seb showing off his and MC's height diff 📏😊
(scene from chapter 3 of my fic that i drew a long time ago, but had to redraw because i've improved so much and wanted to do it justice lol. seriously the old one is SO BAD💀)
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Could you draw any one of the Addisons?
The guys!!
(Note: I'm not taking requests; this is in response to this post from a while ago.)
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mini etho-related doodles for the final chapter of You Could've Applied Online that dropped today (good ending: REAL, FREE at shade-e-es glass factory emporium) (+unreal boatboys final goodbye sequence)... gonna miss it ;w;
this one courtesy quote by chloe
and unrelated DO2 etho doodle frum yesterday (idk what to do with this atm)
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ragged breaths pour out of you as you scrub your hands clean of the crimson liquid which stains your hands and your very soul. it was brutal and beautiful—the colour and how the red strands swirled around as it united before falling down the sink pipe.
you blink and clench your hands. the very hands which so effortlessly carved up the heart from inside the man laying on your rough ‘operating table’. you are terrible, yes. there was no other word to describe you. a vigilante, maybe? but did it even matter when there is a part of you which feels the thrill of the killings and torture that you so cunningly come up with no mercy?
no, actually, there are other words to describe you. heartless, being one of them. the irony of that when you quite literally removed someone’s heart recently is not lost on you.
rotten. sadistic. torturous. depraved. murderer.
it was how you revelled in the pain you caused others; how you can’t stop the excitement spreading across your body when you see the utter terror in their eyes; how you sometimes let them have a moment of freedom, just to tear it all away at once and see as hopelessness encompasses every cell of their body. the scalpel that you used in carving the man’s heart probably possessed more sympathy than you did.
you are not the same, the voice taunts you. you are not the same person who cried over the dead raven for night’s on end. you can’t even recognise yourself. you are twisted and depraved and oh-so sick in the head. you are broken in ways you don’t even know.
you try to deny it at first, try to resist with every shaky breath that you do this for the greater good. but you know, deep down, you know that this is what you are: a monster masquerading as a human. you have as much heart as the corpse on your operating table with the empty chest.
you try to find some semblance of yourself on the broken pieces of the vanity mirror scattered around you. but you can truly see your twisted visage on the abnormal reflections. it was as if a sculptor had chipped away at you to add all the cruelty of the world and none of its gentleness.
you were made of jagged edges and sharp thorns. made to admire, not to love.
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