Fan Art

[shadowinthelight]

Sometimes I just look at panels and automatically see them animated.

[MerchManDan]

Hah! You're a .GIF cyborg!

[shadowinthelight]

The picture inspired me. My first poetry in Spanish.



text so you can drop it into a translator if necessary:
la pequeña muerte tan hermosa
con su cabello lleno de rosas
envuelto en rojo sonriendo
tu final es lo que está viendo
si quieres vivir hasta mañana
y evitar el timbre de la campana
ponte de rodillas no es tarde
rezale a Dios que te salve

edit: fixed a typo

[Dave]

Very, very nice!

I wish I had the talent to set it to music. Guitar seems right... possibly flamenco, possibly folk, and possibly just a very simple accompaniment with just one or two notes (or none) for each line.

[Jabberwonky]

Nice shadow, you should do more of this...

[shadowinthelight]

I wish I had the talent to set it to music. Guitar seems right... possibly flamenco, possibly folk, and possibly just a very simple accompaniment with just one or two notes (or none) for each line.

There is an extended version of Vincent Price's rap from Thriller on YouTube. It proves that with the right voice no music necessary.

Nice shadow, you should do more of this...

I just go where the muses lead.

[Dave]

There is an extended version of Vincent Price's rap from Thriller on YouTube. It proves that with the right voice no music necessary.
...
I just go where the muses lead.

Muses, sans music?

[Jabberwonky]

Nice shadow, you should do more of this...

I just go where the muses lead.

NSFW warning! Muses on Oglaf...(hugely funny, very not safe for work)
(although these are pretty tame in the noodity department)

The Blank Page
Muse

[shadowinthelight]

Well that explains the funny look on her face.

[shadowinthelight]

This is TazManiac's fault.

[TazManiac]

This is TazManiac's fault.

"He'll Flip ya... Flip ya fer real..."

[addendum]

btw- This small clip is from the initial grilling 'the Usual Suspects' are subjected to in the movie of the same name.

The fun part of his performance throughout is that even though the other actors all knew what Del Torro's lines where, he was so far deep into character that even the folks on set found themselves asking, soto-voice like, "What did he just say?..."

non-sequiturs are a beautiful thing, nes pas?

[scantrontb]

This is TazManiac's fault.

and i can imagine Buds response: "Howdy Spatula! I'm a Sticky-note myself; Nice to meet you!"

[shadowinthelight]

What a bird-brain.

[Sidhekin]

I googled "gyps meretrix".

Well done.

[AnotherFairportfan]

I like Bud's last line.

[Dave]

I googled "gyps meretrix".

Well done.

+1 for that... and extra applause for the punnish title!

I do remind you that making puns at the expense of somebody who has just had his heart ripped out, requires that you make a suitable payment to the Canopic Jar.

[jwhouk]

Yanno, I've always wanted to do a "Behind the Scenes" thing for WS, along the lines of a VH-1 Behind the Music, or THS True Hollywood Stories.

Problem is, the cast got so large that it would prove unwieldy.

[Yamara]

Came across this guest strip by Duella from six years ago:

http://wapsisquare.com/comic/duwapsi/

And so, I've penned an up-to-date response. If I drew faster than Zeno's Arrow flies, I'd have made this a one-page. But words it must be...

Relationship Rule #37-J

après Pablo and Duessa

Like candlelight, the unquenchable flames gently illuminated the apartment for hours upon hours. They lit upon the windowframes, upon the floor sculptures, upon all the bottles and glassware and everything within a wide arc of the four-poster; the iron frame of which held the running magic as well as anything, since the flames consumed nothing.

Georgette, atop her sheets, looked past the foot of her bed, where her demons silently cavorted in joy. Some were like her childhood toys, but most had some mark of the modelling life they had long been branded into, especially the hollow copies of her own face, repeated upon each of them. Their leader was a happy mask animating a poseable frame, singeing its elbows on a stray flame as it tried to signal thumbs up to her.

Beyond them, in the depths of her loft, almost unseen in the shadow, were the Jaguar's flock. One was writhing on all fours, wearing a mask too, but Jet could never quite make out what it was doing. The rest of the Jaguar's demons were standing, their bodies always facing toward her, but when Jet looked directly at them, their heads were faced away. Only when her gaze began to turn, did she see their unblinking eyes on her again. And though they stood in tight formation, she knew they somehow surrounded the room like a globe, turning every way.

But Jet's attention never strayed far from the corpse beside her.

The body lay half-fallen off the bed, headfirst among the gently burning stacks of empty gourmet delivery boxes. The radii and ulnae were free of flesh, as was the skull, its jaw wide but still, in a mat of black hair and spotted mange; and massive claws sprouted at every limb, all stiffened into a dead rigor.

Out from behind its great jagged teeth trailed a glowing tonguelike thread, which looped around Jet's various expensive tchoskis and culminated in a spectral bubble in the shape of a small woman, who Jet cradled in one arm as gently one could a phantom.

The ghost had a tongue of its own, exuding large and living tendrils of the most perilous fluid in all the universes, viscous and black, all over the bed, all over everything, while it deeply slept. The only noises were from some miniscule creature, lost somewhere else in the apartment, and its high-pitched yelping, which was nigh drowned to death in the ghost's loud, incessant purr.

Yes, Jet thought, her eyelids drooping over crossing eyes as a grin cracked through her perfect face. Oh yes. This is Love.

...

Eh, they're probably just binging on Netflix romcoms in their jammies. Plus ça change.

[jwhouk]

On The Beach

The gray darkness of a Minneapolis winter was in full force as he trudged along the shores of Lake Calhoun.

During warmer months, this sidewalk would be clear and full of joggers, bikers, people walking their dogs. You would actually be able to see the sidewalk, and the grass, and the shore of the lake.

Now, it was all just one big blanket of white.

The lone figure cinched the hood on his jacket tighter to try to fight the snowflakes as they pelted him.

They were winning. He wasn't.

She had told him that winter would fight back at him, that one time. Only she'd said it would be during the spring, or the early fall.

When you would least expect it.

He stopped in his tracks. That pretty much sums up my life right now, he thought. Didn't even see it coming.

The sadness hit him once again. She had stopped by his place – she had knocked, which was unheard of from her. She had unloaded all this stuff on him.

The near-suicides. The hospital. The multiple rapes.

She had been bossy when they had been in bed together. And very, very possessive.

He remembered complaining to Alan about it. Alan, being one of those sexually adventurous types, didn't see the problem.

Of course, Alan got the last laugh – he has the crazy girlfriend right now.

He looked down at the snow.

Girlfriend.

Something he didn't have. Anymore.

He saw a bench, over by where the lifeguard's station would be during the summer. He had to sit down.

If he didn't sit down, he'd probably start doing something.

Like crying.

He cleared off the snow with a quick brush of his gloved hand, and sat down. He briefly looked out at the lake.

During the summer, there'd be hundreds of people sitting out on the sand of this beach. All of them trying to soak in the sun and enjoy the warmth.

Something that the current date was drastically lacking in both areas.

He pulled his hood back. The snow immediately pelted him in the back of the head. He didn't care.

He had asked her how he could help. If there was anything he could do.

She had told him no. She just didn't think she should be using him. She was "too much of a mess" for him.

What did that make him, then?

The lifeguard's boat on the beach front was slowly being blanketed by a coat of snow. The forecast had said it would snow all day, and his mood was slowly growing darker to match.

He was staring at the snow so long that he didn't hear another pair of boots crunching in the snow.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw someone sit down next to him.

She wasn't wearing a hat. He knew exactly who it was.

It took everything he had to keep himself from lashing out at her. Mostly because he knew that Acacia could flatten the solar system if she wanted.

"Were you following me around?" he said, quietly, not lifting his head at all.

"Pardon?"

"Following me around," he said again. "Are you like a vulture or something?" She didn't respond.

"How much did she tell you?" he asked, rubbing his gloved hands against the top of his knees. "Are you well versed already on her hospital stay?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'vulture'," she began after a few moments. "I've seen you from my apartment for a few days now."

Acacia knew that was only partially true, but she didn't feel it necessary to tell him that she'd been keeping her eye on him since Monica had walked out of the Cerberus Club.

"I just know M was in a hospital," she finished. "Nothing more."

His eyebrow raised ever so slightly at this bit of information.

"She felt compelled to tell me how she was repeatedly raped while in the hospital before she told me that I was better off without her."

He looked down, biting his nearly frozen lip in frustration.

"In the end, I was nothing more than a chew toy for her."

In the distance, there was the sound of some horns honking over on Hennepin.

Acacia was floored by what Kevin had just told her.

"I – I didn't know about any of that," she stammered slightly. "She never told me about the time in the hospital. I don't know what to say about that."

Wow, she thought to herself. Sunshine and I have more in common than I thought.

She looked out at the frozen lake. For a moment, she remembered how, years ago, she had frolicked along the shore at this beach, clad in only a bikini, not caring a whit about the temperature.

Back then, Monica was fearful of her. Her fear was based in the unknown; because she – Acacia Budur – represented something she couldn't explain.

A teenage girl. Thousands of years old, from a civilization long dead. Impervious to the elements and physical pain.

And capable of turning the landscape into glass with a roar and a flick of the wrist.

But now? Now, the shoe was on the other foot. It was Monica who had changed.

Her powers had manifested themselves slowly after they had taken care of the Calendar Machine. But they had finally reached a point about two years ago where she had officially "leveled up" to her role as the Jaguar Girl.

She was able to transport herself – and others – at will, anywhere in the universe. Able to control and command demons. And, if anyone was foolish enough to try to kill her, she would just transport herself to safety.

And even then – if they actually managed to kill her – she would simply regenerate to her younger self, and start all over.

Indestructible. Essentially immortal. And full of anger.

Just like me, she thought.

The wind gusted briefly, making the snow whirl around them, dancing across the frozen surface of the lake.

"This will be of no consolation to you," she said finally, "But I believe Monica is pushing everyone who was once close to her away. She has outgrown all of us, and yet we all remind her just how fragile she really is. Maybe part of her sees that that makes her dangerous. Maybe she's tired of hiding how dark she has become."

A light shone briefly from behind them as a car approached on Calhoun Parkway. It made a strange reflection on the surface of the frozen lake, then disappeared as the car drove past the beach.

"She's outgrown us," he finally said in reflection. "That's a good one."

He shook his head briefly.

"I'm not even going to attempt a diagnosis. I do know that she never really trusted me. For once in my life, I'm going against my instinct."

He paused for a moment.

"My sister always told me I try too hard to fix things."

He turned toward Acacia.

"I used to bring home injured animals when I was little. They would die in my room, but I still brought them home."

He stopped for a moment, clearing a snowflake from his eyelashes. Acacia couldn't tell if he was crying at the memory, or not.

"She always told me to figure out who I attract, who I'm attracted to. Then figure who I need, not want."

Bud took a bit to process all that.

"So," she said finally, "what does that all mean? Are – " the words were catching in her throat – "are you letting Monica go?"

He said nothing.

"How can you be content with who you need and not who you want?"

He finally stood, his coat still being pelted by the snow.

"She made her choice," he said, looking out at the gray outline of the Minneapolis skyline. "I didn't chase her away."

He turned and looked at her.

"Need and want aren't mutually exclusive."

He jammed his hands in his pockets, against the cold.

"I'll be around," he added.

He took a few steps away, then stopped.

"My sis also told me," he turned, looking at her, "to take dance lessons to help me not be such a klutz!"

The vision of Bud's straw-blonde hair blowing in the wind – and her wide-eyed look at him – made him smile briefly as he pulled his hood up and trudged home.

[Yamara]

On The Beach

Nice! Not as wholesome as M & J's relationship, though.