#just some fun ideas! not fully fleshed out but fun!

[kianamaiart]

Hello your magical girl story looks really intriguing, the premise feels very creative, the art style is simple but good with its own identity, and the characters seem to be fleshed out with depth, personality, and backstory. In short, I love it, and I do have a few questions.

One: Is the story character driven, story driven, or something else

Two: Is the story rated G, PG, PG-13, or something else

Three: Would the story be a web comic, web show, or something else

Four: Will there be a lot of lore and world building, yes or no

Five: what other inspirations did you have for the story's characters, plot, and art style

Six: What humor do you use for the story

I'm only asking these questions out of curiosity. This is just because I love your story, and would like to know more about.

So please be free to not answer all the questions if you want. I'm also fine if you ignore this ask. so please, no pressure.

At the end of the day, please have fun, relax, work hard, take your time, and have a nice day.

I'm so glad! Thanks so much for your interest <3

Character driven (always)

PG/PG-13

Dunno! I've been reached out to already for a few opportunities but right now, I'm just trying to have fun with it and keep it mine until I feel like the idea is fully realized and ready for something bigger. Right now, I'm shooting to make a lil pilot animatic mostly on my own with help from a few friends

Depends on what you mean by a lot but I'd say a soft yes

For Aika, just generally other anime protagonists from shoujo and shonen. I feel like when you're doing a spin on something you do have to rely on the tropes from the genre at least a little bit. For Zira, Toko Fukawa was the jumping off point but they're very different. They're also both based off of aspects of myself (I feel like most artists do this with their ocs tho). Style and story-wise, I was definitely looking at Doremi and Panty&Stocking. That chunky cute look that's distinctly anime but takes some notes from Western cartoons. But mine's flipped where it's more based on my own style from working in Western animation but then having anime influence. And story-wise I like how they're more episodic with an underlying story. The magical girl stuff is more a backdrop that helps the story move forward and enhances the slice of life stuff that's being focused on.

I'm not sure what kind of humor to say other than my own? But my sense of humor has been shaped by Big City Greens (obviously) Adventure Time, Jimmy Neutron, Bob's Burgers, Smiling Friends and many other things but hopefully that gives you the gist

[thatapostateboy]

just for one day

Pairing: Eva 'Rook' Mercar x Davrin, background mention of Solas x F!Lavellan

Word Count: 2957

Synopsis: Rook steals some time away with Davrin

Warnings: Brief description of battle and suggestive sexual comments, written pre-release so may be OOC, does contain some spoilers but they are very mild and only stuff from the first mentions/trailers so read at your own peril

Crossposted: Here on AO3

“Why are we hiking up a mountain fully armed and armoured, but without any backup?” Davrin asked.

Rook glanced around at him from where she was leading the way, “Well that would ruin the whole point of it being a surprise, now wouldn’t it? Besides, we’re not fully without backup.”

She nodded upwards to where Assan was soaring overhead, having followed the pair of them as they headed through the eluvian out of the Lighthouse, and into what looked like remote Orlesian wilderness.

“You must be expecting trouble, else you wouldn’t have insisted on the armour,” he pointed out.

“The whole world’s in trouble,” she reminded him, “I just figured we could do with blowing off a little steam.”

“If you wanted somewhere more public to blow off some steam, I am sure there are places in the Lighthouse we could-”

“Not like that!” she snorted, pausing in her steps to look at him, “Though, keep that thought in mind, I’m interested where it’s going, and I appreciate you going along with what you thought was an exhibitionist kink. My actual plan was for us to go on a monster hunt.”

“Really?”

“You’re a monster hunter who’s had to fight some stuff well beyond your pay grade recently, and I thought we could go back to basics. You get to show me all your fancy moves, Assan will get some practice in, I get to swoon over how hot you look, and we get to fight something that isn’t world-ending together.”

He chuckled softly then met her eyes. The last mission, well, every mission since they had met, had meant losing more than winning. And even when they won, it had come at a cost. He knew how hard she took every loss, even if she hid it behind sharp wit and unending sarcasm, there was no doubting the toll it took on her. He suspected that this was as much a distraction for her as it was intended for him.

“Okay then, monster hunting it is,” he smiled, receiving one in return, the true unmeasured smile that she reserved specifically for him… and Assan, though he’d never point that out, “What are we hunting?”

“A wyvern.”

“Have you ever faced a wyvern before?” he asked as he continued to follow her up the mountain path.

“No, but how hard can it be to kill one?” she shrugged, throwing a smirk back at him, “Orlesians do it for fun.”

~*~*~

As it would turn out, it was much harder to kill a wyvern than she had originally planned. The beast had been twice the size of what she had been in one of Davrin’s books, which had led to this idea, and its venom had stung like an absolute bitch when she dodged one of its attacks too slowly. The next blow, however, had been blocked expertly by Davrin’s shield, effortlessly holding off the creature’s maw and he’d had to shout at her to stop staring and stab the damn thing.

She’d shot him a grin and a wink and slid under his legs to slice at the wyvern’s throat. It had thrashed and roared in pain, knocking both Warden and Shadow Dragon flying with its flailing body. It began to charge towards Eva, but all it took was a decisive whistle from Davrin and a bolt of feathers and sharp claws came tearing down from the sky, finishing the beast with a deadly strike.

Assan looked up and chirped at Davrin, wide eyes seeking praise for the kill.

“Good boy,” he said, giving him a well-earned scratch behind the ears.

The griffon preened then began to tuck into the tough flesh of the wyvern after Davrin gave him an approving nod.

The Warden wiped the beads of sweat away from his forehead as he looked for his companion, spotting her propped against a rock, not far from where the wyvern had tossed her, staring away from the scene of the battle, into the valley below.

“Eva,” he called to her, “Are you alright?”

She leapt to her feet, spinning to look at him with a wide grin across her face, her hair a complete mess, face and armour splattered with blood. She all but threw herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and pressing a hard kiss to his mouth.

He hummed in surprise, but kissed her back nonetheless, enjoying the warmth of her form against his. She was still a little breathless, the tremble of adrenaline coursing through her body. He felt her starting to tug on the buckles of his armour, loosening it just enough to slip her hands inside, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

He knew this dance far too well. He had roughly thirty seconds before she used those quick roguish fingers to get him down to his breeches.

“How quickly do you think we can get back to the Lighthouse?” he asked, words barely out of his mouth as she kissed him hungrily again, and again.

She paused, looking up at him, “What happened to indulging my exhibition streak?”

“I have no qualms about getting you naked in a field,” he admitted, before he reached a hand up to rub some grime away from her face, “But we are both covered in blood, and guts, and gods knows what else… So perhaps we park this, and reconvene in the bathhouse?”

She met his eyes, a little scrunch to her nose as she conceded that he was being sensible, “Counteroffer… we go wash off in the lake and you can still have me naked in a field.”

“What lake?”

“The one about five minutes that one down the path,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

He cocked a brow at her, “Is that what you were looking at after the fight?”

“Perhaps.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself, “Counteroffer accepted.”

She grabbed hold of his hand and yanked him towards the path, giving him just enough time to shout at Assan to stay put and enjoy the wyvern carcass.

~*~*~

He had to admit, the lake had been an excellent idea.

The lake itself sat in a beautiful clearing, surrounded by trees on one side, part of the mountainside on the other, giving them complete privacy and serene surroundings… until Rook had gone barelling past him, clothes abandoned in her wake, leaping into the water before loudly yelling that it was Maker fucking blasting bastard cold.

He had chuckled as he watched her splash around, before stripping off himself, her eyes immediately on him as he bared himself to her, wading calmly into the lake to join her.

She latched herself onto him instantly, seeking his natural warmth, and steadier form as he quickly realised that she was not a confident swimmer. Not that he minded of course, it meant being able to hold her against him, feel every inch of her as she clung to him, giddy and breathless as they lazily kissed, the adrenaline from the fight melting away as they enjoyed the peace to simply be together.

It had, of course, still ended with the pair of them twisted together beneath the boughs of a willow tree, laying atop his discarded cloak so that she didn’t get grass in her hair.

“I could get used to this,” she said softly as she rested her against his chest, idly tracing old scars on his skin.

“You once told me you’d rather eat halla shit than willingly camp outside. I think this evening might be a one off,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“Hey, that was months ago,” she protested with a laugh of her own, “I feel like I’ve grown as a person since then. Besides, my partner is a Dalish monster hunting Grey Warden. I think some camping may come with the territory. I’m not saying that I’m going to be getting vallaslin or reaching for the Joining cup again time soon, but if we live through this, if we actually save the world and get our lives back… I think I could get used to more days like this.”

He glanced down at her, taking in the look in her eyes.

It wasn’t often that she was emotionally vulnerable with him, even less that she spoke of the future. She focused on the present, on the dangers directly in front of them. She wasn’t one to hope for anything past surviving day to day. Even when they had begun their love affair, it had started as something borne from mutual attraction and seeking some company. It was meant to be one night, and then back to being colleagues in the morning. And yet, it had kept happening. They would seek each other out for physical comfort, a distraction, and soon it had become more than that; spending hours talking about their pasts, getting to know the different sides of elven culture from each other, laughing and joking about the most ridiculous things, tucking her in as she fell asleep in the chair in front of his fire.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t begun to think of a future, what it would look like if they truly made it through this. He would still be a Grey Warden, there would always be monsters to fight, but there wouldn’t always be a reason for Eva to be at his side… not unless she chose to be.

She had a life of her own outside of the Veilguard. She was a Shadow Dragon, she had fought for years against corruption in Tevinter, giving everything she had in the fight for freedom for every slave. And beyond that, she had a home that she some day wished to return to.

And now, here she was, looking at him with an almost pleading expression, seeing if he wanted the same thing; a future that they could decide on together.

He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first before he deepened it, pulling her flush against him.

“Evanura,” he whispered against her mouth, “Ar lath ma.”

~*~*~

The next morning

“Solas, can I ask you something?”

She was drawn into their shared pocket of the Fade, the one he existed in physically that she could see into in her mind’s eye to allow them to communicate.

He stepped before her, and she watched a small, familiar smirk cross his face, as it often did when she said something that entertained him, “You rarely ask permission before bombarding me with questions.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t be a smart ass, I just need your help translating something.”

“Very well,” he nodded, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, “I will assist where I am able.”

“It was a phrase I heard, I mean- came across when… reading.”

“Go on.”

“I believe it to be elven, but I have never heard it before, not even in the long tirades where you are chiding me for something.”

He chuckled a little at that, “It may be colloquial to the more modern Dalish elves, but I am sure I can trace it back to its root.”

“It was… ar lath ma.”

And for the first time in more years than he could fathom, the Dread Wolf was struck silent.

He remembers the first time he’d said it to her, unable to control himself as he finally gave in to her for the first time. Not in the Fade, but in physical flesh, the taste of her mouth still lingering on his lips, the warmth of her skin still palpable even as he pulled away, murmuring the words as he did, a confession that he hoped she had never heard.

She had been kind, had not chased after him, had given him the time to say it again when he was ready.

Until that night at the Winter Palace, when he had danced with her under the stars, and she had invited him back to her chambers. He had tried to stay away, but she proved to be his weakness. She had said it herself then, declared so boldly that he wondered if the lingering servants and spies in the hall had heard her. She had kissed him, whispering the words sweetly against his skin as they both gave in to temptation 

It was always in elven, their pet names, the soft ‘ma’lath’ and ‘vhenan’ they would call each other, the declarations of love… until that night in Crestwood. She had said it to him then, a hitch in her breath as she held back tears, telling him that she loved him.

Don’t do this, not now… I love you.

And when he had seen her again, the day she discovered the truth, and she had questioned it any of it had been real. If only she could have known that it was the only real thing he knew anymore.

He snapped back to himself when he realised that Rook was still in front of him, looking at him concerned.

“Da’len…” he said quietly, “You know what it means.”

“This isn’t the time for one of your ‘Eva doesn’t listen to me’ lectures. I have never heard those words before.”

“Evanura,” he sighed her name, “Listen to your instincts. You know what your Warden feels.”

“How did you know that’s where I heard it? Besides, he’s not my-“ she began to protest in her usual fashion until the realisation hit her, “Wait! That’s… it means…?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit! But that’s…” a look of dawning horror crossed her face, “Oh I’ve fucked up.”

He frowned, “What did you do?”

“He may have said that… and I may have walked away from him.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You didn’t ask what it meant?”

“I was embarrassed. I’m starting to learn the language from you, and from him, and Bellara, but I didn’t know that one so I just, kinda… laughed it off.”

“Go find him.”

“But-”

“It is a rare thing, to find someone who holds your heart. He knows you well enough to know you are not cruel… Go to him.”

~*~*~

Across the Lighthouse, sat with a frown on her face, Harding levelled a look at Davrin.

“So what exactly did you say?”

“Well, we were both covered in wyvern blood, and-”

“Yeah, I don’t need to hear the details of how you guys had sex in the woods.”

“How did you know?”

“Neither of you are subtle, and I helped Rook scout the place out,” she admitted, “Get to the part where you confessed your undying love and she ignored you.”

“It was… after,” he said, “We were laying together under this willow tree, watching the sun set over the lake, it was beautiful, and peaceful, it was the most perfect moment. So I kissed her, and then I looked into her eyes and said ar lath ma. And she stared at me for a second before she just smiled, got up and declared that she was going swimming. She jumped right into the lake. It’s not even that she didn’t say it back, or if she told me it was too soon, but she just ignored that I said it.”

Harding raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re an idiot.”

“Wait- why?”

“Just think about it. For a minute. Think about why she might have ignored you saying ar lath ma.”

She watched him intently before he let out a gasp and put his face in his hands, “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.”

~*~*~

She burst out of the doorway at the base of one of the towers, heading quickly across the courtyard towards Davrin’s quarters when she saw a familiar figure leaving from the other building, striding purposefully towards her.

“Eva!” he called to her, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. There’s something I need to tell you.”

She reached for him as they met, grasping at his hands like she was scared he was going to disappear in front of her, “I know. I need to talk to you too.”

“Eva, I love-”

“Davrin, ar lath-”

“You.”

“Ma.”

They looked at each other with giddy smiles, still clutching to each other’s hands.

“Wait… you know what that means?” he asked.

“I didn’t, until about three minutes ago,” she admitted.

“How did you… Oh gods, you asked Solas, didn’t you?”

She chewed her lip, “Maybe.”

“Well, the Dread Wolf knows far too much about my love life as it is already. What’s one more thing?”

She giggled, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Do you mean it? What you said, did you really mean it?”

“Of course. I love you, Eva, ma lath, ma vhenan, and whatever the future brings, I want to be at your side.”

“I love you too. You make me want something after this, a life together, something to fight for.”

“Can you two just suck face already?” Taash called from one of the nearby balconies where they turned to realise that all of the other members of the Veilguard had gathered outside of their prospective rooms to see this confession come to fruition.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint our audience,” Rook grinned, leaning up and kissing him.

He wrapped his arms tight around her, dipping her back a little like he had seen described in those terrible romance novels Varric wrote, earning shouts and applause from their friends.

Whatever happened, whatever tragedies they would face tomorrow or the day after, they were both willing to fight for something more, a life beyond, and even if it would never come to pass, they had today, this moment, and nothing, no ancient elven god or even his Calling, would take that from them.

[coincasual]

part 2

Briar goes to the party and helps her crew finish setting up (Hopper, Cupid, Melody, Ginger, Maddie, Blondie, Dex, Humphrey, Meeshell, Farrah)

it’s an orchard star party so it was fruit and star themed! Briar had organized it to show off the botany classes’ year/semester long fruit creation project and to help out her friends’ small businesses!

the party attendees eat the cakes and goodies, all fruit themed (and some were made with/served along side other students’ fruit projects), and many crafted by Ginger Breadhouse! Maddie Hatter agreed to make a special fruit blend of wonderland tea (when consumed it tasted like lemons and blueberry zapples!), and the music was provided by dual dj’s of the night, Melody and Cupid! Briar had asked Blondie to get good coverage of the night, so Humphrey and Dex (and Meeshell, who accompanied Humphrey) as well as Blondie herself, walked around interviewing attendees and getting good party b roll.

apple shows up exactly on time, others arrive, faybelle is the last to get there, both fashionably and rudely late. when faybelle arrived briar noticed she was acting weirdly. but faybelle insisted she was acting normally and went off to talk to some of the other general villainy students in a huff of sparkles and iridescent blue. Briar tried to blow it off, the night wasn’t over yet, and she still had a lot to do.

the party was roaring! and it was only 11:58. as the distant bell towers began to to toll, Melody and Cupid cut the music, Briar was at the mic. Faybelle watched from the back of the crowd.

“How we doing ever after!!” the crowd cheered, “We have one final surprise for you all tonight! As a special appreciation to the students who worked so hard on their projects,” a small, but bright cheer emerged, Briar laughed and waved, “and for all of the encouragement and support we got from our friends for all of those late lab night lattes!” Faybelle felt her pulse quicken.

“Late night lattes? who was she..” Faybelles thoughts were haunted by the sickly sweet scent of apples. Apple. the curse.. Curses! She had been so focused on club-snubbing Briar that she forgot to watch and see if she had given Apple the apple. Faybelle scanned the crowd nervously. Blonde after blonde, where was that short little- there!! Apple was jumping up and down near the front, waving and shouting. Faybelle rolled her eyes. Farrah was on the stage now waving her wand and saying something-

suddenly the entire orchard was filled with a luminous thick blue smoke. it sparkled and swirled, and smelled like blue razzberries. Faybelle coughed, she had never grown used to the taste and smell of good fairy magic, or really anyone else’s magic besides her own.

once the cloud of magical blue razzberry dust cleared- everyone looked down to find their clothes changed into twinkling, sparkling, gem encrusted and fruit themed versions of what they were before! the crowd erupted with cheer as Farrah daintily wiped sweat from her brow and curtsied. With that, the music began again, and the party continued on.

Farrah’s enchantment did more than level up everyone’s clothes- it also replenished all of the snacks and beverages! Briar made a mental note to give her a big gift later, maybe an enchanted spa set to help her relax after performing so much magic. She would have to ask Faybelle.. Briar looked around for the faerie but couldn’t see her. Briar sighed. Faybelle was supposed to meet up with Briar before the party to help show up, and she was two hours late! Briar smiled and waved to a group of people who were thanking her for the party. She headed off the stage and was greeted by a tinkling laugh and a warm hug. Briar looked down onto a cascade of shining light blonde curls, Apple. The friends embraced.

“Oh! Apple!” Briar held her out at arms length, “I made something for you!” Apples red lips formed a surprised O shape.

“A gift! For me? Why, Briar Beauty, you are such a charmer!” Apple giggled and twirled her skirts, “Do I finally get to see what you’ve been working on in such secret?!” Briar clapped her hands gleefully and darted behind the stage, emerging only moments later with a transparent gift box, wrapped in deep red velvet ribbons. Briar began to pull the ribbon, Apple’s eyes gleamed.

Faybelle made her way towards the refreshment table. She saw Briar and Apple hugging near the stage. “Must be soon now,” her hands trembled as she poured herself some tea. Faybelle’s stomach was doing flips. So soon. Faybelle felt nervous. Or… hexcited? either way, she felt the urge to fly. her wings unfurled, and away she went.

[minakoainosupremacy]

I’m sad, I’ve had a bunch of fun cool ideas sitting in the back of my head since like new years which I wanted to use for rare pair week, but like life has been kicking my ass so I didn’t have time to even start anything and now it’s over :( guess they will just keep living in my head until next year

[kdsburneraccount]

Thinking about them (thing in my notes app I found from over a year ago that was an idea for the Milwaukee Bucks but vaguely inspired by the Song of Achilles)

[invisible-friend-system]

So I decided to make a drawing challenge for systems and plural people (aka, me explaining Systember)

Systember is a lot like other drawing challenges, except instead of taking place in October like a lot of other ones, it takes place in September, and is focused on plurality and systems. (Why September? Purely because of the name. That's literally the only reason.)

If you decide to participate, please tag your works with "systember" so I can look at them all cause I'm a curious little goober :33 And please reblog this post to get the word out!

List and questions under the cut

Prompt list:

Together

Protective

Animal

Peaceful

Love

Family

Introject

Memory

Blurry

Switch

Spectator

Nonhuman

Self

Friends

Body

Sadness

Little

Happy

Glass

Headcanon

Gaming

Art

Relax

Hobby

Nature

Colors

Anger

Parent

Shiny

Your choice!

Questions you might have (and answers you might need):

"Do I have to follow the prompts?" Absolutely not, they're just a suggestion. I tried to keep them vague enough to allow anyone to participate. The plural experience is wide and varied, and this challenge hopes to celebrate that.

"Can I participate if I'm ____?" This challenge is open to all systems/plurals/multiples, no matter their origins or beliefs. If you share a body with other people in some way, this challenge is open to you. While I can't exactly stop singlets from participating in this challenge, it's not exactly meant for them. That being said, I want no syscourse to interfere with this challenge. We're here to draw, not to argue.

"What if I don't draw everyday?" That's fine! Do what you can! You don't have to make fully fleshed out pieces, you don't have to draw every single day, you don't have to participate at all, no one's holding you at gunpoint to draw these. Just have fun to the best of your ability.

"This was posted too late! I have no time to prepare!" Yeah, uh... I forgor. Sorry.

"Are you going to be doing this?" I'm gonna fuckin try! Although most of my art will probably be posted to @somewhatdailyanthrostuck since we have a lot of Homestuck introjects and I need ideas for my "daily" drawing blog.

[cogentranting]

Rating Non-Disney Animated Horse Designs

I’m back by popular demand/well not really but my optimism’s grand

A sequel to my Disney horse Rating post for all the other random non-Disney horses. Dreamworks, Bluesky, random cartoons, anything I could find. Featuring: Altivo, Spirit, some Barbie horses, and a few abominations.

Horse (Sing)

6/10 I don’t hate it and I feel like I should because it’s really hard to anthropomorphize horses that much without making them into the stuff of nightmares.

Shadowfax (The Lord of the Rings) 

5/10 There’s nothing WRONG with him per se, but it’s SHADOWFAX. Lord of all horses. He should wow me, and he doesn’t. Check out Gandalf’s weird sock-boots though. 

Hervé (Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper) 

-6/10 Horses' mouths don’t look like that. Horses’ mouths should not look like that. This thing wants to eat human flesh but can’t because it has two solid curved huge teeth with no physical  relationship with its jaw. Also this horse has the beginnings of male-pattern baldness. 

Princess Brietta (Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus)

1/10 Her eyes are flat like they’ve been painted onto her socketless skull. And there’s something very off-putting about this shade of pink. 

Beauty, Merry Legs, Ginger (Black Beauty) 

4/10 Ginger isn’t ginger. That is not a sorrel horse. There’s ONE requirement. Beauty’s the best of the three which is I guess what counts. 

Hans, Klaus and Greta (Ferdinand) 

2/10 I hate them so much. The core design isn’t that bad but the way they move and pose is. No horse should make that face. The one on the left is stretched putty.

The Grand Chawhee (All Dogs Go to Heaven)

I know what you’re thinking-- “isn’t that a mule or a donkey of some sort?” No. He’s a racehorse. Maybe a thoroughbred. And it’s his birthday so the other horses let him win. 

9/10

Stella (All Dogs Go to Heaven)

1/10 She gets one point for being nice to Chawhee. But she’s clearly some sort of alien giraffe hybrid. 

Odette’s horse (Swan Princess) 

7/10 Just a nice little palomino design.  

That little shaggy pony (The Quest for Camelot)

12/10 Amazing. Look at the determination.

Buck (Barnyard) 

2/10 See this is what that horse from Sing COULD have looked like. 

The Horse in the Back, Not Klaus But I Couldn’t FInd a Better Picture (Klaus)

9/10 He matches his owner and I respect that

Leah (The Star) 

4/10 This is horse is voiced by Kelly Clarkson. That has nothing to do with her rating, I just thought you should know. 

(Starchaser: The Legend of Orin) 

8/10 for both. I have questions but I do not want answers. It’s better this way. 

Fred (Over the Garden Wall)

7/10 don’t love that his head is a different color than his body in a weird way but he looks neurotic and fun. 

The Chariot Horses (Prince of Egypt)

8/10 I’ve just always liked these guys with their square faces and fun hats. 

Altivo (The Road to El Dorado)

7/10 Look at the little curl in his mane. Good personality. A little too much “Dreamworks Face” 

Donkey in Horse Form (Shrek 2? one of the Shreks) 

3/10 Look at his face. I DREAD what he might have to say. 

Esmeralda, Esperanza, Ernestina (Madgascar 3)

2/10 They’re coming for you. Coming to drag you into the Abyss. 

Police Horse (Madagascar)

7/10 I like his face shape. Compare him to the Madgascar 3 horses-- look how much more identifiable as a horse he is. 

Melvin (The Lorax)

10/10 He’s not a horse, but he’s so fluffy I love him. 

Babieca (Puss in Boots)

4/10 This horse has dead eyes. 

Onyx (Rise of the Guardians) 

13/10 She’s the leader of the nightmares and I would fully support her terrorizing the dreams of children. I’m pretty sure she and her mares ate the boogie man. A true Girlboss.

Yi Min (Kung Fu Panda but I think just an online game) 

-20/10 Just from a design perspective there’s far too much going on so it’s hard to even make it all out. Also I would have zero idea that this was a horse if the wiki page didn’t tell me it was. It has split hooves? 

Spirit Jr. (Spirit: Riding Free) 

8/10 Objectively I know the design is good  but my heart rebels against this show’s existence. 

Boomerang Thomas Stone (Spirit: Riding Free) 

8/10 I’m not doing all the horses from this show but I had to throw him in because he’s cute and he has a middle and last name for some reason.

Horse (Centaurworld) 

Why are there two distinctly different designs for her? This one gets a 9/10. The round one is like... a 5. All the other creatures in this show are eldritch abominations that will haunt me in my sleep now. 

Esperanza and all the other horses from this movie (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron) 

10/10 No notes. Perfect horses. 

Rain (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron) 

15/10 I don’t have a joke here I just really like the way they differentiated her and made her pretty without too much anthropomorphizing. I like that she has a roman nose.  I like her feather. 

Spirit (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron)

100/10 He’s everything. He shaped me as a person. No other animated horse can compare. 

[tesscourtes]

saw you had asks open, not a drawing request but wanted to know if there was any more story to your human bill’s punishment-for-weirdmageddon-is-to-turn-weak-human au, I really like it (sorry if you explained this a while back, I only just watched gravity falls😭I’m a late-comer to the fandom)

it’s just superepiccool to me, how are dipper and mabel about him being human now? Soos n Wendy, Stan and Ford? What was it like for them (especially Ford) when he just turned human? What was it like for Bill?

oh hey don't worry, I haven't really talked much about the details of the AU like ... ever. I just started reviving it because I got my partner into the show (they are also a new fan! yay, new fans! Funny enough I had no idea TBOB was coming out so the timing was mad exquisite.) and they have just been an amazing help shaping my messy thoughts and coming up with new, fun plots! It's also nice to know there's someone out there interested in it, so thank's for asking! Now that I read TBOB I want to change the premise a bit, but the core is still the same.

Let me tell you this AU is silly. I'm aware Billford is toxic and there are many corners to dive into to picture their messy relationship. But I kinda wanna keep the spirit of the show here and make it equally as fun as it is disturbing. Given that Bill canonically is trapped in endless Therapy gives me even more food to work with, he just out there being toxic and people repeatedly telling him to cut it out.

I'm not gonna go into too much detail because I'm actually working on the first comic chapter for this AU, but regarding the characters: Each of the Pines, as well as Wendy and Soos, are not happy seeing him, but individually grow more accustomed to him and with him. I guess going from "most accepting" to "least accepting", Mabel took it the best. I wouldn't say she was quick to forgive, but quick enough to give the guy a chance. And I honestly have to say that, although this is 100% a Billford AU, there's so many plot ideas for just Mabel and Bill and their amazing, chaotic shenanigans. Put these two together and the stories basically write themselves. Wendy is pretty similar, and the most chill in actually helping Bill figure out human stuff.

Naturally, Ford took it the hardest. I'm aiming for slowburn here, haha. They got to figure out some stuff that I'm so ready to put onto pages... Ford is a lot of emotions. Confused, angered, curious... Meanwhile Stan is Bills biggest hater. (There is a lot of bullying in this AU) He just keeps up with it because his Family makes him. He's very protective and tries to kick Bill out several times. Soos sticks with Stan, but he's also Soos and has a big heart, so in Bills eye, he's very gullible and a target he can mess with easily.

Dipper is not a fan either, he has a hard time adjusting to the triangle just getting to ... be there. He's suspicious for the most part and Bill has to try hard to get on his good side. But honestly he might be more upset with Mabel (and later on Wendy) for making friends with Bill so easily, even though he knows that's just their nature. I just recently started thinking about Gideon and how I'd like to include him, but nothing worth mentioning so far yet.

With Bill himself, one my favorite parts trying to portray so far is how he's dealing with his new mortality. He adjusts to the body fine, he knows how to navigate flesh, but he has a hard time accepting that it's his body. His new prison, essentially. If it's gone, he's gone. If he treat's it like shit, he feels like shit. Then we add the psychological aspect of things. And more importantly, we add Ford to the equation. When I tell you, that demon is experiencing psychological damage here, and it's fully his fault. TBOB really pointed out to me that I need to dive into his obsession with Ford. How do you even get a man you fumbled so bad, to even acknowledge you again?

I love yapping about this AU, thanks again for giving me the grounds to do so anon! I'm an insecure writer so it'll probably take another hot minute to choose which script feels best to draw out, haha. But I'm glad you seem to be up for the ride!!

[infamous-if]

To Gender Select, or to Not Gender Select

So as everyone knows, I'm using the opportunity for this rewrite to really step back and look at what I have so far. I have just subscribed to the whole "follow my gut" thing and for the last two months or so, my gut has been telling me something.

For context, I created Orion (and I have mentioned this a couple times when I first opened this blog) that he came to me fully formed. While other ROs were more of a puzzle that appeared more and more fleshed out with every detailed I added, Orion was like a jenga block tower that grew more and more unsteady every time I changed a detail about him. He just came to me exactly as he was and I didn't really think beyond that. For example, with G, pieces of both Gina and Griffin came to me at the same time and G isn't G without both versions. With Orion he was just...Orion.

But lately—and this was not without many suggestions asking for it!—I've been playing around with the idea of a female version of his character.

One of my biggest things was to make sure that this wasn't a matter of just changing a variable. When it comes to my gender selectable ROs, I want to make sure I'm including the subtleties and nuances that come with being a man/woman in the public eye, especially for O. Their route is heavily centered around the idea of professionalism and...other things I can't mention and I think it'd be super interesting to add another component of being a woman, not only typically stern and taciturn but in a dominant position in music mostly taken up by men. Which is why, in the rewrite, there will be lines that are unique to Orion and unique to her. Reactions that are different, conversations that change. People who continue to romance Orion will prob not see a difference.

Not only does it separate them as two different people, it creates some distance from Orion, who is an established and beloved character already. I want his female counterpart to stand on her own as her own character.

Just because they have the same route does not mean they are the same person. I've always said that about my gender selectable characters.

This was not a spur of the moment decision. I was thinking about this for a while. I just needed to make sure every piece of Orion's route would make sense for her, and I do believe it does.

I've also been told many times how many people like Orion's route and the whole "manager-client" trope but are unable to play it as they are not attracted to men. I think this would be a nice addition and a way to make it more inclusive/give more people more routes to play!

The things I have written for Orion will probably stay the same since they've been written. Everything after the rewrite will have both options to select from.

So meet Oriana Quinn. With a short black bob usually greased back and a perfectly pressed suit, Oriana is as intimidating as she is determined. Yes, she's just as tall and muscular as her male counterpart and as obsessed with the gym as he. Her route with Cory will be different in its nature (since Cory is straight) but...guess we'll see!

fun fact: The beauty of Oriana being the name is that coincidentally, it also has to do with the sky. One of my requirements for finding a name like Orion's was that it was sky themed since it does come up. It almost seems like fate! haha

TLDR: Orion will be gender selectable. If you have plans to romance Orion and Orion alone, this will make no difference to you. For those who were hoping for this, I hope this news makes Infamous a bit more enjoyable for you! <3

[mauesartetc]

A while back I got a comment that demonstrated a misconception as to what the character design process actually entails, and I thought it had real "teachable moment" potential. So let me make this perfectly clear:

Drawing a character is NOT the same as designing one.

Let's say I wanted to draw a guy. No backstory, no defined personality traits or preferences, no details about his current life, just doodling some random, generic guy who popped into my head.

That's just a drawing.

But what if I decided to flesh him out more? What if I wanted his appearance to reflect his lifestyle and inner life as well? Here's where the note-taking comes in.

And now for the visual research:

I thought the bodybuilding angle would provide a fun contrast with this guy's profession. The mental image of a huge, burly dude working on a clock or watch with tiny, precise movements just makes me smile. Perhaps I could give him small, nimble hands that would suit his line of work.

Now that I have a better idea of how Mikhail's face and body will look, it's time to establish a pose.

Of course, I never expected to employ all the personality traits I started out with inside this single pose; those were just a jumping-off point. No one drawing will ever be able to encapsulate every single facet of a character, unless they're extraordinarily flat and generic (see also: random guy I doodled at the start of this post). If I wanted to write a story with this guy, I'd have to figure out how all the traits play off each other and how they'd cause him to react to different situations. There would be a lot more note-taking and development involved, but for the sake of keeping this post (somewhat) brief, let's just focus on visuals for now.

On to color!

I decided to give Mikhail a carnation in his pocket (for its round shape), specifically a red one, which represents deep love and an aching heart. Thus, the flower needed to maintain its red color for the symbolism to come through.

For some reason I initially pictured this guy wearing a pink shirt (perhaps as an offshoot of the "romantic" angle), but I wanted to try some different colors inspired by the 70s catalog pages I found. I ended up really liking the contrast of the cool blue shirt with the warm red pants, and that option made it into my top three as a result. I lined them up next to each other to compare them, and in the end, blue won out over pink. I think it also reflects the "colder", more cerebral, less-emotional parts of his personality well (namely "systematic", "stern", and "callous"- one from each column!). Just goes to show that you shouldn't get too attached to your first draft, as better ideas are just around the corner.

I then lightened the blue of the shirt so it wouldn't compete so much with the rest of the outfit, and wouldn't be quite as loud and "in your face". Mikhail strikes me as a bit of an introvert, so the calmer, quieter blue is a better fit. I added a darker belt and watchband and de-saturated the flower just a bit to make the values feel more balanced, and I think we've got it!

Let's see the final result!

Y'all, I was not expecting this process to make me emotional, but there's something special about fully realizing a little guy you've spent hours working on. All of a sudden you look at him and go, "Oh my god, there he is. That's him." This man wasn't even a twinkle in my eye a couple weeks ago and now I'd protect him with my life.

And the thing is, the only reason I'm calling this design "done" for now is that I basically just brought it into existence to make a point. But if this dude were attached to a larger story, he'd be nowhere near finished. I'd have to make a ton more iterations and go a lot more in depth with my research than I did (especially with the Armenian cultural stuff). Overall, though, I hope this quick project properly highlighted the difference between a single drawing and a more fleshed-out character.

Later!

[hatsukeii]

jigsaw falling into place / tsukishima kei x reader

genre(s) - frenemies to lovers if you look at it one way, and soulmates/twin flames if you look at it another, which means it's fully up to whatever you want pookies, also they are both ex dancers which is a fun little thing i had an idea for but i can't tell if it's an au, angst???

warning(s) - injury??? ankles?? yeah, injury and ankles, mentions of blood, iirc there are very slight references of reader being female but it's probably just one or two mentions at most, not a warning but it'll be more fun if you recognise the music references in this, they’re almost exclusively from radiohead because jigsaw falling into place!!!

wc: 7.0k~ (give or take)

tldr; breathe in, and surrender, let the jigsaw fall into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The first time you meet, the two of you are fourteen at De La Soul dance studio. For what reason Tsukishima has ended up in regular hip-hop rehearsals, he has never disclosed to anyone. Perhaps he was coerced into it, or maybe he had time to kill. He sticks out like a sore thumb from his first day onwards, tall and lanky, topped with a glaringly blonde mess of hair, and a pair of clunky, taped up glasses. He always sits at the mirror, his back never further than an inch away from it, wired earphones dangling from his ears down to his pockets. Of all the dancers at the studio, he is the least dancer-like. His gigantic limbs render him nothing short of stiff, and never once has he taken those earphones off during practice. Yet his feet are always quicker to adapt than his arms, and his arms are long enough to lift everybody on the team. One of those days, you sneak a look at his phone while he naps in front of the mirror, a bottle of water hanging from his loosened fingers as his feet tap rhythmically.

“Radiohead?”

His head rises groggily from his arms as he yanks his earphones off. He takes a swig from his bottle, clearing his throat from his rudely interrupted nap 

“You like them too?”

“I’ve heard some.”

“Cool.”

He plugs the earphones in again as his head threatens to lower into his arms for a second nap, and you settle yourself comfortably next to him. Your original plan was to ask him for a spot, but this will suffice for now. Two tired bodies sprawled out against the cold ground, backs pressed up against the mirror. He turns to look at you, you extend a fist to him.

“Y/n.”

“Kei. Tsukishima Kei.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Bloody fingers, stained finger tape. The webs of his hands are torn, the ball won’t stop for him. He stands small as a giant amongst a court of Gods. Breathe in, breathe out. Let the blood dry as it trickles down to lace his knuckles. It’s not over yet, far from it. 

His hands bleed as the water runs a murky shade of brown beneath his hands. He unravels the soggy, blood-stained tape from his fingers, and flings them into the bin, clicking his tongue when it sticks to the inside of the garbage bag. 

“Get it together, Kei. What the fuck are you doing?”

His reflection does not speak back to him. All it does is stare blankly, stupid thing. He rips his glasses off, pinching his eyes with his dripping hands. Let the water in, let it wash him over. It stings in streaks of red, settles over his irises in a blurry film. The blood has dried around his cuts, clotting around skin and flesh. He cups running water in his wounded palms, and throws his face in. He stays there, unmoving as he stares at his palms. He sees you in the crowd, clear as day in his closed eyes. He sees you watching as Ukai pulls him out of the game, he sees you as he walks off the court, and into the bathrooms. He holds his breath, letting out little bubbles until his lungs become nothing but shriveled pink discs beneath his ribs, before whipping his head out, filling his lungs with oxygen again.

He wraps fresh tape around his fingers, tightening them until his fingers are stiff, and puts his glasses back on. It is far from over.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“You don’t look like you like Radiohead.”

You kick the back of Tsukishima’s knees, and they buckle slightly beneath his stiff torso.

“Shut up and learn this first.”

Three weeks since joining the studio, and those are the next words he says to you. The other dancers have migrated out of the room, taking the twenty-minute break they were promised an hour ago. You push his torso in, and tiptoe to adjust his arms. Much better.

“Look in the mirror, and remember how this looks. Then do it again, and again, every time.”

You flick the music on, letting it rumble through the dance room. This is the fifth time you have run this sequence with him, yet he just doesn’t seem to understand. He is almost there, and you will not give up on him. As the beats resonate through your skull, and the melody pulls at your ligaments and muscles, you watch Tsukishima through the mirror. He is only mimicking your movements. He is almost there, but it is not right yet.

“You’re off, go again.”

The music rewinds. He hops in place, awaiting for the cue to begin. Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up. 

“It’s not right, go again.”

Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up-

“Stop it. This isn’t how you dance, Tsukishima.”

He throws his arms down in surrender, crouching down as his knees tremble beneath him. The oxygen in the room is thick, but scarce. Only traces manage to slither their way into his lungs as he breathes in, breathes out. He has done everything right, hit every move, every beat, every lyric. What could be wrong? What could possibly be out of order?

“Stop rushing the moves, and just let yourself go. You need to let it fall into place.”

“Like a jigsaw?”

You grin at his earphone, dangling haphazardly from his right ear. Of course, he loves Radiohead.

“Yeah, like a jigsaw.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It has been ten minutes. Four rounds have passed without his presence. You watch Hinata desperately sprint across the court, dashing across lines of green, white, and red. Daichi has screamed until his throat is hoarse, and wheezes are beginning to form in the back of everyone’s throats. Kageyama’s fingers are beginning to get lousy, his fingertips are flexing more than they should as he sets the ball too far, too short, too high, too low.

They need a wall. Karasuno is a kingdom without a fourth wall, and the volleyball is knocking the other ones down with every spike. Eyes are darting across the court. Feet are squeaking beneath the polished ground. The claps of skin on leather ring prominent with each receive, each hit, each block.

Tsukishima’s shadow emerges from the edge of the court’s entryway, and Ukai calls a timeout.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

His eyes flutter open from beneath his arms. His earphones have fallen off. Is break still going? A pair of feet stomp and squeak beneath the ground, yet no others follow along. He looks up. It is a lonely performance. 

“You need to let it fall into place.”

Arms collapse around your torso, locking and releasing as they travel along your body from your hips, to your chest, to the air. Your arms are vines crawling up a wall, leaping across the border between greying streets and falling into the sanctuary of your garden. The shuffling of your feet guide the vines, the crevices of a brick wall paving the path for them to snake up the wall in a map of green. 

It is unlike anything Tsukishima has seen, or done before. 

Every move falls into place.

You turn, and he rests his head beneath his arms again. He understands now that he is not done yet. He is not even close to being there. His earphones lie pathetically on the ground beside him. Out of place. He shoves them back into his ears, letting the music wash through his head. He etches your every move into his mind, so that maybe one day, his arms may move like vines on a wall too, draping into bushes like roses in a garden.

Falling into place like a jigsaw.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The fresh tape has begun to rip again, but he must stay. The tape can’t help Tsukishima now, only his eyes can. Target their morale. Build frustration. When the frustration spills over, Shiratorizawa’s walls will falter. The redhead blocker across the net has a manic look in his eyes as the ball approaches him. Creepy. Kageyama freezes in place, as though mesmerised by the toss. Get it together, and move. 

The ball is out of place, the angles are off. It’s a lagged attack, and anyone with half a brain should know. The redhead jumps, and Tsukishima follows suit. Just a bit more, get the hands over the net. Reinforce the barrier, keep it rigid. He cannot, and will not, let the wall collapse again. 

The crowd behind you roars in chants and cheers as the ball is deflected, shooting into Shiratorizawa’s court as their own attack turns its back on them. The redhead clicks his tongue, sneering at Tsukishima, who approaches the net, hands shoved into his pockets. You vaguely make out Tsukishima’s remark, which sends the redhead into a tantrum.

“Hi, I’m the normal guy. Good to meet you."

He is getting cocky again, like he was before, like he always has been.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Four months in, and the team has moved from basics, to breakdancing. Tsukishima operates gracefully now, hands falling into place as pillars for his body while his legs swing in tandem with every switch of his hands.

But he’s been rubbing his elbows for the past minute, and you aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore.

As his hands settle around your waist, his wrists swell in shades of red and pink, burdened with the role of being residential breakdancer. He has been rubbing his elbows for the past two minutes. You really aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore. 

“Tsukki, are you sure you can-”

“How many times have I told you already? It’s nothing, I got this.”

He adjusts his wristbands, massages his wrists one last time. He has done this countless of times before, so why are you nagging at him now? He’s perfected the shape of his hands, the way they rest under your arms, and on your waist. He’s done this more times than most dancers in this team have spoken to you. It’s just a lift.

“Three, two, one-”

The weight of your back crumbles beneath his fingers. The dull throb in his wrists extends with a pop, piercing through muscle as it blitzes its way down in pulses from his wrists, to his forearms, to his elbow. 

“Fuck!”

Your body falls with a thud from approximately eight feet above ground, the side of your ankle making first impact with the floor. It does not make way for you, and your foot twists with a shuddering crack. The rest of your body follows suit, knees slamming into wood veneer as your head whips forward into the ground. 

The rest of the team huddles around you, and you almost manage to muster up enough strength to beg them to leave. The oxygen in the room is running out, instead replaced by a thick fog. It rots in your lungs, poisoning your arteries as it makes its way through your bloodstream. Murmurs and shrieks are choked out from the horrified crowd, some frantically scrambling for their phones. 

“...fuck.”

Tsukishima stares in horror, staggering backwards towards the mirror. It was just a lift. A lift he had done hundreds of times before. It was one lift out of hundreds, the only one out of place. His earphones dangle from his pocket, but he does not plug them in. 

He reaches for his bag, and he runs. He runs until he reaches home. He doesn’t go inside, he doesn’t enter the gate, he doesn’t plug his earphones in. He stares at his hands, and his wrists don’t hurt anymore, while the stinging in his elbows is reduced to a dull soreness.

It was just one lift. One lift out of the hundreds he has done before.

He cradles his face in his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, and holds his breath until the air in his lungs goes purple.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Touched it!”

Shiratorizawa are tiring out. He can hear it in their huffs of discontent, the curses beneath their breaths at every block, their cries at every missed save. The redhead sneers at Tsukishima with every jump he makes, and each dirty look fuels him with buzzes of adrenaline. Push them a little more. Shiratorizawa’s fortress will crumble, and Karasuno will rise from the rubble.

“I hit it!”

Keep going, do not stop. Pick up the pieces of Shiratorizawa’s wall, and reinforce Karasuno’s defence with them. Deflect their attacks, use their own power against them. Watch the ball, wait for angles to align, and strike. They will falter soon, he can see it in their panicked eyes, feel it in their impatient strategies.

“Touch!”

His calls echo through the court. Your eyes dart between the ball, Tsukishima’s hands, Shiratorizawa, Tsukishima’s hands, then the ball, an unending series of attacks and counterattacks. Your breath hitches with every jump he makes. He moves powerfully, his timing precise on every block. His eyes are attentive, nimble fingers swipe left and right automatically at Shiratorizawa’s feints and tricks. You can almost hear the gears overclocking in his head, stopwatches ticking and springing him off his feet as they ring. 

It is unlike anything you have seen before.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Another jigsaw puzzle for me?”

Tsukishima hovers over your bed, a jigsaw set in hand. Your cast pokes out from beneath the blankets, glaringly obvious. Third degree ankle injury, complete tear of the ligament on impact, is what the podiatrist said. 

“Just the sixth one this month, you’ve got another month to go in that cast. It’s a thousand pieces this time.”

His weight sinks the mattress beneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him unbox the jigsaw set. Across your bed, two other assembled puzzles sit atop your dresser, jigsaw albums framed in glass panels. The loose pieces tumble to the ground, and Tsukishima peels the blanket off you, sitting next to the pile of jigsaw pieces on the floor. Lifting your foot up, and off the bed, you settle on the ground across him, the pile sitting between the two of your legs.

“Corners first?”

“Yeah, corners first.”

The pieces fall into place quickly. One tends to become acquainted with the rough edges of jigsaw pieces in times of boredom, especially when their friend brings a new set to their house every week or so. The colour scheme keeps you guessing. What album is it this time? The Bends? Room On Fire? The two of you assemble away quietly, carefully lifting portions of the puzzle into the glass frame. 

“Kei.”

He lifts his head from his work, the centre of the puzzle laid delicately over his palms.

“You know, they told me I probably can’t dance like that again.”

He freezes, the puzzle falling from his hands and shattering on the frame. He sees the vines, but they wither, retreating back into the concrete streets, limping into the road where cars will drive over them without a care. They will never return to the garden again, replaced with thorns on a bush instead. 

He cannot fix this. No amount of forcing the oxygen out of his lungs after every lonely dance practice, or buying puzzles of different albums, or sitting on your bedroom floor for hours every week, building puzzles by your side silently, or reimagining how he should’ve refused to do the lift, how his hand should have cradled your body the same way he had done it hundreds of times before, will ever fix this. 

“And you’re just…okay with that?”

You smile melancholically, tilting your cast-adorned ankle. Picking up the pieces of the centre, you reassemble them quietly, head bowed as your lips quiver and your eyes droop. Tsukishima watches in horror, his hand reaching behind him for his bag. 

“Do I have a choice?”

You place the final piece in place. In Rainbows, classic. 

You look up, and he is not there.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Kageyama turns to glance at Tsukishima. A follow up attack after a net bounce will certainly tire them out. His foot pivots, having just hit the ground from a futile block attempt. The tape is loose on the sides now, peeling off around the edges and the rips. The redhead’s manic glares from across the net have since progressed to tired psychopathy, and he intends to milk every last drop of energy from his mind. May the best mental processor win. 

You watch him sprint, and he leaps, higher than he ever has. Tsukishima is agile, six foot two but light as a feather on his feet. His waist twists with his shoulders, his arms pulled back into a bow, ready to shoot. Yet something is odd. He is holding back. You watch the ball travel away from Tsukishima across the front court, positioning itself right in front of Tanaka’s hand as he strikes. There is a hole in Shiratorizawa’s defence, and the redhead knows it. He sneers, eyes darting wildly across the court as he runs to block, but the ball breaks through their fortress, slamming into the ground. 

Another hole in the wall.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The next time you and Tsukishima meet, it is your first year in Karasuno. You hadn’t seen, or spoken to him since the night he ran away from your house. Calls were sent straight to voicemail, messages were left on received, before not being sent at all. You waited day and night for his next song recommendation, his next album review, his next puzzle. The In Rainbows puzzle sits amongst the rest atop your dresser, and every time you glance at it from your bed, an unsettling weight settles on your chest.

Was that all you were to him? An ex dance partner? 

To think that all those hours spent with a pair of earphones stretched between your heads as you assembled thousands of puzzle pieces into mosaics of music, tucked away into the corners of your lives, would have amounted to something. All the silent celebrations at each completed set, the late nights that the two of you worked in, gluing each jigsaw piece in place until they fitted together perfectly, all that made you believe the two of you had something special, something that quietly encompassed the space between your working minds and gentle fingers. You did not know him enough to amount to more than friends, but you knew enough about how he thought, moved, felt. You knew enough about the music he liked, his preference of building from corners, the way his palms cushioned your waist as he lifted you into the air. You knew enough for a friendship to have sufficed. Nothing more, nothing less, if he so desired. 

How audacious. How audacious of him to waltz into your life, a perfectly assembled puzzle, and watch it shatter on the ground, all without a single apology.

The first Friday at Karasuno high, you are silent. The limp in your right leg goes unnoticed by most, yet the crowded halls prove a challenge, after-school rush is a true menace. You stay back, waiting for the crowd to die down, as your head turns to the billboard. 

“Hip-hop Wednesdays! See you after school at the gym’s dance hall!”

Your mouth twitches, the unravelling of arms and shuffling of feet rushing into your head again. No, this won’t work. Doctor’s- no, podiatrist’s orders. The poster is alluring, however, and your eyes seem to linger at its warm invitation, until they are rudely knocked away from it. 

“Why are you standing in a crowd rush, idiot?”

You turn to the voice, clear as day amongst the chatter of students and the quickening steps behind you. Amber eyes meet yours, narrow at first, then widening in shock as they register your presence. You bite the inside of your lip, pushing down his name as it claws its way up your throat. He stands taller now, towering over you as his eyes travel between your left and right irises. The wired earphones have been replaced by a shinier pair of headphones, a pair that won't dangle from his ears, or stretch between two heads anymore.

He stares, just long enough for the green-haired boy beside him to notice. Your name threatens to spill out of his mouth, but the letters tangle up in knots, blocking his windpipe. He imagines what it will be like to blurt it out, to let the words ring in your eardrums as he runs towards you. He hears himself in his head, his voice returning to its prepubescent meekness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

He stares, just long enough to imagine the contempt in your eyes, the disdain in the curl of your lips, your sharp, stinging voice, shattering his final sliver of hope.

“How could you do this to me?”

He stares, just long enough to replay the lift again. The way your ankle twists and pops on impact with the ground, your panicked wheezes, his frantic sprint home at the realisation of what he had done. He has replayed the lift enough times to know where he should put his hands this time, how he should prop your body up against his palms, how he should admit that his elbows hurt- have hurt for weeks, even months. And his wrists, and his fingers, and his chest.

He stares, just long enough to rethink blurting out your name, and running towards you, but not long enough to regret turning away, and blending into the crowd again, speaking of volleyball instead of dance, Lamp instead of Radiohead. 

Yet regret is a wisp of thick fog, trailing him insidiously as he descends the stairs, far away from you, from his guilt, from the mistake that will haunt him for as long as he lives.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

You see yourself in front of the gym anyways on Wednesday. You decide that you will not dance, you are only in your uniform and leather shoes after all. The gym door swings open to the sight of sweaty teenage boys donning sweatshorts and t-shirts, smacking volleyballs left and right, and you wonder how you are supposed to make your way into the dance room, tucked away in the corner of the gymnasium. You step inside, shuffling along the wall as balls shoot over your head, and land next to you, in front of you, behind you.

Yamaguchi nudges at Tsukishima's torso, watching you jog through the chaos of serving drills. He senses something wrong, something horribly out of place.

"Isn't that the girl? From last week?"

Tsukishima's eyes are trained onto the roll of tape, pulling it taught around his fingers. He chucks the roll onto a bench, and bounces the ball in his hand three times exactly, before holding it up with an outstretched arm. He pretends to aim his serve, but his eyes follow you as you scurry your way across the gym, and into the dance room.

"Who?"

Yamaguchi frowns. Tsukishima hits the serve out of bounds.

The dance room is empty, spare of around eight people. Their sneakers squeak against the ground, and you wince at the familiar noise. You set your bag down in front of the mirror, plugging a pair of earphones into your phone as you stick one in your ear, and shove your phone into your pocket. Leaning against the side of the mirror, you watch the members intently. They laugh, sweat dripping from their hair as their feet tangle together in shuffling drills. You wonder how it feels to join them, to loosen up the gears in your system- no, podiatrist's orders.

But they are happy, just as you felt when you once could move your feet as you pleased. They are content as they adjust each other's arms, and roll their hands across their bodies, just as you were when you used to push Tsukishima's torso into the right spot, and guide his arms through from his head, to around his chest- this is not the place for him to be. He ran away from you, left your puzzle pieces shattered and unruly, just to run back and remind you of what could have been. Cruel.

Fuck podiatrist's orders. A bit of light footwork can't hurt.

Music blares from your earphones, and your body moves with it intuitively. Arms first, popping and dragging as your feet glide across the ground with ease, then fingers, curling up and releasing in waves. The beat thunders through your skull, and it is only a matter of time until the others notice you. They cheer, they clap, they holler, and the limp in your leg fades away as the pieces of your puzzle begin to come together again.

A lonely figure watches you, ten feet from the doorway, before being joined by a green-haired boy

"Who is that, Tsukki?"

Yamaguchi doesn't notice how Tsukishima's eyes threaten to brim with tears. The vines have regained their life. They have returned to their rightful garden, receding from the road and into the rose bushes again, where they wrap around thorn-infested stems. He rolls his shoulders, squeezes his elbows, massages his wrists until the knots untangle. You never needed his lift, or his jigsaw puzzles, all you needed was a pair of earphones, music, and the floor was yours again.

"Yeah... yeah, just somebody that I used to know."

He walks back to his side of the gymnasium.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Tsukishima's feet hit the ground, hands unscathed. Ushijima glares at him from across the net, meeting eye to eye without so much of a lift of his head. The twitch of his mouth speaks his mind as he eyes Karasuno's blockers up and down.

Don't fuck with us. Know your place beneath the doves, you scrambling crows.

How despicable.

Letting two clean hits strike their court has knocked down Karasuno's walls, and Tsukishima can feel the foundations beginning to crumble again. Shiratorizawa are reclaiming the rubble that Karasuno has collected, and he is unable to reconstruct the craters that are forming in their defence. He is using his mind, moving as the information wills him to, watching the ball, visualising the parabolic trajectory as the maximum height aligns with the palm of Shiratorizawa's hitters, springing to defend as the stopwatches click and ring in his head.

So why is nothing working?

No, don't let your own tricks fool you, Kei. Target their minds, when their morale crumbles, their walls will follow. Clear your head. Breathe in, breathe out.

His head turns to you, watching from the stands. Your eyes widen, a deer in headlights being caught in its glare. It is a long shot, he knows, but he needs his mind to flood with your words. Something, somewhere in there, must be the answer to his bleeding prayers. He is missing the central jigsaw piece. Think. Remember.

You freeze, his eyes burning holes into your own. You know him well enough to notice his knuckles trembling, and his eyebrows twitching erratically, and the confusion in his eyes, barricaded by the glare in his glasses, but evident nonetheless. You think you are hallucinating. Why is he looking at you? How did he notice you from the stands, amidst the chaos of their battle on the court?

What does he want?

Ukai's whistle blows, and his hands form a T, calling for a timeout. Tsukishima's eyes do not abandon yours. His lips are separated, just a bit more than usual as he drowns in the air around him. Think, Tsukishima. Where is the answer?

Where is the missing piece?

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It takes you another five months to speak to Tsukishima again. The thought of him has been suppresssed until it is nothing but a snowflake drifting to the ground, the summer of your partnership reduced to nothing but a bleak, inglorious winter. You make friends, more friends than you have ever had. The eight members of the dance club become your new family, the ones who collect your shattered jigsaw pieces, and gently place them back in order, one by one. It is good. You are good.

But why is it that every time his blurry figure passes your eyes as you leave the gymnasium, tall, and lingering, and familiar, a piece falls out again?

Every Wednesday, you wait for the dance room to empty, for the others to pack away their things and make their way home, the sun descending behind the horizon of the school. You wait until they are out of sight, away from the vicinity of the gymnasium, and you stay.

You stay, and watch his figure from behind the door, tall, and lingering, and familiar.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. You know that you didn't deserve it, what Tsukishima had done. He had, for a lack of a better word, crippled you, and you forgave him. He had never apologised, yet you forgave him as if he had anyways. You were never a fan of jigsaw puzzles, yet you amused him as he relentlessly brought them to you, day after day, week after week. The two of you would stretch a singular pair of worn out, flimsy earphones between your heads every night, sprawled across your bedroom floor. His fingers would tap the floorboards beneath him, syncing with the rhythm of the music, and yours would follow.

"Thanks for the puzzle, Tsukki."

"I'll come back with another one next week, okay?"

And he did, he really did, for weeks, until one day he didn't. Until one day, he decided that it was too much, too heavy of a burden, and he ran. And the days became weeks, the weeks months, and the months into an uneventful Friday, when he rudely runs into you amidst the crowded halls of Karasuno High.

And still, somewhere deep in your chest, your heart feels no contempt. Not even a trace of disdain. It has every right to, yet it lets go, and you forgive him silently.

You catch yourself staring now, your eyes refocusing as four eyes meet your own. You have been caught.

"Tsukki, go, now." The green-haired boy speaks imperatively. He can sense it everywhere, from the way Tsukishima freezes, to the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows hard, to the way his hands instinctively massage his wrists for no reason. Something is balanced, but horribly out of place. Something is so fragile that the mumble of a name will shatter its carefully sustained equilibrium.

So you run.

You run until they are out of sight, until all you hear are the confused murmurs of teenage boys, chattering amongst themselves as they stay behind to hone their techniques in the sickly white light of the gymnasium. Heavy steps follow behind yours, equally as desperate.

“y/n, please!”

A hand reaches out for, and just barely misses your wrist, limbs stretched as far as they can to catch up. Moths flutter around a wall mounted moth trap on the school building, aimless, persistent. You wish in that moment that you too can participate in their aimless worship of a buzzing trap, bask in the scathing heat of its radiation, deadly as a running current to your fragile body. Anything to avoid this. You swing around, and he staggers back.

“What do you want from me, Tsukishima?”

The words tangle in this throat again, blocking his windpipes. He is running out of time. He can see the stars on your converses pivoting away, threatening to leave him behind in his own pile of jigsaw pieces. Get it together, Kei. Untangle the words, pick them apart with every finger you have, force the knots through the throat if they won’t come apart. Anything to face this.

“I’m sorry."

You stop in your tracks to face him. He can't even look you in the eye. Pathetic.

"I’m so sorry, y/n. I’m sorry I ruined your life, and I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it.”

"What?"

The words rush out of your throat, the force of a million tonnes unable to suppress them any longer. You step up to him, disliking how your closeness makes you want to falter, to openly forgive him, to acknowledge that you need his fingers to put it back, so that the final piece will fall into place permanently.

“Fix it?”

Your finger jabs at his chest with every scathing sentence. He doesn’t retaliate. He stands in place, pitiful, expectant. He is smaller than you, compressed into nothing but a moth attracted to a trap.

“I didn’t need your fixing, Kei! I didn’t ask for you to fix me!”

The air between you is congealed, heavy with your frantic breaths, and the deafening silence from Tsukishima’s pursed lips. A moth touches the light, and falls to the ground, twitching lifelessly as the electricity surges through its fragile body.

“All I wanted was to finish another puzzle with you!”

He grabs your wrist, your finger jabbed into the dip of his ribs, and your fist loosens. What now? Should he pull you towards him, so he can be sure that he knows where to place his hands this time? Should he grab your shoulders, and beg for your hatred, after all that he has failed to do? Should he turn away, shriveled and cowardly, knowing that there is nothing he can do that will ever make amends for what he has done to you?

"I loved watching you dance. All I wanted was to be like you."

He smiles sadly, releasing your wrist from his grasp as it falls to your side. He takes a step back, away from you.

"Don't let me hold you back."

He has never held you back, not his mistake, not his abandonment either. And he will not hold you back now, not like this, even if you want him to.

You turn away, and leave him under the light of the moth trap.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Ukai's words drone on as Tsukishima shoves the ribbon of limp, ripped up tape from his fingers into his pockets. He wraps a new piece around his palms this time, that is what is holding him back. He is lying to himself.

Don't look up. Don't look at the stands. Keep your head down, and your mind intact. Reinforce Karasuno's walls to break Shiratorizawa's fortress.

"Tsukishima! Are you hearing this?"

He looks up from his hands, yes, yes he is hearing it. He is definitely hearing it.

"Sorry?"

Ukai rubs his temples, and adjusts his hairband.

"Fuck, whatever, stay off for a bit until you're ready. Hinata, take his place. Let's get it going again."

Look up, y/n is right there. They're watching. They have the answer.

His head lifts towards the stands, and you are gone.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The green-haired boy, who you now know is Yamaguchi, practically begs for you to watch the Shiratorizawa finals. You aren't sure how he finds you, but he does, bumbling and clumsy as he shuts the door to the dance hall behind him, careful not to attract any attention.

"Please, not for Tsukki, but for us. We need him, or this game may as well be over before it even starts."

"He's been doing fine without me there, what makes you think I need to go?"

Yamaguchi has returned to his usual, meek self, rendered speechless by your retort. He doesn't think that you need to go, he knows it. He knows it in the way Tsukishima rubs his elbows before every round, and the way he squeezes his wrists until they are all the shades of pink. He knows it in the noises that plague Tsukishima's mind as he estimates the angles of contact, predicts the trajectory of the ball. He knows it in Tsukishima's movements, the movements of a machine, but not a player.

"Please, I'm begging you, just this once."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

And that is how you end up here, staring at your own reflection in the Shiratorizawa changing room mirrors.

"Get it together, y/n. What the fuck are you doing?"

Should you go back to the stands? No, he'll find you, and you aren't sure how you will react this time. You haven't rehearsed the clever things that you can say to him, nor the articulation of your rampant, conflicting emotions. Why did he find you? How did he find you, hidden so well amongst the roaring crowd of Karasuno students? You twist the tap open, disgruntled, and shove your face into the running water, letting it roll down your chin, seep into your shirt, enter the canals of your ears. Whipping your head out, you shut the tap, running your dry hands over your face and wiping it down with your arms.

"y/n?"

How?

"I need help."

You shove your hands in your pockets, stepping away from the mirror and turning to face Tsukishima, who stands at the wall outside the doorway. His glasses rest above his head, hair pushed back by the frames. The same look of confusion paints his face pale, and his hands surrender by his sides, fingers twitching erratically.

"I don't know what's wrong. Nothing is working. The angles are right, I know exactly where the ball is going, but I can't stop it. It just keeps coming, and I'm throwing the game away because my body just won't fucking work with me," He collapses to the ground, knees buckling beneath him as his back slides down along the wall. He props his elbows up by his knees, wrists pressed together in frustration.

You know exactly what it is. Fuck it.

You walk up to him, his body hunched in desperation, hopelessness, embarrassment. His eyes dart around, avoiding yours, and he hangs his head low as a last ditch attempt to turn away from you.

No, this won't do. He needs to go back to the summer.

Your crouch to his level, and your hand grabs his chin, fingers pinching it tight as you push his head up to face you. His eyes are teary now, like a dog begging for its owner to come home. You think carefully about your next words. It is now, or nothing.

"Breathe in, and surrender."

You can see the disillusionment in his eyes as his gears turn again, grasping at your words as he tries to decipher them. No, he is still not getting it.

"No, stop it. Stop turning the gears."

You pull his face towards yours, and you can feel his breath hitch, inches away from your own.

"This game, it is all just a dance. An extended routine with a prop that hovers back and forth above the ground. There is no order, so stop turning the gears. Let it go, use your senses."

His eyes widen as you release his chin from your grip. And for the first time in almost a year, you smile in his face. He understands now, you had the answer all along. You stand up, and offer him your hand. Neither of you notice Yamaguchi at the entrance to the hallway, grinning knowingly. He was right to convince you.

"You need to let it fall into place."

That cocky smirk slithers onto his face again, but there is a tinge of something else there. Something that encompasses the inches between the two of you. Something that is rearranging the shattered pile of jigsaw pieces that Tsukishima has been standing in for as long as he has left you. He should have found you sooner, approached you earlier, bought you the next puzzle that you waited for.

"Like a jigsaw?"

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

As he re-enters the court, Tsukishima is a changed man. You watch from the stands, holding your breath as he takes his place in the front. The redhead scoffs at his return, the others roll their eyes, rub their temples, click their tongues. All Tsukishima does is adjust his glasses, hands by his head in anticipation for the first smack of the ball.

They will tire themselves out. Watch the ball, envision its path. Let your body move as it wills.

The ball flies across the net, landing on the platform of Shiratorizawa's fortress. He watches its path. It is in the air. Let it be, it is not in place yet. He can see the frustration in Shiratorizawa's eyes at his return. Push them, just a bit more, until the frustration begins to overflow and spill around the edges of their defences.

The ball approaches the small one on the side, and you watch as it slips from his fingers. They are getting impatient, the toss is too short, too tight to hit perfectly, even with Ushijima's formidable strength. You smirk as the ball curves in its path, ever so slightly out of place for Shiratorizawa, perfectly in place for Karasuno. This is what you have been waiting for.

And it seems that this is what Tsukishima has been waiting for too.

"Let it fall into place."

This is it, this is the place, and the time, and the position, and the angle, and everything in between. He glances at you for a millisecond, and your gaze is clear as day, amongst the hundreds that surround you.

"Like a jigsaw?"

Ever so subtly, you nod. He understands now.

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

These are the final pieces, falling into place in tandem with each other.

He jumps, and the ball strikes his palm like a canonball, deflecting back into Shiratorizawa's court, too quickly for anybody to save it, too close to Ushijima for anybody to reach. The others stare in shock. His own team, those on the other side of the net, those in the stands. The court is pitch silent, the sound of leather on hardwood reverberating through his skull.

It is only one block. One block out of hundreds he has done before. One point out of twenty five.

Yet as he raises his fist, gripping it hard, your chest swells with pride.

"LET'S GO KEI! LET'S FUCKING GO!"

Your cry leads the crowd behind you as a flurry of cheers and applause commences. Even amongst the roaring cries of excitement from above, from behind, from beside, his mind trains onto your voice, and your voice only.

The lift of the final jigsaw piece that falls into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

author's note:

man this was so fun to write, too bad i need to go back to studying for my high school finals after this </3

omg also i need to gush about @starlysama because their sunflower fic fully threw me back into my fanfiction writing frenzy and it was so good and i spent like twenty minutes with my eyes trained to my phone no blinking while i read their work it was INCREDIBLE and i love you

also i really did put my heart and soul and tutoring hours into this so i really hope you guys like it ngl or i will cry please don't get scared at the word count it's not that bad I PROMISE also please feel very very welcome to comment or reblog because i love reading them so much

okay bye bye everyone see you soon

[torasplanet]

❝𝙅𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙊𝙐𝙎 𝙎𝙇𝙐𝙏.ᐟ❞

PLUG!E. YEAGER + BIMBO!F. READER ft. PLUG!C. SPRINGER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; you wanna get jealous over some crack whore and show your ass to connie? fine but now you gotta ride eren while connie watches. have fun.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; riding, slight degradation, unprotected sex, drabble, overstimulation, p in v, exhibition, mean!eren, mean!connie, threesome(mentioned), drugs, high sex, dacryphilia, cuckolding w armin(mentioned), college au, skin color not mentioned, ib

It didn’t bother Eren that much when you sat in the backseat of his car with a pout on your face while watching him deal to a dope-feen bitch who was touching all on his forearm, he could see where you were coming from and couldn’t get mad at you for being jealous, he just found it silly that you were getting upset over a crack whore who he didn’t even spare another glance after handing her the drugs she asked for.

You sitting there with a pout and your arms crossed against your chest ignoring him when he tried to talk to you didn’t bother him either. Eren was used to your fucked up attitude by now and just reminded himself to take care of that later so it didn’t lead to a petty argument.

However…what did bother him was when you purposely dropped five dollars on the ground on your way to the gas station store while he was busy practically showing your entire ass and lace panties to Connie who sat in his passenger seat after you begged him to give you money so you could get whatever fucking candy you asked for after ignoring him for the majority of the ride. That shit bothered him a lot, he considered asking Connie to handle the deal he was currently working on and getting out of the car dragging your ass back to the car by your hair, and teaching you not to fuck with him right there but no…he had a better idea. And that idea would come into play right now.

“‘Ren c’mon! My legs hurt…” You whined out planting your hands on Eren's chest as you sat on his lap on the couch with him eight inches deep inside of you, you had already come twice and your legs were aching! It wasn’t fair how he wasn’t letting you have a break! The brunette man simply looked up at you with his red-lidded eyes exhaling smoke into your precious face which was covered in tears and your ruined makeup, he passed the blunt in his hand back to Connie who sat on the other side of the couch watching the whole ordeal with a grin on his face “Hell no, you’re gonna fuck yourself out right in front of Connie since you love showing your ass to him right?” Eren said as you gazed down at him with watery eyes, it wasn’t a question, it wasn’t even a statement you were supposed to respond to because no matter what you said, it’d just end in him giving a slap to your ass.

But unfortunately, you weren’t thinking, not at all this entire night but you never did “No! I don’t, only for you ‘rennie!” Connie snickered at your pathetic statement as more tears spewed from your eyes, you turned your head and glared at him which just made him laugh even more, you looked so pathetic. Completely naked while they were both fully dressed, sobbing, and now you were glaring at him? You looked like a kicked puppy more than anything.

Eren sat up straight at your words before gripping your jaw and turning your head to face him, you could now feel his breath on your face from how close you two were “Then explain to me why you acted like a stupid whore showing my pussy to him?” His green eyes stared daggers into your soul as you stood there looking down at him silent, you didn’t have anything to say. He knew why and if you said anything about it he’d probably torture you more for being a ‘jealous slut’ that’s how he would say it.

He narrowed his eyes at you once more before letting go of your face harshly making a sob escape your throat “That’s what I thought, now keep going.” Eren demanded slapping his hand on the soft flesh of your ass making even more tears escape your eyes and flow down the apples of your cheeks.

You glanced at Connie for help but he did nothing but hit the blunt while remaining in eye contact with you, you whined as you continued to ride him tiredly trying your best to ignore the pain in your legs. You hoped this didn’t lead to a threesome, they would be so mean to you! Armin wouldn’t just sit there and let this happen. He’d help you and tell Eren to relax and that you didn’t deserve it! Having Armin watch was way better than dumb Connie!

A combination of moans and sobs were let out into the air as you lazily rode Eren, your back arching when he hit just the right spot as the two men acted liked you weren’t even there casually talking and passing the blunt back and forth, that might’ve hurt more than your legs. Eren knew from experience that you lived off attention, you were like a Tinkerbell, if you didn’t get the attention you would just die and he was refusing to give you that. What a dick!

Wet sounds filled the room along with their chatting that you didn’t care enough to listen to, that’s if you even had enough in you to hear anything “Ngh! ‘Rennie!” You were nearing your breaking point cumming for a third time and Eren wasn’t letting you stop anytime soon, every time you even halted your movements slightly, he’d slap you on your ass or give you a glare that scared you enough to keep going but everything was too much and you stopped completely leaning forward and collapsing on his body continuing to cry loudly.

“Fuck are you stopping for?” Eren said rudely pushing your limp body off his looking at you with hate and disgust hurting your feelings even more than he already had “Too tired…please m’ sorry!” Eren didn’t even react to your pleas as you banged your balled-up fists on his chest tiredly to get him to sympathize with you somehow even just a little bit “Too fucking bad.” Eren responded, “Hold on bro, maybe she just needs a lil’ sum’ to help her.” Connie said with a laugh before standing and walking over to you, he grabbed your jaw with his hand before putting the blunt to your lips as you looked up at him your puffy eyes. He almost came in his pants right there at the sight of you.

He and Eren watched as you inhaled before Connie took the blunt away from your mouth, the springer male leaned closer to press your lips together but Eren kicked his kneecap making the gray-eyed boy look at his friend with a scowl “Fuck was that for Eren?” You watched the ordeal as you exhaled the smoke out of your nose just glad Eren wasn’t focused on making you continue, eren didn’t really like sharing. Especially sharing you but the idea of threesomes appealed to him as long as the other person didn’t kiss you.

“I ain’t even let Armin kiss her, what makes you think you can?” The Yeager man questioned making Connie scoff before he plopped back down to his spot on the couch grumbling something about Eren being too damn possessive to have threesomes. Eren’s head then turned back to you looking at you with the same lidded eyes that have been giving you little attention all night “Lemme tell you sum’ pretty…” He whispered sitting up again and getting close to your face, he gave you a small peck on your lips making you whine. You wanted more than just a stupid peck, small kisses are for cheeks not for lips.

You looked down at him with teary eyes as you tried not to let them spill out as Eren would probably laugh if you did “If you stop again, you’re not cummin’ for weeks.” The statement made your jaw drop and your eyes widen, the sobbing continued as you heard Connie cackle loudly “Better get moving jealous slut.” You pouted at the statement as they were the exact words you thought eren would call you while your salty tears dropped down onto Eren’s white tee, with these two, this night was never going to end.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[hitchyboi]

Dating Havik Headcanons #1

Y'ALL OKAY THIS IS FOR MEEEEEEE XD I NEED MORE HAVIK AND GOD DAMNIT I'LL PROVIDE IT IF NO ONE ELSE WILL!

Oki thank you~

Content Warning- It's Havik. Gore, Blood, Violance, Self Mutilation, one small NSFW bit, Swearing (That's just me)

Cuteness aggression to the max. He can't help it, his partner is so precious when he's hugging them all he can imagine is squeezing them until their ribs break and pierce their lungs. If he's caressing their face, they can feel the way his fingers twitch, itching to dig his nails into their soft flesh.

He chews and bites. A lot. After Scorpion burned his face off he realized his ability to just straight bite things got easier without skin in the way. Will hug his partner from behind and chew on their hair cause he likes the texture. Cuddling? Random bites the entire time and they range from light and playful to you think he's genuinely trying to eat you sometimes. He isn't, kinda. Just likes biting.... Sometimes he may be trying to take an actual bite. Romantic Cannibalism.

His name has become a confusing mix of a disgust and comfort. If anyone ever calls him Dairou he gets insanely mad, remembering his life in Seido in the lowest caste and all the dictatorship over his life. Yet when his partner calls him his name... its almost like a comforting blanket he's never felt being wrapped around him. He doesn't have to be Havik, Cleric of chaos and symbol of anarchy. He can let himself relax for a moment, his worries can drift away for another day. With his partner... he can just be Dairou.

Surprisingly he is a good cook. Now his method of cooking may be a bit... unorthodox. You don't really know what he's cooking with. Or how he even got it in the first place. But give him some meat, herbs and spices and a fire. He'll be able to roast up a good tasting meal.

Has issues with monogamy. Not being faithful part but more the idea of having fidelity forced onto him? He doesn't like the idea of rules or societal norms re-shackling him after he's gained his freedom. If his partner is fine with polyamory or having an open relationship, great. If his partner isn't comfortable, communicating it as a personal preference and comfort level would gain more an understanding reaction from him rather than telling him he needs too.

Man's comfortable as hell in his relationship and partner. Would never tell his partner what they can or can't do or wear cause fuck that shit. You wanna go to a club wearing a sexy ass outfit and show yourself off? He's your hype man. Go out nude, he'd support it.

Will kill a man if someone messed with his partner.

Has killed a man for messing with his partner.

Has a habit of mutilating himself at the most random of times. Almost like the habit of cracking one's knuckles he starts to feel stiff and really uncomfortable if he hasn't snapped or torn a part of his body for a while.

His partner will have to force this man to put on a shirt if they are going out in Earthrealm. He doesn't understand the social norms of Earthrealm and frankly... he doesn't give a shit to learn. He'll eventually put on a shirt if his partner insists for their own comfort

Has tried to fight police officers, many times.

Getting this man to properly bath himself is a hassle on its own. He grew up in a way where bathing was a luxury few could afford so self care isn't something he's well versed or keen on. If his partner insists that they'd join him in the bath or shower then eventually they'll be able to pull his grimy ass into the water. Once he is in the water however, good luck getting him back out.

Lil NSFW~ Any marks his partner makes on his body during night time fun will always be saved on his body. He'll never fully heal them up, scars are like a badge on honor to this man. Now he gets to walk around with more scars and scars that his partner placed on his body from how well he was fucking their brains out.

[diorkittys]

a rock and their diamond ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ venture + [bimbo] reader {hcs}

synopsis : venture with a dumb, bimbo-ish, sexy gf… i mean c’mon it’s already canon

—TW : some nsfw hcs , slight exhibitionism , reader is very suggestively a girl , big tits (ahh boo!!!)

art credits : leesam_23

“oh cool! i had a friend obsessed with archeology back in high school; she told me i was a libra!”

“you mean astrology…?” dr. ziegler raised her brow.

“um… i don’t think it had anything to do with space.”

that was the moment sloane cameron knew you were the one.

you’re ditzy, beauty, sexy, (and tall)—quite the opposite to your venturous partner. and most could describe you two as the ‘beauty and brains’.

venture was enraptured the very second they laid their eyes on you. talk about the star of the show; everyone’s attention was focused on you the moment you walked into that dig site.

you’re tiny pink dress that hugged the curve of your waist so tight—barely covering your ass and most definitely straining against your tits (not that sloane was looking…). your long legs and plush thighs that made the archeologist gulp. tall, elegant heels which only put you on more of a pedestal. and if people weren’t already drooling over your body, your face definitely topped the cake. you were gorgeous through and through. a doll.

and, yet, through all sloane’s nervousness, they could tell you looked a tad lost.

“hi! sloane cameron. are you looking for something?” they reached a hand out which you gladly shook; venture noticing your pretty, pink acrylics.

“yes! my daddy works in the medical tent—any idea where i could find it? sure doesn’t look like a fun camping trip though.”

sloane shook the last comment off, saying they’d show you where the tent is. although the digger was dusty and smelled like minerals, you decided to follow close beside them.

that’s where they introduced you to dr ziegler. “are you a doctor too?” you’d ask. “oh, gosh, no. i’m one of the archeologists working here.” and there, the infamous moment took place.

౨ৎ

venture refers to you as various different gemstones, which you love. their go-to’s being ‘opal’, ‘angel’ (short for angelite), and, of course, diamond—your favorite.

^ “almost done w these soil samples. then omw home opal! xo” sloane would reply with to your needy texts.

^ “what’d you want f’dinner, angel?” they’d ask, wrapping scarred arms around you from behind.

^ “you look as stunning as always, diamond.” watching you give a twirl to showcase your outfit for tonight—something always a little teasing and small… not that venture had any complaints.

sloane worked late hours, fully devoted to their passion. you would usually find them hunched over at the table. slim fingers pressing circles into their shoulders, massaging away the tension. your partner would sigh, leaning back before taking your hand and guiding you into their lap. they’d explain their most recent endeavor and you would listen… even though the information went into one ear and out the other.

“ya’ know?” you, in fact, did not know, but gave a supportive nod anyways. sloane snorted, planting calloused hands on the plush of your hips as you straddled their waist. god, they wanted nothing more than to kiss that oblivious look off your face.

speaking of a suggestive kiss, does it come as a surprise that sloane just can’t get enough of you?

their hands are always on you, one way or another—how could they not? so much to grab, so much to play with.

they’d kneed your supple thighs, pinching the fat in awe. and they’d mewl as if it was their own flesh.

sometimes, venture would sit atop you in bed—spending time poking and prodding every part of you like a new toy… not caring about your excessive squirming, stifling little moans.

god, your breasts were the best part. sloane would do anything to be near them at all times. alone, the archeologist fondled your tits, squeezing your nipples between their middle and index and watching them harden. if you were a tease, sloane must be a sadist.

with you being eye candy, there was, of course, a lot of attention drawn to you. some would simply admire from afar, while others took a more brave approach.

venture isn’t a very jealous type… i mean, that’s what they’ve always believed about themselves. yet, seeing men flock to you like moths to a light—it was… irritating.

there was no such thing as ‘innocent’ conversations or ‘harmless’ touches when it came to you; everything anyone did was quite obviously intentional. and somehow, the cherry on the cake was always the follow up question, “did you come here alone?”

and as the men would compliment your hair, and subtly look at your finger for a ring, sloane would interject.

well… if you count standing a few feet away with a hot, red face staring daggers into the men’s eyes as interjection… then, yes, sloane interjected. but, the real problem solver was you, oblivious you. you, who knew you were pretty hot, but didn’t count anyone’s intentions as scandalous.

so, you’d see your partner in the distance and your eyes would immediately light up, waving your hand to call them over. maybe that’s all sloane needed, because as soon as they see that look of adoration in your face, all that anger would subside. you were theirs, after all.

don’t think those men would be off the hook, however. venture would most definitely slide an arm around your waist as you walk away… maybe slightly grabbing the round of your ass with a sly smirk on their face.

you loved to surprise your partner with visits at their job. you never minded dirt and grime and it mostly seemed like it avoided you all together.

venture would be in the middle of a log, wiping beads of sweat off their hairline after a long dig. “excavation log dash 2-3-3, this is sloane cameron speaking—my team and i just discovered a fascinating—“ “baby!!” you ran up to the archeologist, practically jumping on them as you curled your arms around their neck.

sloane would be startled before turning around and giving you an equally tight hug. others whisper about how lucky their coworker is since sloane’s face reached right between your tits. and to think your partner hated the height difference (not in the moment).

“okay, guys, hold that thought! i’ll be back!” your partner would wave.

speaking of surprises, you’d always come home with rocks for sloane. standing in front of your partner with hands behind your back, “guess.” you’d giggle. every night, the surprise was no different, but venture would entertain your enthusiasm.

“hmm… let’s see… is it… a flower?” “nope!” “candy?” “nuh uh.” “a perfectly preserved dilophosaurus spine fossil with all discs in tact?!” you looked around, “uh… i don’t think so?” venture would sigh.

you open your hands, revealing a smooth, brown rock about the size of your palm. “it’s a rock!” you smiled wide and sloane’s cheeks tinted red from how cute you could be. “thank you, diamond! i love it.” you’d sit next to them on the couch, holding onto their arm. “i found it on the sidewalk. what kind of fossil do you think it is? maybe a dinosaur one?”

sloane would pat your head, trying to refrain from explaining to you that most fossils are dinosaurs… and that you wouldn’t find one on the side walk. “angel, i think it’s just a rock—a cool rock nonetheless!” and that satisfied you enough.

honorable mention, but venture definitely buys packs of fossil dig kits for kids you could get at walmart. they keep them at their work station for when you visit because you love to be included in whatever sloane is doing.

sloane works on grid maps in their tent with you by their side, scraping down compacted sand to find your prize. “i did it!” you put down your tiny mallet. “good job, opal! what’d you get?” you pout your lips confusingly, “another rock?” venture, tiredly, rubs your shoulder, “it’s a fossil, opal…” you’re lucky, though, because this leads to a make out session.

when you do have your steamy moments in venture’s tent, it’s always the most passionate. maybe it’s the adrenaline of being caught, or the shameful thought of someone hearing you, either way, it’s exhilarating.

sloane would have you propped up on the table, pushing important papers to the ground. needy hands groping the plush flesh of your hips and your dress hitched up above your ass. your tongue grazing their chipped tooth and fingers tangling in brown hair.

of course, sloane would kiss down your neck reaching the cleavage of your breasts; their hands pushing them together, making the tops spill over the very tight fabric.

of course, you’d ask a dumb question about what if someone walks in. but, your partner is already pussy drunk and is looking up at you from between your thighs, shushing you and asking if you’d squeeze their head before going back down.

it’s very common to get odd looks when you’re both out in public. as previously mentioned, you two look complete opposites. you, in a matching pink track suit, tube top pushing against your tits, low rise sweatpants showing off the tramp stamp plastered on your lower back, g string imprinting on your hips with a cute navel piercing to go with it. you always have your makeup done, sunglasses atop your hair, and pink platform flip-flops… and venture!

venture with their hair a mess, tired eyebags from rarely sleeping, chipped tooth, a ‘we rock!’ oversized t shirt, baggy shorts that went to their knees, and old sneakers. two people you would never think you’d see together, yet holding hands and sloane pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever they could.

and, yes, it’s a little discouraging knowing no one thinks you would ever be with someone like sloane cameron. it’s an insecurity the archeologist keeps in the back of their head. but, without fail, you’ve always introduced them as yours… and that makes any doubts fade away—knowing you hold your relationship with pride.

of course, a few months into dating, venture would make sure you didn’t actually think archeology was astrology. “opal, you do know that zodiac signs are not archeology, right?” they’d raise a brow. “no, silly. i’m not dumb!” you’d giggle and sloane would sigh in relief.

“he’s that murderer—that’s true crime!”

and for sloane, their heart skipped a beat…

yeah, you’re the one.

[misseviehyde]

I HAVE NEVER

It was your bullying step-brothers idea to play a game. You just wished you'd never listened...

Jordan was the bane of your life. He was stronger, taller and more attractive than you. He seemed to take a perverse delight in ruining everything in your life and when you finally got a girlfriend you could sense his jealousy.

You weren't worried though. Jenna was sweet, delightful and funny. She hated 'Alpha-Males' like Jordan and was deeply in love with you. She was best-friends with your twin sister Kate as well and the three of you got on so well.

One day the three of you were hanging out when Jordan entered the room carrying a bottle of vodka.

"Hey nerds," he grinned, "wanna play a game with me?"

"Not really Jordan, go away," sighed Kate folding her arms under her small breasts and glaring at him. "You're such a douchebag, we don't want to play anything with you."

"Awwww, what's the matter? Don't wanna have some fun?"

Placing the bottle down, Jordan opened it and grabbed four shot glasses. He poured out the vodka. "Come on losers, I'm bored and this will be fun. I bet you pathetic dweebs have never played 'I have never'."

I didn't want to play anything with Jordan, but strangely I found myself being drawn towards the shot glass the same as my girlfriend and my sister.

"That's it losers - you can't resist playing with me. In fact - you can't resist doing everything I say from now on."

A strange befuddlement seemed to throb through my head as my hand closed on the glass. I could see Jenna breathing heavily and Kate as well as they grabbed their glasses.

"Now then bitches, I'm gonna say something and if you have never done it before, you have to drink and then do the thing I'm saying."

"Th...that's not how... the game... works," groaned Jenna struggling to speak as a strange lethargy swept through her.

"It's how my version works losers - now then. I have never had my tits enhanced."

A strange tingle ran through all three of us and I found the vodka rising to my lips. I drank it and placing it down watched Jordan fill my glass back up.

The fiery vodka burned my throat and then my chest began to ache. I looked down and watched in horror as my t-shirt began to bulge and swell. My nipples were rock hard as my pectoral muscles bulged out and then became soft pliable flesh. Two round, perfect globes swelled out - big fat fake tits causing my t shirt to rip and tear. I could hear female moans next to me and saw that my sister and girlfriend were undergoing a similar transformation.

"H...how?" groaned Kate as she cupped her massive new tits. She had been relatively flat chested before, but now she had a fine pair of teenage milkers and she looked great.

"Just a little magic to spice things up," grinned Jordan. "All three of you look so much better with this big tits. Now then 'I have never shaved my pussy bare."

I felt the vodka rising to my lips again and I drank it. My cock tingled and a delicious feeling of inversion and sucking seemed to happen. My crotch was now flat and smooth - a pretty pink pussy where my cock used to be.

"Haha, this is cool," laughed Jordan. "Now then, I have never worked my booty out to become a PAWG."

All three of us drank again and my whole body ached. I could feel my ass swelling up and my body shrinking. Toned muscles rippled under my skin as my hips cracked out. I looked at Kate and Jenna - they looked like hot little gym bunnies now just like I did.

"Okay sluts - you're looking good, but we can do even better. I have never had hair extensions, fake nails, eyelashes and a tan."

My body ached and as I raised the vodka to my lips again I saw I now had cute white nails and smooth tanned skin. My short hair was now long and blonde, I could feel it tickling my shoulders. Long slutty lashes projected from my eyes and I could taste lipstick on my transformed face.

I had nearly become fully female.

"Yeah, that's it bitches - you look so much better. The bottle is nearly empty. How about one final round? I have never been a horny, popular, bitchy slut who only likes hung Alpha-males."

All three of us drank, the empy glasses tumbling from our hands as we shook and giggled. My pussy throbbed and my brain ached as I felt new urges and desires pulse through me.

I'm a slut... I'm a bitch... I'm popular. I wanna fuck Jordan, I love being a slut for him... ohhh fuck yeah.

My clothing transformed as did Kate and Jenna's. All three of us were now dressed in sexy lingerie. The three of us were mean little size queens now, sluts for bully cock. I felt my pouty pink lips twist into a dumb grin as I played with my hair.

"Like... I am sooooo drunk and I'm fucking horny. Jordan, please will you like let us suck your cock?"

Jordan smiled and unzipping his fly flopped out his big fat cock. Me and my slutty friends sank to our knees, our mouths wet. Mmmmmh, he was so good to us.

"Fuck yes. My step-sis and her slutty friends. This is such a better configuration," he crowed. "Maybe one day I'll turn you back so you can appreciate how much of a slut you were for my cock. Then I'll turn you back into this bitch - she's better than you ever were."

I had no idea what my hot step-brother was going on about. I was too busy sinking my cherry pink lips around his big cock and starting to suck as Jenna began to rim Jordan and Kate kissed and made out with him.

Glug... glug... glug...

THE END

"Mmmmmh, that's it girls - I have never had a threesome before and this is gonna be a blast..."

As I felt Jordan's cock slide deep down my slut throat, I gurgled happily. Mmmmmh, I loved playing games with him...

[crushedsweets]

I fear to stain your clothes with blood; Stain them, I don't care 'Eyeless' Jack Nyras in Creeped: PRESENT DAY

PT. 1: BACKSTORY General disclaimer: This AU is an amalgamation of headcanons, fanon, canon, and the occasional rewrite. There is an overarching story that HEAVILY strays from their canon stories.

PROXIES

➣This life became Jack’s reality for nearly a year. He would spend days completely unconscious, until he suddenly wakes up to a new crime scene. Every time, the taste of iron lingered in his mouth, even long after he washed his sins at a nearby river.

➣In rare moments of clarity, Jack tried to find himself. Sat anxiously at the river, scrubbing away at his rapidly changing body.

➣Black, hard keratin began to form on the tips of his fingers, of which the nails were torn off months ago. They resembled claws, only adding to Jack’s struggle. His ears seemed to stretch to a point and resemble bats, but he was still adjusting to the echolocation. While he got the gist of his general shape, he was almost grateful that he couldn’t see himself. 

➣The echolocation was pretty helpful, too. He had four pesky stalkers constantly on his ass. The most frequent two were pretty troublesome. One was quite small, but she was fast. By the time Jack realized she was in the area, she was already on him. Luckily, he was able to fling her off. It’d lead to a frustrating chase of her constantly attaching herself to him and him throwing her off, until something shifted in her and she retreated. For her, it was about persistence.

➣The other frequent stalker was odd. Jack would be miserably eating a raw deer, until he clicked his tongue and realized that one was hiding in a tree. His stalker had climbed through the branches. While Jack thought it was goofy, that stalker had terrifyingly accurate aim and power behind his throws. Jack was frequently assaulted with a hatchet to a limb or his back, and while the flesh would quickly knit itself back together, this stalker was more persistent than the other. 

➣For a damn year, this went on. Jack was barely a human. He became a local cryptid in the Tuscaloosa forest, and the proxies were beyond pissed about it. They didn't want more attention on this damn forest. He caused so much trouble, and he bruised Toby’s ego while doing it. 

➣Toby just got lucky one day. Jack had spent nearly a month fully conscious, the entity seeming to release his body entirely. He was in full control of himself once again, but it meant very little when he had no idea what to do with himself. 

➣He pathetically sat at his river, his keratin-coated fingers resting beneath the softly rushing water. He knew Toby, whose name he heard yelled amongst his stalkers, was watching him. Jack just chose not to do anything about it. He washed his hands and tried to relax in the water. When that familiar hatchet came barreling his way, he didn’t even hesitate. His hand reached up and he caught it by the handle. The second hatchet came and he caught it once again. His head didn’t even turn. 

➣He heard the same exasperated, angry shout from Toby. “What the hell is your problem, dude?!”

➣Jack’s ears perked up. He turned his head to face Toby, more as a formality. “My problem…?”

➣His voice was deep and horse. At this point, Toby’s voice was more familiar than his own. It startled both him and his stalker. So of course, Toby had to ask, “You can talk?”

➣Although hesitant, Toby made his way to Jack. The monster of a man never tried to hurt him or the others before, he mostly fought to defend himself. And Jack wasn’t concerned, he still held Toby’s hatchets. Jack offered a weak explanation of his situation, leaving major details out. He didn’t say Jenny’s name or bring up their relationship. Just mentioned a club, the torture, and his new body. 

➣Toby connected some dots for him. Explained the issue of Slenderman, the Operator, and Zalgo. They went back and forth, with Toby poking fun at Jack’s somber, stoic attitude. It seemed that Jack’s body purged itself of those entities, an unclear anomaly for the proxies.

➣Toby thought Jack was really cool. And figured he could be useful, too.

JACK’S ROLE

➣Jack was brought to the proxy cabin by Toby, much to the frustration of Tim and Brian. Jack was dirty, bloody, and uncomfortable as Toby bickered back and forth with the older men. It didn’t help that Brian was currently dealing with a nasty wound in his thigh, further amping up the frustration and fear between the group.

➣Toby insisted Jack was alright. He was big, he was strong, he had scary instincts. Tim repeatedly declared that he’s dangerous and useless to their job as proxies. He caught wind that Jack’s attention was geared towards Brian, who was propped up on the couch and bleeding onto it. A pathetic excuse for a tourniquet was wrapped around his thigh, and it got Tim riled up. ➣He shouted at Toby to get Jack out of the damn cabin, implying that some sort of monstrous instincts were bound to overtake Jack, especially with a bleeding man before him.

➣Jack finally spoke up. He defended himself quietly at first, saying he wasn’t staring because he was hungry. He was staring because of how poorly the tourniquet was done. The men were all a little taken aback by this, with Brian sarcastically asking if Jack could do better. 

➣Jack could, and tentatively, they let him. They let him explain his situation again, and with their understanding of his inhumanity and half-completed graduate degree, they realized how good of a problem this could be. They could take advantage of it, despite Tim's apprehension.

➣Jack was designated the ‘proxy medic.’ He was ushered to a small, one-bedroom cabin with a tiny bunker beneath it. He was given permission to live peacefully in the forest, away from public scrutiny, if he just took care of the proxy’s wounds.

➣It was a nice little place. Sure, it was dusty and bothered his heightened senses for a while, but Toby helped him tidy it up. The furniture was old and Toby had to drag an old mattress from a thrift store to replace the rotting one at Jack's cabin, but it worked out.

➣The bunker was a bit shameful for Jack. They managed to get large fridges hooked up down there, giving Jack the opportunity to keep himself fed over longer periods. It made the whole arrangement safer for everyone.

JACK'S RELATIONSHIPS

➣He eventually found himself settled comfortably in his cabin. Toby was the main visitor for a good period of time, until new faces began popping in and out. 

➣Kate ‘the Chaser’ was the second most frequent visitor, though she was commonly dragged behind Toby. She very rarely came on her own, unless her situation was dire.

➣Eventually, he began meeting people just as weird as himself. A girl who insists her name is Clockwork, tall and lanky and snappy. A pair of short guys came shortly after, one constantly littered with wounds that Jack would stitch up. He’d bring Jack meals as payment. Jeff and BEN were their names, who heard of Jack through Clocky. Eventually, a pretty young woman on Toby’s arm came by frequently. Nina was all over Jack for a few weeks, until she eventually settled down and their friendship could become steady. Some days, he walked another eyeless college student named Lulu back to her hospital.

➣Albeit appreciative, none of these friendships filled the ache. Jack grew up family-oriented. He grew up with so many little siblings to take care of, and he spent a year fantasizing about a family with Jenny. He was riddled with too much shame to return home.

➣It wasn’t until a little demon girl came kicking and screaming into his life. Lazari was the daughter of Zalgo, the same entity that took over his body for nearly a year. Just like him, the proxies were hunting her, and just like him, she evaded every attack. 

➣Jack was able to reason with her. He caught her sniffling and crying. He brought her into his arms and into his home. He made her dinner, brushed her long brown hair, and told her it would be okay. They were like siblings, weren’t they? Both were made this way by the same demon.

➣From here on out, Jack’s dedicated himself to Lazari. Quickly, Lazari filled the role of a little sister. 

➣If Lazari could be just as monstrous as him, and yet filled with so much love and life…

➣Maybe Jack could be alright with his wavering humanity, too.