Here Is The Second Installment To My Robbie Origin Story, Enjoy! WARNING: Prepare For Adorable, Cutesy

Here is the second installment to my Robbie origin story, enjoy! WARNING: prepare for adorable, cutesy zomboi moments

“Light Bulb”

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come at me

Based off this post after reading it I knew I had to draw it. Love these two.

Thank you @septic-dr-schneep for the amazing writing each and everyday. I swear you give me so much inspiration every time I come on to your blog (which is everyday). I’m terrible with words sorry what I’m trying to say is that I appreciate you a whole lot and expect some more art coming from me in the future <3

Hope you like the drawing!

Got obsessed with what the egos look like and wear and wrote this instead of my paper. C’est la vie!

Jackie’s hoodie is the heaviest one you’ve ever held and he always has the hood up, pushing his hair down against his bright blue mask, a warm, familiar weight across his shadowed blue eyes. He smiles easily and runs his hands over the soft beard about his friendly mouth. Combat boots, too many pockets, belts, a holster on his thigh. A bracelet given to him by someone he loved. Fighting has not made him unkind and his hands are softened by red gloves. His room is full of blankets and his hoodie sleeves have holes for his thumbs to stick through. He’s been his own for a long time and he resembles Jack less than the others do, but they share the same kind of warmth in the lines of their faces.

JJ is small and wild and he wears white and black unless he’s stealing his brother’s clothes, which he often does. He’s trim, neat, fashionable in a self-conscious sort of way. His eyes are very bright and a little silver, like something starry got stuck in the middle of his creation. He is well-loved, but still there was some darkness on the day of his birth, and it lingers in his clever, flashing, cautious eyes and his carefully, carefully, carefully cared-for clothes. He wears hats and needs glasses because one eye is worse than the other. His movements are all fluid and graceful and his hands never hold still. Sometimes steals Chase’s gauges and thinks about getting more tattoos. Often forgets to wear shoes.

Henrik – just a little lost, just a little traumatized – changes with the day. He’s trying to get a new job now that he’s back from a blood-red vacation, so he pulls together old fuzzy sweaters and turtlenecks and long coats, but most days he is an over-sized t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He has running shoes and he likes to stand in the rain. He never puts in contacts and he still wears his old wedding ring, though he couldn’t tell you why if you asked him. He smells like coffee and iodine, and he rubs his beard when he’s thinking, and he says loving things in a rough voice. He is littered in scars. Exhausted. He’s cut his hair short at the sides and he can’t always look himself in the eyes, but he’s still the good doctor.

Chase is a backwards hat and an arm wrapped in bracelets, dyed hair now faded to brown. Blink and you’ll miss his wide and perfect smile. His eyes are very blue. Girls leave numbers on his coffee cups but he’s still trying to put his broken heart back together. His black jeans are ripped and he always looks good. With his children in his arms, he is a creature of light and joy, his face shining and his mouth professing a love deeper than the stomach of the ocean. He is logos and Instagram pictures and he’s a good actor, too, because these days he can mimic Jack better than Anti ever has. A necessary deception, he tries to convince himself, but at the end of the day he’s still staring at a slow sort of suicide that sits at the bottom of a fifth of whiskey. He sets his glass down and goes to find someone to help him, wearing all black.

Marvin is a ferocity. White fingers glittering with rings, the flowing of a cape about his shoulders, tuxedos and jewelry and neatly-braided hair. A proud tilt to his handsome head, a sly sort of smile on his mouth, a wild gleam in his fine blue eyes. He holds magic in his shaking hands and coughs blood into the porcelain sink when he overexerts. He likes to show off but he never puts anyone else down for his own benefit, and at the end of the day he lets his hair out and switches into pajamas and sits next to whoever needs him most that night. He’s funny and his mouth is foul. He’s beautiful and kind and powerful, given a few chances to mess the trick up before he gets it right.

Jack wears a hospital gown.

For now.

He’ll wake up one day. Or someone will. Someone will sit up in that hospital bed, and someone will cough and shake and eventually recover, and someone will smile wide at the others around him, crying and laughing and thanking God that he’s finally woken up. It will be a good day, a happy day, even, but the next day –

Well, the next day –

Anti wears flesh.

I guess we have to wait and see who he wears next time.

Well, I’ve officially fallen in love with these characters. I plan to do more with them in the future, so be on the lookout!  Reblogs are always welcome, btw! 

“First Impressions are…Something”

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“Where am I?” asks the newest ego, standing on unsteady legs. He’d dropped into the void only moments ago.

“We’re in the void,” Dark tells him. He smiles, all teeth and malice. “For now.”

“What am I?” the new ego asks. He stretches, the outlines of his physical form still hazy and blurred. His eyes, or rather, what will eventually solidify into his eyes, search the void for any scrap of reason. He’ll learn soon enough that there is none. Not here.

“You’re whatever you want to be,” Anti laughs. He glitches, ever so slightly, and places a hand on the new ego’s shoulder. It’s not comforting. It’s not meant to be.

“We’ll help you figure it out,” Dark says. His voice reverberates and his aura flexes, filling the infinite space of the void with as much ringing static as it can. The offer of help does not come from a place of compassion.

The thing that will eventually begin to look like Ethan shivers, but grins all the same.