deep, man-made hole when a stretch of leaf covered dirt ended up being nothing more than a trap. One moment you’d been striding along, minding your own business, and the next you were breathless at the bottom of some ugly little pit.

To add to the annoyance of it all, you didn’t even have time to try and get out yourself. As if he’d been watching from the trees, Tighnari was kneeling down on the ground above you, golden earring dangling in the late afternoon sun as he peered into the hole you’d found yourself in. He knew it was you from the pitch of your sudden scream, and an amused smirk clung to the corners of his stupid lips.

“Your luck is absolutely abysmal,” he laughed.

“I’m aware,” you grumbled in return.

He was amused by the situation you’d found yourself in, but it was clear that he was concerned for you beneath it all. Sure, he didn’t know you all that well, but he felt a sense of responsibility for you. The forest isn’t easy for most to navigate, after all. Heck, it hadn’t been easy for him to get around in for a very long time, and he’d found himself in plenty of unpleasant situations as a result of its vastness. 

“Would you like some help?” He asked.

You didn’t have the nerve to be acerbic, so you folded easily. You just wanted to get out of that dumb hole.

“Yes please.”

Upon seeing your dejected expression, Tighnari began to feel quite bad about teasing you the way he had. It was irrational to think his presence was poison in your well, watering your luck down to nothing the moment you stepped into the thick of the forest, —but a part of him began blaming himself for the unfortunate mishaps you’d been experiencing over time. It was a small part of himself that he could easily stifle with logic, but it gnawed at him nonetheless.

“Can you stand?” He asked.

It took you a moment to contort your body and make your way to your feet, but you managed it easily enough. The hard part had yet to come. Even perched on the tips of your toes, you’d have likely been screwed if not for Tighnari. He reached one hand out to you, the other digging into the dirt in hopes of steadying himself for what was to come.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, tentatively reaching up to grasp at his palm and fingers.

He held your hand with a firm grip, but it was gentle in many ways in spite of that. In fact, many things about Tighnari had always been undeniably gentle.

“I’m not as fragile as I might look,” he brushed your concerns away swiftly. “Just reach for solid ground as soon as you can and use it to pull your body up, alright?”

There didn’t seem to be another available option, so you nodded in confirmation and let Tighnari count to three before he began yanking at your arm. It wasn’t the most pleasurable experience, but it worked well enough in the end. Though his fingers dug into your skin uncomfortably, you grasped at the overhanging edge of the hole the second it was in reach, using the bulk of your strength to force your body up and over. Even if it didn’t take long, you let out a deep breath the moment you collapsed onto the dirt. That was a lot of energy to expend in such a short period of time.

With a huff, you turned to lay on your back, head resting uncomfortably against the ground. Tighnari could have easily joked about pulling your feet away from the hole a bit more, lest you find yourself tumbling back down in it, but he chose not to, Instead, he laid back beside you, turning his head to look your way.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said, reaching out to take your wrist into his tender hold.

His sudden sympathy had your lips pursing together, heart skipping a little beat in the cavern of your chest.

“. . . you didn’t,” you mumble softly. “Thank you for helping me.”

As the old story goes, —the rest was history. Tighnari insisted on taking you back to his little research lab just a ways off to keep an eye on you for a bit, and that day, your perception of him completely changed. As he worked, you found yourself lost in every moment, in every flick of his wrist as he jotted down notes along scraps of parchment.

He found that you weren’t half bad to have around. Despite your limited knowledge of the forest, you were surprisingly adept at keeping up with his ramblings, and he appreciated that. Your interest in his studies was practically everything he could have asked for. You didn’t stop him or cut him off when he began rambling about mushroom temperaments or the medicinal properties of various Sumerian regional specialties. You sat and listened, engaging with every fun fact he threw your way like a kitten pawing at a ball of yarn.

Tighnari definitely wasn’t one to fall easily, —but he was no fool. The way his heart stuttered upon seeing your captivated smile was anything but typical. The warmth that pooled in his stomach the moment you took the initiative to ask him questions was special. It wasn’t just general excitement. It wasn’t something he could write off as an anomaly to check back on in three weeks time.

This was different. 

You were different.

He’d have been a fool to ignore it, —and far be it from Tighnari to ever willingly play the role of court jester. Instead, he sought your presence again, again, and again. Hours passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, and he couldn’t possibly ignore how easy it was to bounce off you, or how simple it was to keep the flow of conversation moving with you. Even the moments of silence were comfortable, and he never felt pressured by your curious gaze as you watched him go about his duties.

Those daylight hours bled into dusk, and he nearly asked you to stay the night before coming to his senses and realizing that such a proposal so soon would likely be misinterpreted and off putting. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he walked you to the edge of the forest, taking you the long way round.

As you walked alongside him, he pointed out various greenery and told you of their origins or of their healing properties.

Tighnari took your departure harder than he thought. He felt ridiculous for mourning the loss of your presence after no more than a day’s worth of light, —but he couldn’t help himself. You’d woven your way into his heart so easily, like it was child’s play. He was putty in your hands the moment he watched you walk away, and you didn’t even know it.

“Tighnari!” You call out, slipping inside his little research lab with the basket of sunsettias he’d requested just a bit before.

Working under him has been an interesting experience, to say the least. Especially because it just sort of happened. It was nothing you’d actively signed up for, but by the time he first referred to you as his “assistant,” you were so attached to his general presence that you hardly cared if he were to have you do small tasks for him here and there. In fact, you’re quite thankful that he chose you to fill the position! It’s given you lots of interesting opportunities to experience sides of Sumeru you didn’t think you’d ever get to partake in so intimately, and by no means did Tighnari skimp on knowledge to offer you.

It also doesn’t hurt that he’s exceptionally adorable. His ears twitch when he’s excited, his tail swishing back and forth until he remembers that it’s there and does his best to quell it to save himself the embarrassment. He’s loveable, even when he’s doing nothing at all. And you. . . Yeah, maybe you’ve come to love him just a little too much.

It was so easy to fall for him, though. One minute he’d been explaining the various sleeping habits of various fauna, and the next, your heart had been in the palm of his gentle hand, —the ones he holds quills with as he scribbles down important (and unimportant) notes.

“Tighnari?” You repeat when you don’t hear his expected response. “Are you here?”

It appears not.

Though Tighnari did mention he’d be stepping out for a bit just before you headed off, it seems strange to you that he hasn’t returned by now. You’d been a bit slow at locating sunsettias this time, so your task had taken a bit longer to complete than usual, and Tighnari knows the forest like the back of his hand. Anything you can get done quickly, he can finish in what feels like the blink of an eye. He’s efficient and fantastic at what he does, so for him to still be gone. . . It’s raising multiple red flags, to say the very least.

You sit the basket of sunsettias down on the floor beside his desk, quickly rushing off to look for him. Even if it’s nothing, you’d much rather be safe than be sorry. When it comes to Tighnari, being safe will always be the superior option.

After all, you know quite well what wrenches the forest can throw your way, and having been on the receiving end of it many times over, you’re not keen on leaving Tighnari to suffer the same fate on his own. He could obviously handle most things that would come his way, but what kind of assistant would you be if you left him high and dry?

Better yet, what kind of friend would you be if you did such a thing?

“Hey, Tighnari!” You cup your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice, calling out to him through the trees in hopes that his keen ears will pick up on your voice.

He hears you, but stays quiet. Crumpled on the ground with a gash across his hand, the flowers he’d collected left scattered all around him, —he’s not exactly keen on letting you see him this way. . . It feels humiliating that he of all people would have found himself in a situation like this. He should have known better! He did know better.

“Tighnari!”

Guilt hits him like an angry Sumpter Beast when he recognizes the worried edge that clings to your call. You care, and he knows that you do, —but with what little humility he has left, he’d rather not be seen like this.

He considers standing up and slipping through the trees, making his way back to the lab to patch himself up in record time before you make your way back there as well, but all hope of that goes out the window when the ears atop his head jerk, alerting him of your sudden approach.

“There you are!” You say, but the relief that floods through you quickly reverts back to worry as you catch sight of the blood on his hands.

“What happened, Tighnari?” Comes the dreaded question, —the one that he’s overwhelmingly tempted to lie in response to.

But it’s you. . . And he just can’t bring himself to be anything less than truthful when it comes to you.

“I was overzealous,” he sighs. “I saw a Rishboland Tiger cub nosing around, and from where I was standing, it seemed to me that it was limping. I approached it slowly, but when it didn’t immediately run away, I assumed I was right about the injury and reached out to let it sniff my hand.”

He glances down at his injured hand, and you can easily infer the rest without him having to say it.

“Why didn’t you answer when I called for you?” You question, gently taking his hand into yours in order to gauge the seriousness of the wound. “With those ears, there’s no way you didn’t hear me.”

“I. . .” He starts, but quickly swallows the words down.

You wait just in case he has anything to say, but when he stays quiet, you think it best to leave it be. If it was something he wanted to reply to, he’d have done it. His hesitance speaks volumes, and you won’t be the one to force an answer out of him. 

“Come on,” you say instead, reaching out to gather the scattered flowers he’d dropped in the scuffle. “Let’s head back to the lab. I can take care of you there.”

You offer him help to aid in standing, and he takes it without complaint (or thanks.) His cheeks are perpetually red, and you know that he’s feeling ashamed of himself for having wound up in this position, so whatever happens from there, you’re more than willing to give him more lenience than you otherwise would have afforded to him.

“I can take care of it myself,” he objects, “—you don’t have to go to any trouble. I brought this on myself.”

“Oh come on Tighnari, aren’t you the one who always says I owe you for the times you’ve helped me?” you remind him.

He parts his lips to insist that this is different, but the words falter on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them down.

“. . . yeah,” he shrugs, “I guess so.”

The tentative way he holds his hand on the trek back is depressing, but it’s also cute. It reminds you of the way he’s held your wrist a few times here and there, as if he were certain of himself, but worried that if he squeezed too hard you’d fall apart at the seams right in front of him. Looking at him now, you can relate to such a worry. He seems so vulnerable, both physically and emotionally, and the last thing you want to do is take advantage of that.

He sits and waits with no complaints as you rifle through the jars around his desk. You know what you’re looking for, but Tighnari is the only person who knows the true methods to all of his madness, and though you’ve watched him work for months now, it’s all too easy to forget what jars house what now that all the options are seemingly staring back at you with eyes of their own. It’s like they’re scrutinizing your performance, and it’s driving you up the wall.

Tighnari, on the other hand, makes no move to assist or offer criticism. There’s a sense of pride welling up within him. You’re not the fastest, but you’re not flailing. It’s just that you’re scanning your options to be certain you’ve obtained the correct ones.

“Can I see your hand?” You inquire.

Wordlessly, he gives his injured hand over to you. His trust in you is immeasurable and unwavering, and it makes your heart swell.

Under the natural light that pours in through the windows, you’re able to assess the wound better. It’s nothing terrible, but you’re certain that it hurts, and when you make the first move to use fresh, clean water to clean it off, you hear Tighnari hiss under his breath. You weren’t too rough by any means, and you were likely more gentle than he would have been with himself, but the area is freshly agitated and just about anything is enough to irritate the nerves.

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes flickering up to meet his gaze.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies sternly. “You know what you’re doing.”

“This is the paste we made last week,” you continue without missing a beat, urged on by the little nod he offers you in response. “It’ll stop any swelling, numb most of the pain, and kill any bacteria in the wound. It’ll make it easier to wrap it up at the end, as well.”

He already knew that, of course, but he’s proud of your knowledge retention nonetheless. Tighnari doesn’t move a single muscle as you dip your finger into the yellowish paste made of natural ingredients each of you helped to gather. As you apply it as softly as you can whilst still being thorough, he clenches his jaw, but refrains from making any noise.

“You’ve learned a lot,” he says instead, a smile tugging at the corners of his pretty mouth. “I’m proud.”

There’s been many times when he’s felt that way over the months, but this is one of the few times he’s actually said it. Of course, you always feel it, —but there’s no denying that it’s a completely different feeling to hear him actively say it.

Tighnari’s words are so genuine that they make little pin-pricks stab at your waning heart.

“I’ll grab the bandages and that should do it,” you tell him, attempting (and failing to) bite back a happy smile.

You snatch them up from one of his drawers, closing it behind you with a little thud. Turning back to him, it’s obvious that the atmosphere has shifted, although nothing tangible has changed. His gaze meets yours, and your heart sings for him. He’s strong, yet vulnerable and gentle. Stern, but welcoming and tenderhearted. And above all else, Tighnari is warm.

As you take his hand into your own again, little trickles of electricity fire off through your veins. You’re hyper-aware of everything he does, from the way he swallows quietly to the fluttering of his lashes as he blinks.

He watches closely as you wrap the bandages along his hand, but his stare isn’t scrutinizing in the slightest. If anything, he’s admiring your handiwork and the precision you’ve managed to accomplish with every fold.

“That. . .” you pause for a second, tucking a loose end into the previous layers to keep it secure, “should do it. Does it feel okay?”

Tighnari bends his fingers carefully. The bandages don’t budge, nor do they dig uncomfortably into his skin.

“It’s perfect,” he assures you, and you breathe an internal sigh of relief.

You’re perfect, he wants to add, but can’t find the courage to manage it.

But a part of Tighnari knows that now’s as good a time as any. You’re so close, and you smell of flowery medicinal paste and the sunsettias you’d gathered that now sit beside his work desk on the floor. He reaches out to cup your cheek with his newly bandaged hand, matching the curve of your face. You still, muscles tensing a bit, —not because you’re scared, but because you’re worried that you’re getting the wrong idea. Although you're not certain what other ways this could possibly be interpreted.

“T-Tighnari. . .”

“Can I. . .” he pauses, swallowing down the lump that tries to form in the back of his throat, “—can I kiss you?”

For a moment, you’re completely at a loss for words. You know what you want to say, but it takes a few moments to muster up the courage. Tighnari doesn’t rush you, doesn't act before you’ve given him permission, and you know you’re free to say yes or decline.

“Y-Yeah,” you confirm, “please.”

Any worry that you might come across as a bit too desperate have gone out the window, and Tighnari certainly didn’t take it that way. He’s more elated that you said yes than anything else.

He leans in and places his lips over yours. His lips are soft and he tastes of nothing in particular, but there’s an edge of sweetness to his motions that floods through all your senses. Your body relaxes into his, tension dissipating as he soothes you with his kiss. Your heart hammers away loudly, but you’re too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he can feel it against him or not. Tighnari was the one to ignite it, and he’s the one to break it as well. His forehead comes to rest against your own, and he sighs ever so softly in content.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, —and somehow, you doubt he’s just referencing the bandage on his hand.

You say nothing, but when you breathe through the fluster and bury your face in the crook of his neck, he holds you just a little tighter.

[itschr1spy]

"The Fantastic Spider-Man?"

"What a weird comic book..."

The Fantastic Spider-Man in: Amazing Fantasies

The Fantastic Spider-Man in: Sworn to the Sword

I honestly had fun drawing both of these covers I definitely did not screw up Peter's hand when I drew it on stream I definitely did not do that nope I drew it right first try yup mhm you're just crazy

[jesncin]

Do you have any favorite books or comics that you'd recommend?

Superhero comics or in general? I'll go in general, haha:

Our Dreams At Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani

This is the book series I'm most obnoxiously recommending people. It's influenced me ever since, Lunar Boy is a direct homage to this short series in many ways. It talks about the lived realities of being queer and Japanese in Japan- the queerphobia, the mental health struggles, the relationships (romantic and platonic) in an in depth way. It opened my eyes to what the queer narrative can be, and I'm forever grateful for it. This story is so good it actively ruins all other queer media for me, haha.

Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Yang and Gurihiru

This is the book I most successfully recommend to people. What can I say that I haven't said many times before? A reimagining of the classic Klan of the Fiery Cross arc from the classic Superman radio show, empathetically revitalized. A story that actually acknowledges and understands Superman as a direct immigrant allegory?? Where he relates to a Chinese American family being targeted by the Klan?? I love it, and many people have picked up how I'm influenced by it! You don't need to know anything about Superman or his lore, this is a very accessible story for newbies. If you want to know why I love Superman, this is it. This story is so good it actively ruins all other Superman media for me, haha.

Salt Magic by Hope Larson and Rebecca Mock

One of my recent all time favorite graphic novels!! This story is everything I love about fairytales perfectly told in the graphic novel format. When a mysterious woman curses a family farm by turning their water supply into entirely undrinkable salt water- Vonceil must embark on an adventure to uplift the curse that hangs over her family history. Also Rebecca Mock's art is INCREDIBLE.

Homunculus by Joe Sparrow

Shortbox, the publisher for this comic, is retiring soon so order this book now! Or any books from them that you fancy (discount code here)! From the indie scene, Homunculus is a beloved short comic about a machine with growing sentience witnessing the end of the world, and what comes after. The style is lovely and the story is deceptively simple! It's heartbreaking by the end.

Berrybrook Middle School Series (Awkward, Brave, Crush, Enemies) by Svetlana Chmakova

This series is the reason I wanted to make middle grade graphic novels, and is in my humble opinion- the best in the business. Each story is self contained, with a cast of recurring characters that all go to Berrybrook middle school. It covers a wide variety of young experiences in an empathetic way that doesn't feel like you're being talked down to. It's a book series that nurtures the children it's for. I cried reading Brave, and Crush is such an important book that I'm ecstatic that kids get to read.

The Weight Of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

If you liked my Who Is Superman: A Private Interview with Lois Lane comic and want to learn more about the historical context behind it- I recommend The Weight Of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf. It doesn't cover the same history (this book is about the 1969 race riots in Malaysia), but it's such an eerily similar incident that I felt myself reflected in it. Hanna is an incredibly vivid writer, and she handles so many topics with sensitive care. She highlights that historical events like this need to be remembered, and how fictional stories can breathe new life into an increasingly forgotten history. Also Hanna is so nice.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (original idea by Siobhan Dowd)

One of my all time favorite novels, with hauntingly beautiful mixed media illustrations by Jim Kay. I love how this book covers grief in such a messy and fantastical way- showing how its young protagonist has larger than life feelings he's trying to contain from the looming eventual death of his mom's illness. This book is special because it was conceived originally by Siobhan Dowd as she was going through terminal cancer, in collaboration with her editor and Ness. It feels like an intimate experience, and this heavy feeling of grief carries the whole book in a memorable way.

Those are my fav books off the top of my head! Happy reading :>

[witchsickness]

the day neil leaves, max wakes up to a note on her nightstand.

it’s the end of august. her brother’s been dead for almost two months.

good riddance, the note says. makes her laugh, and that. it hasn’t happened in a while. max thinks, right on, and draws the covers over her head again. no one’s there to yell her out of bed, anyway.

a week later, she’s sitting on another bed, in another room. smaller and affordable and miserable, which is what you get for being a single mom’s offspring in indiana. her brother’s life is taking over her entire floor, tapes and books and jackets spilling out of the one box it all fits in. even in death, billy refuses to be contained.

you’re dead, max thinks, feeling like she’s being pushed out of her own life. you don’t get to do this anymore.

on the first day of school, she shows up in his jacket. it’s too hot for leather yet. by the end of the day she’s cranky, and sweat-flushed, and her nostrils are cologne-coated. instead of skating back to the trailer, she turns left.

one of them is stone, so this is bound to be pretty one-sided, but. they need to talk.

‘i miss you,’ she tells him. ‘i hate you.’

she doesn’t wait for an answer. she knows better by now.

when she finally makes it back to her room, there’s another note waiting for her, squashed under a tape. side-b, the note instructs, track 3. the colors on the cover are too bright, dissonantly happy against the earthy brown of the room. a kind of magic, the title mocks her. max closes her eyes against it, because she’s long stopped believing in good things.

she presses play. don’t lose your head, freddie sings, and max plays the song again, and again, and thinks, too late.

‘where’d you get this?’ lucas asks her the next day, turning the tape this way and that.

max fights the urge to snatch it away and hide it from everyone she’s ever loved. ‘billy gave it to me,’ she says, before her brain can catch up to her mouth. so much for keeping sane. it’s almost worth it for the horror in dustin’s eyes, and the squeak her stupid, wonderful boyfriend lets out when he throws the tape back at her, panicked.

boys. can’t even handle a teeny haunting.

what max focuses on, though, is the way steve’s eyes go comically big, and then look away. one thing max knows about steve harrington is he’s a shitty liar.

she spends the day wrapped in her brother’s jacket and claims her grief-earned place on the passenger seat of steve’s car the second the bell rings. sorrow is neat, once you get the hang of it. max has been calling shotgun for the last two months, and no one’s said a word.

the moment lucas is out of the car, she turns to steve. ‘what did yours say?’

steve chokes on his own breath, because he’s the dumbest boy in the whole world, and her brother’s taste is terrible. ‘no idea what—’

max pinches his arm, hard. ‘how did lying to my brother work out for you?’

he lets out a sigh, while rolling his eyes, while driving. sure, max is the hazard here. ‘ugh,’ he says, ‘fine,’ and makes a right towards his place.

ten minutes later, max is standing in steve’s kitchen, staring at his notes. steve’s three notes. ‘i’m his sister and i got two.’

‘it’s not a competition.’

max glares him to silence. ‘that the first?’ she asks, pointing to a napkin with the word SLUT covering what max guesses is a girl’s phone number, signed with a kiss.

steve stares at it, visibly annoyed. ‘nope. that one, then the napkin. totally uncalled for, by the way. third one appeared last night.’

thanks for keeping an eye on her, reads the first, scrawled on a post-it next to the phone. according to steve, it appeared before july was over. not even a month of being dead and billy was already bored.

it’s so painfully him. max laughs despite herself, and realizes it happens often lately.

the third note is just a doodle of a skull like the one max spent last spring making fun of her dumb brother for, except this one’s got a mullet, and an earring dangling from the hole where his left ear should be, and the words guess who scribbled on one corner.

max slaps steve’s arm to keep from crying. ‘why didn’t you say anything?’

‘say what? hey, this is crazy, but i think your dead brother is harassing me from the grave? do you know how stupid that sounds?’

‘uh, no worse than usual?’

steve gasps dramatically. ‘how sure are we you’re not just possessed by his spirit? you never used to be so mean.’

max fixes him with a look.

‘fine,’ steve sighs, throwing his stupid hands in the air, ‘you’ve always been mean.’ he nods at the notes on the counter. ‘what’re we gonna do about that?’

‘we obviously need to find him.’

‘oh, yeah? you got a map of the underworld i don’t know about?’

rolling her eyes, ‘he’s alive,’ she points out, and then, ‘wait—’

that piece of paper wasn’t there a second ago, was it? she turns it over to find lines with street names, and a big X in the middle.

‘lemme see that,’ steve says, snatching the paper from her. he bursts out laughing, and max shoves him out of the way to read the writing at the bottom of the page.

you’re both useless, it says, don’t show up without beer.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Familia (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, beyond

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and MC (Lilac Allende)

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating/Warning: T/ Some Language

Summary: Ethan meets her family over a traditional meal of tamales.

Note: In which Lilac's Mexican mother teaches him how to make tamales. Translations at the end :)

The usually cold, pristine kitchen of his apartment appeared like a different place entirely that afternoon. For one, it was crowded as Lilac's family bustled about, the sounds of music, laughter, and lighthearted conversation filling the space. Every inch of the counters was covered in a colorful mosaic of ingredients, each meant for a different dish and each tended to by a different Allende. Tendrils of steam swirled into the air as Mrs. Allende stirred the contents of a sizzling pan, the aroma nothing short of mouthwatering. 

It had never felt so inviting or close to a real home and Ethan felt momentarily stunned. 

He paused at the threshold to admire it, his attention finally resting resolutely on Lilac. She, too, appeared entirely transformed as she cooked and joked with her siblings in both of her languages. Sparkling green eyes creased at the edges, more alive than ever, as she dodged a dusting of flour sent her way by her younger brother. 

“You'll pay for that,” she told him mid laugh, followed by more vows of retaliation in Spanish. 

Ethan basked in the sound of her voice and how her native language made it sound different— like a soft melody that swelled pleasantly with every word. Something soared within him as he watched this version of her, taking root in his chest and blooming very much like the first time he saw her at Edenbrook. 

“Ya basta, muchachos,” Mrs. Allende chided over the hiss of the frying chilis. “Jaime, look at the mess you made all over Dr. Ramsey's kitchen. Clean up all this flour and go keep your dad some company in the living room.”

“Sí, señora,” Jaime Allende said with a mock salute that made his mother roll her eyes lovingly. Once her back was turned, he smirked at his sisters. “See you later, feas. I'll be in the living room enjoying the game.”

Laurel, the eldest, shoved him with her shoulder as he passed. It looked almost comical to Ethan since she was significantly shorter than him.

 “Hey, you better clean this shit up,” she called out after him. When the warning fell on deaf ears, Laurel shook her head and murmured to Lilac, “Twenty four and he still knows how to trick his way out of doing any real work.”

“Typical,” Lilac returned cautiously, eyes on her mother's back. 

Ethan took that opportunity to rejoin his girlfriend at the kitchen, his arms banding around her waist as he quickly kissed her temple. 

Lilac let out a pleased little laugh, her body relaxing against him. 

“How's my dad?” 

“Quiet,” he replied, trying his best not to take it personally. Still, the nerves he felt about meeting her father had tapered into a fine point when the man had spoken less than five words to Ethan. 

“That checks out,” Laurel commented knowingly from beside them. 

Lilac threw her sister an unappreciative look which did nothing to help with his anxiety. She swiveled in Ethan's embrace, her scowl softening when their eyes met. “My dad's just a quiet person at first. Once he gets to know you, he's the goofiest marshmallow imaginable.”

Ethan remained unconvinced, afraid that her father was less than thrilled about their relationship. Then again, if Ethan had a daughter, he would absolutely take issue with the bastard who was both her boss and boyfriend. 

“We found a football game on TV that he likes,” he commented, unsure of what else to say. 

“As long as it's real fútbol, he'll love you already.”

“Yes, he can excuse sleeping with his daughter but he draws the line at American football,” Laurel mused with a wicked laugh, already dodging the slap Lilac sent her way. 

Their mother caught the end of that exchange and sent them a single, silencing look that made both sisters cease at once. Then her eyes swiveled to Ethan and at once, her expression softened. Mrs. Allende straightened her spine and cleaned her hands against her apron. 

“Doctor,” she said cheerfully in Spanish. “Thank you again for inviting us into your lovely home.”

“Es un placer,” he returned as he studiously avoided Laurel's gaze. It would no doubt silently communicate “Kiss ass.”

“Thank you for making dinner,” Ethan said to Mrs. Allende, who waved this away dismissively, though she looked thoroughly pleased. 

“No thanks necessary. I hope you like tamales, Doctor. It's my mother's recipe.”

“I'm honored to try them. How can I help?” 

This was evidently the right thing to ask because Mrs. Allende lit up with pure admiration and approval. If he didn't have her blessing before, he was convinced he did now.

 Waving her daughters aside with fluttering hands and instructions in both languages, Mrs. Allende led Ethan to the part of the counter Jamie formerly occupied. She spent the next few minutes teaching Ethan how to prepare the masa. 

“Muy bien,” she praised minutes later when Ethan had caught on to the technique quickly. “Ya está listo para casarse, Doctor.”

You're ready to get married now. 

Three reactions occurred at once: Lilac coughed, Ethan felt his ears flare with heat, and Laurel all but cackled. 

“Madre!” 

“It's just a saying, mi vida,” her mother returned innocently, finding her way back to the stove. “Why don't you start on the filling?” To Ethan she added, “My Lilita makes the best green salsa, did she tell you?” 

Ethan paused his movements, the sticky dough beneath his palm melting against his skin. 

“She didn't.”

Lilac was studiously avoiding his gaze now, cheeks as red as the tomatoes she rinsed. For as long as he had known her, Lilac had made a show of professing her lack of culinary skills. 

“You're missing out, Doctor,” her mother proclaimed proudly. “Her chilaquiles are the best too.”

Ethan quietly assessed his girlfriend, who gave him a fleeting, embarrassed look. 

“You didn't tell me you could cook.”

Cheeks brighter still, she refused to look at him for longer than a moment. 

“Nothing anyone I know would like.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Mostly obscure Mexican food my grandma taught me how to make.” 

The words were an embarrassed mumble. 

“Your friends and I would love it.”

“Yeah, well…” 

Something about the shame in her expression and the tension in her shoulders opened little fissures along the surface of his heart. With a pang, he began to comprehend that every time his Lilac said, “I can't cook!” it was the simpler alternative. Feigning incompetence was easier than explaining the dishes she loved so much to people who often looked down on them. Not that Ethan or her friends ever would, but all it took was one asshole to look down on her customs with disgust for a protective barrier to emerge.

When Mrs. Allende busied herself with the oven, Ethan moved to encircle his arms around his girlfriend, careful not to get any of the dough still coating his hands on her. 

“Make it for me someday?” 

She blinked at him in surprise and when he smiled, she relaxed against him, nodding quietly. The grateful smile she gave him made his heart skip. 

“Dad's team is losing,” Jamie announced a

minute later as he reentered the kitchen, closely followed by his father. “He's mad. So he'd rather come in here and help wrap the tamales.”

Mr. Allende rolled his eyes at his son. “They have the ref bought, mijo. It's a waste of time to even watch.”

Unbeknownst to him, Laurel and Jamie silently mouthed their father's words in perfect sync behind his back. Ethan almost allowed a smile, unable to resist the infectious laughter that proved to be an Allende family trait. Before he could join in the myrth, however, Mr. Allende's eyes met Ethan's. The older man's expression was an impenetrable mask and it made Ethan's nerves buzz with a start. 

It was only when Mr. Allende's eyes fell down to Ethan's hands, clasped securely around his daughter's waist, that he realized he still held Lilac in a rather close embrace. 

Without thought, Ethan released her, almost shoving her away instinctively. 

Lilac, slightly affronted, shot him a funny look. She was no doubt incredulous that a man Ethan's age was still afraid of his girlfriend's father like some kind of hormonal teenager. A cheeky part of his mind mused that when it came to Lilac, he was much like a juvenile version of himself. 

“You're almost forty,” she teased in a whisper when her family was too preoccupied with an argument over what music to play. 

Ethan threw her a dry, unappreciative glare. He couldn't add anything more because at that moment, the notes of an upbeat and unmistakably eighties song drafted from the small Bluetooth speaker. 

All three Allende siblings groaned in unison, the sound dropping lower still when Mrs. Allende began to dance unabashedly to the beat. 

“Not Luis Miguel,” Laurel sighed. “Our mother's crush.”

“Luis Mi Rey,” their mother corrected with a lovestruck sigh. 

“I'm standing right here,” their father returned, arms crossed.

 Ethan could see, however, that the faux stern expression threatened to break as he watched Margo singing happily. His wife pulled him close, singing lyrics about falling in love under the sun on a beach. 

“I really lucked out,” Mrs. Allende said, voice sing-song and eyes fixed adoringly on her husband. “I ended up with someone better than El Sol de México himself.”

The sun of Mexico belted a high note from the speaker. 

“Yeah, you ended up with the entire solar system with Dad,” Jaime teased, a wicked gaze falling on their father's generous belly. 

“Don't body shame my dad,” Laurel returned sternly, though she looked on the verge of laughter. 

The family dissolved into a good-natured argument. 

Ethan watched them in silence, admiring the small pocket of chaos they occupied as they each spoke over one another. Even in doing so, they laughed and joked until all that could be heard was a chorus of mirth that made his heart ache. 

“The sun is a solitary star,” Ethan found himself saying through the cheerful chatter. 

Everyone fell silent, casting him glances that ranged from curious to downright confused. Only Lilac glanced up at him with a brilliant, knowing smile. 

“Many astronomers believe it once had a companion. As it stands now, it's an anomaly because it's alone in the universe.”

Still, no one said anything. 

Ethan was beginning to wonder if he overstepped and interrupted a family moment with his nonsense. Before panic could settle over his insides like a sheet of ice, his girlfriend wrapped an arm around his waist, settling into his side. 

“In other words,” he continued, eyes moving to a quiet Mr. Allende. “You don't want to be like the sun. You and your wife are more like binary stars, who are gravitational bound forever.”

More silence followed his words and Ethan had half a mind to retreat from the room. 

Finally, when the pause was almost unbearable, Mr. Allende chuckled. 

“You hear that, viejita? I'm better than Luis Miguel. I'm a star.” 

“Made of gas,” Jaime supplied. 

In the chaotic symphony of their laughter, Lilac reclaimed Ethan's attention with a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Ethan Ramsey,” she murmured, impressed. “You are a bit of a poet after all.”

It's how I feel about you. 

“I could've come up with that.” Jaime said loudly. 

“No way,” Laurel returned at once. “You literally said Dad was as vast and old as the solar system.”

“Old?” her father asked in mock offense. “No one said anything about old before.” 

After that brief glimmer of Mr. Allende's approval in the kitchen, the awkward edge in the air lifted. By the time Mrs. Allende promptly sat all of the men at the kitchen table to wrap the tamales, Ethan had proudly earned himself a smile from Lilac’s stoic father. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he watched Ethan studiously wrap the corn husks.

“My wife is going to favor your tamales, Doctor. You’ll make us look bad,” Mr. Allende commented. 

“We do that all on our own, pops,” Jaime returned without missing a beat. As though to prove this point, a glop of dough fell from the corn husk he haphazardly wrapped. 

Ethan paused, concerned. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“Not at all. They’re nearly damn perfect,” Mr. Allende chuckled. 

“Ethan does everything with mathematical precision,” Lilac commented as she approached, placing a kiss on Ethan’s forehead. 

Laurel muttered something from behind Lilac. Whatever it was scandalized her sister. 

Luckily, Mr. Allende missed this because he grinned at Jaime. “See, mijo? You should put your degree to use, too.”

“I was too hungover the day they covered tamal wrapping in my engineering classes,” Jamie returned. 

“Cabrón,” Mr. Allende laughed. 

As it turned out, Mr. Allende was correct. His wife adored the neat work Ethan made of the task she assigned. Bursting with pride and delight, she squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “Excellent work, mijo!” 

Ethan’s heart felt weightless at the term of endearment.

“Ma, don’t go replacing me as the favorite son,” Jaime joked. 

“About time,” Lilac muttered. 

Jaime and Laurel rolled their eyes, exchanging a look. 

“Middle child,” they chanted in unison. 

They dissolved into a melody of voices and laughter once more. As the tamales steamed, they found themselves locked in a boisterous and heated game of Lotería. Ethan proved to be exceedingly good at it, much to everyone's delighted surprise (except Lilac's). After winning a particularly dramatic and fast-paced round, everyone flashed him an impressed smile.

 Everyone except Laurel. 

“Looks like you met your match, Lau,” Mr. Allende laughed. 

“I only lost because I was calling them,” Laurel responded, red in the face. “It slowed me down.”

“Then let me call them,” Ethan returned, matching the challenge in her voice. 

Lilac smacked an excited hand against the table. “This I have to see!” 

Mrs. Allende, looking just as delighted, proclaimed, “Have him call out the personalized cards too, mija.”

“Personalized?” 

“La Doctora,” Laurel said pointing at Lilac. “Mine is La Maestra and Jaime's is El Ingeniero.”

“Your parents don't have one?” 

“Dad's is already in the original deck,” Jaime began with a devilish grin. “El Borracho.”

Mr. Allende responded with a string of curse words and hearty laughter. 

“Ethan needs one, too,” Mrs. Allende said, kind eyes surveying Ethan. “We need to think of what his will say and I'll ask your cousin Natalia to make it.”

The group erupted into suggestions of what to name Ethan's card but he remained silent. His throat felt inexplicably tight as he watched them, thinking of ways to include him. 

“How about El Anciano?” Lilac whispered close to his ear, her warm hand atop his under the table. 

Ethan smiled at her jab but it was half-hearted. 

“They love you already,” she said reassuringly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

For once, Ethan was speechless. 

“Alright, alright,” Lilac called out through the jovial clamor of voices. “We can decide on Ethan's card over the tamales and the bottle of tequila he bought for tonight.”

Jaime let out a loud cheer, his hands rubbing together in exaggeration. Lilac rose from her seat to retreat the bottle. When she returned, she raised it over her head like a trophy to the cheers of her siblings. 

“Good choice, Doctor,” Mr. Allende commended as he caught sight of the label. “How did you know that was my favorite?” 

Lilac telling him that morning is how Ethan knew. 

“I just knew you had good taste and went with that.”

The smile Mr. Allende gave him left little doubt that he had effectively won him over too. 

Laurel scoffed quietly, flicking a finger to the tip of her nose and spearing Ethan with a look that basically shouted “brown-noser.” On a whim, he flashed her a swift middle finger, careful to keep it hidden from her parents. 

Jamie howled with laughter, Laurel looked impressed, and Lilac grinned, looking far more in love than he'd ever seen her. 

It was then that Ethan realized that the foreign warmth coursing through him, welcoming and comforting as a morning sun, was a sense of belonging. 

Translations:

Masa: Dough

Tamales: A Latin American dish made of dough and filling. It is steamed in corn husks or banana leaves.

Chilaquiles: a traditional Mexican dish consisting of corn tortillas cut into quarters and lightly fried. Usually topped with cheese, cream, and other ingredients.

Mijo/Mija: Term of endearment meaning "son" or "daughter"

El Sol de Mexico: The Sun of Mexico. A nickname dubbed to singer Luis Miguel.

Viejita: Affectionate way of saying older lady

Loteria: a traditional game of chance, similar to bingo, and is played on a deck of cards instead of numbered ping pong balls.

Maestra: Teacher

Ingeniero: Engineer

Borracho: Drunk

Anciano: Old Man

Note: Hi. Lots of apologies to give out. First off, sorry it's been literal months! I'm back. Sorry this is long. Sorry this is long overdue (I wrote it two years ago and held it close to my chest.) Sorry I still have other fics to finish!

And thank you so much if you're still here and read this!