Take this angsty comic I chose not to spend a lot of time on. :)

(takes place before sb events.)

Here’s a lil Undertale pmv I’ve been working on for a bit ;*) I’ll probably post some of the individual paintings later…

(if u take the time to watch the whole thing, thanks lol. it’s a little long. <3)

((The song is “supposed to be” by Jack Johnson.))

really sorry i haven’t been posting much art or been very active recently ;v; kinda dealing with irl things and might be a bit before i’m in a better spot i have some fnf doodles i wanna clean up a bit and post eventually but i’m just too tired and stressed rn

Happy Jaisy week!!!  Just a short lil thing I wrote cuz I love this pairing and I wanted to at least support the event a little bit <3

CW for suicidal ideation, smoking, and kisses!

***

Jon’s cigarette had nearly burnt down to ash, the flickering tip flirting with the scarred ridges of his fingers, when he says, “I think I’ve realized why I love you.”

“Why’s that?”  Daisy asks, her voice gone husky with the smoke they’re forced to share in the tight quarters of Jon’s office.  She could move farther away from him, but she doesn’t see the point.

“Because you could kill me.”  Jon sucks on the end of his cigarette even as it crumbles in his grasp, landing hot on his deadened skin.  “I always seem to love things that could kill me.”

“Everything in your life kills you, Jon,” Daisy answers.  “You had to pick something to love.”

“Would you still do it?”  Without his cigarette Jon’s hands twitch with barely withheld motion.  Looking at him is like staring into a funhouse mirror in all the wrong ways.  He is a livewire.  Daisy is old.

“Would I still love you?”

“Would you still kill me.”  Jon takes her hand between his and pulls it up until it’s resting at the base of his throat.  Nostalgic.  “If you had to.”

“Not very fair of you to ask me that, Sims.  Not when I’m doing so much better.”  Sometimes, if Jon is near enough that Daisy can hear his steady, quiet breathing, she can even fall asleep.

“If you had to,” Jon insists, because he clearly never had a good dog trainer in his life to teach him how to drop it.  “Maybe it’d be good.  Maybe it’d be quiet.  It’d be quiet for me.”

“It’d be too quiet,” Daisy says.  “A world without you.”

Daisy tilts her head, obliging Jon’s gentle touch on her chin.  He’s not strong enough to move her if she didn’t want to be moved.  But she wants.  “Not much of a lone wolf, are you?”

“Never have been.”  Daisy’s eyes sink halfway shut beneath the gentle rasp of Jon scratching at her chin.  She doesn’t want to close them.  The back of her eyelids are too close for comfort.  “I’ve always done my best when I have someone to look out for.”

“How easily you could’ve been a hero,” Jon murmurs, his fingers moving absently, unconsciously.

Daisy shakes her head.  “I’d settle for just not fucking it up any worse than I’ve already done.”

“Manageable goals, manageable expectations,” Jon recites like a fucking pamphlet.  His hand disappears from her chin as he reaches down to fish his cigarette box out of his pocket.  “Want one?”

“Nah.”  Daisy watches with the patient eyes of the hunter she’s always been as Jon painstakingly grips a cigarette in his stiff, unbending fingers.  He leaves it dangling between his lips as he grabs for his lighter, shining dull gold in the murky, underwater light of the archives.  It’s a wonder they didn’t all go blind doing so much reading down here.  Maybe their god wouldn’t let them.

“Your god now too,” Jon says from behind the hand he’s lifted to protect the lighter flame from the dead air around them.  “You signed a contract.”

“I didn’t sign it for that thing,” Daisy growls, jabbing a finger up at the ceiling.  “I signed it for you.  We’re in this together.”

“Double suicide,” Jon says, pulling his hands away and taking his first lungful of smoke.  “How romantic.”

Daisy leans forward and presses her lips into his, breathing in the acid of his breath, the smoke still pooling in his mouth.  She licks the edges of his teeth as she swallows the taste of it.  Of Jon, of his cigarette.  Of the slow death drifting around them in this unventilated coffin of an office.

“Well,” Daisy says, pulling back just far enough that the smoke can slip out between the cracks in their lips.  “I heard somewhere, once, that you only love things that could kill you.”