#Need to draw em again sometime

[atomic-freezer]

Nocturne's siblings!

From left to right- Nocturne, Ode, Shanty, Waiata, Eulogia, and Arioso.

[chloesimaginationthings]

I love this about your art

Michael + Vanessa Afton: 😃

Vanny + Mike 😐

The Afton’s are just an emotional bunch

[skunkes]

[benetnvsch]

I am so full of joy and whimsy rn ,,,

[bmpmp3]

I NEEED to go back to making art that makes it ABUNDANTLY clear that theres something wrong with my brain BUT NOT in a cool or stylishly interesting way. i need to do it in a way that makes people say "hm." and walk away

[clownsuu]

Getting back into your Mob!Au for Welcome Home, but I forgot everyone's rolls in the mob! Can we get a refresher of the gang's responsibilities? I know Wally is the boss, Howdy runs the bar, Frank is financial manager, and Dusty protects the vault... but past that, I'm lost!

o h m a n its been a while since I worked, or even thought about these goobers lore wise JJHFGKSFF-- like holy moly I even forgot how to draw em (so take a test doodle lmAo)

cw bug/swarm silhouettes

But what from I remember, here's a list of their respected jobs (in order of Rank)

(for the main cast for now) (there may or may not be anything missing, or added/updated)

Wally: Obviously their most "enthusiastic" Boss. He doesn't do too much besides approve/reject orders, enforce rules, and be a casual reminder that, you are indeed, here forever*. Owns several brands ranging WILDLY (from cigs, to ovens, to baby diapers etc etc. Seemingly random, totally not a fire hazard)

Barnaby: Wally's Left-hand bodyguard. The boss isnt quite the greatest when it comes to discussions with potential clients/neighbors, so Barnaby is usually the one who does all the sweet talking for him. Usually the one who recommends "party" plans.

Howdy: Wally's Right-hand bodyguard. Due to his silent nature, he's purely there to be commanded however the boss sees fit. When not on duty as a guard, he's tending the company building's bar (open to the public on ground floor) and refilling stock.

Frank: Oh goodie look who ranked up! HEAVILY overworked however. He alone deals with all of the most boring of tasks, which include (but not limited to): Keeping every single paper file organized and up to date, calling in appointments for the boss and sometimes the family members, running errands, quality inspection in case they need to call in for second or even third party quality inspection, make online orders, make physical orders, update the decorative flora, plan events, put "party" plans into motion or reject due to budget, also cancel said planned events due to Sally, make sure the nursery is stocked and full, refill not bar exclusive fridges, haggling, getting rid of evidence, planting fake evidence, and so so so so so so so so much more! an alcoholic, and not-too recently started smoking.

Poppy: The only nurse who's available 24/7. Due to her severe insistent and persistent paranoia and anxiety, her workload has been reduced considerably (and shoved onto Frank.) On weekends, on her own accord, she likes to make everyone breakfast and serve it at the bar before everyone wakes up. Usually Howdy is awake as well and helps her whenever available.

Julie: Secondary nurse and "private" assassin. Specializes in poisons/antidotes, and organized crimes. Despite being a nurse, she's rarely doing nurse work, and instead can be found constantly reworking formulas, creating mind altering substances, and hunting for someone who's perhaps willing to be her guineapig to do test trials on (nobody ever is). Sometimes takes pity on Frank and helps him with their work. Sometimes.

Sally: "Public" assassin and a complete menace. Incredibly sloppy with her work and not completely reliable with making sure someone is dead unless she's allowed explosives (She's blacklisted from ever doing so again.) Developed a love for the next best thing: tasers. Mainly used to trash enemy bases and send a message that the mob doesn't take too kindly to their recent behaviors. Basically a physical embodiment of (and nicknamed) "Cease and Desist".

[ldknightshade]

morality: a character creation guide

creating and understanding your oc’s personal moral code! no, i cannot tell you whether they’re gonna come out good or bad or grey; that part is up to you.

anyway, let’s rock.

i. politics

politics are a good way to indicate things your character values, especially when it comes to large-scale concepts such as government, community, and humanity as a whole.

say what you will about either image; i’d argue for the unintiated, the right image is a good introduction to some lesser discussed ideologies… some of which your oc may or may not fall under.

either way, taking a good look at your character’s values on the economic + social side of things is a good place to start, as politics are something that, well… we all have ‘em, you can’t avoid ‘em.

clearly, this will have to be adjusted for settings that utilize other schools of thought (such as fantasy + historical fiction and the divine right of kings), but again, economic/social scale plotting will be a good start for most.

ii. religion + philosophy

is your oc religious? do they believe in a form of higher power? do they follow some sort of philosophy?

are they devout? yes, this applies to non-religious theist and atheist characters as well; in the former’s case… is their belief in a higher power something that guides many of their actions or is their belief in a higher power something that only informs a few of their actions? for the atheists; do they militant anti-theists who believe atheism is the only way and that religion is harmful? or do they not care about religion, so long as it’s thrust upon them?

for the religious: what is your oc’s relationship with the higher power in question? are they very progressive by their religion’s standards or more orthodox? how well informed of their own religion are they?

does your oc follow a particular school of philosophical thought? how does that interact with their religious identification?

iii. values

by taking their political stance and their religious + philosophical stance, you have a fairly good grasp on the things your character values.

is there anything they value - due to backstory, or what they do, or what they love - that isn’t explained by political stance and religious and/or philosophical identification? some big players here will likely be your oc’s culture and past.

of everything you’ve determined they value, what do they value the most?

iv. “the line”

everyone draws it somewhere. we all have a line we won’t cross, no matter the lengths we go for what we believe is a noble cause. where does your character draw it? how far will they go for something they truly believe is a noble cause? as discussed in part iii of my tips for morally grey characters,

would they lie? cheat? steal? manipulate? maim? what about commit acts of vandalism? arson? would they kill?

but even when we have a line, sometimes we make exceptions for a variety of reasons. additionally, there are limits to some of the lengths we’d go to.

find your character’s line, their limits and their exceptions.

v. objectivism/relativism

objectivism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “an ethical theory that moral good is objectively real or that moral precepts are objectively valid.”

relativism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “a view that ethical truths depend on the individuals and groups holding them.”

what take on morality, as a concept, does your character have? is morality objective? is morality subjective?

we could really delve deep into this one, but this post is long enough that i don’t think we need to get into philosophical rambling… so this is a good starting point.

either way, exploring morality as a concept and how your character views it will allow for better application of their personal moral code.

vi. application

so, now you know what they believe and have a deep understanding of your character’s moral code, all that’s left is to apply it and understand how it informs their actions while taking their personality into account.

and interesting thing to note is that we are all hypocrites; you don’t have to do this, but it might be fun to play around with the concept of their moral code and add a little bit of hypocrisy to their actions as a treat.

either way, how do your character’s various beliefs interact? how does it make them interact with the world? with others? with their friends, family, and community? with their government? with their employment? with their studies? with the earth and environment itself?

in conclusion:

there’s a lot of things that inform one’s moral compass and i will never be able to touch on them all; however, this should hopefully serve as at least a basic guide.

[livecrow]

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

DARK!Ghost x fat fem reader

CWs: kidnapping, rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink, animal play, threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet; after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more? 

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people “jus’ need killin’.” 

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither.” After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food, and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality. 

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing, left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it. 

Wrangling you was simple; it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your total lack of survival instinct was staggering. It was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he could almost laugh.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you. It was endearing. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”

Simon's first concern was not damaging you too much. He was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck, and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. He could have groaned audibly at the squishy softness of your neck alone, his muscled arm practically stony in comparison. But he'll have time for that later. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory. Of course but he’s not actually applying enough pressure to choke you. You’re just forced to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led; he would simply tighten his hold and let you catch a wink. Pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel worktable, the metal stings even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the meat shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips and one rough yank, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but it's your turgid nipples where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle.

You were a bit of silly thing. It's good that he snapped up you before something bad happened to you. Might be a minute before you caught on, but he didn't mind waiting.

You're his perfect little prize. No doubt you'd win "Best of Fair"— that is, if Simon was willing to let someone else gawk at what's his. It was tempting. You'd look pretty in that blue ribbon.

He knows exactly where he'd stick it. The pin would sink riiiiiiight through the tender flesh of your nipple, easy as. He'd make it quick, but you'd squall all the same. His cock strained impatiently against his trousers at the visage. Your teary face, that shiny rosette hanging down proudly, bobbing slightly at your teat, forked ends kissing your belly as he made you "sit pretty" for the cameras.

...but no, you're just his.

Simon will keep you at home. Coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness from him.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what you need clothes for?” he scoffs. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want an answer. A dog doesn’t answer “Who's a good boy?” does he? 

You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store. He's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. And he’s��he's measuring you? Jotting things down. Snapping at you to "'old still" as he steadies the tape, making sure there's the right amount of snug tension to get a proper measurement. Just as you try to obey, he's manhandling you again, moving you this way and that, one position to the next. The tape tickles terribly.

As he lassos your wide upper thigh, the tape suddenly brushes against the lips of your pussy, making your heart stutter painfully. When he pulls back the tape, you're holding your breath. He just returns to the pad of paper. As you try and calm yourself, you think distantly that the stubby pencil looks puny in his giant fist as he adds to his chicken scratch.

You were sorely mistaken when you thought that you'd get even a brief reprieve. No, what's coming next is worse. You're completely helpless to fight him off, your punches and kicks might as well have been the frantic swats of a rabbit's soft paws, for all he reacted. Your wrists were lashed to your ankles behind your back, joints complaining at the unfamiliar stretch. Hogtied. By the end of it, you’re panting, trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape it. While the measuring tape may have tickled, the twine fucking bites.

Simon admires his work, says it looks good on you. He can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing, humiliating pinch. You struggle, of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn. 

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. You still feel the warmth of his hand long after the swat. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand-stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of D-rings. It will be more comfortable for you, and more importantly, he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chafing. 

"I'll 'ave somethin' made from you too."

As he admires your skin, that's what he muses offhandedly. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. "Couldn’t find more supple, could you?" He hasn’t decided what you'll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. If he's careful, he's hoping he could get a jacket and a fine, sturdy pair of boots out of you. Every time he sits down to clean his boots, buff and polish them to a shine, he'll think of you.

Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That's the first time your consciousness flees from you. Seeing your face suddenly slacken, fat cheek smooshed against the table, is delightful.

Simon lays it on thick, praising how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you honestly can't blame him for any of this, really. Something about wagyu beef.

Oh, come off it, he's going to take good care of you while you're still bleating too, not just your hide, so why are you pitching a fit? You won't find meat living a softer life. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge, oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying; it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged. 

His hands are always on you; it’s never-ending. Brutish fingers always pressing, tips disappearing into your doughy plushness. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating, and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats; might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food. You don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful, and to no one’s surprise, it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop, of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye.” He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher,” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'."

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner from whatever position he's left you tied in at that particular moment. Just seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. That day, dinner is steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, and roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over, forced to eat off a dish on the floor without the use of your hands, knees aching, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise.

Still, if he’s in a mood, he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess” when he deliberately misses your mouth. 

The food was prepared, but this time the knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your periphery. Glinting.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased as you dutifully open for him without being told. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like. 

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence. Until he wasn't

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was a sort of twisted mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes. 

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then. 

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the oversized knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side—

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue 

“They’ll say ’m spoilin’ you rotten. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?” He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whether Simon lets you speak depends on his mood. Somedays you're gagged the whole day, besides feeding and watering. In that case it's usually a milder gag. Cloth or tape. If you give him a reason, run your mouth , you'll force Simon to remind you "what you are." His favorite is the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make are special. Little nonsense noises, almost like "you're tryin' to talk like a person would." Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little. 

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze. 

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker. 

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day.”

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it. 

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes. 

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, dark eyes crinkling, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

[phighting-x-you]

If anythingggg id like to askfor more of that but like

Katana takes reader aside to try to warn them, but he keeps getting blocked by other phighters

Ok thank youuuu

I guess part 2s are becoming a regular on this blog,,,,not complaining ehehehehe,,,

Yandere! Phighting x human! reader part 2! 💘💌

It's been six months since you've been trapped isekai'd into Phighting!, and you've adapted to living in the game. Infact, the Phighters were planning a half-year anniversary party for you, how sweet!

Most days, you interacted with the Phighters and sometimes spoke with the NPCs. You even met the local Broker! Much to the dismay of a certain someone...

"Awww, what a cute little thing you are!" The Broker claims, squishing your face in his hands with a bright grin on his face. His hands were soft and cool as they cupped your cheeks. "If ya want, I could set you up with some sweet gear, on the house!"

"Hey! Hands off!" From the distance, Banhammer was approaching. Broker giggled and unhanded you, choosing to ruffle your hair.

"Oh-oh! Banny doesn't seem to like me much, and I thought we were friends! Oh well, I'll catch up with you another time. Bye-bye!" And with that, The Broker was gone just as Banhammer managed to reach you. He growled, agitated.

"Damn Broker slipping through my grasp again! Stay right away from him, if he's givin' you trouble, ya tell me." The Warden says, putting a firm hand on your shoulder.

The Flipside Brothers had also invited you to watch Phights alongside them! How exciting is that? The Phighters were delighted to see you watching from the stands, all trying to impress you at the same time.

Everything was going great, the Phighters had even planned a present for you! One you'd never forget!

"Alright, listen up!" Subspace clapped his rugged hands, capturing the attention of all Phighters in the cafè. "The anniversary party will be soon, and we need the perfect gift for Y/N."

"How about letting them choose the theme for the next Phestival?" Boombox suggests, leaning back in his chair. "I'm pretty tight with The Flipside, so I'm sure they'd allow it."

"Or how about gifting them something beautiful?" Vine Staff muses, gently drawing circles on the table. "Shuriken and I can turn their garden into something breathtaking!"

"Those are all good ideas, but..." Sword cut in, clasping his hands together in thought. "It has to be something personal, to show how much we love them."

"He's got a point. We should give them something, like a token of appreciation!" Slingshot brainstormed. The room was filled with murmers, everyone giving out their ideas.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Coil sped into the room, a bright light in his eyes. Rapidly, he ran to the front of the room, bumping into Subspace.

"Oh, for SFOTH's sake Coil! Do you min-"

"Shush! Everybody, listen!" Coil bellows, everyone snapping their heads towards him. "I've got the perfect present for Y/N! Look at what I found!"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, squared disc, looking very much like a spawning square. Coil threw it onto the floor, where it smacked against the ground before turning into...someone?

It was a Phighter.

"Y'see, I went scrolling through Y/N's Roblox profile to try get some ideas for what they'd perhaps like. I got curious and looked through their creations, and that's where I found this fella!" Coil explained, proudly patting the back of the Phighter. Suddenly, Medkit's crystal began to glow, his eyes snapping open. He had an idea.

"That's it! We could use Y/N's own Phighter...and make them one in the same!" He announced, slamming his fist on the desk with such excitement at the idea. "Not only will they be like us, but they can join the Phights!"

"I'll be more than happy to train 'em up!" Scythe agreed to the idea, her teeth flashing in a wide grin. "Good thinkin', 'kit." Everyone else loved the idea, beginning to plan it in thorough detail.

------------------------------------------------

Katana's breath hitched. He had been listening in from outside. Turning you into something you're not? It's a sickening idea. He can't stand for this, he won't allow it. Kidnapping you was far enough, transformation was a whole new level of deplorable.

He crept away quickly and quietly, making a beeline straight to your home. He had to warn you, he had to tell you the truth. He had to help you.

You had been learning to ride your newly-gifted skateboard outside when Katana had rushed over to you. You were concerned when he didn't say hello back.

Swiftly gripping your hand, he pulled you back into your house, closing the door. He began to explain everything.

Unfortunately, before he could tell you very much, there was a knock at the door.

"Hello, Y/N! Isn't it such a beautiful day today?" Subspace asked, motioning towards the sun in an overzealous manner. You smiled in agreement. Katana, on the other hand, went completely still. His stomach dropped when he saw Hyperlaser and Biograft behind the scientist.

"Now, I was just looking for Katana. We have something planned for you, and I have to talk to him about it. Why don't you take a walk with Biograft? He wants to learn more about humans!"

With a smile, you stepped out of your house and began to take a stroll with the robot, describing what it's like to be human as best as you could. When you were fully out of earshot, Subspace pulled Katana through your front door and slammed him against a tree, grasping his horns in a harsh fashion.

"Listen here..." He growled, angry pink fumes spilling from his gas mask. "You aren't getting in the way of this. Hyperlaser told me everything, and I don't think he's above silencing his own partner for good if he has to!"

Katana struggled, reaching for his gear. Hyperlaser, however, ripped it from its sheath and threw it far in the distance. The overwhelming black mask burning right into the samurai's eyes. A tear of frustration spilled from his mask, making Subspace smirk sickeningly.

"I always knew there was something off about you. Do you not love Y/N? Is that it? Do you hate them? You heartless twit!" He continued, spewing accusations in Katana's face. He slammed the samurai's head forcefully against the tree, making a sickening thwack! sound before shoving him on the ground.

"Consider this your only warning. If you try interfering with us again, then I guess Y/N will be replacing you on the roster!" Subspace spat, kicking Katana in the ribs before marching away.

Wheezing in pain, Katana lifted his head up to look at Hyperlaser, shaky tears pouring down his face. A silent stare down between the two told them both that their relationship was no more, ending with Hyperlaser walking after Subspace, not looking back at his pained ex-lover.

As the days drew closer to the anniversary party, you didn't see Katana as much. It was almost worrying, but Hyperlaser assured you that Katana wasn't feeling very well, but you'd see him again at the party!

News about the party spread to the Flipside Brothers, who said they'd definitely come. The two went on to have a meaningful conversation about the party, worrying over what they should wear to the occasion.

"Dom should I just wear my usual suit or should I wear one of my Phestival outfits? I think my Ice Cream outfit would do nicely." Valk asked his brother, looking around his closet. Dom, who was busy responding to fanmail, simply just hummed in agreement.

He should probably fetch an outfit for the party, too. He put his pen down and opened up his own closet. Dom eyed up his Raven outfit when a thought dawned on him.

"Hey, Valk, do you think the Phighters have a surprise planned for Y/N?" He asked his brother.

"Oh yeah! Boombox told me they're gonna turn them into an Inpherno." Valk replied casually, taking his outfit out of the closet. "I was thinki-"

"Sorry, what?" Dom cut his brother off, slamming his closet door shut in surprise. Valk turned to his brother, surprised by the sudden sound of impact. The purple brother looked shocked.

"Turning Y/N into...an Inpherno?" He repeated, his expression contorting into worried concern. "Would that even work?"

Valk laid his Ice Cream outfit neatly on his bed and walked towards his brother.

"Listen, it sounds bad. But think about it, it'll be awesome! When Y/N becomes an Inpherno, they can also become a Phighter and-"

"And what if it goes wrong? What if Y/N ends up mutilated? Will that be awesome?" Dom rebutted, sending his brother into silence. Valk chewed his lower lip as he considered the possibility.

"Well, no, of course not." Valk answered, looking at the framed photo of Y/N beside the brothers. He picks it up and sighs. "Y/N doesn't even remember how they got here."

He paused, suspicion growing in his eyes. "Dom. How do you think they got here?"

"I don't know, man. But something tells me they didn't come here of their own accord."

Both idols stood in a silence, thick with contemplation. Eventually, they made a plan. A plan to find out how you got here.

[tearsofcalamity]

Please more sub!Boothill that reader fingering his hole behind his back

oh I got you

mechanic!reader would so make that spot an ero zone, like let's be fr we'd all make that the most sensitive spot on his body when fixing up his touch receptors and such (perhaps only second to his actual cock but yk)

boothill lying face down on the examination table for a regular maintenance checkup when you're poking around where you shouldn't be and he's already starting to get squirmy. you know what you're doing and he knows you know what you're doing and he's already trying to lean up to put a stop to it.

"d-darlin', that part don't need any fixin'--"

push him down til he gasps and shove your fingers inside, rubbing around nice and slow on the inside. surely it doesn't go all the way in, there's an end point to it that when you manage to prod causes him to actually keen out loud from how sensitive and strange it feels, automatically putting a massive blush on his face as he tries to flip around to no avail. his limbs are all somehow weak from the touches and torment and he can't so much as push himself up.

maybe lick your fingers before sticking em in to give it some extra slide and draw more whiny noises out of boothill... go a little slower sometimes to watch how he kinda arches back into your touch even though he's insisting he doesn't need you to examine there any more...

you'd be so absorbed fucking into his hole with your fingers that by the time you regained your sense of awareness you'd notice how he's gripping onto the edge of the table for stability as he humps into it, cybernetic cock straining so hard it might burst his zipper open from how hard he's gotten, desperate little moans slipping from his lips as he just barely gets the friction he so dearly needs.

don't even get me started on fingering that hole of his while jerking him, rubbing at his sensitive head that you gave him all while sliding your fingers around and around his walls. I think he'd actually melt inside. like, full on system overload pass out in your arms after the first orgasm, emergency shutdown-style. and he'd be hopping mad at you as soon as he regained consciousness to hide the fact that he's never cum so hard in his life and he'd really, really like you to do it again -- more than he'll ever admit.

[sillygoose067]

2 Hands

"I just want your two hands on me at all times baby, if you let go... better put 'em right back, fast" -2 Hands by Tate Mcrae

Synopsis: After a long night in Blüdhaven, Dick Grayson learns that love isn’t about grand gestures or perfect words—it’s about staying.

Blüdhaven was finally sleeping.

Or pretending to. The city lay curled beneath a blanket of fog and flickering streetlamps, quiet in that heavy, humming way that settles behind the eyes and breathes into your bones. Up above a weathered boxing gym, in a small apartment that still smelled faintly of sweat and aftershave, Dick Grayson stood in the doorway of the bedroom, silhouette haloed by the warm amber spill of hallway light.

His eyes were on you.

You sat at the edge of his bed, legs folded beneath you, drowning in the soft cotton of one of his old hoodies. It hung off your frame like a memory. The low hum of traffic outside painted your cheekbone in light, and his gaze lingered on the fading bruise beneath your eye. Not out of guilt—he knew better than to question your strength. On some nights, you were the one dragging him home in one piece. But there it was anyway: that quiet ache in his chest, that instinct to draw you in, wrap you up, shelter you from the next fight the world threw your way.

And as always, he didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“You’re overthinking again,” you murmured, not even turning to look.

He exhaled something between a laugh and a sigh, stepping into the room. “Yeah? That obvious?”

“You’ve got a tell,” you said, mouth tugging up at the corners. “Your jaw locks. Like you’re chewing through a whole city’s worth of guilt.”

He dropped down behind you, close enough to feel your warmth but still holding himself back. His hands braced against the bed, one on either side of your thighs. A cage of his own making.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, low and unsure.

You glanced over your shoulder, brows drawn. “About what?”

“I’ve said I love you a thousand different ways. Brought you food at 2 a.m. after patrol. Taped your ribs, cleaned your cuts. Tried to build something steady in a life that’s always spinning. But sometimes it still feels like I’m missing something.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached for his hand—not like it was made of glass, not like you were asking permission. You grabbed it like it was the only solid thing in a world full of smoke.

“I don’t need flowers, Dick.”

He looked up, eyes searching yours.

“I don’t need you to recite all the ways I’m better than what came before. I don’t need a rooftop proposal or some silver-lined fantasy. I don’t want declarations or diamonds. I want you. Just you. Two hands on me, not going anywhere. Not flinching. Not fading.”

That hit him harder than any punch he’d taken this week.

And maybe it broke something open in him. Maybe that was good.

Because without another word, he moved—slow, reverent. He pulled you back into him like it was instinct, like he’d been meaning to this whole time. Arms wrapping around your waist. Your back against his chest. Your heartbeat syncing to the one behind you. His hands resting at your hips—not possessive, not performative. Just there. Like they belonged.

Like your life depended on it.

And maybe, in some way, his did too.

Because out of all the things he fought for, all the masks he wore and lines he crossed, this—you—were the only thing that didn’t need saving. Didn’t ask for more than what he already had to give. No speeches. No acrobatics. Just the feel of his hands on your skin. Present. Anchored.

And in that quiet, in the hush between heartbeats, he finally understood.

The way your fingers ghosted over his chest like you were checking for a pulse. The way your silence asked for everything his words never could.

So he didn’t speak.

He just held on.

Tighter.

Like you asked.

Like your life needed saving.

Like maybe—just maybe—so did his.

[silassinclair]

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CW// Possession, Obsession, Yandere Behavior, Jealousy, Suggestive Content, Gaslighting, Maddox has a housewife fetish (16+)

Masterlist

When Maddox first saw you hiding in your wardrobe after having killed your Father he was shocked to see such a pretty woman inside. He knew your Father had a daughter but he didn't know she'd be a fierce and beautiful young woman.

Maddox knew he had to have you. No way was he going to leave you in this bumfuck town in the middle of no where. You're too valuable.

He ties you up and takes you away from your hometown. You're his now so he's taking you with him wherever he goes. Having a pretty little accessory like you will give him bragging rights after all.

He takes you to saloons while he plays cards with his buddies. Has you sit still and look pretty on his lap while he drinks and plays. His friends say dirty things about you. Commenting on how submissive you are for Maddox. Maddox eats their comments up like a full course meal.

"You boys wish you had this fine piece of ass. But she's mine."

When you're at his temporary house he has you play housewife. You cook his food, clean his laundry, and most importantly you take him like a good girl and let him use you to pleasure himself.

"You like that yeah? You don't? Then shut your pretty little mouth n' take it anyway. Don't make me mad now."

But over the course of a few months and after spending more time with you he sees you less as an object to brag about and more as a companion. He sees you everyday so of course he develops feelings. Feelings he denies of course.

"You think cus' I'm being nice lately you can just skip doin' laundry? Well you've been a good girl this week so I'll let it slide... But you're doin' it tomorrow! No excuses!"

Maddox takes you to the saloon with him again as usual. This time the sexual comments his friends say make him see red. He draws his gun and shoots them all dead where they sit.

"I should have never let em' say that vulgar shit bout' you. Shoulda never let you in that shithole in the first fuckin' place. C'mon, we're goin' home."

Fucks you gently this time and prioritizes your pleasure over his. You're so cute mewling beneath him. Praises you instead of degrades you.

"You can take it princess, c'mon! Don't tell me to slowdown when I can feel how good you feel on me. Yeah that’s it, good girl. Doin’ so good for me… Ya’ feel divine~"

He slowly starts bringing you into town less often. When you ask why you can't come with him he simply says that you're safer at home.

A month goes by and you're tired of being holed up in his house. So you take the risk and leave while he's taking his afternoon nap.

Bad Choice….

"You thought you could leave me?! Baby I love ya', I really do but sometimes you're real fuckin' stupid."

Locks the doors, windows, and always has his eye on you. When he has to go out he keeps you tied to the bed by the ankle.

Every night he holds you close to him. He's a light sleeper, he'll feel if you move and try to escape him. If that happens he'll embrace you in a nearly bone crushing hug.

He’ll wrestle with you if you try and fight him, but he’ll never strike you. He’d never do that after seeing the abuse his Mother endured from her customers at the brothel.

Comes home one day with two golden rings. He wears one and forces the other onto your ring finger. It's a perfect fit.

"You're my wife now and I'm your husband. You'll address me as such, got it?"

No wedding, no priest, no judge, no documentation. He says you're his wife now and that's that.

"There's names engraved inside the rings.? That's just the name of the jeweler I got it from... Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

You two never get to settle down. You hop from one abandoned home to the other. After all he needs to always be on the run from the law. It's a stressful but exhilarating lifestyle. Danger lurks at every corner.

Loves calling you by his last name. Though your last name is still legally L/n; Maddox says that since you’re his wife you have his last name. After all you two are wearing the rings to prove it!

"Thank you for the meal Mrs. Graves, God you're perfect. Where have you been all my life?"

He adores your body. Doesn't matter what body type you have. Chub? He's kneading it with his hands while he praises you like the goddess you are. Insecure about how the outline of your ribcage is visible? He traces his fingers down to your tummy and then goes even lower... He can't keep his hands off.

Favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and just press your backside against him while you do chores. It feels so domestic and it makes him feel like he isn’t a wanted criminal for a moment.

Kisses? He loves to kiss you! His favorite spots are your ankles, tummy, and forehead. And your lips ofc!

Whenever you have to slip your stockings on he swats your hands away and does it. He’ll pull them up sensually and slowly, trailing kisses from your ankle up to your thigh as he does so.

“Your skin’s so soft princess, just wanna take a bite. You’ll let me right?”

He loves animals. His horse Jasper is his best friend. Jasper won't let anyone ride him except for you and Maddox. Anyone else gets thrown off and stomped on.

Since this is the 1800’s people don’t really bathe as often. But Maddox is different. He can’t stand having grime on him for too long after you called him stinky once. So now he bathes more often than most. And you bathe with him too. You have no choice in the matter.

“Mmm love it when you wash my hair sweetheart… Ya’ fingers feel like heaven..”

Maddox is a tough guy. He's taken bullets, stabs, you name it. He even survived a hanging once. If anything happens to you he'll fight God himself just to keep you safe. Even if it costs him his life.

"GET YA' MEATHOOKS OFF MY WIFE YOU FUCKIN' ANIMALS!"

Tells you he loves you everyday. And if you don't say it back? Well he'll just bug you until you say it. After your "marriage" he doesn't really punish you anymore. You’re his partner for life, you deserve the world.

Respects women. His Mother worked in a brothel so he witnessed how men mistreated women. He could never do that to you... Even though he did early in your relationship. But he'll never admit that! Bring it up and he'll call you crazy.

"Sweetheart I never harmed a hair on your head, quit talkin' nonsense."

Teaches you how to fire a gun just in case. Hopefully you'll never have to use the skill though.

Spoils you whenever he can. Maddox has a decent amount of money but it's still pretty tight. Buying you things isn't an option because being on the run means you need to have minimal baggage. So he treats you to dinners and cute little dates.

Overtime you get used to this life. You forget he ever even killed your old man.

Anyone is free to request anything! Don't be shy! I'm hyperfixiating on this oc so I'll happily write anything for him. As long as it isn't blatant NSFW :-)

[toffeebrews]

I present to you!! magic!sans (placeholder name- if anyone has any suggestions ill take em)

I couldn't believe I had never made a sans oc when I was younger, so I took it upon myself to make one! I didn't want to be the only one without one, after all. He's kinda a sansona but sorta not lol!

More info under the cut!

This is just me combining all my favorite aesthetics and putting it onto a sans. He was originally going to have a super simple design...whoops.

if by some long-shot someone wants to draw him u can idc but like you don't have to

Name: Magic!sans or Witch!sans

Age: 32

Height: Same height as classic

Pronouns: He/They/It (He/him preference)

His lore is a WIP, but here are some notes!

He has a cat named "Tootsie" who is also his familiar! He calls her "Toots" for short (stole that from someone hehe). Tootsie, being a familiar doesn't need to eat or drink. She is a magic cat :D The star on the back of her head isn't special; all familiars have that.

He only wears his glasses sometimes because he's too lazy to clean them all the time, although his brother (Papyrus) often posters him about it. Something about how it'll make his eyelights worse.

He often uses magic for practical gags and jokes, like changing perfectly good items into socks or something (and back again).

Monsters don't need wands to use magic, but Sans pretends it comes from the wand anyway.

His eyes are constantly stars. He has the permanent grin classic does.

He won't fight unless he feels he has no other choice.

[beefycupcakes]

I watched the Cars trilogy recently and with that came a wave of nostalgia and a strange desire to make my own designs for the cars as humans. Aka taking all the charm out of Cars but scratching the brain itch.

So, no need to drag out the intro any longer, I have some notes written out about em for those who might be interested or just bored.

Lightning McQueen:

I tried to make his suit look as professional as possible, with references pulled straight from McQueen's paint job/stickers, while also keeping in mind that I do intend to draw him more so I didn't want to go too crazy with the design. In a perfect world I would've let my maximalist cravings win, but alas let's keep it digestible for my sanity.

I feel like everyone's kinda on this unspoken agreement that McQueen as a human would pretty much look just like Owen Wilson, and that's the big picture here. I used Wilson as inspiration while tweaking and exaggerating a few things to my preference. (Okay, well not everyone, lmao.)

The chevron markings on the front cut off at the side seams not wrapping around the entire suit as to not clash with the sponsor logo on the back.

Also, he's wearing special gloves to help him grip & have control over the steering wheel. I think sometimes that looks a little weird when his sleeves are down & cuffed, but I just feel like he needs to have the gloves there— especially when he comes out of the top half of the suit. (It's also lowkey supposed to mirror his 4 tires when you consider his shoes are also black.)

So yeah, that's basically all I have to to say regarding Lightning McQueen's page. I feel like a lot of my design choices are self explanatory and, honestly probably shared universally... I mean, he's really cut & dry. (But I love him ⚡︎)

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Mater:

I'm not gonna lie, Mater was a bit challenging for me. I definitely had to step out of my comfort zone but I wanted to stay true to the character and not butcher anything.

My first thought was to give him a fishing pole to substitute for the tow hook— but then the more I was thinking about it, the more that felt so... out of place? Radiator Springs is in Arizona, which is (not entirely, but mostly depicted in the movie as) a desert. And even though there are beautiful bodies of water in Arizona, in the movie I don't recall seeing any prominent ones, at least in relation to Mater. So, scratch that, instead I gave him a lasso, which isn't supposed to entirely substitute for the tow truck— no, he still drives a tow truck, but the lasso is so he can grab people/things similarly to Tow Truck Mater (very cartoony). My explanation for this is the cattle ranch. Yeah, Mater is a tow truck driver but perhaps he has a side hustle, or hobby, if you will.

Also, I didn't want to make him... dirty(??) Like, yeah, of course, Mater would obviously get a bit filthy from time to time, it's just in his nature, but that is NOT going to be the core of my design. In regards to the rust happening on him, I felt like instead I would substitute this with being very tan. Again, Arizona is a desert. Because of this, he would take off his shirt often, and this would substitute for the missing hood like on Tow Truck Mater. The removal of the shirt also reveals just how tan Mater actually is.

It's his uniformed overalls that have his original aqua color, but from years of wear & tear they've been patched up with brown patches, this would also reference the rusting. The one strap is supposed to mimic the one headlight being broken, and I know that's a stretch, believe me, I wanted to do something with his eyes but eyes are not the headlights in the Cars universe..... think about this. Think about it really hard... if you know what the headlights are in the Cars universe then this actually makes perfect sense.

He is taller and wider than McQueen, which is a reference to the literal frame of their vehicle counterparts. (A little hard to picture with these images, but eventually I'll draw them together!)

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That's all I have to say really, but do let me know what you guys think! Gas it up and it might encourage me to make a part 2 with some of the other characters! Who would you like to see next? ♡ Thank you so much for reading & have a great day, Kachow!!

[chimkin-samich]

its kinda a stupid question, but i rlly wanted to know how tf you guys come up w such good dialogue for the comics u do :o i guess a better way to word it is whats the whole process like when making the comics? do you just go with the flow when writing & drawing or do u guys write the dialogue out before?

another question is how r u two doing? ive noticed its been quite a bit since the last art post…NO PRESSURE OFC just wondering:3

RAAAA HI HI WERE STILL ALIVE 😭

Ok question first then explain what’s been goin on for us Irl Skdkf

Our comic process is a bit… messy let’s call it lol. Typically how it goes is we get an idea on what to do wether it be angst fluff or anything, the idea can come from a meme, something that happened to us, reading something or even just a random lightbulb moment, from there we bounce it off each other to see how it could possible go and if the other has perhaps other ideas on how to build on it

After we have a solid idea on it we basically live roleplay, we set the scene and one of us starts it. The roleplay isn’t exactly what we’re going for (mainly cuz it ends up a lil goofy or really really bad) but it gives feral the base she needs on how to direct the comic, sometimes I’ll even make a write out a quick and short snippet to help her build the scene as well. Both RP and the snippet are very useful tho just depends how we’re feeling (it’s usually a RP tho cuz it also gives feral some expressions to work with as I play the boys)

It’s a messy way of doing it cuz it’s very chaotic but it helps a ton for feral to have a starting base before diving into the comic, both by giving her some dialogue to modify, expression to work with and a general direction on the story

As for the part if we’re ok.. I don’t wanna jinx it again so I’ll say that we’re alive 😭 (putting a read more cuz post is getting long)

We planned on coming back to makin art in Feb/March but things did not go as planned, in Dec our water pump broke so we had to move out for a week until that got fixed and then in late Jan our roof started leaking and we had to pack up and move out entirely in March cuz we found out the entire roof is atrocious and needs to be torn out and redone 😭

We thought we would be back home by now but they were barely able to start working on it last week cuz legal issues got in the way that took forever to resolve so we might not be back home until June, we have a place to stay tho so dw bout that! Just a lot of things have been happening and we’re really hoping we can start making art again soon, we do have comms that we need to finish first but once those are finished we plan on hopping back in cuz we really miss making content

So fingers crossed we can actually get back into it, in the mean time we do have a lot of wips, both drawing’s and writings cuz we would start em in this period and then have to stop due to issues, so there’s not only a lot in the works but also even more ideas in our head of stuff too do ✨

[forsaken-headcanons]

More Coinrush / Paycheck headcanons because I need to chew on them.

- Elliot is fairly strong, although not visibly. It’s not uncommon for him to just pick Chance up for no reason other than the fact he can.

- They sit on the dock for a while after a round to unwind and relax. Depending on how the round went, they’ll either talk quietly, sit in silence, or joke around and shove each other in the water.

^ If one died that round, the other sits on the dock waiting for them to respawn and join them on the dock

- Elliot really likes plants, however Chance can’t keep them alive. Despite this; Chance has a plant in his room, which is still alive because of Elliot. The plant is there as a way to get Elliot to stop by. Elliot knows this.

- Chance has tried to draw Elliot before, but it wasn’t much more than a stick man. Elliot cherishes the drawing, and brags about how talented Chance is, with the drawing being only one example

- Elliot bites Chance sometimes if he doesn’t know how else to express how much he appreciates them. It’s not very common.

- They have a playlist they work on together, and at the very top is a song that reminds them of the other

- Elliot takes a little better care of Chance when they’re hurt as compared to others- completely unintentionally

- They ask random questions about each other’s life, yet somehow neither realize the other is rich..

- Elliot hums songs Chance likes to himself while cooking

- Chance talks in his sleep sometimes. The first time he heard this, it freaked Elliot out. Now he keeps note of the dumb things Chance says.

- They’re not actually “official”, but a lot of the other survivors think they are.

- They’ll have a sleepover in each other’s room / cabin sometimes! Both still enjoy having time to themselves though

- Chance was the reason Elliot realized he wasn’t exactly straight

- Elliot is the only person to have ever won a card game against Chance. He refuses to play again because he knows Chance will win and he likes the bragging rights he has.

^ Chance is just amazed he lost, and kinda admires the fact Elliot won. He wants to play again so they can see Elliot win again.

- Elliot will watch Chance play games, or he’ll lean against his shoulder while Chance is playing cards. Chance teaches him about the games as they play.

- Chance feels the most at peace when listening to Elliot talk

- Elliot has those shoes that can turn into roller skates [rush hour], and sometimes he just skates circles around Chance just because

- Elliot is slowly teaching Chance how to draw more

- Chance likes to play with Elliot’s hair

- If the two ever get out of Forsaken, their first plan is to find each other and go watch a shitty movie together

- Chance has beef with a rival pizza place purely because Elliot does too.

Just a few random ones I had :3

I do have a handful of angst-related hcs for ‘em, maybe I’ll share at some point

- ⚠️

Go my paycheck.