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So this is where I'll post the Tim and Chris stories I'm working on, which will all probably be little-mini adventures that the duo have in between Zag's comics. Here's the first story, which is an origin story of how we both met (note: not actually how we met):

Oh Hey, An Origin Story

 

It was a dark and stormy night, as most stories start out with. Tim was walking home from a long day of work, minding his own business, when he heard a commotion down an alley nearby. Curious, he crept toward the alley and looked at what was happening. There, he found what appeared to be a boy in a blue and yellow jumpsuit lying on the ground, a big burly man standing in a doorway, looking down on him with a scowl.

"Dammit Chris, how the hell did you even get drunk? All you drank was chocolate milk!" The man shouted at the boy, who drunkenly picked himself up.

"I, I's tellin' ya, man, somebody musta spiked it er sum-*HIC*-thin'!" The boy, apparently named Chris, slurred back to him.

"Y'know what, that's it, that's the final straw, you're not allowed in this fucking bar ever again!" The man yelled, then slammed the door shut before Chris could protest. "Awwww, what the hell, man?! This 's the only bar in town!" Chris looked around, then spotted Tim. "Hey, ya agree with me, right? This 's bullshit!" He then kicked a can that was lying on the ground.

Tim just remained silent, and watched as Chris shoved his hands into his pockets and stumbled out of the alleyway. As soon as Chris was close enough, Tim placed a hand on his shoulder, then asked: "Are you really drunk?"

Chris chuckled. "Nope, I was just screwing with the guy. Trying to screw with you too by keeping the act up, but you caught on. Just didn't think it'd go as far as him banning from going to his bar..."

"What exactly did you do?" Tim asked, an eyebrow raised under his mask.

"Well I kinda jumped on the bar, shouted the chorus of Gloria over and over again, took off my shirt and waved it around, and maybe kicked someone in the face on accident. Then he threw me out and you know the rest."

"You really don't know when a joke goes too far, do you?" Tim said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Nope!" Chris replied, his voice completely genuine. Tim let out a small laugh at that. "So, what's your name?" He asked Tim, then began walking.

"Tim Thomas." Tim replied, following him.

"Well I'm Christopher James of 11302 the Third."

"Hm. That's a mouthful. So I take it everyone just calls you Chris?"

"Yep!"

"Where exactly do you live?"

"Well, I have this box a few streets away, bu-"

"You're homeless?" Tim asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah, technically, but it's not all bad! Sometimes the rats come and keep me company. But I'm probably gonna need to find a new box, because the rain always ruins my boxes." He said, his face twisting into a frown.

"Well, I think I might have a few boxes at my apartment..." Tim said, then Chris' eyes lit up.

"Really? I could build a fort with them! Fort Chris will be IMPENETRABLE!" Chris shouted to the skies.

"Right." Tim said, rolling his eyes beneath his mask. "C'mon, I'll take you to my apartment to get a box for you."

=========================

After a bit of walking, the two arrived at Tim's apartment. It was scarcely decorated, with only the bare essentials: a couch, a bed, a table, a TV, and a kitchen with all the required appliances like a microwave, a fridge, and a stove.

"Wow, you live here? This place is awesome!" Chris exclaimed, looking around in excitement.

"I guess." Tim replies, taking off his mask and setting it on the table. Chris looks at Tim, and his eyes shoot up in surprise. "What?" Tim asks, raising his eyebrow.

"I thought you were a robot or something, but you're just a normal guy? Man, there goes my theories..."

"What theories?"

"On why you were made! I was thinking you were killed in a tragic accident, but then got rebuilt as a robot! Then you were sent on missions to fight other robots like Megaman, but you rebelled against your creator and found your way here."

"Nope, just a normal, everyday human." Tim replies.

"Aww maaaaaaaan..." Chris slumps. Tim goes into his bedroom, then roots around in his closet. He walks back out with five cardboard boxes stacked up high. "Well, here they are." He says, setting them down.

"Thanks! These'll make an excellent fort!" Chris says, picking up the boxes and walking to the door. Tim opens it for him.

"Good luck, I guess. I'll see you around." He says to Chris, who in return says: "You too, Tim!" And so, Chris walked to the elevator, called it, then stepped inside. It closed, and Tim figured that's the last he'd see of Chris.

Boy was he wrong.

=========================

About an hour later, Tim was laying in bed when he heard a loud, blood-curdling scream from outside the building. He jolted up, looking around. Groggily, he stepped out of bed and headed outside. He saw some of his neighbors had done the same.

"What the hell was that?" He asked his next-door neighbor Silas Schlock, who replied in a thick Irish brogue: "I'll be damned if I know, pal."

"Well, I'm gonna go check it out." Tim said, turning to go back into his apartment.

"Your funeral." Silas replied, before walking back into his room. Tim slipped on his clothes and mask, before heading to the elevator and heading down to the ground floor. He jogged outside, and looked left and right. Another scream came, though this one sounded rather gargled, like the person might be drowning. He broke into a sprint in the direction that it came from.

He turned down an alley next to the building, and found it was flooded. Five boxes were floating in the water... Wait a minute...

"Chris!" Tim shouted. There was a splash, as a hand reached out from under the water and he heard a gargled reply that sounded like "Tim!"

Quickly, Tim jumped into the water. His masked allowed him to see clearly, and he saw Chris squirming around frantically under the water, attempting to swim back up. However, Chris' squirming began to slow, before he closed his eyes and stopped completely. Tim swam faster, grabbed Chris, then swam back to the sidewalk.

He set Chris down on the sidewalk and began CPR. After a while, Chris coughed up some water, then opened his eyes. "Ugh... T-tim...?" He muttered, before passing out. Tim picked him up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before walking back to the apartment.

Once inside the apartment, Tim set Chris down in his bed and pulled a blanket over him, before going to the living room and sitting down on the couch. The adrenaline was still keeping him awake, so he turned on some TV and watched reruns of Full House before finally drifting off into sleep.

=========================

The next morning, Chris slowly opened his eyes. He looked around, and found himself in a bed... Wait, how'd he get into a bed? He pushed the blanket off of himself and sat up, looking around. He didn't recognize the room at all. Then, Chris heard some noise from beyond the door. He stood up and walked out.

Once out of the room, he looked around again and realized he recognized this place: it was Tim's apartment. How did he wind up here? He realized the noise was coming from the kitchen, and walked in. There, he found Tim cooking breakfast at the stove. "Uh... Tim?" Chris asked.

Tim turned around, then said: "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"What happened last night?"

"Well, after you set up the 'impenetrable' Fort Chris, the alley flooded and you nearly drowned. I saved you and brought you back here."

"Really? Thanks." Chris said, taking a seat at the table.

"Are you really okay with being homeless?" Tim asked him.

"... No, not really." Chris replied.

"How would you feel about staying here, then?" Chris' eyes widened.

"Really!?" He blurted out, and Tim chuckled.

"Really."

"Oh, yes yes yes, a thousand times yes!" Chris shouted, jumping out of his chair in glee.

"Alright then. You're gonna have to sleep on the couch for a while, and you're gonna have to get a job to pay your share of the rent..." Tim went on, but Chris didn't care. He finally had a home. A place to sleep other than the ground. A friend other than the rats in the alleyways.

Once he was sure Tim was finished, Chris said: "Tim, I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Likewise." Tim replied.

And so, the dynamic duo of Tim and Chris was born.

The End

e: Insert friendly banter.

Well, technically this when they meet each other and first become friends; they're going to be nice to each other to build rapport, but of course won't stay like that for long. I'll be sure to insert more banter in the next few stories.

Whatever happened to predictability?

The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV?

As Tim, I can confirm that this totally didn't happen.

Thanks Tim, now i've got the Full House song stuck in my head. 

I'll link in the previous pages of the comic when I finish the third one. Tim is going to finally get off his rear and kick some of his own in this one.

Oh, and Raven is totally going to die.

Silas Schock awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The Penguin-man's sixth sense was tingling. It didn't often do that, because he didn't really have a sixth sense.

"HELP MA BOAB!" He cried out in a distinctly Scottish accent.

Angela, his plushly pudgy Foxwoman wife, was very exasperated being woken up. She was having sweet dreams about nueral algorithms and car engines. She answered his cry with a forlorn sigh, "What is it, honey?"

"I dunnae ken, gradh, ah jus sense a disturbance in the force! Deep down! Right 'tween me bowels an' me spare gonads! Same feelin' ah got when mah alternate universe self showed up outta nowhere fer plot reasons!"

"It's probably fine. Get back down here, I'm cold now..."

"Ah can't! What if this alternate me is evil!? Ah gutta stop 'im 'fore 'e soils mah good name?"

"No offense, baby, but I don't think you have a very good name right now, what with the public disembowelments at the Nazi parade and everything..."

"I don't get why any non-PETA guys got upset wi'that. Isne' common knowledge that Nazis arene' real people?"

"I'll explain it to you in the morning, hon. Can we just be adorable animal people and snuggle each other back to sleep now?"

Silas sighed. "Alright, lesgie back taesleep."

~

Silas Schlock awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The Magpie-man's sixth sense was tingling like a motherfucker, which was odd, because he didn't know he had a sixth sense until recently.

"JANEY MACK AN' BEGORRAH!" He cried out in a thick Irish brogue.

Andrea, his plushly pudgy Sealwoman wife, was not a little exasperated at this manner of waking. Until now, she was having pleasant dreams about advanced calculus and whatever the fuck else mad scientists dream about.

"Anata, you woke me uppu~..."

"I dunno, sweetheart, I just have tis weird feelin' 'tween me arsehole an' me splanch! Same feelin' I got when Flord made a clone army usin' me spare feathers ta take o'er da world!"

"Siras-kun, it is nothing to worry about. Can you come backu down and stop aretting the warm air outtu?"

"But it could be! What if somebody who looks like me's runnin' about bein' a diabolical blackguard an' boxin' the fox!?"

"He cannot really damage your reputation after today... No offense. I mean, you did scalp those skinheads in the street earlier..."

"The wankers at the news station are overexaggerratin' the screams! Everybody knows that skin'eads ain't got any feelin's!"

"A, mou ira ira suru! Just fucka me and go to sleeparu, okay?"

Silas sighed, "Sounds like craic to me, but no need to lose the rag."

~

Silas Schmuck awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed.

"OY VEY!"

Fuck.

I knew I fucked up somewhere. I thought I got the name and accent right, but apparently I was wrong.

Sorry for disturbing your sixth sense, Sent. But hey, at least this was interesting.

Thanks to you, Scottish Silas, Irish Silas, and 1930s Boston Jewish Silas are going to have to have a battle to the death and/or a Silas party until the tingling goes away. The nerve of you!

I'd kill to read that, to be honest.

Ah, shit. I cut the gag off too early! I could've added in that Silas Schmuck is a Pigeonite and Anita is a Russian Pandawoman! Then there would be more worldbuilding!

But... I guess it makes sense that his part of the story is partially snipped.

>partially snipped

triggered

#Triggered

Yes, I posted ONLY to hashtag.

They probably have different cultural stereotypes of your Spartacus character, too, now that I think about it. All of them emulate different kinds of ancient warriors and all of them are missing different parts of their once planet-sized genitalia.

Prepare the hype. I only need to ink the third page of Tim and Chris. However, I'm unsure as to when I will be able to scan it, as my family's scanner is inoperable at the moment.

EDITED: 2/2/2017

Yeah. I actually got around to inking half of it. It looks really edgy. 

I've decided to write some stories of my own. I once suggested this scenario as a plot for Chris to use, but he rejected it and made me feel bad.

"Tim and Chris accidentally break someone's property, causing them to vow to get revenge."

Tim and Chris walked through the Cystian streets, soaking up the warm sunlight. At this time, many faceless workers toiled at re-paving the cobbled streets, stone houses, and picking up litter. They were all commanded by The Banisher, even though he was unseen.

"It's pretty cool that the city is getting fixed up," Chris grinned, looking up at the sky and to the faceless drones that continued to work.

"You bet," Tim kicked loose a brick that was covered in troll blood. "It feels good to know that Cystia isn't rotting away."

The two walked past the news station, where Sir William Smiley and his lackeys would broadcast on both television and radio the daily news. A few speakers were mounted on the sides of the building so pedestrians could listen in on the current events. "Well, it  sure does feel good to know that the structures of Cystia aren't rotting away after all." Smiley's cheerful voice sang through the speakers. "Now back to Steve with the sports highlights."

Chris and Tim soon came to the end of the sidewalk, leading to a dark and foreboding hill surrounded by an iron gate. A few chilling stone statues decorated the entrance. Atop the hill was a gloomy stone castle, decorated with a large neon sign that read, "T-COUNT HQ".

"I've never actually seen the inside of that place." Tim rubbed his mask, trying to scratch his nose.

Chris gulped, "Me neither."

From behind a bush, a familiar face revealed itself. He was dressed in a simple blue tunic and brown pants, a mop of dark curly hair upon his head, with tan skin and an impish smirk on his face. "What brings you two here?" Zag, who rose from the bush, dusted himself off and stepped into the open.

"We were just going for a walk. It gets a little boring at the house, y'know?" Tim continued to rub his mask.

Zag nodded with a glance at the castle, "Yeah, I know the feeling. I'm out here scouting for potential recruits and monsters. Boss get's real hungry sometimes."

Chris frowned, "For recruits?"

"Oh, no for beast flesh. Especially cats and troll meat."

"That's cool, I guess." Chris leaned up against the nearest statue, and before Zag could warn him, it toppled over and smashed into pieces. Chris frowned, "Sorry man."

Zag began to place the pieces into a pile, and placed his hands on his hips. "You should leave now."

Tim stopped rubbing his mask, and furrowed his brow even though no one could see it. "Why?"

"Boss really liked this statue. I was going to head to the grand library and check out some grimoires to learn an 'animate stone' spell to awaken all these statue dudes. You just smashed his favorite one."

"Why was it his favorite one?" 

"It was cowering in fear. He likes stuff like that."

A large storm cloud began to form around the castle, casting lightning upon the ground. Thunderclaps and powerful gusts of gloomy air began to push Tim and Chris away. The monstrous roar tore through the air, much louder than any shrieking wind or booming thunder.

Tim and Chris bolted down the street, without a word of goodbye. Zag shook his head and dusted the remains of the cowering statue. In a mass of shadow, a hulking black wolf with glowing red eyes materialized near Zag and the statue. Count Fenrir sniffed the pieces of stone and barked, "Why didn't you stop them? That was my favorite one!"

Zag shrugged, "There wouldn't be a story if I did."

"What do you mean, story?" Fenrir paused and licked his chops. "Like a news story? That would be good for publicity." Fenrir raised his paws, framing an imaginary headline, "'Count Fenrir mauls degenerates', or uh, 'Tim and Chris, good riddance!'".

"Just chase after them already. I'll get to gluing this guy back together." Zag patted the remains of the statue.

"Right." Fenrir dashed down the street, in search of the heads of a couple of fools.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

Of course it's Chris' fault.

 

Wait, "Fenrir"?

As in the norse demon Fenrir?

Yeah. I was surprised when I first realized it too.

Hai.

Oh.

Do you know Fenrir's origins?

Son of Loki, bound to kill Odin, tied to a rock underground, sure. Why wouldn't I?

But the Nordic myths got the tales all messed up for the most part. I know myself better than the rest of them do. For example, I wasn't tied to a rock a mile underground, I was a banished to various dimension of pure darkness only to be truly revived when the slates of my eternal energy source are enchanted with the right spells. But they couldn't have known all that then, what not with their limited resources.

You're forgeting Tyr.

I was summarizing. I remember him. That know-it-all bastard. Man that was a rough day.

Pretty much I wouldn't have agreed to being chained if I hadn't been cornered. Things were tough and everyone I worked with was pretty much encouraging to "take one for the team." His hand didn't even taste that good. I swear I'd go for something like the liver if I could turn back the clock.

I also hate Thor. He just seems to smug and valiant for my liking.

I hate Thor as well. Say his name twenty times fast.

Done.

I especially hate how he has his own movies and comic books now. Clearly if anyone in the world deserves that much publicity, it's me.

Like it. (Although I actually don't have direct necromancy powers, contrary to popular belief. I'm a destroyer, not a builder.)

When did I say you had necromancy powers?

Oh. I misunderstood. You were the one going to revive the statues. Derp, my mistake.

Yeah, and I would have to use a spellbook to do it.  Also, on a related note, it would be cool if the statues were petrified victims instead of regular statues. 

That would be much cooler. 

Well, I guess I can't.

Only druids can learn the animate stone spell, and Zag's a paladin.

Forget what I said. Paladins can learn Druid spells.

Actually, now I don't really know.

Depending on the edition and what your pantheon is, you can totally take a level in the druid class without contradicting your paladin religion, so it could be done in theory regardless of the class restrictions.

Ah, thanks.

Copy-pasted from my Zag's Stuff thread.

-  -  -  -  -  -

Tim and Chris: No Choking Matter

It was a beautiful morning in Cystia, and what is a beautiful morning without an equally beautiful breakfast?

Tim and Chris sat at their table, shaking off the standard morning grogginess. Tim sat down and began to read the newspaper, while nibbling on a peice of toast he had prepared earlier. Who actually knows how that was possible, as Tim did not remove his mask.

"You do know that all that stuff that's in that paper is online, right? You're just supporting the continuous onslaught of trees who were horribly slaughtered to print that." Chris says as he pours a large glass of chocolate milk, which happened to be in the fridge.

"Sure, Chris." Tim mumbles without looking up and paying attention to Chris' remark. 

Chris opens the pantry and grabs his favorite box of cereal, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and grabs a bowl from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge. He quickly pours himself a large helping and splashes a load of milk onto the cereal. Chris' mouth couldn't help but water at the sugary morning delicacy.

Tim looked up from his paper and got an eyeful of Chris' breakfast. "Chris, you're surely going to get diabetes if you that." Tim scoffed while pointing a finger of disapproval at the heaping bowl. "You're already kind of chubby."

"You have your paper, and I have my cereal." Chris replied matter-of-factly. 

"Whatever you say, man." Tim rolled his eyes.

Chris began to scarf down his breakfast, heaping spoonful after spoonful into his gaping mouth. His beady and cartoony black dot eyes glistened as he ravenously consumed the bowl of cereal.

Tim simply shook his head at Chris' lack of etiquette.

As Tim silently read the morning paper, he began to hear Chris wheezing on the other side of the table. He slammed his fists and newspaper down onto the polished wooden table, "Dang it Chris, I told you-" Tim got an eyeful of Chris' face, more so his eyes nearly popping out of his head due to him choking on a spoonful of cereal.

Chris gasped and hissed, in a struggle to get a breath of air. His head began to shift to an angry red color. He would be asking for help, if he could speak.

Tim leaped out his seat to help his friend, and quickly began to execute the Heimlich manuver. A clod of saliva soaked cinnamon squares became dislodged from Chris' throat. Chris slumped to the floor, and wheezed. 

Tim stood over him smugly, raising his gloved finger. He was about to say something and rub the fact that Chris was a hopeless moron in his face. Chris, fully aware of this coughed and looked up with a frown. "Shut up, Tim."

Copy-pasted from the Writing Prompts Week #4 thread.

Tim, Chris and the Strawberry Pudding

-  -  -  -  -  -  -

The clouds crowded the skies, like a shroud of thick cotton. Drops of rain pattered on the many roofs in the lands of Cystia.

Chris was sitting on the couch, reading some comics on his phone. Tim was in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Tim bent over, rifling through the various foodstuffs. A small plain package caught his eye. The small plastic cup was covered in a simple film at the top, protecting it's contents. Tim snatched the small cup, and closed the fridge door. Setting the cup down on the table, he took a seat. Tim slapped his head, as he realized he forgot a spoon. He didn't really know what was in the plastic cup, but surely, it was some sort of paste like pudding or applesauce. In fact, he didn't notice any standard markings on the small cup. There was no brand, logo, trademark or expiration date. It was completely bare. A simple white and small cup with a film of plastic on the top.

Tim retrieved a suitable spoon from one of the drawers and shrugged off the peculiar thoughts. It couldn't be that bad. Tim sat down swiftly and removed the film, ready to dig in. In that exact moment, the contents of the cup began to tremble, gurgling as if in an attempt to speak to the masked fool.

"Hey uh, Chris-" Tim looked over to his friend.

Silas Schock, Tim and Chris' next door neighbor, cosmic guardian, and resident Penguinite, burst through their door, ripping it off of its hinges. He gripped a sizable steel spork in his hand. "Tim, back away from the pudding and get out of here." Silas spoke evenly and firmly. Tim hesitated, and joined Chris on the couch. Silas raised the spork, and the pudding cup trembled, clearly afraid of the utensil.

Tim was very confused. "What's going on, Silas?"

"Don't talk to me, dang it! I'm trying to defea-" The pudding leaped out of its cup, onto the ceiling. The pink ooze slithered along, heading for the door. Silas cursed and threw the spork at the door frame, lodging it into the painted wood. "This is strawberry pudding! It is a manifestation of evil, with a great weakness to sporks!" Silas didn't really have time to explain. "Just get out of here while you still can!"

Chris frowned, his face contorting into an expression of fear and confusion. "You can take care of this, right? I lost my favorite gun in that last full-kingdom blackout." 

"Bullets will do nothing! The righteous power of the spork is the only viable weapon for these sorts of things!" The strawberry pudding dropped from the ceiling in an attempt to land on Silas. The pious Penguinite protector dodged the evil ooze and leaped to retrieve his spork.

"How did this even get into our house!" Chris ran his chubby fingers through his wavy blonde hair, and sighed.

Tim furrowed his brow underneath his mask, "To think I was going to eat that stuff..." Tim trailed off, taking a single step back towards the couch and away from the pudding.

Silas ripped the spork from the door frame and spun it between his fingers. "Thank the mods you didn't. You would have been consumed from the inside, or used as a flesh puppet to further the dark agenda of evil." He leered at the pudding, while it jiggled mischievously. Roaring with righteous anger, Silas charged at the strawberry pudding, slamming his weapon into the soft pink ooze.

The pudding gurgled, boiling and eventually burning into a small mound of charred dairy product. Silas wiped his brow, and turned to Tim and Chris who had ended up hiding behind the sofa. "Where did you find this?"

Tim vaulted over the couch, and looked Silas in the eye. Tim rubbed the back of his head, "I found it in our fridge. The container had no markings to show where it came from. I didn't even know what was inside at first."

Chris looked up at Tim with a face of disbelief and complete confusion, "You were going to eat something with no idea where it came from or what it was?"

Tim shrugged.

Silas inspected the plastic pudding cup closely. "I suspect Ford has something to do with this. But then again, I always suspect Ford has something to do with a lot of things. Wait for a moment." Silas raised a finger and exited the two friends' apartment and quickly entered hid own. He returned with a gallon of gasoline and poured it all over the fridge, ceiling, table and floor wherever the pudding was. In a swift motion, Silas lit a match and tossed it onto the trails of gasoline. Naturally, the combustible liquid burst into flames.

Tim and rushed to stomp out the fire, while Chris filled up a bucket of water from the tub. Seeing as the strawberry pudding was vanquished, and the cleansing complete, Silas left with wave, running out into the rain-slicked streets.

"Who's going to clean all this?" Chris cried, looking at their scorched ceiling, floor, table, fridge, and unhinged door.

Tim shrugged.

http://i.imgur.com/f6eVDyn.jpg? (Tim and Chris page one)

http://i.imgur.com/o2y9Nie.jpg? (Tim and Chris page two)

http://i.imgur.com/ab6zdJj.png? (And, Tim and Chris page three)

Make this a manga.

Haha, what does it look like I'm doing?

Seriously though, It's just a comic. I'll have to show you guys the rough draft of page three that my friend and I drew all over for the laughs. I was meaning to draw Tim much more realistically, but decided to save it for a more dramatic occurance than beating on darklings or whatever.

:D

... Did I just turn one of them into a fucking gun?

That's awesome.

Also, how did Raven suddenly die?

Raven died because of reasons. It was more of an inside joke; as Raven left and took on the name Panther. 

Oh.

Carry on.

I simply thought it would be funny to kill Raven off.