I draw myself in Beetlejuice style because the two characters I named after Beetlejuice characters are finally in the comic and it took me goddamn two days to just ink them ugh.
but then when you realize who i ‘cast’ as the monsignor, it gets really funny
so trade off
in case anyone had any high opinions of me
(MSPaint doodles are my relaxation technique while doing thesis work)
The party playlist is just a looped song called “I should have finished this days ago (feat. oncoming panic attack)”
The humid air pressed down on them as they lay curled in a heap of sweaty limbs and mingled breath, too close and yet so far from what either boy really wanted. Emilein sat up, propped on his elbows, and kissed Nathan at the base of his jaw, making a soft trail along his pulse, careful of his teeth, and murmuring things that could be considered compliments and perhaps sweet nothings, though they sounded awkward and stilted, like words known in theory but never experienced, falling haphazard from his tongue.
Nathan groaned. “Mm, the hell you doing?”
"…Are you flirting with me?"
Emilein paused, pulling away. “Maybe.”
"Shit, ‘m pretty sure people usually do that ‘fore they put their mouths on somebody else’s prick, not after. ‘S why it’s called foreplay.”
"Mais, what’d you know?" Emilein huffed.
"What’d you know, Em?”
" ‘Cause tha’s not how my sister does it."
Nathan’s eyes went wide.
"…I-I…I mean with other guys. When she, y’know, she has…other…guys over…"
He pulled him in for a hug, awkwardly tumbling back down into the mattress and holding him close despite the heat.
Please, please, please — it was the refrain of Jehan’s childhood, before his dad died, sung again and again at his parrain: “please can we?” “please one more story” and, like clockwork whenever Tiefer had to go, “please stay.”
He remembers his dad used to joke that he loved Tiefer more than him (he also remembers that, with all the casual cruelty of childish thoughtlessness, he had said that he did.)
He can’t recall exactly when please stay turned into please leave, please don’t, please stop, or if it ever even truly did, because even now, after thirty years should have exorcised all the ghosts from his tired bones, he doesn’t pull away, even as he swears he feels arms around him and dead breath against his ear. The bottle of pills that should have made it all okay — should have made him say “please go away” — remain unopened as he leans back into the touch that’s only as real as he allows it (and God, does he allow it.) “Please stay, parrain,” Jehan said to a room that should have been empty and still.
The grip tightened, pleased, and a voice like a death rattle hummed in his ear old hymns that meant nothing to either of them anymore.