the world's most underqualified daycare team 😁🫶
i fear theyre cooked.
ignore moon and monday being in almost the same pose i noticed it too late to change it.
original au post w og refs and au explaination
my sun and moon designs w more 'detail elaboration' (not sdgo related post, just them in general)
i did want to make sun and moon's designs in sdgo different than my general personal designs that i use in my self insert au for easier differentiation for other people (i can tell them apart pretty easiy because i portray them personality-wise pretty differently in both aus), but . im too attached . to my current designs um 😔 /silly their designs r basically the same i just wanted to draw them in this lineup w monday/yn/mc/whathaveyou so they didnt look . sad and lonely. lol . theyve already got enough of that "sad and lonely" shit going on in the storyline ❤️
i probably shouldve written a bit more on the image itself but i didnt . want to crowd it.
closeups and a bit ....more..... yapping (not too much, but might interest some? maybe?) under cut 👍 + their all eye variations put onto their actual drawn faces, for funsies ^_^
moon doesnt get a security mode until later into the timeline ^_^ it's (spoilers i guess) actually how the virus gets passed onto him and sun! when his security mode gets added the virus comes with it.
moon's by far got the most eye variations god damn (i love him)
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currently thinking about how tommy said that ctommy waking up underwater every day in exile was a metaphor for his mental health, and that the further and further out to sea he got and the further he was sinking the more deteriorated he became and eventually he would end up unable to resurface had they not done something about cdream.
currently thinking about how if ctommy couldn't resurface, he'd drown in his own thoughts, believing his friends and family all hated him. nobody would see the kid they once knew in him anymore. maybe he'd never be seen again at all.
currently thinking about how ctommy saw one anxious, forgetful enderman lad, roped him into a crime, and took 100% of the fall when they didn't get away with it. ctommy could have ignored the situation. he didnt have to go to ctubbo and say "it was just me, man". as cranboo said, he could have said it was all him. there was evidence it was him.
but i think that after everything, ctommy would still be unable to live with himself if it'd been cranboo in exile instead of him. on the surface, he's a child. a soldier and a veteran and a criminal, yes, but still a child.
but beneath that, he's learnt. he's decided he'd rather throw himself into trouble than let his friends go through any amount of suffering.
i think that if cranboo were to ask, "why did you do that?" ctommy would sigh, that familiar shaky sigh we all know, and he'd speak quietly in reply, "i know what some of those bastards are capable of. i'd rather go through all that than have you do it for me. plus, it wasn't your fault."
or maybe that's just me.
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After recent events, I ended up going back to the beginning to check things, because my first reaction will always be "wtf, this is shit, why would you do this" and my second reaction will always be "okay maybe that was a bit much, maybe he's not THAT bad, maybe has a good reason-
Okay.. that doesn't rly mean anything, maybe she's just worried kaito found something he shouldn't-
Okay.. okay this looks, well maybe he's just leaving some recordings in case kaito found something he shouldn't! It's not like they can hide it forever! The room is part of the house! Kaito lives in the house-
Excuse me... What did .. what did you say...? Wha
What do you mean "designed"?
What??? What do you MEAN "designed to open after 8 years"???
I have been angry since April 12th and I've reached a point where I don't even know what to feel anymore I don't even know what to tell y'all.
Like, wow, omg, movie reveals. Other than family relations, the other thing isn't exactly anything new. We've all read Midnight Crow. We saw Kaitou Corbaeu. We've been in denial until finally reaching acceptance. For me at least. And then we spend a few years bargaining, bc surely there's a good reason kaitos not in the know. That kaito has to be KID. Surely there's a reason? Right?
Right???
At this point we don't even truly know if Jii is in the know and was acting as planned out by the parents or not. Or if he's just like kaito. Tricked, lied to, played for fools. At the very least ginzo doesn't know, so there's that. Not sure how much that would help kaito when he inevitably finds out. Because he will. The fact remains that it's quite suspicious that Jii just so happen to choose to don the KID outfit and become KID to draw out toichis murderers exactly 8 years after toichis death. EXACTLY the same amount of time that was set for that trap door portrait to open to kaito.
There's a lot of implications to think about
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jingliu angst where she only tolerates you cus u remind her of baiheng sjjahagsab im dead
[nsft utc]
tw. mentions of vomiting (?), unhealthy/toxic dynamic, identity loss
you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.
it began back on your home planet, ravaged and carved by interastral powers of all its resources, leaving behind a gnawing, gaping hole in the ground and the hearts and bellies of its people. you once mourned your more normal childhood—but the hunger in your stomach and in your soul consumed that too. your meals were few and far between, snatched from the hands of other starving husks, and it was the only joy you ever had as a child. the trickery and the thrill. it’s the only joy you get to keep into adulthood, a twisted elation that grants you a place in the cosmic court of jesters; the masked fools.
it’s—predictably—fun. trickery and thrill are the bread and butter of the fools. your mask affords you many, many opportunities for both, and though you have never had your belly achingly empty since, that hunger in your soul is not so easily sated. now, what you crave is the rush, the adrenaline, the oxytocin. and so you dance on marble floors with a different face each time, with partners who either wish you dead or in their beds, the space between you measured in an unfathomable amount of risk which you exchange for an unfathomable amount of thrill. you scamper along the length of this cosmic ballroom like a starving, feral fox in tall grass, the red of your fur as inviting as the white of your teeth are sharp. you hunt and you haunt, seeking something to fit between your aching teeth, something that will burst on the sharp point of your canines and smear your lips with pure elation and maybe satisfy that abyssal hunger in your psyche.
you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.
and you have never seen more tantalizing a meal than a devil with a coffin and a woman who seeks to kill a god. she holds the tip of a ice-hewn blade beneath your chin the first time you meet, nicking the delicate skin of your neck, just above your pulse. you swallow. let out a laugh that sounds like a barking fox, and the woman’s sword falters. surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to convince her to let you tag along on her fool’s errand. it’s almost poetic. you learn of her name—jingliu. it’s pretty. rolls off your tongue. jingliu doesn’t bother to learn yours, but she calls you fox. you don’t mind the scrap of attention. after all, you’ve spent your whole life living off scraps.
travelling with jingliu (and by extension, luocha) does not lack for excitement. the road to deicide is paved with elation, even if your blue-haired companion refuses to see it. through battle and through the long travel between star systems in pursuit of the great fleet, you get somewhat closer to jingliu. it doesn’t take very long for you to slip into her bedroll (or cot, depending where you are). mara, you find, though cannot be cured can certainly be sated; much like the permanent hunger that curls in your belly. jingliu fucks you until neither of you are coherent enough to feel much of anything, madness or hunger. it’s an arrangement you find yourself enjoying. and as a by-product of such intimacy, you learn more about jingliu. her mannerisms, her illness—her past. she doesn’t tell you any of this, of course, but you can put two and two together from the things she lets slip deep in the throes of some nightmare after fucking you senseless. she gets many of those. the pattern is always the same. at first, she’ll sleep relatively soundly. but then, her brow creases, and her lip curls, and she angrily mutters a few names under her breath; a certain dan feng and yingxing. she curses them, then almost makes a noise like a sob, and something else leaves her lips— another name, but this time spoken with heartache and longing.
baiheng.
it doesn’t take much to infer that this baiheng was someone jingliu cared very much about. though when you ask luocha more about her, he reveals a little detail that makes her moderately more interesting—baiheng was a foxian. in some ways, that makes you similar to her, even though foxian you are not. the thought amused you once, as you looked back upon jingliu’s restless, sleeping form. perhaps jingliu saw her lost lover in you. how… quaint. the assumption never bother you, not really—until she starts to call for baiheng while she’s fucking you.
you’re no stranger to casual sex. even before jingliu, you never lacked for partners eager to share a bed with you. no, the fucking itself isn’t the problem—it’s how she’s fucking you. it isn’t with the detachment and pure lust like you’re used to. instead it’s almost like she cares, hands gentle on your hips as she drives her cock in and out of your greedy cunt. she fills you like she never wants for you to want for anything anymore, and even though you know it isn’t you this affection is for, that jingliu is barely even aware that you’re you and not baiheng, you can’t help but devour it feverishly every time.
you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and like this, with jingliu’s cock filling your pussy as she deliriously presses the shape of a dead woman’s name against your neck, you finally feel full.
and it makes you sick.
you crawl out of her embrace and spill your guts every time she falls asleep. your body utterly rejects the feeling—you’ve been so used to starving that the sensation of being full turns you ill. and yet, you can’t seem to push her away. you always come back, always relax under her touch, always pliant for her just to chase that brief, beautiful high you’ve never been able to find anywhere else only to bleed it once she’s done. your heart’s a pythagorean cup; a little too much and you’re spilling over. but you’re so greedy for it, still greedy for her. of all things it is affection that’s the most potent drug you’ve ever tasted, beyond the cheap thrill of oxytocin and adrenaline—even if none of it is meant for you, even if it’s just scraps. but that’s fine.
after all—you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and if that means wearing the face of a dead woman and letting the hunger finally devour you whole, then so be it.
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