Tumblr wants formatting and quality only to suffer, but, y’know, it’s Pride month, so here’s a scene from the graphic novel that @queerjew and I have been working on for the past… forever. It’s been highkey collaborative, but for the most part Dean did linework, traditional print lettering, and backgrounds, and I did the script, colors, and the tactile overlays (not shown).
It’s called Family is Always There, and it’s the first in a trilogy following a crew of queer disabled kids and teenagers as they navigate tricky situations like relationships, starting HRT without the input of actual medical doctors, and fighting hordes of horse-sized locusts with human faces! Did I mention it’s the end of the world? Because it’s the end of the world.
Anyway, we’re doing a bunch of cool stuff with this I’m really proud of, including roughs of a full-color edition with thermographic embossed braille and tactile graphics, which, as far as we know, nobody has ever tried to do before with a graphic novel. So, you know, no pressure.
Major Donal A. Hux woke up in a hospital bed to discover that his career in British Army’s Parachute Regiment was over and he was sharing his room with a very attractive lunatic. His roommate Kylo Ren, estranged son of US Defence Secretary Leia Organa, has struggled with behavioural problems since early childhood- such as telekinesis and the ability to read minds. The strangest thing is that Hux doesn’t find that very strange at all.
A Cryptid/Ghost Hunter AU in which everything is weird and no one is ever quite what they seem.
About a year ago I
got a new neighbor. The day she moved in I have to confess to being a bit
curious. She turned up with two large shopping bags and disappeared into the
house. There was no van turned up full of furniture, no cars full of boxes,
nothing, which struck me as very odd. For a start what was she going to sleep
For the first couple of days she just said hello when she
saw me, which I had no problem with. I like to be on good terms with my
Now I need to point out, I spent a lot of time sitting in my
yard. I smoke, but not in the house and I had a very old dog that needed to go
out to pee about a million times a day. In the summer I loved to garden and
I’ve always been out there more than I’m in. My door is right next to the low
fence that separates the two properties.
The next time I saw her she came scuttling over to the fence
and introduced herself as Margaret, and I told her my name was Debra. She was a
small blob of a woman who looked in serious need of a very long shower. Her
clothes were baggy and nondescript, but she seemed friendly enough. She told me
she hadn’t been happy in her last home as she didn’t know anyone and hadn’t
managed to make any friends.
I told her a few little things about myself, just things
like my name and how long I’d lived there, but I didn’t find her very easy to
talk to. As the conversation dried up she just stood and stared at me. Before
things got awkward I made my excuses and went back into the house.
After that things changed. Gradually over the course of a
week or so I saw her more and more. Her kitchen, which was built on to the back
of the house, overlooked my garden, and every time I went out I could see her
standing staring out the window at me. I’d be out no longer than five minutes
and she’d be there.
Our conversations consisted of her either questioning me
about everything I did, “Where was I going?”, “what was I doing?” and even “what was
I cooking?” or those long weird silences where she just stood and stared at me
while my brain fumbled about trying to make conversation and not be rude. These
conversations always ended up with me making some excuse and coming back
I tried looking busy and gardening. I’d stop for a little
while and have a short chat and then say something like “Well, I’d really
better get on” but she never took the hint. As I weeded and watered she’d still
be there, hanging over the fence staring at me.
Sometimes one of the other neighbors would start chatting as
they walked past. I’ve lived here a long time and I know most of my neighbors
really well. No sooner than we started talking I’d hear this voice from behind
‘Hello Debra, nice day isn’t it?’
Part of me thought that the poor woman didn’t know anyone so
obviously she wanted to meet the neighbors, but part of me wanted her to butt
I even tried lurking just inside my door to have my smoke,
but that didn’t work either. I heard this voice drift across the yard, “Warm
again isn’t it, Debra?”
Now I know I’m probably coming across as unfriendly, but I’m
honestly not. It’s just my yard is my little bit of peace and quiet and I felt
like I had nothing in common with this woman. I didn’t need a new best friend
which is what I felt like she was aiming at.
Next thing I knew she’d gotten herself a little dog exactly
the same breed as mine.
I put some clothes out in bags for the thrift store van, but
before it came to collect she came knocking on my door asking if she could have
them. I mean, what could I say without seeming mean and petty? I told her she
was welcome to them. So now she was walking about dressing like me too.
I noticed a change in her mannerisms. It was like all that
time she spent watching me she’d been taking mental notes. The habit I have of
biting my lip when I’m slightly annoyed. The way I push my hair back out of my
eyes. She seemed to me almost mirroring my behavior. I told myself I needed to
get a grip and I was just being paranoid.
She got her hair cut and dyed the same color as mine. I
tried to see it as a compliment.
I felt in some odd way that she was watching me and learning
how to be a person.
She’d seemed so naive when I first met her, almost
childlike, but she was changing.
The time that really got under my skin was when I left the
house to go shopping, and there she was in the street talking to an old man
that lives a few houses along. His vision isn’t the greatest and he literally
stopped dead and his mouth fell open when he saw me. He’d thought he was
talking to me.
A couple of weeks after that she got a tattoo. Not just any
tattoo though, my tattoo. I have a large tribal one that runs down the left
side of my back. Hers was exactly the same. She was so excited when she showed
me it too. Like it was completely normal. I had no idea how she did it. I could
only think at some point she’d taken a photo of my back when I was lying in the
While she was showing me, I noticed another tattoo on her
other shoulder. It was of a crows head in a raggedy looking circle. Hard to
describe but really nice. It was also oddly familiar. I went back in and
stomped round my house, swearing under my breath about her. It was a couple of
hours later that it clicked in my mind. I’d seen that tattoo before. There was
a bar I went to occasionally a few miles away, and there was a girl there
regularly, with exactly the same tattoo.
That night I decided it was time for some Facebook stalking.
I started off checking out the Facebook for the venue, flicking through it’s
albums, and suddenly there she was. The girl with the crow tattoo. I kept
flicking through seeing if she was tagged in any of them. Suddenly I froze.
In this particular photo the girl with the crow tattoo was
standing smiling. She had pale pink hair shaved up one side. Standing next to
her, with identical hair, in almost exactly the same clothes was Margaret.
I took a screen shot of it and messaged everyone I knew with
a copy. Margaret was freaking me out and I really wanted to talk to someone who
knew her before.
Then a couple of weeks later I got a call. To begin with it
barely registered who I was talking to. I was having a really crappy day. My
little dog had escaped the garden. I’d popped into the house to make a cup of
coffee and when I went back out she was just gone. I’d spent the day scouring
the streets in a blind panic, so when my mobile rang my heart was in my mouth.
My phone number was on her collar and I was hoping so much it was someone
saying they’d found her.
“Hi, is that Debra?” the voice asked.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“My name’s Margaret. I’m the girl with the tattoo, and I
understand you’ve been trying to get a hold of me?”
I was instantly confused. Were they both called Margaret? I
explained about my neighbor and how I thought maybe they knew each other.
“If she’s who I think she is, she used to be my neighbor and
her name’s not Margaret. She stole that from me. I haven’t got time to explain
but I need her address. The police are looking for her.” Her voice shook with
an emotion I didn’t understand.
So I did. I gave her Margaret’s address.
Within ten minutes the street was full of police cars, but
they never found her.
They found my dog, in a bag in the freezer.
They found a wall covered in photos of me, taken through my
windows during the night. There was even one of me getting changed, tattoo on
I guess in a way I was the lucky one though, because when
the real Margaret had called the police about her, not only had they found a
wall covered in photos of her, they’d found her two missing children in the
She still hasn’t been
found, and I’m guessing she didn’t manage to get away with more than a couple
of carrier bags of stuff. So if you should happen to get a new neighbor, a
small nondescript blob of a woman who seems overly keen to be friends I’d
suggest you avoid her. Oh, and as a heads up, she’ll probably tell you her name
Shawn groans and rolls over, pulling a pillow down tight over his head to block out the blaring music from the apartment below his. He’d been wide awake all night, tossing and turning, trying anything to get a minute of sleep but to no avail. It was only as the sky had begun to lighten and the birds performed their morning chorus that his eyes had drooped and turned heavy. And of course, that was when his mysterious downstairs neighbour had decided to turn their music up full blast.
“Who listens to this at seven in the morning?” he grumbles to himself as he throws a shirt on over his track-pants and walks out of his apartment to the lifts. The heavy guitar and shrieked lyrics were hardly the kind of gentle wake up tunes he himself would opt for, but each to their own.
Here is my hair, for those that wanted a reference. My hair is a little odd cause it’s just been grown out from an inch long buzz cut, and then I shaved one side once my hair got long enough. So all my hair is actually one length (it’s been over a year now since I’ve cut it)
hey Max! what kinds of piercings do you have???? is it just your nose and ear(s)???
“I have an eyebrow piercing. My other ear has the same piercings, but I don’t usually wear shit in ‘em. I got them done before I shaved one side of my head and grew out the other side. Can’t even see the other ear, so why bother? My hair gets tangled in those things easily.”
It must have been six hours already. You had been staring at
a black wall, huddled up in the middle of a room, pulling at the sleeves of
your sweater every so often to try and keep warm. It didn’t help, really. You
had been freezing ever since you got here.
Wherever here was.
i don’t. really know what this is but… enjoy i guess?
A/N: This chapter took a long time to get out and I am sorry for that, but I hope you like this surprise chapter! I’ve been extremely busy between work, wedding planning, and doctors visits trying to figure out what is wrong, but I have been thinking of you ALL! Much love and please enjoy!
ADDITIONAL NOTE: Thank you to all who submitted names to me. The two names chosen were Oliver and Laurel!
Anonymous said: Can you please do a bobby imagine where you’re dating and he trusts you to shave the sides of his head, but you accidentally mess up and you feel really bad, and get kind of upset, but Bobby is the sweetest and tells you that it will grow back and not to worry about it.
((A/N: SO…. Yeah, reader doesn’t talk much, but I don’t feel like this is an introduction? This whole thing happens right after the end of the manga, google makes me sad but still inspired because before I didn’t how the plot would work out and now I have a decent plot idea. I don’t USUALLY write on this blog but whatever. Enjoy Tokyo Ghoul fans!))
“I want to be like Cinderella, but without the shoe. The shoe makes it complicated, it’s easier if he just knows my face, you know?”
“Then what’s the point in getting a mask?”
“Because that’s my ‘shoe’.”
“I thought you didn’t want a shoe.”
“I know, that’s why I’m getting a mask.”
“But with a mask-”
“-and when it falls OOooOff~ he’ll see my face and then BOOM. Babies.”
______ rolled her eyes at her friends’ antics. Connie was an energetic, tall, unnatural blue-blonde with a passion for dancing. Recently, her friend had discovered raves and, without really understanding them, had taken up an obsession with getting a mask like she had seen on Google images.
______ smiled gently, almost shaking her head at how Connie would always take an extreme turn in something and then forget all about the next week.
“Hey, don’t space on me. Keep looking for the mystical medieval door with the barrels,” Connie ordered, frantically whipping her head from side to side into alleyways.
“This place probably doesn’t even exist, Conn. Just order one offline,” she groaned, shielding her eyes from the hot sun of the day. She was getting tired of running around looking for this mythical mask shop.
“Let’s go get coffee or something,” ______ suggested.
Connie grimaced at the other girls impatience. “_____, I need a mask. Besides, you just aren’t looking for the right-” Connie suddenly stopped at the entrance of an alleyway, a smug grin growing on her face. She crossed her arms and directed her grin towards her friend, who stopped and noticed the small standing chalkboard pointing into the alleyway. “MASKS” it said in big letters under the arrow.
“Signs~” Connie finished, practically skipping down the alleyway.
“Connie! Wait!” ________ called trotting along after her.
The alleyway curved slightly to the right and split off in both directions. The right lead back to the street, and down to the left were two artfully colored barrels on the left side of the alleyway.
“Foooound iiiiit~” Connie sang, running down to the door, _______ close behind.
“Art Mask Studios,” _______ read the wall beside the door aloud.
“I feel like this should have been obvious,” Connie laughed, before pushing on the heavy wooden door.
________ followed Connie into the studio, a blast of air conditioning pushing back. Inside was a relatively large room with checkered floors and square paneled walls. A few masks adorned the walls and inside the cases all around. Some were tribal, or festive, others were creepy, or even just animal themed.
“I don’t see anyone,” Connie whispered to _______, as they awkwardly stood in the quiet space.
“Maybe they’re in the bathroom or something,” ______ suggested, stepping over to a case look at the masks inside.
'They all look sad,’ she thought, looking at the greek theater-esque masks. The one in the middle was blue and plain faced, with slitted eyes and many lighter blue water droplets coming from the eye corners and nose. A moon symbol garnished the forehead.
“Ha. This one’s kind of ironic,” ______ laughed quietly.
“Can I help you?” sounded a voice from the far side of the room.
______ looked up from the case and almost jumped out of her skin.
A pale man with dark hair, shaved on one side, and piercings leaned against the doorway. His hands, which were covered in black tribal tattoos, were shoved in the pockets of his baggy black cargo shorts, a short sleeved, black v-neck covering the rest of him. He also wore dark sunglasses.
_______ froze but Connie only paused a moment.
“Hi! I’ve heard a lot about your shop and came down for something custom. Are you open for commissions?” she asked quickly, sounding a little higher pitched than usual.
The man reached up to scratch his neck and pushed off the door to walk further into the room.
“Yeah, sure. I’m free for commissions,” he said. ________ had a chill run up her spine at his voice.
He jabbed a thumb towards the room he had come from. “I was just working in the back. I’ll take your measurements back there, if you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah, sure!” Connie replied quickly, while ______ felt uneasy with being in any small space with such a strange stranger. The man led them to the back where Connie sat in a high stool and ______ leaned against the wall.
“Name’s Uta, by the way,” he mumbled, fumbling about the messy desk on the opposite wall. He pulled out a measuring tape covered in paint specks from a drawer and returned to Connie.
“I’m Connie, and this is my friend, _______,” Connie replied.
Uta extended his chin to _______ with a mumble.
“Have you got anything specific in mind?” he asked Connie, guiding the tape around various circumferences of her head.
“Totally! Okay, so like, I just discovered raves, and all the ravers I’ve seen have these cool masks on, so I thought why not get one? And I really wanted it personal so I thought, why not do like a Cinderella inspired thing, you know? I don’t know, I thought it’d be cute,” Connie explained, suddenly bashful.
“Cinderella. Hmm,” he repeated, taking time to scribble down sizing notes on a pad. He scribbled Connie’s name above.
“Do you go with her, ________?” he asked, not looking up.
“Huh? Oh! No, no i don’t. I, um… I’m not into dancing,” she sputtered, caught off guard.
“Aw, well that’s no fun,” he said, going back over to Connie.
“Yeah I know,” Connie pouted. ______ glared.
“Extend your chin for me?” he asked Connie, who obliged promptly.
“That’s alright,” he continued. “I’m not into the party scene too much either. People like me don’t do well with the public.”
'At least he’s conscious of his image,’ ______ mentally grumbled.
He scribbled down the last sizes and clicked his pen, turning to lean back against the desk. “Well, that should do it, really,” he announced.
“Great! I don’t have a budget so go nuts… Reasonably nuts.” Connie instructed, hopping off the stool.
“Reasonably nuts,” he repeated. “Alright. Expect a call from me in a week or so.” He plucked a white card with the studio logo and phone number off his desk and handed it to Connie.
“'kay. Thanks so much!” Connie grinned, then fled out the room, _______ following.
_______ stopped however as they passed the case from before.
“_______?” Connie asked, stopping in the doorway.
“Yeah, give me a second,” she mumbled, looking down at the blue mask.
Connie shrugged and closed the door behind her with a loud thud, leaving _________ alone.
'It is beautiful,’ ______ thought, lightly placing her fingertips on top of the glass.
The light seemed to only shine on the tears, and the curves were so elegant and human. _______ wasn’t sure how it would be to wear it, or even if she would consider wearing it. Wear it where?!
“How is it ironic?” breathed a voice on her neck.
________ jumped at his voice and spun around to stand face to face with the strange Uta.
'B-back up, buddy!!’ she thought.
He was so close to her face, they were almost touching, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“U-um,” was all she could manage.
One of his eyebrows quirked upwards slightly, and she grew more confident in her small amount of humility.
“Well. Usually people wear a metaphorical mask to hide their sadness. And this one’s doing just the opposite… It’s a mask to show their sadness proudly,” she explained quietly, not meeting his eyes.
He stayed silent, staring at her intently. _______ felt awkward and her face grew red hot. She felt him lean forward and she leaned back away from him until she was back against the case and had no room to go. Now, they touched and ______ grew red at the contact, putting up hands to defend herself.
“Um,” she finally got out, turning her head away from him as he leaned into her neck.
Slowly, he took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of her. He moaned low when his stomach growled aggressively, his tongue suddenly darting out to taste the skin of her neck. ______ squeaked and shoved him off of her, rushing out the door without a word. Uta watched her go, hearing her squawk to her friend quickly about 'nothing lets just leave’.
His stomach growled loudly again, almost painfully and he placed a tattooed hand on his abdomen. “Not tonight…” he said to himself. “We can eat tomorrow…”