If I Don't Draw Memes Any Longer I Think I Might Wither Away.

If I don't draw memes any longer I think I might wither away.

I've always loved how @muirin007 draws quotable TV sequences but with POTO characters.

I said I'm not good at drawing characters emoting, so all Erik does is emoting in this one, good practice.

When Christine asks how Erik is doing:

The original:

I'm projecting hard with this one.

When my partner is out I name this state of beeing "Schöner Wohnen" in english bad translation it would be "Better reside" 🤣 and than I'll do exactly the same.

My partner is on business trip I can do whatever I want while home alone --- work late while watching horror movies, and pass out while reading bad novels.

@vladimirsangel looooook how cuuuute!

bat mosaic at the rijksmuseum you are all i think about 💖

I am so impressed! This is so so soooo perfect!

And it matches to my erik so well!!!

I am crying out of happiness 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️

 For @blackforrestpunk, set in a little alternate universe of their webcomic. If you haven't read the webcomic, you should read the webcomic.

--

“Look, Sasha,” says Erik, resting his hand on the dog’s head. “It’s snowing.”

Sasha doesn’t understand the words, but she can hear the quiet sort of wonder in his tone, and she can sense his emotional state in the way all the best dogs always can. She raises her head, thumps her tail, and nudges the big pale hand with her nose encouragingly.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Ah, now. Walk is a word she knows. She sneezes, delighted, and hustles to follow Erik around as he pulls on his combat boots, lacing them only as much as is necessary for them not to actually fall off his feet. In deference to the weather his jeans have only a few rips at the knee.

“Erik!” comes the immediate call from the kitchen. Erik isn’t sure if Nadir is psychic or whether he just reacts to the trigger word “walk” in a similar way to Sasha. “You’d better be wearing your hat. It’s minus four out there….are you listening to me?”

To avoid a conversation, Erik pulls on a wool beanie hat, tugging it down so that it covers the join between the mask and his hairline, and mutters: “Yes….”

A soft dark green scarf is flung unceremoniously through the kitchen door and lands on Sasha’s golden back. She twists, snuffs at it curiously. “And that!” bellows Nadir, with the benefit of long experience.

Erik doesn’t say anything. He pats his thigh briefly to get Sasha’s attention, clips on her leash, and pulls open the door into the dark winter afternoon. Sasha, scarf dragging, follows cheerfully.

The cold is intense in the city at this time of year. People hurrying past for shopping are bundled up like fat little puppies in multiple layers of coats, scarves and hats. It makes Erik, at his long and spindly height, look even more like a looming matchstick man than usual. The mask at least protects from the brisk wind, and people aren’t looking too closely.

A bus screeches brakes in the slush and Sasha huffs, jumping.

“You’re right,” Erik says, putting a hand out to calm her. He finally picks Nadir’s scarf up off the dog’s back and absently loops it over his shoulders. Nobody is out listening to street music today. Not even the punks will be hanging out in their usual places in weather like this. They need somewhere more sheltered. Somewhere quieter, less bustling.

So they go to the Hauptfriedhof.

Erik likes it here. It’s quiet, and there’s lots of interesting things to look at, old static things, things that won’t change or shift or be alarmingly different suddenly. Human beings are a lot easier to deal with when they’re dead and not changing who they are the whole time. And well-behaved dogs are allowed. On her leash, Sasha is Erik’s constant shadow and tends not to wander far even when he occasionally lets the leash drop. He needs her, after all, and she knows that.

The cemetery is empty. It is growing towards dusk, and the snow remains light, but shows no sign of stopping. Erik and his dog walk together to visit one of his favourite graves, the one with the big stone tomb chest with the recumbent tomb effigy lying atop it. He likes this one because at the feet of the effigy is lying a faithful dog, staying with their master through eternity. The dog has curled ears, reminding him of Sasha.

Erik reaches out a hand and touches the head of the stone hound, brushing away the light coating of snow. He can see from the pattern of lichen and wear on the statue that he’s not the only one to pat the faithful creature. Humans love their animals.

Maybe this is the one thing that, despite everything, keeps him close to his own humanity.

Sasha is snuffling about in the snow that has blown into a drift at the side of the tomb, and Erik glances down to make sure she’s not eating something that’ll make her ill.

And that’s when he sees it.

A footprint.

Inside the hollow eyesockets of the mask, his eyes narrow in confusion as he frowns.

Plenty of people visit the graveyard, but he’d be willing to bet that very few of them do it barefoot in December.

These are the footprints of an adult, judging by the size. He takes a few steps, casting his yellow gaze about him, and – yes – there is another. And another. Someone has walked through fairly recently, barefoot in the snow, heading down the trail between the trees and towards the more distant larger mausoleums.

Of course there are homeless in this city. Every large city has them. Erik counts himself lucky to not be strictly homeless at this present time. He wonders if he needs to worry; not all street people are friendly or safe to be near.

A twig cracks, not very far away. The sky above is almost black with heavy clouds and the oncoming night. Sasha looks up at Erik, her soft eyes alert and interested – and then she trots off towards the sound, leash dragging in her wake.

“Sasha,” Erik calls, but not very loudly, and strides off after her. The dog is not going very fast, her pawprints criss-crossing the bare footprints. She has her head low, as if following a scent, but not like an animal who is hunting. She ambles. Casts back and forth.

And finally she sticks her nose into the shadowy gap between a large stone monument topped with an angel and the circling wall, and there’s an abrupt sound like an overboiling kettle. A loud, bubbling sort of hiss.

A cat?

Not like any cat noise he’s ever heard. Erik stops, and watches as Sasha draws back for a moment, then pokes her nose in again. She’s wagging. Whatever she’s found back there isn’t something that’s worrying her. This time the sound elicited in response is possibly more alarming than the inhuman hiss, because it’s definitely a voice. Using words.

“N-no!...please don’t…”

The voice is high with anxiety, but sounds masculine in tone. Not a local accent, either, and speaking in English.

“Sasha,” says Erik, thinking that he’s probably going to get a lecture if Nadir ever finds out his dog has started bothering random people in public, “here.”

Awkward. This is going to be so awkward. Maybe he should just leave. But the voice had sounded so frightened.

Erik knows a lot about being frightened.

He cranes his neck slightly, trying to see behind the stone.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “She’s friendly.”

He can’t hear any breathing. Erik’s hearing is acute; normally he can hear far too much of the sounds that people make by just living. The sounds that are often almost too much, and he needs to go to his room and put his headphones on to return to a state of calm. But here in the cemetery there’s nothing, only the wind in the trees and Sasha panting quietly, her breath fogging in the cold air. She’s still wagging.

For a moment he wonders if he’s imagining things. It would be nice in a way if he was imagining things. So much less stressful than having to apologise to a stranger in a graveyard because his dog was harassing them.

Then Sasha huffs, just once, not even loudly, and there’s a blur of movement, a shriek, and something – someone – darts out from behind the angel statue. And slams straight into the nearest wall.

Shit.

Erik grabs for the end of the leash and brings Sasha back close to his legs. He stares, eyes huge, at the spectacle before him.

Lying in the snow face down in a tangle of skinny limbs is a -

Erik’s going to go with “person.” There’s a lot of long, lank black hair, legs and arms so thin they’re like sticks. Bare feet and short sleeves, exposing smooth skin the colour of blue-grey slate.

As he watches, the fallen person starts to rise with a whimper, and the hair slips back from the face and ears and the….

….nose.

Or rather, the lack of nose. Erik’s breath catches in his throat.

He looks like...

Like, but not like. The grey ears are long, and fiercely pointed. They react like an animal’s, drooping low and flat in what Erik can only interpret as extreme discomfort. The nose is (to Erik at least) a sickeningly familiar cavity above a mouth that’s more like a maw, with four pronounced shark-like teeth protruding over the almost negligible lower lip. Beneath dark eyebrows angled sharply in distress, sunken eyes as silver as Erik’s are golden stare up at him. The hands clutching at the snowy ground are large and bony, with fingernails tough and dark and more like an animal’s claws.

They’re in a graveyard, and there’s a grey person with fangs and shining predator eyes lying shaking on the ground in front of him. And Erik still can’t hear any breathing at all, where a human in this state would be hyperventilating.

Yeah. This is not a human person.

This is a vampire.

This is a vampire having a panic attack.

Erik can’t be blamed for not knowing exactly what is best to do in this situation. Even regular humans would find this challenging. But Sasha is not human, and she knows very well how to handle panic attacks. She’s a good dog. So she tugs at the leash until Erik, still rigid with shock, lets it slip from his numb fingers. Then she walks directly up to the cringing, whimpering vampire and plops down on her haunches, shoves her muzzle firmly onto that thin and trembling shoulder, and just...is there. Is warm and alive with soft fur and a calm heartbeat.

And Erik finds he can move again, think again.

He trusts Sasha. If she’s not afraid of the vampire, then neither will he be, at least for now.

He takes in the details in quick glances, not meeting the eyes, and stares at the grey earlobes particularly because they have obviously been pierced and stretched with tunnels. The black trousers are distressed and ragged. The black t-shirt has an extremely faded white print on it which could have once been a skull or something similar. Except for his inhuman aspects, the vampire could fit in with any of the local young goths, and Erik finds this prosaic detail reassuring. It could even almost be the start of a joke: a punk and a goth walk into a graveyard...

Sasha’s tail brushes the snow encouragingly. A trembling clawed hand reaches up and shakily starts to pet her ears. Erik crouches down, aware that often shorter people tell him that he looms. He realises he’s still staring, and tries not to. Somewhere at the back of his mind there’s an itch growing, the same kind of itch he gets when new music is trying to be born.

The vampire looks at him in resigned, miserable horror, as if he’s just waiting to be attacked or screamed at. Erik knows this look – he’s seen it in mirrors the few times he’s been unable to avoid them - and for a while they just sit in silence together with the snow falling softly over them both.

Then Erik, the tension of the moment finally pushing him into action, abruptly pulls Nadir’s scarf from his own neck and thrusts it forward without preamble.

“You’re cold,” he says, taking refuge in fact, and can feel the silver eyes on him, full of distrust.

It seems like almost an eternity before - with gentle, anxious hesitation - the scarf is drawn slowly out of his grasp.

It’s almost ten at night. The front door slams. Nadir relaxes, as he always does when he knows Erik has once more returned safely. He glances out into the hall and sees the familiar long hands hanging up the damp beanie hat on a peg.

“And where have you been?” he asks, hearing the thud of a boot being removed. “It’s been hours. You will freeze to death and I will have to explain to the police why there is an Erik-shaped icicle blocking the pavement.”

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. Sasha’s furry head pokes around the door, tongue lolling happily, tail up and waving. Nadir addresses her, as he often does: sometimes he tells Erik that talking to Sasha is the only chance he gets for decent conversation.

“Well, at least you’re happy,” he says, and Sasha yawns at him luxuriously before trotting in and flopping down on the rug. He pets her and recoils. “And wet. And cold. Erik, your dog is dripping on the carpet - “

“I made a friend.”

Erik’s voice is soft. He hangs back in the doorway, a shadow in a baggy hoodie, a little melting snow still on his shoulders.

Nadir blinks. This is unexpected. He wants to be pleased. He has known Erik long enough to not be immediately enthusiastic. But the yellow eyes behind the mask seem calm, and even a little brighter than usual.

“Great,” is all he says. He does not pry. Prying could make Erik skittish. Instead, he cranes his neck. “And where’s my scarf?”

“Where it’s needed.”

This is becoming infuriating. Nadir sucks in a deep breath, and Erik immediately heads off back to his room before any further interrogation is possible.

Nadir doesn’t hear anything more about Erik’s new friend for three months. But in the very first few days of March, when the rain is heavy and Erik has been out all afternoon again, he hears the outer door slam at around 6pm and sees Sasha’s happy dog smile appear in the doorway of the lounge. Their home is full of the scent of the dinner Nadir has been preparing.

There’s a pause, somehow full of anticipation.

“You can come inside,” Erik’s voice says, quietly. “It’s all right.”

And this time there are two sets of footsteps in the hall.

White Horse - The Two of US

it is so f*cking boring to be at home, sick and have adhd. i want to clean the flat. but my body wont let me. i want to write a new fic. but i have honey in my brain. so i finally edit this chapter.

have fun with it :-D

The Two of Us - Ceasar

it takes an eternity.