#i suck at drawing humanoid figures ;-;

[starray-night]

Here's my first fursona they are based off of one of my writing ocs

Their name is Iz and their pronouns are They/she/ze

She's a tuxedo cat with glow in the dark stars in her fur.

[fanaticsnail]

I just binged a bunch of your fics and I have a tiny request for you! Could you do headcanons for Zoro and/or Sanji with a selkie reader (together or separately)? Please and thank you!!

Masterlist here.

Word Count: Background Drabble, 700+. Per gentleman, 600+.

Hello dear anon! Thank you for challenging me with a mythical fic! I enjoyed my time crafting it for you. I hope you don't mind, I wrote them as more mini-fics/drabbles rather than HCs. I also snuck in an extra character because apparently the heart wants what it wants today, and I can't deny the words from wording.

Selkies are an aquatic race of fey native to the cold, wet northern coastlines. They live in villages on the shore, and occasionally mingle with outsiders. They have a particular wariness of humans, due to their tendency to steal their seal skins, but Selkie are otherwise very sociable creatures that love exploring the shores and the oceans beyond (Fact link, 5e Race)

@writingmysanity @gingernut1314

There was a battle above the surface, that was one thing you were certain of. Cannonfire, ricocheting iron balls and splintering of the wooden masts above the waves. You had never seen such violence, such hatred between two peoples. Recognising the marine lettering was no difficulty for you; their kind gracing your shores with regularity. 

It was the other vessel that drew you in. You heard laughter ringing down below the ocean surface, halting you in your retreat as you sought out its source with your blackened eyes. Your sisters had long since fled from the display of violence, opting to hide away and wait for the fighting to stop. But you remained behind, desperately seeking out the conclusion to the battle above. 

Suddenly, the marine ship began to flee from the engagement, but not before a figure was cast into the water and began rapidly sinking to the oceanic floor. Your eyes widened, your tail-flipper carrying you with haste to bring yourself over to the figure without a second thought. 

His hair was dark, his eyes were tightly shut, and his limbs refused to move in a way to propel him away from his approaching death within the salt water. A devil-fruit user, you thought, bringing your curious eyes over to his and seeking them out beneath his closed eyelids. The small scar below his left eye had your head cocking to the side in curiosity. 

“Luffy!” you heard several voices cry from above the surface of the water, the man’s eyes immediately opening to meet your own. His shock was written all over his face, his breath releasing in a bubbled huff that had his arms attempting to raise upwards to collect his breath to no avail. 

“Luffy,” you called in your oceanic language, smiling your feral face into his; revealing rows of sharpened teeth in a wide smile. His panic continued to rise, his lungs screaming for air as you took your time studying him. You drew your face impossibly close to his, unblinking eyes studying him as he struggles against the water. “Luffy,” you again called to him, your eyes and face beginning to relay a humanoid likeness, “Let me help you.” 

You ushered your body beneath his, chaperoning him to the surface of the water and drawing his body up to the surface of the water. He immediately sucked in a large ballooned breath of air, his neck snapping towards his ship to seek out the concerned and panicked faces of the members of his crew. After he made eye contact and flashed them a winning grin, he turned back to face your animalistic and beastly face, and upturned his eyes in gratitude. 

“You think you could take me to the ship?” He asked, a mischievous twinkle now reflected in his eyes as he checked over you. You nodded, beginning to ride the propelling waves over to the vessel. The figurehead of a ram was carved intricately against the ship’s stern, a beauty to behold as you danced your flipper and easily propelled you both to the splintered and fractured wood. 

He wrapped his arms around your upper flippers, nuzzling into the back of your neck and uttering his gratitude against your skin. Your voice harshly barked a cracked laugh at the gesture, enjoying his playfulness and kindness as he continued to tell you what a good seal you were. 

“Luffy, what are you doing?!” A woman with orange hair called out to him, eyes wide and panicked. 

“This seal saved me from drowning!” he called in return, with his broad smile pleasantly cracking his face, “Gotta rub its belly and thank it with a big scratch and a cuddle!” As Luffy drew himself over to the ship, he jumped from your back and took hold of the rigging above and began his slow climb to the top of the water. 

Your instincts screamed at you to return to your sisters, to withdraw away from these sailors; but as soon as your eyes sprung over to meet your eyes with theirs. Why, you were completely hypnotized.

Hoisting your body upwards, your beastly form shedding from your human form and shrouding yourself in a cloak of blubber and fur. You climbed in your nudity to the decks above, hoisting your legs over the side of the ship and revealing yourself to the entirety of the crew in front of you.

“Luffy,” the woman whispered, her shock written all over her face, “That is no mere seal.” Luffy cocked his head over, shock now written on his face at noticing your beauty in your human form.

“That is a selkie.”

Zoro

The swordsman had never seen such beauty in his life. Although immediately drawn in by your otherworldly radiance, as the loyal first mate aboard the Going Merry: he stepped in and ushered the captain behind him and took a protective stance. A darkness was within your eyes, rotating your shoulders as you squared up to face this mysterious man. 

You knew from your place within the water below that when your eyes met his, he was a marvel to behold. But now with your close proximity to him, his valiance and loyalty to his captain had you immediately smitten. Widening your lips in a broad grin, you elevated your hands in front of yourself defensively and bowed your head low to him. 

“I mean neither you nor your crew harm, Protector,” your honeyed voice sweetly called to him. He was taken aback with your voice, stumbling in his step forward as he continued to shield his captain away from you.

“I’ll be the judge o’ that, Ningyo,” he uttered with a smirk;his eyes displaying a similar ferocity to yours in your bestial form. 

And that is when you decided you were going to court him. Your soul cried out to join with his; immediately smitten with the swordsman. You stayed with the crew for months, subtle touches over his shoulders, leaving a fresh kill at his feet first, before Sanji took it to the kitchen to properly prepare it. Everything you did, you did to please the swordsman. Every fiber of your being called to him and courted him. 

You began leaving your furred skin around in places for him to find, only for him to return it to you with a deep scowl and a verbal reprimand of: “Can ya stop leaving this around the place? It’s really annoying.” 

It was only when Usopp and Nami physically sat him down and spelt out the courting practices of Selkie folk that had his face burning with a bright vibrance and his eyes widened. His lips downturned in a deep frown as his blush rose, his shock at your shameless audacity of courting him so publicly without any context of his lacking comprehension.

He decided a full frontal confrontation was what was needed to tackle this, no room for any other mistaken intentions and misdirection for his lack of direction sense.

“You been leaving your blubber ‘round for me to find, Ningyo?” he yelled at you, heads snapping up from the crew around as they witnessed this verbal spat. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, laying back and basking in the sun atop the wooden deck.

“Why?” His pointed hazelnut gaze held the intensity of a man staring down his enemy. You refused to shy away; instead rising to your feet and squaring up to him.

“Because I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” your lip curled at the corner, your sharpened canines baring out in your brilliant smile. He reached down, claiming your biceps within his wide fingers and palm.

“Why me?” He growled, his tone low enough for only you to hear. You reached up your hand, softening your smile and cradling his angry face beneath your palm.

“Because I love you, Zoro,” you cooed up at his face, eyes half-lidded and full of nothing short of full adoration. His breath hitched in his throat, his mind not keeping up with the words you were relaying to him. 

“This why you kept bringin’ me fish?” He asked you, his nose crinkling up as his smile broke through onto his lips. You nodded, leaning into his face. You gently brushed your nose with his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in. 

Breaking from the gentle touch, you withdrew your nose from its contact and quickly bore your teeth at him, biting his chin in a gentle nip. He flinched at the contact, eyes widening at your expression.

“Next time I leave it out for you,” you growled at him, “Don’t bring it back to me, Protector.”

“I won’t, Ningyo.”

Sanji

Sanji’s breath was sucked from his lungs, his eyes wide and wild at seeing a creature of myth and legend aboard the deck of the ship. He watched as your eyes slowly assessed the crew, your gaze lingering on Luffy before your gaze snapped and met with his. Your lips parted, your heart rose into your throat as your eyes began to widen at him.

From your position below the waves, shepherding the member of the pirate crew back above deck, you drew your attention to the blond member of the crew and were immediately intrigued. As your eyes met with his rounded, gray orbs; you knew for certain: 

This man was the most beautiful sight you had ever laid your eyes on. And looking at him, you knew he was immediately taken with you too. 

But you refused to give into your emotions that easily. 

For the next few months, you found yourself constantly nearby the ship known as the Going Merry. You constantly checked up on their non-swimming captain to ensure his safety traveling the seas, but your eyes always fell over the form of the chef amongst them. Each time you would leave, you always looked over your shoulder to notice the way his eyes would linger on you - always holding hope that you would turn back around and remain with him. 

Before you really knew what you were doing, you began ushering grandiose feasts of fish and crustaceans towards the Merry, always ensuring your blond was well supplied with a variety of ingredients from within the depths of the ocean. 

Kelp, seaweed and shells of vast variety began to find themselves on the windowsill of the kitchen; just as flowers, beads and brightly coloured stones were left out for you to find as you placed the gifts there. Each present had your heart swelling, but continuing to remain strong in not giving into your human emotions. He was human, and you were not. 

As the ship pulled into a far off dock, Sanji’s eyes met yours as you attempted to remain coy to his attention. You were bathing in the ocean; your lengthy hair covering the linen against your chest and over your hips, pelvis and glutes. Your eyes were shut, raking a sharpened, toothed stone through your hair to detangle it of its strands - your fur and blubber skin cast aside atop a rock behind you. 

Sanji was no fool. As soon as he began harboring affection for you, he asked Nami and Usopp for a variety of literature pertaining to aquatic mythos. He knew that if he were to claim your fur for himself, you would have no choice but to be with him. 

He bid a hasty farewell to his crew for the evening, gesturing with his chin over to your position to alert Nami to his intentions. She pursed her lips, attempting to hold back her smile as Sanji drew himself closer to you. 

As he drew his shaky hands over the skin laying so innocently against the moss-covered gray rocks, he stilled his descent and retracted his hand. Sensing his hesitation, you looked over your shoulder at him but chose not to address him. Your body and mind screamed at him to take it, to claim it for himself and, in turn, claim you. But as the seconds drew into minutes, minutes turning into several cold and unbroken moments - you finally turned to make eye contact with the chef behind you. 

He was sat directly beside your fur, a cigarette beginning to relinquish its flames down to the filter as he took in the nicotine-laced smoke. His expression was unreadable, stoic and still: something you had not seen reflected on his eyes in all the months you had known him.

“Sanji?” you asked, your brows furrowing in question. He shook his head, inhaling a final breath of his cigarette before stifling the tip and stuffing the butt into his pouch for later disposal. “Sanji, why won’t you claim me?” He again shook his head, closing his eyes and turning himself away from you. 

“I wanted to, mon cœur, believe me,” he confessed, nodding his head but holding his eyes closed. 

“Then why didn’t you?” you rose to your human feet and began stalking over to him. As you drew yourself over to his seated form, you knelt low before him, falling to your knees in front of him. 

“I would never force you to be with me, mon trésor. No matter how much I want you, I would never want you to be mine without knowing it’s truly what you want,” he confessed, opening his eyes to meet his eyes with yours once more. His eyes were pools of true adoration and love, swimming amongst the sunset reflected off the horizon. 

You sighed, reaching down and collecting your fur from its place beside Sanji and bundling it within your arms. Holding it tightly and firmly within your arms, you firmly squeezed it against your chest to hold it one last time before gently bowing your head and presenting it out to him. 

“This belongs to you, Sanji,” you whispered, stretching out your arms further in front of you, “Like my heart: it will always belong to you.” You heard his breath hitch in his throat, immediately falling to his knees in front of you and drawing you in for an embrace. He was quick to cradle you against his torso, smoothing his hands over your slightly damp hair and placing a sweet amount of quick kisses against your temple and hairline. 

You pulled away from his embrace, looking steadily into his eyes at first before propelling your face into his to claim his lips beneath your own. Your movements were slow, dancing with skill and passion as you took his bottom lip between your sharpened teeth. He groaned against your lips, whimpering as you dropped your fur and entangled your arms around him in a strong embrace. You clawed at his back in an attempt to hold him closer to you, your nails tearing small holes into the back of his jacket and finding residence in his muscular flesh beneath the material. 

“I will return it to you when you desire to go home to your sisters, mon cherie,” Sanji whispered, his heart swelling at your confession, “I know you will always belong to the wilds, and I refuse to selfishly keep you with me when humanity becomes all too much for you.” 

Hearing a small winced whimper, you broke away from his lips and gazed into his eyes. He looked at you with nothing but true adoration and love, his eyes softening as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“I love you, Sanji,” you confessed, your voice low and as sweet as honey-wine. Sanji’s smile continued to shine against his cheeks, his eyes dancing lights behind the irises at such an impossible notion. To harbor the adoration of a mythical creature of great renown and legend, that was no easy feat. 

“I love you too,” he confessed, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, “And I hope to continue to be worthy of such affection from someone as amazing as you.”

Luffy

“A selkie, hey?” He exclaimed with glee, immediately bringing himself before you, “Does that mean I can’t give you belly rubs, a scratch and a cuddle?” At that small question, your heart immediately swelled with the fierce desire to travel with this devil-fruit user. 

“I do not think a belly rub or a scratch would be appropriate in this form, no,” your melodious and sweetened giggle sprung gleefully into the air. Luffy huffed out his own laughter, immediately wrapping his arms around your shoulders and drawing you close to him.

“Thank you for saving me, seal,” he cooed in your ear, squeezing you impossibly tight within his arms. After breaking his face away from your shoulder, he continued to hold you within his circular grip as he gazed into your eyes. You danced your gaze between his two caramel orbs, staring up at him through your eyelashes as his warm smile became contagious. 

“I am not a seal, Luffy,” you purred, baring your sharpened canine teeth at him as your smile broadened. 

Luffy couldn’t explain this emotion he felt, but he knew he wanted you to travel with him. Always with him. Never far from sight, not even when in your seal form and dancing in the waves below. He would patiently wait for you to crawl up the hull of the ship and meet your eyes with his; relishing in the ways your smile crept atop your lips as you savoured the mirrored reflection he met you with. 

He wanted to keep you. He needed to keep you. 

And you felt exactly the same. This sailor, this captain among the straw-hat pirates with the dream of becoming king of them. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. And so, you made it apparent. 

Swimming below the depths and finding the most beautiful pearl within the heart of several clams; you presented him with your treasures. You brought him the flesh of your fresh kills, presenting him with the raw, sweeter, meats and watched him enthusiastically dine on the creatures - before becoming violently ill most times.

Sanji managed to sit you down in the kitchen, reprimanding you firstly before directing you to bring them to him for him to make the meat safe for human consumption. You did not take well to this notion, wanting him to see how hard you worked to provide for your beloved captain. 

It was one night where you physically bore yourself before him, your body only clad in sheer linen as you presented your furred flesh to him with a warm flush littering your cheeks. Unaware of its significance, he immediately placed it over his body, removing his straw hat and placing your otherworldly head atop his own. It swelled your heart to witness him take to your gift with such enthusiasm, truly allowing yourself to humble before this pirate and allow him to claim you as his own. 

“Thank you, seal,” he smiled at you, wrapping the skin around himself as one would a plush duvet to shield themselves from the cold, “why are you giving me your skin? I don’t understand.”

You sighed out an exasperated breath, your shoulders slouching and brows upturning in sorrow. He immediately snapped upright and rigid, removing his hands from beneath the flesh and collecting your shoulders beneath his palms. 

“What does this mean, seal?” he asked you, his eyes displaying concern as he held you firm, “You’re not gonna leave, are you? I don’t want you to go. I want you always with me-.”

“-This means I am yours,” you confessed, your eyes refusing to meet his, “And by you accepting it; it means you are mine.” He sucked in a hasty and large breath through his nose, his eyes widening as his lungs swelled. He closed his eyes as he moved his hands over your shoulders. 

“You won’t leave? You won’t go back to your family?” He sought out your eyes with his own, angling his head down to collect your gaze, “You’ll stay with me?” 

“You’re my dream, Luffy,” you smiled, your eyes finally meeting his caramel orbs, “And I want to always be with you.”

[reincarnated-angel]

You are very good at drawing! I kinda suck😭

AHH thank you so much wowh 🥺🥺

besides that! im sure youll get better with time. my old art was actual dumpster fire...

practice will help! draw more!!! i know i improved because i drew and drew (x5) and slowly figured out what direction i wanted to go with my art by looking at...other people's art. because originality is impossible now lol

slowly i added interesting things to my style and grew and changed and now i am at somewhat intermediate level i would say! its a learning curve. :3 hope this helps (is this too much i just like offering advice) further deer giorno cooking i guess

this is how i think shapeshifting between centaur and humanoid form would work btw. its kinda terrifying sorry 😭😭

sorry idk sheet about deer. can someone in the know share a (nicely put) opinion thank you very much

[dadsbongos]

carrie - s.geto

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection

…

warnings - reader is fem core, and also not a very good person as it turns out, blood and gore, bullying, vague religious imagery, material emotional abuse (light), kinda rushed towards the end (i wanted to be done already lmao)

word count - 8.6 K / rating - PG-13

The dark doesn’t scare you much. Since you were little, the jitters everybody else described when their parents dared to shut their door for bedtime were simply lost on you. Suguru explained it to you once - the dark itself is not scary, it's the mystery of what's inside those shadowy pockets. Again, however, that dread is nowhere to be found in your beating chest.

Because you know what’s inside - you can see their twisted expressions and the vein-like sprawls of black tendrils. Their eyes that are impossibly sunken or painfully bulging. Teeth that clack and gums that suck and stick against one another. Limbs in plenty, or none at all, wrapped in paper skin that exposes every divot of bone, or sometimes fleshy and fat and full. You can see them, you do not fear the dark. And you do not fear any mysteries.

You fear the creatures that stare back.

Acknowledging them did not make them disappear. Ignoring them didn’t either. Telling your mother made her seek out ways to prove her spiritual devotion. You can’t - and refuse to - imagine sharing with your peers.

They would hardly lend an ear anyway.

You’ve done a good job enduring. Until you don’t.

Chin pressed to your chest, you curl both arms tight around yourself as you and your fellow students flood from the school gates. Your fingers pull tightly at your uniform sleeves as a pack of boys comes blaring past, shouting excitedly about whose house will be ransacked for the night. Your eyes track each crack in the pavement below you. The sun bounces violently into your eyes, stinging them. You clench your eyes, opening them again when your body collides with a bigger one.

Tilting your head up on instinct, the shock of it all renders your previous years of haunted, terrible figures utterly useless.

Your throat swells, gut hitching tightly. Your skin shreds up into millions of little bumps at the sudden cold.

Lumps twitch under midnight skin - piled together lazily like a child’s drawing of a bodybuilder. Two arms, two legs, and two eyes, a shaking humanoid mimicry that leans down to press its flat face closer to your stilled one. Sweat beads down your forehead despite the chill. Its plump lips stretch up, misaligned rows of jagged teeth on display. And it giggles down at you - wavering and layered with the reflection of little girls and teenagers and old men.

Finally, you break from your stunned state and stumble back. A wordless scream rips at your throat, both arms flying up in front of your face as if to guard it.

Little girls and old men laugh again, but this time the sound of teenagers has amplified.

Shakily, your arms fall into your lap and you look around as upper and underclassmen point and howl. Your lungs feel pressed, yet moments from popping at how you heave at the same time.

“What’s your problem?”

“Seeing things?"

“What the hell was that?!”

Your hands clap over your eyes again when the hulking mass of rippling bumps and muscles refuses to trample away.

“Go away!” you scream, “Go away, go away, go away!”

Two arms pull you into a warm chest, a hand petting your head over the heart beneath. The body rocks you as one would a baby, “How can you all be so callous! Someone get Principal Machigae! Now!”

“Hey,” you hear your name faintly, the hand on your head moving to wipe stray tears from your burning cheek, “It’s alright - you’re alright!”

The bigger body pries your hands down, and you peek an eye open to find the malformation gone.

Then you see them. The eyes that take form. That blink. Upper and underclassmen murmur amongst themselves. Their eyes cut across your body, serving the slices of meat up to one another to pick at. Tear away the skin and dig into your fat.

Your chest sputters, burrowing into your self-induced ball of safety and blocking out the whispers. The scraping of sharp knives across the silver platter. The stronger voice above you, trying to coax you from your chamber.

Into the back of your mind, you retreat. Big, colorful flowers that release no itchy pollen. Warm meals that soothe your soul. Suguru’s big hands holding yours so assuredly. Suguru’s sweet voice singing your name.

…

The chairs in Principal Machigae’s office are too squeaky for your liking. It isn’t even the pleather - which would cling to any given skin, were you not wearing tights - it’s the weak joints in each leg. Loose screws and old bones.

Your mother sits straight, legs crossed at the ankles and knees pressed together, beside you, “I don’t understand, she’s never displayed this type of behavior before.”

Her eyes slip to you. Nails burying into her handbag.

Your eyes are still glazed and wet, ears burning with the echoing laughter.

...

“She thinks I’m seeing devils,” you sigh, an arm thrown over your eyes as you lay in your bed - your other hand pressing your phone to your ear.

“You’re kidding…” Suguru has never liked your mother, “Why doesn’t she take you to a doctor?”

He wishes he could tell you everything. Puke up his guts and then some. But Shoko is staring him down, shaking her head.

“I dunno…” but you sound so distraught as you describe every mutated body you cross nowadays, “She thinks it’s all hocus pocus bullshit.”

“Hm? And seeing actual devils isn’t?” he snickers, pointedly looking away from Shoko.

Shoko has explained to him the same thing, in the same way, that Yaga has. Telling you the truth runs the risk of you telling others the truth in an attempt to end your torment. One that they each deeply understand, but cannot risk the incoming wrath of people with more authority than both of them combined.

“Right?!” you whisper the exclamation, and he can just imagine the way you twist on your bed. Rolling onto your stomach on your sheets, propping your head up with a hand, “It’s so… ugh!”

“You know you can always come out to Tokyo,” Suguru shoves Satoru away when the pale fool makes kissy noises at him, Shoko joining in soon after, “Stay with me. I’ll pay for it all.”

“No, no,” you like that he offers, “You’re coming home soon anyway, I’ll get you to myself then.”

“Soon isn’t soon enough,” he stands up from Shoko’s bed when his friends coo and clap, “Sorry, I have to beat up some idiots. Call you later?”

“Hm, I might just head to bed… try to sleep off whatever happened…”

It helps that you can’t think of another better way to spend your time.

Suguru bids you his final goodbyes before you hang up. He clicks his phone shut and bats a fist hard into Satoru’s shoulder, then huffs and rolls his eyes over Shoko’s teasing.

Those next days leading up to Suguru’s return are no easier than the days before.

Your daily schedule has manifested into something completely new. Rotten and putrid flesh bleeding over into normalcy.

In the morning before school, you pray at your mother’s feet. At school, you take longer routes from class to cafeteria to home to avoid as many people as possible. The people you cannot avoid scream in your face - crying for you to go away in the way you did that monster. You scrub black marker from your desk after school and pretend to not be able to recall every dirty name scrawled over the wood. At home, you pray again before doing homework and calling Suguru. When Suguru has to hang up, you go to sleep.

And you do the very same thing the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And on Saturday, before going with the Geto family to pick up Suguru - your mother shoves you to your knees at her feet and forces more prayers from your quivering lips.

In the car, Suguru surprises you - declaring that he’d like to stay with you tonight.

His parents seem uneasy at the suggestion before giving in. They’re less comfortable with you now than they used to be.

Suguru is allowed in your room, but your mother very firmly states that he’s to sleep in the guest room down the hall.

Something Suguru has grown increasingly fond of since being sent to Jujutsu Tech is physical contact. Coddling you to his broad chest and feeling the thrum of your blood beneath your skin. Switching positions and hearing your heart still beating. He told you once that it was hard to ground himself at school - that the dwindling class numbers and surrounding forest were driving him crazy. It doesn't hurt that you don’t mind the additional heat swarming you in his arms.

“Sorry I’m so boring,” he’s quiet, but light with humor, “right when I get here.”

“‘s fine,” you burrow into his chest. He’s oddly filled out since going to Tokyo. Bigger and bulkier, “I like this.”

Suguru breathes deeply, your head lifting in time with the smooth motion. If you were to slide your head up and glance at him, you’d see the gentle smile on his face, “I do, too.”

He’s a lot clingier now. Calls you every day and texts you at odd hours. As if you may disappear without him ever knowing. He’s desperate to know you still exist.

Another big breath warns you that he’ll start talking again, “I meant it. You can stay with me in Tokyo,” this time you do slide your head up to look at him, but he’s already staring down at you. Thick eyelashes gently bat at his cheeks, dark obsidian eyes so warm on you, “I’ll make it happen.”

You snort, curling the arm settled on his chest around his waist and squeezing, “Yeah? What if your principal kicks me out?”

Stubbornly, he shakes his head, bangs falling across his forehead, “I wouldn’t let him.”

“Oh? You have that much influence?”

“Mhm,” he smiles thinly, always so certain of himself, “You’d be surprised.”

Suguru has never really liked your mother. He thinks she does a rotten job of loving you.

You don’t like the air conditioning in Counselor Haiboku’s office. It rattles obnoxiously and spits freezing air that not even the long sleeves of your uniform can combat.

She clears her throat, wiry glasses slipping a little down the bridge of her nose, “So, what I can do is recommend a therapist through a third party,” her voice is tinny and strained, as she's at a consultation desk rather than a school, “We can organize it so that you’ll be able to meet in my office, likely during your gym block.”

“My mom probably wouldn’t like that…” you know what you hope she’ll do with that information.

“Hm,” she hums, head tilting and hands scrambling to even a stack of papers against the surface of her desk, “I can scout a professional preemptively, and all she’ll have to do is sign to acknowledge that you’re meeting.”

Before she could even finish speaking, you’re already shaking your head, “My mom definitely won’t sign.”

You know what you want her to ask. You know how you would respond. You just don’t know how much more you’ll have to say before she finally asks.

Are you okay at home?

Instead, she sighs with a forced grin, shaking her own head, “Don’t give up hope. She seems harsh, but your mother loves you. Try bringing it up and we’ll discuss it further.”

What else you don’t know - is if you respond to that.

It seemed like a blur with the way your gut swirled and head pounded. Heart squished down to your feet. The organ splurted wetly against the floors with every step back to your gym block.

Once you arrived, after dragging yourself through changing into your uniform, the other girls had no interest in letting you join their teams. They usually don’t, though. And this time, Coach Teru permits you to find a solitary activity.

It’s reassuring, at least, to know that not all teachers are blind to the goings of students.

By the end of the hour, as with every day for gym, you and the other girls are piled into the showers. Eyes darting away to the tiled walls and floors and arms fastened around belly pouches and plump thighs as those parts of you all are unnatural. A blobby, juniper green thing with arms that shiver with each stretch lingers around flustered girls trying to cinch the flimsy curtains closed. Short, stubby legs let it slowly wobble between each uncomfortable body.

You’re trying to hurry through every automatic motion, scrubbing the soap from your locker into your skin like it could wash away the slimy feeling this spirit leaves behind. Eyes clenched shut and head perfectly straight. Water drips over your face, pooling around your cupid’s bow.

Quick fingers sink soap into your thigh before the bar slips from your grasp. And for a moment, your immediate instinct is to deny that it even fell. Until that dull thunk hits your ears, you are in blissful ignorance of your terrible mistake.

Frostbitten bitemarks tingle up your shaking thighs, sharp points threatening to break the skin. You can feel pudge press against the rounded base of your stomach, slithering arms jiggling around your waist.

“Look away…!” it’s squawky voice cries, teeth scraping against your soft flesh, “Look away…!”

“Stop it!” you welch, hands slamming over your ears and body tucking out from under the water and sliding against the wet wall until your bottom meets the ground, “Stop, stop, stop!”

A distinctly girlish, throaty groan rises from the stall in front of you, your eyes peeling wide in time to catch her peeking over the separating board. But most of your attention is on the limping, wobbling devil in front of you. It reaches out with long, unbalanced arms and razor-sharp nails that clack together. Its own eyes are popping out from its face, staring at you despite its pleas for you to divert your attention.

“What’s your problem?” the girl asks, sneering. You fail to reply, hands tightening around your ears and legs pressing against your chest, “What? Got your period?”

Chest heaving and broken whimpers leaving your lips, you merely drag your stare down to the tile by your bent legs.

“Oh my God…” the same girl looks out at the audience she’s conjured. Shrugging at each questioning face.

“Her batshit mom didn’t say anything,” another girl snickers, reaching into her bag and plucking out a tampon before tossing it at your aghast face. Laughing when you flinch away.

A third pops up behind her friend, long black hair flowing behind her as she creeps towards your stall. She maneuvers her hand back behind the steel shower head and angles it back towards you. More girls have gathered, some towards the back and some eagerly shoving their way to the front. The girl with black hair laughs with more twisted intent than the devil before you as she sprays you with water, twisting the temperature knob to icy cold.

“Still wanna keep clean, ya know?” you tuck your head between your knees, squealing as the chilling water hits your bare skin. Your hands slide against the tile as you try moving out from under the flow, “Don’t wanna get any sicker than you already are!”

A new chill breaks across the skin of your shins, ripping down - “Look away! Look away!”

“Stop it!” you screech, kicking out against the curse. It flies back and a new ring of laughter escapes most of the gathering girls, “No, no!”

“Ah- !” a scream, then the harsh thud of a back meeting the wall, and the water stops.

A warm body scoops you close. Coach Teru’s voice breaks out across the locker room, “How could you all stand there?!” she presses you close as your shivering gets worse, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” you are, you know that, “All of your parents will be hearing about this, and I hope you all expect big punishments!”

“Hey…” a girl from the middle of the crowd steps forward, “She’s not even bleeding…”

Instantly, your legs seal back to your chest.

“She’s really as crazy as her mom!”

Your eyes weakly peel open, catching the curious gaze of the uncanny thing before you. Its arms are loopy at its sides, its whole body tilting to the side on untrained feet. You sniffle, trying to wipe away the building tears but only smearing more water across your face, “Help me…”

Its watching eyes go eggshell white. One of its arms unlatches from the floor and flings up into one of the lightbulbs above you. Breaking the light and casting shadows across your naked form as the girls scream. The dark is momentary relief, knowing that the crowd is no longer as focused on you as they were.

...

Suguru bursts into Counselor Haiboku’s office seconds before your mother does. His large hands gently pet over your shoulders, eyes scrambling over your body as if assessing damage. Your mother loudly demands information from Haiboku - what have you done, where were you, why was she called from work - as Suguru helps you to stand.

You’re rattled, undeniably. But you’re grateful, too. For that spirit.

Not soon enough, you’re in the backseat with Suguru. He still holds you, as if he’d almost lost you, as if you're precious. It’s funny, in a way.

“What even happened?” your mother cuts you off prematurely with a scoff, “I know what happened - you and your devils. Your devils,” she murmurs, “Pray as soon as we get home. You’re getting worse.”

You nod listlessly, “Yes, Mother.”

Suguru grunts, deep in the back of his throat in protest. Despite being sent to a private religious school, you don’t know him to be a pious man at all. He goes to speak out, but you clasp your hand over his and subtly shake your head.

He wants to tell you everything. It physically sickens him, he gets so nauseous that he can barely keep down anything he eats. Or perhaps that is because he knows where your mother hides you away when she demands that you pray. A cramped closet with low, exposed candles and creeping spiders in each corner.

The next morning, you realize the girl with black hair is Rinko Ayashi. A girl you remember from junior high. She never seemed to like you, but you didn’t care for her either.

Also that next morning, you’re bidding Suguru a final farewell before leaving for school. His hugs dawdle, soaking up what remaining time he has before his parents take him back to the train for Tokyo. He reminds you once again - I’ll make it happen - before watching you begin your trek to school, a heavy sickness resonating through his whole body.

You can sense this creature faintly before you see it. A bulbous head and teeny, gossamer thin wings with a yellow little body. Insect-like. Almost cute. It doesn’t fly too close nor does it make you uncomfortable.

Two passing boys reach out to yank your hair and call you creepy for staring off.

Just as you begin to wilt, this insect-like spirit flies closer. It pauses just short of landing on your shoulder until you bump the muscle and nod for it to flutter down.

“C’mere.”

The creature’s eyes sheen in flat white before daintily positioning itself on your shoulder. The added weight is comforting, somewhat. Like the strong hand of a parent, guiding their youngest child to their class.

...

By the time you reach your gym block, your new friend is still clinging to your padded uniform shoulder.

Coach Teru intercepts your approach, but you can still spot the glares over her shoulder. She tells you not to worry. That the girls are only bitter over consequences of their actions - stripped privileges of attending the school festival. She moves aside, and you creep into the gymnasium. It smells strongly of lemon and raw chemicals. You prefer that to the maliciousness that rolls off your peers in thick curds.

Rinko lurches forward sharply, letting out a growly yelp in your face before huffing, “I wish I could make you bleed for real.”

Teru overhears, naturally, “Hey! Ayashi, thirty minutes after cleaning - you’re in here doing laps.”

Rinko glares at you again.

“Come on!” Teru calls out across the room, “Let’s get changed and start class!”

The spirit on your shoulder nuzzles into your cheek, pushing against the downturn of your lips and humming lowly. On your other shoulder, a soft, lithe hand lands. You follow the polished pink nails up, climbing along the long, black uniform sleeve, and finally to the flustered, red face.

Yonaka Hokori - Rinko’s former best friend - her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her hand draws back and she lowers her head, “I’m really sorry,” her voice wobbles, arms trembling, “You shouldn’t have been treated that way by me and the others. It was nothing but evil!”

“No, it’s…” you press your lips, fingers knotting together. Your shoulders bow, eyes flitting from Yonaka’s face to your shoes, “I’m sorry you can’t go to the festival anymore…”

“What? No way!” Yonaka has curled hair that bounces with her movements, she insists it’s inherited from her mother, but nobody knows for sure, “You should be able to enjoy it without us being there to remind you of… well. You know.”

Yonaka is just as bouncy as her hair. Big smiles that show off her pearly teeth.

“I dunno,” you scratch your elbow even though there is no itch. The spirit pulls back, now hanging off your hair like a monkey to vines, “It isn’t like I have someone to go with…” Yonaka walks with you to the locker room, her round face tilting curiously, “My only friend just went back to Tokyo, I’d feel bad asking him to make the trip again.”

Rinko’s melodic laugh rings through the space, a wobbly green thing peers around the corner leading to the showers, “Doubt you have a friend out in Tokyo. Much less a him.”

You fold your arms and Yonaka’s lashes narrow at the girl, “I do, too. It’s Suguru.”

Again, she laughs. Nose wrinkling in a snarl, “No chance. Geto was too cool for you, the only reason he was nice to you was ‘cuz your moms were friends,” her brown eyes scrawl lazily from your feet to your face, “Emphasis on ‘were’, since your mom’s gone off the deep end nobody wants to be her friend anymore,” she grins suddenly, “Just like you.”

Your body snaps around, rushing out of the metal doorway and towards the closest bathrooms. The insect pulls closer, bitty hands clinging to the warm skin of your embarrassed face. It’s cold skin cooling you.

In the changing room, Yonaka’s raspy voice is cracking out harshly as she yells, “What is wrong with you?!”

“What?” Rinko rolls her eyes, “It’s what she gets for trying to attract so much attention. She wants it until she can’t handle it - that’s not my problem. Nutjob’s been like this since junior high.”

Yonaka rolls her eyes and scrounges for her phone, pushing all the way to her boyfriend’s contact, and digging out each character. Normally, she’d skirt the long process of texting via notes or verbal passage, but this is urgent.

we need to talk. don’t freak out i’m not breaking up with you.

…

“She obviously needs more friends than this ‘Geto’ guy.”

“It just won’t be the same if I’m not going with you…”

“You’re so sappy. Now use that to make her feel better, hm?”

…

Suguru is very warm. His body runs hot naturally. And he's very level-headed and mellow, like gentle sunshine. He likes to care for others, to uplift and blow away the dust. He’s been that way since you were both little. Does he use that kind soul just to placate your loneliness?

Another, practically identical, insect-like spirit comes to your other shoulder. Its hands scrape against your lower lids, desperately cupping the tears that fall from your lashes.

When you want it the least, a new presence descends upon you. A cheery voice, and you find it to be Yonaka’s introverted boyfriend.

“So, I heard that you don’t have anyone to go to the festival with,” he starts, dodging your stare entirely, “And since I’m already out of a date, I figured that we should go together.”

You wonder if he knows your name. And if he does, then is it only because of his girlfriend? Or did he notice you before?

Did he pity you?

Did he think about stepping up?

Did he think about joining in?

“Did Hokori put you up to this?” you ask.

At the mention of his girlfriend, the boy lights up. His cheeks flush and his whole body straightens up, as if she may appear at any moment, “Honestly, yes - but! It could be fun to get to know each other.”

You kick the toe of your shoe down into the ground, looking at the impact in the dirt, “It’ll be social suicide.”

“I don’t care,” he scratches the side of his nose, “It’s just high school.”

The sound of a giggle surprises you, what surprises you more is that it’s your mouth the sound comes from. Both spirits are startled away, buzzing off into the distance. And you hardly notice.

“Yeah,” you lock your hands behind your back, suddenly bashful under this foreign attention, “Okay. That could be fun.”

Thumb hovering over the call button, you breathe in deeply before committing. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Four.

Five…

It rings until you hear the robotic woman on the other end, “The number you have dialed- “

You hang up before the message can start. You redial Suguru’s number.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

You hang up just as the woman starts speaking again.

”The number you have dialed- “

With nothing to placate this loneliness, you turn over in your sheets and let slumber snatch you away as the sun begins to sink below the mountains.

.

.

.

You’re startled out of bed by the techno ringing of Pac-man’s main theme. Throwing your sheets off, your hand beats around your nightstand to (eventually) find the source of the sudden noise. You silence it by accepting the call before you can see who’s name - or number - was printed across the screen.

“Hello?” your voice is dry, cracking towards the end - and subconsciously, you reach out for the water bottle sitting at the edge of your stand.

“Hey, sorry…” it’s Suguru, he sounds drowsy, words lilting and slurring on the edge of sleep, “I saw you called and didn’t wanna sleep until I made sure you were okay.”

“Aw,” how could someone so tender be so willing to be around you, “I’m fine, Sugu, just missed you…”

A humiliating admission, you fear.

But Suguru would never want to humiliate you.

“I missed you, too,” you can hear his bed creak on the other end of the line, he groans faintly as his sore muscles settle in the new position, “Satoru and I have this new project - it’s been keeping us busy,” you know of Satoru, you used to get so jealous at the prospect of him stealing away Suguru’s attention - but Suguru was always quick to assure you that he preferred your company, “We were tied up all day and then I passed out as soon as we got back to- “ he clears his throat, “our dorms. Ah, shit, it’s late. You were sleeping.”

You must be on some humored roll today because you’re giggling again, looking down at the blaring crimson numbers scorching your eyes. Quarter past midnight.

“I’d rather talk to you than keep sleeping,” you admit, and it’d be so much more shameful if it were to anyone but Suguru.

“Better not be sleeping in class tomorrow ‘cause of me, your mother’ll kill me,” he groans quietly and the bed creaks again as he tries getting comfortable, “How has she been since I left? Any better?”

And from anyone but Suguru, that could be misconstrued as concern for her but you know better. He’s worried about you because it’s you that’s important to him. He cares. You don’t remember why you thought otherwise.

“If things are getting to be too much,” he continues when you’re quiet for too long, “Just let me know. I’ll - I’ll make them better.”

“Hm? And drag me to Tokyo?”

“Maybe. If you’d like. Or I could stay down there.”

You’d never ask that of him, but he’d still do it anyway.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” you lay back down, pulling your blankets back over your body, “I actually might be making a friend. And someone wants to go to the school festival with me.”

“What?” you can practically see the playful pout on his lips, “Didn’t wanna go with me, huh?”

“I would’ve felt bad keeping you here! Especially when you’ve got exciting projects in Tokyo.”

“None of that even matters compared to how much I like being with you,” he says very seriously. You’re tempted to ask what has him so sentimental tonight.

But you don’t, mostly because the words are trapped in your chest. Right next to your thundering heart, all words and thoughts rattle around - clawing to get out all at once. Eventually, the ones that escape are, “I like being with you, too.”

It’s still. Both of you are in bed. One of you lying about where. Suguru doesn’t want to think about what a bad omen it may be that he’s flirting with you while lying about many facets of his life. You don’t think Suguru could be capable of such lies.

So when he easily insinuates that he’s still at school in Tokyo rather than a hotel in Okinawa babysitting a junior high student, you are none the wiser.

“It would’ve been fun,” he begins again, “We don’t do any festivals here. Just the exchange event and that’s…” he groans heartily and you laugh, “I don’t like the Kyoto students.”

“Well, there’s always next time!” you offer, curling your warm blankets tighter around your body, “I’ll make sure you can come to the next one.”

Suguru doesn’t consider the logistics of how a relationship would work out with you when he’s kept a large portion of his life hidden. But he knows you well, takes pride in it, and he knows you won’t turn your back on him when he does come clean. At some point, Yaga won’t be able to argue against his decision to tell you.

“Can it be a date?”

You turn your head and press your mouth into your pillow before letting out a girlish squeal. Returning to the conversation, you nod even though he can’t see it, “That would be fun!” your heart hurts, it’s pounding so hard, “I hope you don’t plan on making me wait that long for a first date, though.”

He sounds tired as he speaks, but you know he means what he says, “No way - you’re too special.”

For the first time in a long time, you’re dreading going back to sleep. You don’t think you even could right now - body too electrified with excitement.

“Have you seen more of those devils?”

“They don’t feel like devils,” you don’t want to see how your mother looks at you, “They don’t feel evil.”

You don’t need to see how your mother looks at you. You already know she’s horrified. Especially when she fists a chunk of your hair and begins dragging you toward the rickety closet with her altar in it. She’s muttering to herself, eyes darting around the kitchen as if to find one of the creatures that has apparently possessed you.

“Mom!” you claw at her hand, caught between wanting to free yourself and still being too terrified to cause her real damage, “I’m fine! Really! It isn’t- I’m not evil!”

“You’ve changed,” her bug-eyed stare comes down to you through the side of her eyes, “You are not my little girl,” she yanks your hair hard like she’s trying to pull it out, “Not my little girl anymore.”

She pulls again. Harder.

So hard you briefly consider that she might’ve tugged skin straight off your skull.

On the creaky stairs that lead up to your room, creeps down another spirit. It rolls like melty, red Jell-O with a massive eye rotating on the axis. You reach out with one hand while still trying to pry your mother’s hand from your hair. Your feet slip against the linoleum floor, your scalp burning under your mother’s hand.

“Help me!” you whine, your mother pulls harder, you sniffle and claw out for the mushy spirit, “Please, help me!”

Its eye washes over with a milky hue, body jiggling down the stairs rapidly and bowling right into your mother’s legs. She scrambles back, hands now trembling as though you’d been the one to deal the blow. You feel something surging through the tunnels of your veins. A vat of frozen water poured over the sludge clogging your pores. Washing away muck and leaving behind only chills of rejuvenation.

Your mother’s frame withers beneath your gaze. She holds up her hands, clasping them together and murmuring against the shaking appendages. You don’t know who she’s praying to, who she’s asking for forgiveness - it makes you feel something that scares you just a little.

“You won’t mistreat me anymore,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I’m excited to be happy, and to live! And I won’t let you ruin it!”

She only continues her prayers. You hear your name faintly.

The curse slithers up your body, licking away the salty tears that’ve begun dripping down your face.

“And I’m going to the festival… And you can’t stop me.”

Her eyes clenched shut, lips moving faster against her hands.

You sniffle and the spirit slurps faster at your leaking tears.

“I was planning on taking Yonaka to this one,” the girl's boyfriend - Aoto, you learned - admits shyly, pulling the classroom door open for you, “But I think it’d be a shame to waste.”

“Ah!” you glare over at Aoto lightly, “You should’ve told me we were coming here, I would’ve worn something nice!”

“You are wearing something nice,” he shrugs, “Besides, it isn’t like I’m exactly dolled up.”

It’s corny, undoubtedly, but you can’t help but admire the pink and purple decor. Color-shifting lights and shimmering streamers tacked to the ceiling. White balloons litter the floor and float aimlessly against the ceiling. The hosting students are easy to spot, decked in flowy or poofy ball gowns and sleek tuxedos.

Some other students with previous insight into this exact event are similarly dressed up. Pins and sparkles and stained lips.

Modeled after a cinematic, inauthentic, American prom.

A cold waft of air brushes your back. Two spirits wander in with a third limping in behind them.

Aoto takes your hand and guides you through the crowded classroom until you meet the dance floor; keeping his hands politely on your waist and yours on his shoulders. It’s ridged and you can tell he’d much prefer to have his girlfriend’s head tucked against his chest and under his chin. But that’s okay, you’d rather have Suguru’s hands explore the dips and curves of your waist. You close your eyes and pick yourself up, placing yourself back down in a different world.

One where it is Suguru. His hair is down, inky strands gliding along his shoulders. His hands are tugging you closer and he simply laughs when you accidentally step on the toe of his shoe.

“I know we aren’t close or anything, but I have had a nice time.”

You grin, eyes opening, “I did, too.”

“Yonaka, uh, wanted me to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to go with us- ”

He’s abruptly stopped when the music pauses, both of your heads snapping towards the front of the room.

More spirits are piling into the room, stomping over one another and clawing each other’s flesh as they race into the space.

Two boys struggle to pull the door shut as a final, boarish creature squeezes inside. The door slams loudly and your attention is drawn there before you feel Aoto tense completely against you - his breath hitches and he curses quietly. Slowly, with dread filling your stomach, you look back to the front of the makeshift dance hall.

“Let’s go,” Aoto tries tugging you away, but you remain frozen.

You want to see her as you saw your mother. On the floor and wavering. Asking for forgiveness. You want to feel that scary feeling again. You want Rinko to regret sneaking into school tonight.

The two boys that shut the door now bind Aoto by his arms, Rinko makes a show of your presence. Pointing you out, grinning snidely, “Aren’t you so brave? Coming out tonight when nobody likes you,” many eyes linger, human and spirit, they burn you, “And I think you need a reward. Like a real dance, we need a queen, don’t you think?”

The eyes all feel malicious. Even the creatures only you can see, their gaze feels just as evil as it previously had. Their gaze feels like that of devils.

“You’re not usually so cleaned up, though,” she reaches out and drags you forward, and now you’re not so certain, “I’m more used to you like this.”

Cold water sloshes down your back, gasps retching through the room’s collective chests. Your clothes slick down against your body and chills course up your flesh. Feet patter away from behind you, and a new body approaches from the front. He heaves a bucket up by his shoulder.

The eyes are unblinking.

The abyss stares back.

And you are afraid.

“No, if we really wanted to relive that fantasy then maybe you should actually be bleeding this time.”

The bucket in the boy’s hands tips, and vile red pools to the metal lip before flying out. Red sticks over your skin, plastering your clothes to your body, it drips down your face with grotesque slowness. If you weren’t sure that it’d slip onto your tongue, you’d be screaming. But you can already taste the iron. What you don’t taste, stings your nostrils.

You see that Aoto is released, but you don’t feel relieved. He rushes over to you, ungracefully crashing on his knees at your side. His hands catch yours as they fruitlessly attempt to scratch off the blood - you hadn’t realized you were even doing that. You don’t realize when people begin crowding around you either.

Aoto rips off his jacket to wipe off as much blood from your face as possible. He’s speaking, fast and breathless, and you have no idea what he’s saying. Your ears are ringing. You look at the forming group. Some are smiling. Some are frowning. Some are stuck in the middle. Every devil giggles, though. Loudly,

The door squeaks open, and whoever planned on entering slithers back out when they spot your predicament.

Your devils follow your command, but they will not help. Your peers will not help. Your mother will not help. You are alone in the dark room, and your fear fades. You control the things that stare back from the shadows, you don’t have to be afraid.

Aoto tries to assist you in walking away, his hands are soft and his jacket is left on the ground. Stained in blood. You shove his hands away and look at Rinko, she laughs. Her friends laugh. Aoto is still speaking, but the ringing has yet to stop.

Rinko’s pin-straight hair shines under the dim lighting. You hate her.

“Just wanna…” your voice croaks, Aoto leans closer as if you’re talking to him, “get rid of her…”

The spirits’ giggles abruptly end. Eyes flashing over milky white.

Lightbulbs shatter from behind colored veneer and the emergency red lights flash on. Every body is painted in crimson. You watch Rinko. The ringing grows. She looks up, wide-eyed at the lights. The ringing grows. A stiff, rectangular body with a banging, metallic jaw steps forward. The ringing grows.

The rectangular devil swings its jaw open and practically inhales the top half of Rinko’s body as she screams. The misaligned mouth swings shut with a loud clang and her screaming is cut off. Her body’s bottom half - a quarter of her pelvis and both legs - fall uselessly to the ground in a bloody heap. Stringy, choppy ends of muscle spread over the ground.

Aoto stiffens beside you, his hands tighten around you and he tries yanking you towards the door, “We have to get out - oh, God- what? What was that? What was that?!”

Teenagers sound like squealing pigs as they scream. You hear the classroom door’s hinges squawk and turn towards the sound. The boy that’d dumped blood on you is trying to escape.

“Get rid of them all…” you mutter. Catching Aoto’s attention.

The door snaps shut, a brutish, pear-shaped devil responsible. The peachy flesh monster pushes and pushes and pushes, uncaring that the boy is trying to drag himself through the squeezing doorway.

The boy’s head pops, body slumping against the jammed door. Pigs squeal as they’re locked inside the pen.

“Are you- no,” Aoto sounds winded, air unable to get to his lungs, “Are you doing- ? Are you doing this?”

Claws shred clothes and raw meat. Teeth gnash and tear. Blood falls to the floor from bodies that aren’t yours.

“Would you have helped me?” you don’t look at Aoto, voice frail and dry, “If Hokori hadn’t made you, would you have helped me?”

His mouth opens and closes. Like a fish to be gutted. His chest rapidly moves with his hyperventilating. He reaches out for you, but you’ve stepped back. He sees a girl have her legs twisted like putty over your shoulder, and he runs to the door.

The peachy spirit stands guard, roughly slapping Aoto away. His body flies into a table and he stays down. You look up at the creature and he clears your path before slamming the door shut behind you. You trail blood into the hall, looking out at the gathering student body in the narrow space. Teachers are at the frays.

Wet, strained eyes of devils watch from every corner.

The ringing has subsided. You can hear the screams behind you more clearly now.

And you can hear yourself as you tell the devils, “Make them bleed.”

Fly-like devils swarm to your sides. They suck up the blood still clinging to you. You collect more as you wander out of the school.

You pass Coach Teru. Her body is pinned to the wall by a lanky devil with sagging, baggy skin - like a deflated beach ball stretched around a stick. Her chest only lets out wheezy little whines. You could free her, but then once the euphoria of having a savior wavers, she will realize what you are. The very devil-conduit freak your mother and peers feared. She will hate you just as much. So you walk away as she is crushed, desperately flinging out weak cries of your name.

Real flies join the buzz around your bloodied form as you walk home.

…

As you watch blood mix into water and flow down the shower drain, you hear your bathroom door creak open. A shadow casts over the white shower curtain. Your mother attracts the fly devils. They tangle in her hair and lap at her face with long tongues.

You can see her hands tremble. The shape of something angular and sharp rests in her grasp. It means nothing well.

You want for your mother to sweep you into her arms. To cradle you and promise better days. To seek help for you that does not come with scorching candles and splintered knees in a cramped closet. Yet, you already know you cannot have that. You wonder if maybe in a different world, you could have. If maybe there is another version of you that isn’t plagued by visions of evil and has normal breakfasts with a family that loves you.

You wonder. You will never know.

“Get rid of her,” you command coldly.

The flies flock around her throat, laying pressure from all sides. They’re weak individually, but en masse, they manage to pry the oxygen from your mother’s lungs. Strip away the cruel beat of her heart.

Her knife clatters to the ground, body thumping to the ground soon after.

It hasn’t hit you yet as you towel off and change post-shower, what you’re going to do about the carnage left in your wake. But returning one of Suguru’s many, many missed calls seems like a good first step. It rings once.

Then his voice, weaker and shakier than you’re used to, “I’ve done something bad,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “Terrible.”

You’re snapped from whatever sinister haze had taken over you. Suguru’s confession rouses the warmth of your chest, you clutch the phone tightly to your ear, “I have, too.”

If you try hard enough, you can still smell the iron in the hallway. And you can still hear the screams of boys and girls and mothers and fathers and lovers and friends. You sniffle, the memories burn your eyes, “I- Sugu…” you really have done something unbearable, haven’t you?

Your mother’s body will be cold by morning.

“I killed them,” you gasp, hoping to feel the air fill your lungs - you don’t, “I killed them all…!”

And the scariest thing about it, is you don't know if you even regret it.

Suguru is warm and kind, you know this hopelessly. You’re reminded now because he pushes aside whatever sin he’s borne tonight to ease your breathing. His voice is gentle as he coaxes you into calmer breaths. Only then, does he continue, “What happened? You killed people?”

“I- “ he doesn’t sound afraid, that should alarm you but it doesn’t, “They hurt me, Sugu. I couldn’t- I can’t- I just wanted them dead. I wanted them all gone and I made the devils- “

Suguru cuts you off abruptly, “Curses.”

“What?”

“You’re a sorcerer, too,” he hums quietly, “That’s good…” you’re tempted to ask, but he’s already speaking again, “I killed a village; burned them all… they were hurting children. Two girls,” he groans, sharp and throaty, “Locked them in a cage- they weren’t eating. They’re all bruised.”

“Sugu,” you trust that he’s done right by the girls because that’s simply who he is, “can I see you?”

“Yes, yes,” you hear rustling, his words rushed like he’d forgotten something, “Pack light. Hide in my room. God, God…” he starts murmuring and you aren’t sure you’re supposed to be hearing what he says now, “If the higher-ups don’t know yet then they will soon. A whole school… yeah, they’ll know by morning for sure.”

He sounds frantic. You’re sure if you could see him now he would look even worse.

“Will you be here soon?” you’re realizing you don’t know where he is. You look back and wonder if he’d truly been in Tokyo this whole time like he said.

“Fast as I can,” he turns away from the receiver to call out to an unseen company. The girls, you figure, “Don’t see my parents. Just climb through the window like you used to.”

You want to ask. The question digs into the meat of your bottom lip. You hang up instead.

You’re unable to sleep. Hyper on the paranoia that someone will find you. That Suguru’s sleeping parents will spontaneously awake and creep into their son’s old room. That police officers will kick the door down and take you away. That God Himself will smite you.

The sun barely peeks over the mountains when Suguru sneaks into his old room. A faint thud echoes from his parent’s room followed by the squeak of a mattress. He pays it no mind, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to inspect for marks. He’s gentle with you.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this? About any of this?”

Suguru pulls back, melancholy eats at the skin of his face, “I wanted to, but nobody above me would budge,” his shaky hands find yours, he exhales and the shaking eases, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get my teacher in trouble, and I didn’t want you to be a part of this if I could help it,” he looks down at your locked hands, “I just wanted you to be happy, away from curses... I love you,” he says it so plainly, unashamed and with no embarrassment, “I love you so much, I can’t bear the idea of you getting hurt by these curses. And I ended up letting you get hurt by these monkeys.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sugu,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hoping it soothes his aching chest, “Not your fault at all.”

He smiles softly, standing and bringing you up with him. His hands are wound tightly around yours and he takes the moment to look at you; he hated how upset you sounded last night. How tearful you were over the bloodshed of people that tormented you. How terrible that sound was, “We should go. We’re both in trouble with some powerful people right now.”

Your shoulders droop at the thought, eyes widening, “More powerful than you?”

You know nothing of the sorcery world that Suguru hails from, but you know that he would be discontent being low on the totem pole.

“No,” he hums, “Well, one. But he’s not a concern,” he grabs the bag you’d packed last night and throws it over his shoulder, “There’s lots of work I have to do if I want to change this world. And I want you with me.”

There’s nearly an endless amount of work to be done if Suguru wants to change the world that ousted and hurt you. Hurt Nanako and Mimiko. Hurt Riko. Hurt Satoru. But he’s a Special Grade, capable of raising a cursed army to wipe out the parasites that feed off his loved ones. He’s certain that, if you’re willing to share, you could raise an army, too.

You nod excitedly, turning towards his bedroom door until Suguru clears his throat.

He shakes his head, bangs falling over his pale, weary face, “That’s not a good idea. We’ll use the window.”

He doesn’t know if the gore has reached outside his parents’ room, but he doesn’t want you to be one to find out.

Suguru is the first to jump down, catching you afterward and tucking you both into his parents’ car. You’ve always known that Suguru is good with kids, he’s been babysitting around the neighborhood since he was in grade school, but seeing it again now sets your whole chest ablaze. His compassion and tenderness - your Suguru is just as sweet as you remember. You think you love him.

“I trust and adore her more than anyone in the world,” he says to the frightened girls, having shied away from you, “You’ll never be harmed by her, we promise you that.”

Suguru clings to you as he drives, a hand settled on your leg as if to make sure you won't jump from the car. Soft and sweet and gentle-hearted Suguru. You’re sure you love him.

One day you will tell him.

That day, he will say it back.

For now, you two sit in the front seats of his parents’ car - and in dim offices in Tokyo, your death sentences as Special Grade threats are being signed by men you’ve never met.

[silvergolddraco28]

I got an idea while seeing this post. I couldn't resist!

Cursed Ink

1

Gold and ruby red eyes slowly opened, a soft groan of pain from numb limbs came from the figure as they pushed themselves up from the flat stone ground racking their brain for answers before snapping to their feet looking around. “The scroll!” The golden-furred humanoid monkey growled swaying slightly. Their limbs were still numb and tingling, feeling the very spell work of the cursed scroll sucking away at his Chi converting it into energy to keep the scroll ‘alive’.

‘How in the Diya did a cursed prison scroll end up in my treasure vault?!! Something like that should be down in the Diya not on the mortal plane! I'm going to punch whoever planted that scroll in my vault when I get out of here.’ The simian thought in justified rage. The teenager he had been with before he was sucked into the scroll looked utterly terrified. ‘This isn’t going to help the Kid’s PTSD and anxiety at all.’ The simian mentally groaned.

”Had a nice nap Peaches?” A familiar but slightly distorted voice asked from behind the golden monkey. Said monkey whipped around as blue-tinted ink pooled on the ground before rising up and taking the shape of a familiar black monkey minus the scar with three petal-like ears on each side of his head a thin blue line acted as its mouth while a similar blue line outlined the fire shaped mask around glowing blue eyes.

The golden monkey growled low and deep barring his sharp teeth usually hidden behind illusions to look similar to human teeth if a little sharper. “Don’t call me that! You're not Macaque nor will you ever be Macaque. Your just ink given shape to force anyone trapped in this scroll to repent by reliving the past.” The simian snapped.

The ink monkey simply grinned, chuckling in that distorted voice. ”Come now Peaches. You already know why I’m here. You hold a lot of mistakes and regret you must atone for… or have you already forgotten what you did to little old me? Your biggest regret of them all, Wukong?” ‘Macaque’ stated sauntering forward, hands relaxed behind his back while his tail playfully swayed behind him. His tone was taunting and demeaning. It made Wukong’s skin crawl while pushing his metaphorical buttons.

“I’ve made peace with my choices, I don’t need a cursed object telling me what I’ve done wrong when I’m reminded of it every time I go into a fight.” Wukong clipped, jumping back from the approaching ink monkey.

”Ahahah. Can’t have you leaving me behind again now can I?” ‘Macaque’ smirked as several thick ‘ropes’ made of ink snagged around Wukong’s wrist and neck tethering him to the ground like a wild horse. ”it’s amusing to see you all bound up like this. Makes the heart race and yearn.” ‘Macaque’ teased getting in Wukong’s face trailing a pawed hand over Wukong’s cheek staining it with ink as his fingers hooked onto Wukong’s cloak and easily pulled the knot undone. Wukong growled straining under the ‘ropes’ that held him rather taunt. ”Bad Monkey. No violence.” ‘Macaque’ grinned at seeing Wukong physically flinch just from that simple phrase.

“Don’t touch me.” Wukong snarled his claws digging into his palms, drawing blood as he fought to stay standing from the growing pull. The ‘ropes’ drawing blood around his neck.

”But you will love what I have in mind for you. After all, you never had the chance to have a Mate.” ‘Macaque’ pointed out circling around the trapped king while his tail teasingly brushed along Wukong’s jaw like a cat.

Wukong lifted his jaw away from the cold tail before his knees were kicked from behind making him lose balance as he was forced to sit with his legs folded underneath him his arms pulled back behind him slightly while his neck was pulled forward pinning him in place. His tail swayed in agitation at being pinned in such a humiliating and utterly submissive position. Not even the heavens had been able to make him kneel like this without causing him pain and even after that they simply tied him to a pole with diamond whips and chains.

”Look at you being humble.” Macaque chuckled, coming back to face Wukong squatting down slightly with amusement written all over his back face as he threaded a hand behind Wukong’s head before touching their lips together. Wukong’s red and gold eyes went wide at the cold lips against his own frozen in shock before ‘Macaque’ tilted back swiping his tongue over Wukong’s lips causing the golden monkey to instinctively open his mouth to snarl before the lips and tongue slipped into his mouth stealing both his breath and more of his strength as the ink creature ‘fed’ upon Wukong’s Chi tied to his hidden love and regret for the form it had taken shape of.

Wukong growled low in his chest as the shock turned to anger and he bit down on the tongue in his mouth tasting ink as the other pulled away with a scowl. ”Don’t be like that Peaches. When was the last time you had some private company? Those herbs you take will wear off in this place faster than you think.” ‘Macaque’ tsked as more ink flowed up and wrapped around Wukong’s mouth forming a muzzle while thin ‘vines’ latched onto his claw-like nails and pulled said claws right out effectively yet temporarily de-clawing the golden monkey. Wukong suppressed the whimper of pain at his nails being ripped from his fingers. ”Unlike your Master... I know how to prevent you from causing harm to others and what punishments will accomplish the correct behavior.” ‘Macaque’ purred with a wide yet vindictive grin. ”This is my world and you are at my mercy this time Peaches.”

Like and Comment

Still looking for writing help sadly enough. 😅🫠😂🥲

[aerkame]

These really are not my best, but I feel like everyone needs to hear me out and see this. I am really struggling on drawing Wally, I am not used to humanoid figures at all but I kept sketching until I got somewhere I like. It really sucks sometimes but if you really truly want any improvement you have to keep practicing until it clicks.

He kind of has an anime-esc head or a mishaped bean. I tried using human heads before but it just doesn't fit. Also looking at inrl puppets like from Sesame Street may help.

Also no, those are not vampire Wallys. It's just me trying to sketch a Finfolk Wally.

[dexterkronos]

Sorry for the delay y'all! University decided it wanted my attention more so I didn't get to finish my Eyes until today. So, introducing to everyone, EyeAvatar!Ivy Alexandra from @girlwholovesturtles's Craniopagus fic! Main thing that hurt doing this was honestly trying to figure out how to get them both mousey and Eye coded. For those unaware; Craniopagus (which you should go read) places The Mechanisms in The Magnus Archive's space, and most of the cast have some connection to an Entity. Ivy is - obviously - tied to The Eye, to the point she eventually Became an Avatar. She is also a mouse humanoid, which means I spent an insubordinate amount of time researching mice eyes, sobbing over the mouse eyes, getting sucked into several Pinterest rabbit holes for no particular, discernable reason, and then deciding to just wing it based on Craniopagus' description and that alone. It's most likely not 1:1 with Kila/CopperRose's "large, doe like, and entirely black" description thanks to the lighting tricks I had to do, but rest assured without the glows they are pure black with very, very, very dark green for the iris. I tried to do a version as well that was more mid-Becoming, but it honestly lacks compared to the final product lmao- Anyway, I gotta play catch-up now, so after my proper Ivy drop later I will either tackle more Craniopagus characters, draw candlecoo's Toy Soldier, or mess with the third, spoopy idea of that Buried rant I did last night. We'll see. The resident Eye Lady definitely makes no clear promises on swift returns, but will try!

[ID in alt text]

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

Oh dear, it's been a while since I last posted anything, hasn't it? Time to fix that! I've been working all week on a commission for my friend @burningthrucelluloid involving his two cosmic characters, Jackie Valentine (left) and Princess Exa (right). Here's the end product:

Life on Earth was not easy for young Ms. Valentine. Being a determined black woman in the mid-1920s meant her options were limited and people were always looking down on her. Or at least they would be had she not spent most of her time in a rickety, rusty, reliable ol' biplane named Ghost Echo. It was while flying the Echo one day that our hero had an unusual encounter of the otherworldly kind. Before she could mount a proper attack, Jackie was whisked away off world by humanoid alien wasps! Y'know, that tale as old as time. On board the wasp's warship she spent many nights shivering in their cell whenever not being subjected to torture. Making matters worse was her inability to comprehend the language. Not that it mattered. Figured life would suck in the stars as much as it did back on terra firma. Nothing had changed.

At least not until a curious visitor stopped by the cell. Unbeknownst to our hero at the time, it was the Wasp queen's daughter, Exa. Being a naturally inquisitive insect by sort, the young princess was amazed by this human's tenacity and spirit. Especially in light of all the stories regarding those pesky 'fleshies'. She had to get a closer look. Over the time the two built up a report, so much so that the language barrier stopped being an issue. There was a certain look in their eyes that made everything crystal clear. Finally, after months of suffering, the two hatched a plan to free the adventurous astronaut from her captors. Exa would feign being a hostage as the Earthling carried her away on the biplane to parts unknown. Earth was now too far away to travel, but luckily a close-by planetoid provided plenty of parts to upgrade the ship, along with a much needed translator. Now the two could communicate and Exa could mistake her 'captor' as the Ghost Echo. What? It's written on the side of the ship, clearly that's the pilot's name. Jackie couldn't help but laugh. On that day forward, the Ghost Echo would defy the brutal bugs, foil the plights of space pirates, and continue courting that lovely insectoid that helped her so long ago. Heck, for one instance she even got dolled up for the occasion, complete with an appropriate 1920s style outfit. Sure, it was a tad girlier than she prefers, but Exa clearly didn't mind.

Neither did Alec when I showed this to him. Usually when artists draw Ghost Echo she's in her space suit. My masked amigo allowed me the freedom to be creative with her ensemble. So I figured I'd go all out and give her a nice formal outfit for a swanky date night. On top of that, I figured I'd include my character Rosie Stardust in on the fun:

She ships it. As I hope all of you will as well! By the way, if you're interested in a commission from me, ask me about my prices! With any luck, a proper Commissions Menu will be posted soon!

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[wiltingdecay]

this lesbian visibility week, help an autistic lesbian attend school again!

hi! if you don't know me, i'm fern; when the mental illness allows it, i'm an artist and writer. back in the academic year of 2021 and 2022, i managed to get into my dream college, but unfortunately i suffered majorly with extreme bouts of anxiety and depression that i just couldn't cope with. this eventually forced me to drop out due to low grades and poor attendance. which sucks, but that's life.

thankfully, i'm a lot better now and trying to figure out what to do with my life. it was a childhood dream of mine to become a writer, and it's a hobby i got back into while i've been recovering this past year. i love it more than ever and would love to be able to grow my skills so that writing professionally is something i could realistically pursue. i recently came across a college course in my local community that is all about creative writing and it's absolutely perfect for me.

unfortunately, the admission fee is 300 euro, and due to some sudden and unavoidable expenses recently, i can no longer afford to pay for it out of pocket. i have until august to apply, but it would make my life a lot easier for me if i could have my place secured by june; that would mean i can apply for a student grant to be able to pay my way through the course (cost of transportation, food, etc).

for this reason, i am opening some quick little chibi icon commissions to help me out while i work on assembling a full commission sheet! i absolutely love working on these icons, they're quick and easy to do and so so fun. if you'd be interested in commissioning one, send me an ask or a dm! reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

rules:

payment through ko-fi only, at the moment nothing else is viable for me.

the base price for a single icon is €21, or 7 kofis. if that's out of your price range, i can also offer a flat colours only version for €15, or 5 kofis. a more complicated design might raise the price slightly, but not necessarily.

i do not accept payment upfront, only after the sketch has been approved by the commissioner.

currently accepting humans and humanoids only; this means no furries, scalies, mecha, etc. sorry!

if you'd like to just donate a lesser amount of money without commissioning - as appreciated as that would be, i'd feel terrible accepting money for nothing, so please drop some contact information so that i can draw you a little something in return!

[lacependragonwrites]

Me, while zero drafting Saoirse's backstory for Chosen One stuff: hey what if EVERYTHING is about transness, actually?

Anyway here's a snippet? Thing? It's like 1.2k. It's about transness and being the Chosen One and family standing up for you. Enjoy.

Pls tell me what you think pls.

“Eight champions remain to be found,” says the goddess, Sáerlaith. Her figure glows, humanoid and fire all in one. “Three will be chosen for you. Three will be chosen by you. And the last two will find themselves in the same way as you.”

“Nine,” whispers Saoirse. Always threes. Always nines.

Sáerlaith nods. “Such is the way. Only when all nine are united will your world, and ours, be saved. It will begin with the maturing of your magic in six years’ time. I hope your paladins have found you, by then.”

Saoirse sucks in a breath. Six years? What was she to do for six years?

Sáerlaith leans forward and presses warm lips that pulse with life to Saoirse’s forehead.

“Enjoy your youth, my daughter.” Sáerlaith pulls back to look Saoirse in the eyes. “Your fight will be long, and without something tangible to fight for, without a life of love to defend, you will not last. It is only when we have something greater than ourselves to lose that we discover our true capabilities.” She smiles. “I know you’ll make me proud.”

She leans forward and presses her lips to Saoirse’s forehead once more, then, in a blurring of light and shimmering glitter and dust, she vanishes and the statue returns to it’s rightful place.

Saoirse lifts her fingers to her cheeks, then her forehead. Both are warm and tingling where the goddess touched her.

All around her, the leaders of the families, the men of the Five Families, begin to shout and rage. Saoirse grins to herself. Whatever they say, whatever they do, there is something that they cannot change, cannot take away.

The goddess called Saoirse her daughter. And there are enough witnesses that, by the end of the week, everyone in the Five Families will know.

Saoirse is going to get to be a girl. And no one can deny it to her, anymore.

She looks to the council of leaders, to the five men who decide her future. Four of them are arguing. Her father, the fifth, sits back and watches. When he catches her looking, he meets her eye and his lips curve into a small, warm smile. He winks. She beams.

Dad’s on her side.

One of the five leaders sneers down at her. “And what are you so happy about, boy?”

“Girl!” Saoirse’s voice is loud and rings louder with its echo. She gestures broadly to the statue. “The goddess herself returned to claim me as her daughter, to choose me as her champion. Do you dare deny her claim? Do you dare question the all-knowing goddess?” Her cheeks burn and she’s never been gladder that none of them can see it. She will not back down.

Down the line, Hiori Hashimoto, the [Diplomat] of House Yoshinaga, chuckles.

“She’s got you there. I think the goddess made it clear we should all rethink how we see Saoirse. I, for one, welcome our first heiress to the Five Families.” Her voice is loud and draws the others in the room to silence. Her gaze is warm on Saoirse’s shoulders.

“The goddess’ return signals a way to end the Blight,” says another. “If her contingent is to accept…” A pause. Saoirse sees him turning the words over in his head. “The assertations that this young woman is, in fact, exactly who she says she is, then I say, why not?” The man shrugs. “She is the phoenix. The eternal cycle of rebirth. Perhaps Saoirse, and people like her, are simply…” He tips his head. “A form of rebirth and worship that most others aren’t capable of?”

Saoirse’s eyebrows go up. She isn’t sure if she agrees with him, but the way he’s putting things together is interesting. If he thinks that Saoirse’s true self is a form of worship, then perhaps less people will give her trouble. Perhaps she’ll be seen as extremely devout. She could handle that.

“Worship,” says a man, flatly. “That’s what you want to go with?”

“Go with?” echoes Hashimoto and the worship-believing man in near unison. Hashimoto continues, “Whatever you choose to tell the public, there are two things here we can’t deny: the first is that Saoirse has been chosen by the returned goddess as our champion to stop the Blight. And the second is that Saoirse has been seen as a daughter of the goddess. To deny either would be to invite not just our returned phoenix but all the gods to abandon us in our hour of need.”

Several other [Diplomats] speak up, arguing voices overlapping one another until Saoirse can’t make out any of the words. She clasps her hands behind her back, chin high like she was taught, and grips at her fingers until her joints scream from the strain.

“Enough.” Saoirse’s father, head of the Cuirc family and current leader of the Council of Five, speaks for the first time. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. Everyone in the room falls silent on that single word.

His gaze never leaves Saoirse’s as he speaks.

He speaks in a low, melodic voice that lilts and shifts with each word in subtle ways. “For years, since before my time, we have begged the gods for help against the Blight. We sacrifice, we pray, we plead, and when the All Mother did not answer, we sought our own. Now, finally, when we are on the brink of extinction, the lost goddess returns, reborn once more, to give us salvation.” His voice dips, losing its melody to become stern, almost disciplinary. “And yet you all argue whether we should accept this gift.”

He gets to his feet, a slow drag of his chair that is meant to grate on the ears. One of the first tricks he taught her.

“I would like to propose a question to the gathered [High Scholars] present in the room.” He stands next to Saoirse, an arm around her shoulders, and faces the assembled high family members. “Why is it that we of the Five Families have declared it blasphemous to alter our bodies?”

One of the scholars of House Yoshinaga stands and speaks. “We are given shape by the Mother and life by the Goddess, to alter either is to offend them both.”

“And yet,” says her father, speaking easily and with a knowing smile. “The goddess is also the goddess of rebirth and change. Odd, isn’t it, that we insist she’d hate it in us, her greatest creation?”

“She made us perfectly,” argues someone down the line. “We do not need to be reborn.”

“Then why did she accept my daughter?” asks her father. His hand tightens on her shoulder and his chin lifts. His shoulders seem to broaden and his chest puffs out. The final blow. Whatever he says next is meant to be his driving point.

“And why, after three hundred years of absence, did she return the first time someone in the history of the Five Families spoke a truth that most cannot see and refuse to understand?” asks Father. “Why choose Saoirse, the first to be so bold, if not to prove that we’ve been wrong to deny our bodies the changes our minds may seek?”

Saoirse sucks in a breath. Oh.

“Don’t tell me you want to be a woman, now.” The voice is mocking, droll.

Father smiles. “I may envy women for many things – their beauty, their patience – but I have no more wish to be one than my daughter has wish to be a man. But perhaps the choice – or rather, the freedom to make that choice – is what matters. The choice to look within yourself and see what looks back.”

[itwaskozki]

A drawing of an Abyss Watcher I made in class.

I would color it, but I suck at coloring. I would draw digitally but I suck at digital art. Also, I only started drawing people/humanoids like a few months ago and I still don’t really get how to draw clothes, but at least they aren’t stick figures anymore.

[marclef]

I saw a ask game :D number 4 heck a bonus i'll even write here what mine is. I hate drawing hands :( I suck at it so thats why I make them hold something or just behind the back will do.

i feel like hands are the bane of 90% of artists tbh, they are a PAIN to draw sometimes especially if you wanna get some intricate finger poses in... i can relate a lot there hehe 😅

i guess besides having trouble with hands sometimes i also struggle a lot drawing bare feet (mostly with humans/humanoid figures), for a lot of animals it's usually easy to get away with fairly simple/stylized feet but man. why do humans gotta have weird feet like that. that's why if you ever see me draw people, nearly every time they'll have some kind of shoes on!

(i'm sorry foot fetish people but i will never be the person to ask for art 😂)

[princesssarisa]

the 7-questions-ask: Mickey Mouse

Three facts about them from my personal headcanons:

*No matter how old he gets, he'll always go trick-or-treating on Halloween, and always write a letter to Santa before Christmas.

*His performance as Bob Cratchit in Mickey's Christmas Carol inspired Kermit the Frog to play the same role in The Muppet Christmas Carol. Otherwise, as the leader of the Muppets, Kermit would have felt obligated to play Scrooge, even though he wasn't really suited to the part; but Mickey made him realize he could play Bob, and he gave a speech thanking Mickey for the inspiration at the party following the movie's premiere.

*Every now and then, he stops by Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale to visit not only Walt Disney's grave, but the graves of his second and third voice actors, Jimmy MacDonald and Wayne Allwine (and of Wayne's wife Russi Taylor, longtime voice of Minnie). He makes special arrangements to visit after-hours, so he won't be hounded by fans and so his presence won't detract from the serene, solemn atmosphere for other visitors.

A reason they suck:

His treatment of the farm animals in Steamboat Willie, especially when he shakes and kicks the nursing piglets from their mother and then pokes the mother pig's teats to make her "sing."

A reason they are great:

His friendliness and warmth in general.

A reason I relate to them:

I also love entertainment and fun.

(what I consider to be) the top tier otp/ot3 for that character:

Mickey and Minnie forever!

Five things that never happened to the character that I believe should have happened:

An official origin cartoon revealing how he met Minnie, Donald, and Goofy, and how he adopted Pluto.

An onscreen appearance by his sister Felicity Fieldmouse, the mother of his nephews Morty and Ferdie, who so far has only appeared in comics.

A cartoon adaptation of The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was – a spookier spiritual successor to his version of The Brave Little Tailor.

An animated cartoon based on the 1990 drawing that shows him consoling Kermit the Frog after Jim Henson's death. I can imagine him telling Kermit all about how he coped with the loss of Walt Disney back in 1966.

A cartoon supposedly showing the making of Steamboat Willie, depicting all the cartoon characters as actors, and making it clear that the farm animals Mickey and Minnie mistreat in that classic short were just fellow actors and not really hurt.

Five people that character never fell in love with and why.

Daisy Duck. She's too hot-tempered and too feathery for his taste.

Clarabelle Cow. She's too tall for his taste.

Clara Cluck. Again, he's not into birds.

Snow White. He would probably see her as more of a sister figure, and besides, she's human.

Jessica Rabbit. She's married, she's humanoid, and in terms of aesthetics, he prefers "cute" to "sexy."

[ohgodimyearning]

Not really an imagine or anything but on the subject of clockboy; does he make sound? Like ticking? Is he clockwork inside to move around or is he just designed to look like the real clock face (when you draw him humanoid that is). I like your art a lot and love picking peoples brains when the “canon”(?) real life equivalent of their FO doesn’t have a humanoid body. You two are super cute :>

OH Boy....... i have. so much like, "lore" about him it's unreal but i dont have much written down nor is it like, comprehensible. but this stuff, i DO have pretty well thought out so here's some ramblings...

on the topic of sounds:

he has a few sounds he can make, the most notable being the tick-tocking like his real life equivalent does. and for those unfamiliar, this particular rendition of the Clock Parade music has his tick-tocks at the beginning

in this version of the music, it goes in order of tick-tocks, the "jumble" music, drumroll and trumpeting, the parade music, "announcement" chime, and then hourly tolls -- of all that, the only other sound he can make as the humanoid version are the hourly tolls (the "bongs," if you will)

i think SOME of the sounds you can hear in the "jumble" he could potentially make, as well, but since the way the facade is animated during it, i don't think his humanoid form would have the like, "anatomy" for it. for simplicity sake (and my lack of good enough hearing to pick apart all the sounds and figure out what would make sense and/or be cute), he cannot make any from it in particular

so we have tick-tocks and bongs... i think he could make additional chimes (think of chimes from more standard clocks that are like small bells going off on the hour or something) but that's probably about it

he cannot talk (in my lore, when he was made, they were unable to give him the ability to speak, and he has denied the idea of being "upgraded" to be able to), and that's really the only thing im super picky about people depicting about him sound-wise.

im kinda leaning toward making him part-toon since the attraction is SO close to Toontown in Disneyland and TDL so it'd be kinda cute, so if i go that route, he could probably make any sounds that would fit any applicable gags or something idk

on the topic of clockwork aspects:

obviously as a humanoid he doesn't function like a big ol cuckoo clock like he does on the facade, but he isn't organic so he's got some clockwork aspects to him! from his ref, the main things are the gears on the back of his head, and the doors on his chest that open to a pendulum

the gears suck to draw which is why I don't draw him from the back if I can avoid it LMFAO

the gears are essentially his "brain" -- they're constantly moving at a relatively slow pace. i don't think they can be stopped (unless someone gets their finger stuck in there but why are you putting your hands back there?! even i wouldn't do that!) but SHOULD they get stopped, he wouldn't like, die or go brain dead or something. they can probably change speed (like slowing more when sleeping, racing when anxious, etc) but it's not like, super noticeable when you're facing him

the pendulum in his chest is his "heart" and is also constantly moving. however if THIS stops, he does pretty much enter an immediate state of rest/hibernation. again, this stopping wouldn't kill him, but i don't think it's pleasant to have it stop... it'd be more akin to passing out than to a heart attack though (but that's partially because it's absolutely happened a few times to him and also i dont wanna think about my favorite character having a heart attack when i get health anxiety about it... anyway)

the pendulum is what dictates how fast his tick-tocking is. the default rate of it is whatever BPM* his actual tick-tocks on the facade irl are. his pendulum fluctuates speeds much more frequently and the "rule" is they have to be divisible by a second, but it's not something i'm picky about and is kinda hard to explain lol

*I think the song is around 120 BPM and he definitely is not moving that fast like... i think his ticks and tocks are spaced like, 1.25 seconds apart or something REALLY weird. it's not a 1:1 ratio like a standard clock and it is the only thing i would change about him

OH and also, in my non-canon alt design of him, his chest does open on the quarter hour to show the time. only time it doesn't is when he's sleeping/resting. he can probably latch it closed somehow but it's probably a Whole Thing

[mtk2]

(may delete it cuz it is art. And I am self conscious when I post art. XD)

So.... I tried to make a more.... humanoid stick figure. Well. One of my own anyways.

And it is more of a colored sketch since um... you can see the lineart is messy (or more eh... sketchy. XD). So... Yep.

If ya remember from my other (lame) posts. This is Lavender. A stickfigure of mine. Or Lav for short (suck at names XD). And they are kind of more of an Animation vs Minecraft oc (since um.. yeah. XD I know they don't look it. Especially the outfit XD). And even though they seem eh... female, they aren't. Not male either. Yeah.

I tried.

Oh. And I have another except Lavender has um... hair. XD.

I suck at making colors look good together. And I suck at clothes design. So.... Yeah. XD.

If only I could draw my ocs like this from now on (even just as colored sketches). But then I would have to think of designs for my other ocs and I suck at drawing. And it would take forever to do the others.

Uhhhhh. I wanna make an ask blog with my stickfigure ocs. And I still haven't figured out how.

I guess it would also make the blog interesting if I added the original cast. Idk. I'm weird. XD

no tags cuz i'm self conscious of alot of people seeing this. XD

Art and oc is made by me: @missythekid

[sunny6677]

Lavender.

Summary:

Skid goes about his daily life in the care of his adoptive father, Kevin—though of course as always with him, shenanigans ensue.

Chapter 10: Deadly Smiles - Part 2.

————

"Okay, I am back! Sorry for going away.." Susie spoke with a huff, sitting and shuffling in her chair as she moved her headphones back over her ears. The chat was rampant with different messages on-screen, and a simple sketch of a muscular but humanoid demon was next to the chat. Susie was hoping that she'd have a peaceful stream for tonight, or would at least not be interrupted by her younger brother and his friend,

She spoke into the microphone, moving her hand to the mouse. "Okay, so I like to start my art like.."

She paused. She slowly looked off to the side. In the corner was a small figure, not facing her and turned toward one of the shelves. With a bright orange mask, and.. she growled, her lips turning into a snarl as she forced herself up from her chair.

"You brats!" She cried as another smaller figure—her brother's friend, began to run off toward the door of her room. "Get over here!"

————

Skid and Pump found themself being quickly shoved out of the room, their small bodies hitting the floor. The door slammed shut with a harsh thud behind them, and they sat still in silence. But their smiles quickly returned as Pump eagerly lifted a box of crayons in his hands.

"Now we can draw!" He grinned.

————

Mr. Wonder slept soundly, snoring as his head was lowered. The peaceful ambience of the TV filled the room, and he heard muffled chattering echoing from it as his chest heaved in and out with a few soft breaths. He could feel the cold conditioning of the house enveloping him as if it were a blanket, and his lips were curled into a tired frown.

As he slept, he.. could have sworn he felt something. At least in his foggy state of being half-asleep that was what he swore. From behind the chair or something, there was a harsh thudding motion. A harsh but clear noise of noise had been coming from behind the couch as well. It was probably only a dream, but it felt pretty real.

In his foggy state of mind though, he felt the stabbing come to a stop, and a child's voice spoke from behind. "Ah! There you are! Come on! We're drawing together!"

..and then, there was the faint sound of something brushing against the floor, slowly getting farther and farther away. As if it were being dragged.

And then he felt a heavy feeling in his lower body. A groan escaped his lips, and he forced his eyes open as he lifted himself up from the chair. "..d'oh, I pooped again.. ugh.." He murmured different things as his exhausted legs began to meet the ground, and he let his hand rub his back. He began to walk toward the direction of the bathroom in silence.

————

"So, me first!"

Skid proudly exclaimed as he held up the paper he had drawn upon. He could see Pump happily staring from beside him, while Happy Fella only sat with the same blank grin he always did.

"I drew Moloch possessing all of us!" Skid smiled. On the drawing, he.. well, he drew it exactly as he he had described it. It was a poorly-drawn art-piece of him, Pump and Happy Fella with golden eyes and sharp teeth sprouting out from their mouths—along with horns sprouting out from their heads.

Skid stared, and gave a soft sigh—his mind growing a bit heavy the more he thought about Moloch. "..I miss him."

"Well—" Pump spoke, lifting up his own paper. On the paper, there was a drawing of him, Skid and Happy Fella all wrapped in tentacles with their eyes colored into a bright cyan—with Eyes looking down upon them. "I drew Eyes sucking our souls!"

Skid giggled, "That would be scary!" He looked over at Happy Fella with a cock of his head. "What about you, Happy Fella?"

Happy Fella didn't make a sound. After a few moments of silence, Pump spoke up—letting his hand reach foward to the drawing he had made. Pulling it closer to both Skid and himself, he said, "Oh, come on! Let us see it!"

Once he had pulled it close enough, he turned it over to look upon it with Skid, and—

"..oh."

It was a drawing of Happy Fella holding a knife, with Skid and Pump laying on the floor covered in blood.

...

"Scary dolls are spooky!" Pump giggled happily. Skid took the drawing with a smile, and gave an eager nod.

"Sure they are!" He laughed. "What can we do now?"

A friendly, but slightly raspy voice spoke up from the doll just then. "..how about.. we play the knife game?"

"Knife game?" Skid and Pump said in unison, looking over at Happy Fella.

"Yeah! You put your hand down.." Happy Fella said, placing his hand on the fuzzy floor. "You close your eyes, you grab a knife! Annndd.." He grabbed a dagger from beside himself, letting the blade stab between his fingers, until it met the last gap of his finger. He pointed at them afterward, cheerfully saying, "Your turn!"

...

"Yes!" Skid and Pump cheered. They shut their eyes immediately, placing their hands down onto the floor. They could have sworn they felt someone else's hand on theirs, but that didn't matter! This was going to be a spooky game! "We are readyyyy!"

In the darkness that filled their vision, they began to hear faint footsteps approaching. Maybe Happy Fella was coming over to give them the knife!

"Wait—" Pump tried to say, "Is it our turn to grab the knife?"

Before Happy Fella could give an answer, there was a slam behind them. The two flinched and turned around. In the door-frame was.. Susie—standing with a frown on her face as her hand pressed against the door.

She yelled out, "Why did you grab my co—"

She stopped. "..lors..?"

The doll had fallen down onto his back—the blade still held firmly in his hands. Susie tilted her head, speaking softly, "..why does the doll have a knife?"

"Uh.. I dunno." Pump shrugged.

"The doll grabbed it!" Skid replied.

"You know you can't play with knives or anything sharp!" Susie scolded, marching up to where the blade was, and forcing it away from the dolls hands. She looked a lot like Kevin did whenever he was scolding Skid about something. Skid's face saddened, and he looked to the floor.

"And this is the last straw—I will tell mom and dad!" Susie firmly said.

"Call them!" Pump grinned. "They never answer." He crossed his arms, his expression beginning to become a little smug as his lips curled into a slight smirk.

Susie paused. "Then.. I'll tell Grandpa!"

"Ha! He is-a sleeping.."

"..mmmmhhh..!" Susie grumbled. She then grabbed the doorknob, and with a sharp thud, the door had slammed shut.

There was silence. And then Pump turned back to Skid.

"Let's watch a movie!"

"..watch a movie?" Skid repeated. "But Kevin might get mad with us again."

Pump blinked. "..oh.. yeah. Well—I know! Let's just go watch a movie and come right back! And then he won't be angry with us!"

Skid smiled. Ah—Pump! Always such a smart thinker! He nodded. "Okay!"

The two then quickly jumped up—with Skid's hand gripping Happy Fella's leg, and dragging him behind.

————

It only seemed like a few minutes had passed when they threw their sweaters on, and ran outside all the way to the movie theater. By the time they had gotten there though, neither of them cared for how much time would pass. However, they kind of knew the man at the front counter anyway, so there would be no need to worry about much of anything.

"Hello! Can we watch a movie pleaseeee?" They both pleaded. Two familiar faces stared down at them from behind the counter.

"Oh—hey, kids!" Radford smiled, his eyes shining from behind his glasses. He was Kevin's friend, so he came over a lot. Or Kevin just went over to hang out with him a lot (sometimes even taking Skid as well unless it involved something he called 'the bar'). "What are you two doing here?"

"We wanted to watch a movie!" Skid explained. He then blinked, his mind finally processing something. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Rick was standing calmly behind the counter, his expression blank as per usual. He looked to be wearing the movie theaters uniform as he looked down upon them. "..I sold kids beer because I'm tired of breathing."

"Uh.. that's cool! But can we get tickets for a horror movie?"

"No."

"Can we get tickets for a kids movie?" Pump asked.

"..sure."

Rick slowly grabbed some tickets from behind the counter, and with a slight sigh, he handed over the two small pieces of paper to them.

"Thank you, Mr. Rick!" They both beamed. Spinning around, they both dashed toward the long corridors that led to the movie rooms, and vanished within an instant.

Radford leaned foward with an arched brow. "Uh—dude, you know it's your turn to take the tickets, right?"

"..yes."

"And you know they can both get in the horror movie, right?"

"And?"

"And you're getting in trouble, dude!" Radford yelled, waving his hands frantically.

Rick went quiet, and gave a sigh. Lifting his hand, he dis-attached the pin that was stuck to his jacket, and it fell off onto the counter as he frowned. "..I'm tired."

Radford sadly looked upon him, and sighed. "Alright, hold on—I'm gonna go look for them and make sure they didn't go in there."