some oc sketches ft. a small eggo comic!
[image ID: 4 sketch pages featuring human and humanoid original characters.
the first shows guillo (he/they), an anthropomorphic ferret with spotted fur, and reed (they/them), an anthropomorphic mouse, in several outfits and poses, hugging and kissing.
the second is full of sketches of the cupid group, a group of human friends comprised of nettle, kuma, scout, mai, botan, and sable (who all use any pronouns), displaying a range of different emotions in several different art styles.
the third is a single digital sketch of b.g. (she/any), a large monstrous humanoid ghoul with a gaunt face and big sharp clawed hands, looming over the sandman (he/him), a small fat humanoid creature wearing a big wizard hat. b.g. is slamming the wall above sandman’s head with her fist and shouting “listen, you sorry excuse for a pillow case,” while sandman looks up at her, startled.
the fourth is a four panel sketched comic of two humanoid robots talking. panel 1: labyrinth (they/them), a robot with a stylized rabbit-shaped head, asks “what’s your name?” panel 2: a robot wrapped in a blanket who has a large helmet with two small round ears on it replies “my name...?” and trails off, thinking back to what people have called them in the past, shown in a thought bubble with silhouettes saying “baby,” “sweetheart,” and “mistress.” panel 3: the robot in the blanket looks at their wrist, were their model ID is printed, which reads “ego v. 212.” they misread it aloud as “it’s... eh-go.” panel 4: labyrinth asks “eggo?” and the blanketed robot confirms, “yes.” labyrinth says, “well, nice to meet you.” end comic and end ID.]
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carnation
carnation : what is your muse’s relationship with their gender ? how do they express or not express this relationship ?
Andrew is a man, he thinks. Or, at least, he was supposed to be.
He was born a little thing, a squirming, screaming thing. They didn't deem him a boy, they didn't deem him a girl; they deemed him a curse.
A thing that couldn't have been born to his mother, surely; it had to have been swapped. It wriggled and wailed the way dozens of others had, and yet.
[Though, his mother had said, when Andrew was old enough to understand and to ask, though you never came out any different. You were always my Andrew, always the same, bubala. Where does this come from?]
The midwife had sent it to the wetnurse, ripped the creature from the woman before she'd even had a chance to touch him, before she'd had a chance to be attached.
The wetnurse set out to drown him, wrapped him in white and went out to the well. It was only the shepherd's boy who had stopped her, had scared her right back inside.
The little curse lived, little demon given back, to the poor saintly woman. A bastard born out of wedlock, to her; a freak forced upon the docile, to them.
He didn't know, now, if he was allowed to be a man. If he was allowed to claim himself something the Lord had created. Was he Adam, or the snake? Was he lamb, or goat?
He didn't want to be that thing, that wriggling, wetted thing, that had been forced upon Evangeline Kreiss.
He wanted to be her boy, her baby, her blessing. She'd always called him her blessing, even after the death of her mother; even after his sibling had been ripped from her. He thought she had meant it, once.
They forced that naiveté out of him, when they ripped her away from him.
Even in adulthood, he was that beast, the fearsome Shepherd and the even worse Gravekeep. They never spoke his name, no; to them he was the Keeper, and nothing more.
Here, he was the Keeper, still. Though some could be nice, outside of match, he wasn't Andrew, the Gravekeeper. He was the Gravekeeper, Andrew.
Always was he something else, rather than the man.
Andrew Kreiss, sometimes, unreliably.
But always, without fail, the lurker, the freak; Always, without fail, the Gravekeeper.
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