i does not even

mac10514  asked:

I love picturing a protective Mattew around Stephanie

‘The stupidity of entitled men will never fail to surprise me.’ Stephanie thought, her internal barb both sour and a little on edge as the man scooted to her closer on his bar stool. Over the course of the five minutes since the stranger had sat down way too close to her already, she’s heard about half a dozen pick up lines, multiple comments about how ‘a pretty girl like her shouldn’t be alone at the bar’, and five offers for a drink. In return, she’d offered a half dozen disinterested stares, multiple replies of how ‘I’m here with someone, he’s just answering a phone call’, and five turn downs for drinks and explanations that she was not, in fact, interested in either a drink or him.

“Why don’t we head on out of here, hmm? If the bar hasn’t got anything you like, I’m sure I do back home.” ‘Am I being too subtle or something?’ Steph wondered, her flat, almost bored stare turning into something a little fiercer and angrier. The stranger moved even closer and put a hand on her wrist where her hands were resting on the bar and Stephanie felt her anger intensify. “I must be speaking French or something, so let me try this again.” She gritted out, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring at the unperturbed man. “I’m not interested, I’m married, I’m here with my husband. Go away.”

For a minute, she almost thought he was going to leave. The surprise on the strangers face made her think he had actually not gotten what she’d been saying, that he somehow had thought she was into him. That hope died quickly as the man shrugged. She could feel his fingers tapping on her skin, the charming smile suddenly felt a lot creepier. “I don’t see your husband anywhere, besides he doesn’t need to know. Girl’s gotta have some fun, eh? Lemme buy you a drink, then you might be more interested.”

The cajoling tone to his voice sent a shiver of disgust down Stephanie’s spine, and she went to hop off the stool only for the man’s grip on her wrist to tighten unexpectedly. 'Where’s Matthew?’ She thought suddenly, looking frantically around the room and feeling her heartbeat slow slightly as she saw her husband making his way over to them, brow furrowed and shoulders tense.

“Stephanie, sorry I was gone so long.” Matthew interrupted smoothly, wrapping an arm around Stephanie’s waist and shuffling closer to her side. 'Thank god.’ She sighed to herself, shooting Matt a relieved smile. “Anyways, we should get going. Busy day tomorrow and all.” He added with a pointed look at the man, his eyes flickering between his face and his hand where it was still wrapped around Stephanie’s wrist. If it wasn’t for that fierce glare, she could almost believe he wasn’t internally seething. There was something eerie about an angry Matt that she’d always found interesting, something that was incredibly cordial and friendly on the surface and yet left a kind of burning in his eyes that made even the bravest man flee.

The stranger glared back, and Stephanie winced as his grip on her arm tightened. “Oh fuck off, I’ve been working this one for awhile now. I got dibs.” 'No accounting for the stupidest man, I guess.’ She thought. The arm around her waist tensed slightly and that neighbourly smile seemed a little more brittle around the edges, like a broken bottle: sharp and dangerous and just itching for a fight. “Actually no, you really don’t and I’d appreciate it if you stopped harassing my wife before I kick your fucking teeth in. Choice is yours, friend.” Matthew replied, still smiling that poisonous smile. The burning in her husbands eyes seemed to flicker out and freeze over with something so cold Stephanie almost shivered and the man seemed to realize he may have made a mistake as he stopped glaring.

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ahh the sweet taste of improvement

also i tried a new shading technique

and this, children, is why we use references.

Also, first image was drawn on 6/21/17, second one was drawn on 12/10/16.

fun fact for neurotypicals: a suicidal person can laugh and make jokes and do things that they enjoy and live and work and function all while still being suicidal. stop erasing our mental illnesses just because we don’t constantly act like we’re mentally ill.

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based on this post

do not repost anywhere

Keith is taking his job srsly and I’m glad about that

first time doing a comic it’s 4:30 am and I’m dead 

Let us be misplaced together. Like short walks through big cities. Like hard work on Sunday mornings.
— 

‘Try’ is all we have.

-D.K.

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Have some unfinished doodles of some punk kids, looks like today I have nothing better to offer m(._.)m