Comics About Food

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end. I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that." Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can." Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door."

My mom, Susan, had a habit of sending me to get her shopping. However, she would always leave out a zero when paying me back what was owed, blaming on her poor eyesight. I never minded. In fact, I would just cover the cost without another word. Then, Summer, my sister, had to throw shade. “Mom sends you money whenever she wants something. You never show us the actual costs, though. I bet you’re making a nice little profit off Mom behind our backs.” Susan smiled and didn’t even bother to defend me, as if confirming Summer’s accusations. My heart sank. Over the years, I had bought her things from major appliances to the smallest groceries, and each time, the payment she sent was short. Susan would just brush the whole thing off by saying, “Oh, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. My bad.” I had poured hundreds of thousands into her expenses, only to end up with a reputation as a thief who cheated her own family. When Susan sent me money for the New Year’s Eve catering, I simply booked food that fit the budget she paid for.

I'm Elaine Lopez. I'm a woman at the bottom of the food chain who once thought that love triumphs everything until my deadbeat husband cheated on me with another woman. It never occurred to me how exhausted I was with the marriage until she took the burden off me. Looking for a fresh start and vowing never to let love get in the way of the better life I'm forging for myself, I cross paths with Kingsley Larson, the ruthless billionaire who's known to have lost his smile and has a heart of stone. Entangled in a web of undeniable passion for one night, I'm convinced I'll never see him again until he turns out to be my new boss. If clawing my way up to the social ladder means I have to strike a deal with the devil, then I'll do it. After all, for our arrangement, all I have to do is to please him s3xually while I get to keep my job and live the life I have always wanted. But as we chase the lust that has taken root between us with no strings attached, it becomes clear to me that Kingsley isn't just the devil, he's so much more. He's my ruin, the same way I'm his.

My mother-in-law is extremely frugal. She reuses paper others have discarded, carefully saving the unmarked portions. She even takes the black waste oil from the kitchen range hood and uses it to cook our meals. She says, "Frugality is a virtue—it brings blessings!" I try tirelessly to convince her otherwise, throwing out all her filthy items to protect my family's health. But while she praises me to my face, behind my back, she uses my baby's food scissors to clip her grimy toenails. My child eventually dies of a lung infection, leaving me heartbroken. My mother-in-law, however, points her finger at me, saying I'm unlucky and that I've brought misfortune to their family. Even my husband blames me. In the end, they use a knitting needle to pierce my throat and stab me to death. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I first see her picking up dirty paper. The first thing I do is hide all the high-quality tissue paper I had stocked up on before my pregnancy, pretending I knew nothing. She calls these blessings, right? Fine. The blessings of this miserly frugality—she can reap them all herself!

After my wife tortured me for the 98th time for Hudson Langdon, I gave up all hope and accepted her bestie, Mona Sachman, as my girlfriend. After a night of passion with Mona, she promised to help fake my death and we would get married overseas using a new identity. However, I woke up earlier than expected inside the coffin after taking the suspended animation drug Mona gave me. I was unable to move, but I could hear Mona talking to someone outside the coffin. "Miss Sachman, you've gained Sean Langdon's trust by instigating Sheila Edwards to torture him and pretending to save him after that. Why do you need to arrange for him to fake his death and bury him?" "That's the only way for the Langdons to believe that he had truly died, and for Hudson to secure his position as their heir. No one would ever mention that he is an illegitimate son after that." The other person asked after some slight hesitation, "Isn't it a little too long to wait seven days to dig him out of the coffin after you and Hudson Langdon get married?" "The drug is effective for five days. I've already gotten someone to put food, water, and an oxygen canister into the coffin for him. He won't die so easily."

Six years ago, a corporate acquisition deal I handled went up in flames, and 50 billion dollars vanished into thin air. Bankrupt investors spray red paint all over my front door for a year straight. Dad died from a stroke, and Mom lost her mind and disappeared. I ended up doing six years in prison for embezzlement. After I got out, I changed my name and started delivering food in downtown, running myself ragged for a few bucks per delivery. But then my ex-wife, Shirley Pearce, showed up, and the entire delivery station ground to a halt. She had become a financial powerhouse, a regular on the covers of business magazines. Reporters blocked my delivery scooter, shoving microphones in my face. "Mr. Marcus Quinn, Ms. Pearce has been single for six years, paid off all your debts, and she's been waiting for you to come home!" I stared at that perfectly made-up woman with her adoring eyes and felt nothing but disgust. That so-called "devoted" ex-wife of mine? Six years ago, she had forged company seals to help her boy toy short the stock market. Then, when everything fell apart, she threw me under the bus to save herself.

WARNING: R-18 l MATURE CONTENT l SPG l VERY SEXUAL l READ RESPONSIBLY After sharing a hot steamy night, she left him the last money she had in her pocket. A one thousand peso bill as a 'payment for his service'. One week later, the agency hired her and she and started working as a personal chef and housemaid to a man whose identity was unknown to everyone. She only knew him as a CEO whom he thought an old man with a fat belly and a bald head. Working for the old man without seeing him for almost a month was peaceful and pleasant. Cleaning the house, cooking the food and leaving him a note to cheer him up everyday was now her favorite routine. She enjoys serving him. She loves the peace and silence her work is giving. Everything is calm and perfect, not until the day, a young, drop dead gorgeous bachelor with a piercing blue eyes, who happened to be a single dad showed up with his five year old daughter. Who would have thought that the old man, she thought she was working for, is the same man he ridiculed and measured the 'service' lousy and dissatisfied, turned out to be her boss? Could she still run away from him? or Will she let herself be trapped in the midnight again?

Animals were driven with only a few instincts to live their lives by: to find food, shelter, and to mate. Humankind was driven by multiple things: lust, anger, hate, grief, jealousy, joy, and a host of other instincts and emotions. When lycans were created the goddess of such things thought it would be enthralling, exhilarating to see how such savage wolves and desensitized humans would meld together as one... The result was disastrous. The select few humans she chose to go forward with her experiment with the strength of her sacred animal, the lupine, destroyed one another. He was a mosaic, composed of broken pieces. She was an unfinished art project The moon godddess ends the lives of Lycans she sees as a threat to the Lycan community. Instead of being ripped apart by her hounds, she gives a warrior the chance to redeem himself and his friends through gifting him a mate who is bound to change his life. An accident links a potential future servant to the moon goddess to the warrior. How will Pomelia Grace, a holy novice react to being mated to such a man, Warren of Bane pack? All of the humans she chose went mad with the power, abilities, and strength that came with the wolf gene. The goddess had succeeded in creating a unique race but had a hard time managing her creations without killing them out of anger.

The end of the world was upon us, but there weren't enough spots for evacuation. The roars of the zombies echoed in my ears as my fiancé, Oliver, gritted his teeth and pulled me onto the rescue vehicle—securing the last available seat. I arrived safely at the survivor base. Lina, his first love, did not. The zombies tore her apart. Oliver still went through with our marriage, but I never expected that he had only done so to make me suffer. In his eyes, I was the one who had killed Lina. If she had to endure such agony, then I should, too. For five years, he hated me. My life was worse than that of a stray dog scavenging for food on the street. On the day my divorce was finalized, he kidnapped me, dragged me into the wilderness, and wrapped his fingers around my throat. Then, he threw us both into the swarm of the undead. When I opened my eyes again, I was somehow reborn on the day the apocalypse began. The rescue team was shouting impatiently, "One more! We have room for one more—hurry!" I turned to Oliver, watching his hesitation. Then, with a quiet smile, I took a step back and let someone else have the last seat.

On our Christmas break road trip, my cousin Felix Lloyd spotted some high-powered speakers at a highway rest stop. He had to have them—said he wanted to "blast it." "It's Christmas. We finally get to see everyone! We need some vibe!" My wife, Lana Ramsey, smiled and helped him pay. "Young people have energy. They know how to enjoy life." I yanked the power cord out. "Those aren't for regular cars. This is an EV. Overload it, and the whole system fries. Then what—just stuck in the middle of nowhere?" Lana's parents, Vincent and Donelia, booed me, calling me a buzzkill. Felix cranked the volume all the way up. Lana glared at me. "Say one more word and get out. I'll drive." Later, the speakers fried the battery system. We were stranded in total darkness on a rough mountain road. They finished the last of the food, then shoved me out to "go find help." I slipped, rolled down the slope, and died. When I opened my eyes, I was back—right when Felix jammed the speaker plug into the charging port. I grabbed a few more subwoofers and handed them over. "One isn't enough. Add more. That's how you really crank it."