let's see how far we've come :)
[image id: digital illustration of john egbert, jade harley, rose lalonde, and dave strider from homestuck. they are all laying on a blue checkered picnic blanket laying on top of one another in a familiar manner and smiling.
john is at the center laughing heartily while jade is to the right laying down on her side. dave is to the left and is in a comfortable lounging position with one leg over one of john's and is resting his head in rose's lap who is smirking at john and jade's antics.
they are all in their respective godtier outfits. around them are some lush grassy hills with variously colored wildflowers spotting the landscape and the sburb sun setting behind them. end image id.]
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Sorry for the artblock!!! here's a lil gift, from a shy lil lurker,
I LOVE HER SO MUCH, LIKE THEIR OUTFIT? the absolute most!! <3 <3 <3
"it's my uniform?? >:(( "
I hope you enjoyed my mini comic of Lovelie Robs insulting my boi Marky-moo.
//Honestly I see Lovelie in the one audio from Madagascar; like
y/n: I'd like to kiss you monkey man-
Lovelie: Alright, but your so darn ugly.
(also if it is not okay that I sent you art here I am so sorry. Next time i'll just post it on my account. It's a gift so i figured it would be okie)
WAAA LOOK AT THEM BE A MENACE TO SOCIETY ;;;;;
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Ok but listen up
How the BLOODY FUCK IS IT OVER IT CAMT BE
What was Carm's real name? Did player grow up and like join acme and did puberty hit cos I thought his voice changed in that last scene? Where are they putting all the vile operatives they capture, in jail? I mean these are criminal masterminds they'll break out at some point right???? Was Carmens mom a civilian? How did she and her dad meet? I hAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS GIVE ME FANFICTION IM GOING CRAZY I can't do this it can't be over help me-
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Atsumu calls his brother almost every night and purposefully says something stupid so he can hear his proper name.
"Tsumu, you fucking idiot."
Even an insult is a gift just to feel like himself again because he's long accepted he'd journey a road without Samu, but never did he realize that this change would result in a new identity as well.
Miya, he's called by his new teammates. Miya, he's greeted, when he holds the building door for his neighbors. Miya Atsumu, they introduce at the beginning of an interview.
Atsumu does not know how to bear the weight of his name. It almost feels like a benchmark, something both he and his brother bear. He should find solace in it but instead it feels exclusionary. He watches the way his brother carries the branding on his chest, placed near and dear to his heart while Atsumu burdens the weight of it on his back.
It’s Miya who falters on the unstable footing of a future he’s never imagined. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, lost in a dream that no longer feels romantic.
Tsumu had been a dreamer, ambitious and excited for a future he was ready to take hold of. Miya lays awake at night imagining something that could have been.
He finds himself sluggish in his steps, downtrodden as he spends more time in the mornings walking with his hands in the pockets of his track jacket instead controlling his breath on a run. He looks down at his feet, watching his step, wary to stumble, until one day he finds himself in a coffee shop.
It’s bustling with people whose eyes are forward and confident in who they are and filled with others whose eyes cannot be kept from a screen, whose lives are consumed by a position that they must be passionate about.
He’s weaving through a crowd who have made names for themselves, called upon after the hollow sound of a paper cup placed on a table. He remembers mornings novel in Tokyo with his teammates and brother and captain. Straws that had met multiple lips as they shared each other’s drinks and heavy yawns accompanied with shoulder leans before a tournament. He thinks of the past and is comforted so Atsumu finds himself in line, pointing at the menu to something that sounds mildly interesting.
“What’s your name?”
He finally looks at you at that, mussed hair from a rush that’s obviously been busy but still, you give him an amicable smile. The tip of your sharpie is flush against the paper cup and saturates the surface with a large, black splotch.
You raise a brow, a small tilt to your head and it reminds him that he still needs to answer.
“Tsumu,” he says without a thought.
“Tsumu,” you say back with a smile. Something erupts in his throat, a small sob that the din of the cafe obscures, “is it your first time here?”
It is his first, but he comes back. Every morning to the sound of his name called upon by your lips, until one day, he accepts Miya.
Miya that is shared, between you and him, and upon a stable future that he looks forward to.
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