Hey ania~~~~ its me the anon who asked what yours favorite shape that’s easy to draw and also the one who said “stupid phone can’t take pictures anymore”
So I took the picture on my moms phone and sent it to myself, and this is the first time I submitted something, I hope you like it! (Ct!PjxAnia for life!)
Info about pina
She is twenty years old
Her little blobs on her jacket are caused by the blobs on her head (which either appears at the top of her head or at the bottom)
The jacket she’s wearing in the picture is her spare jacket that she uses when her main one is in the laundry, which the colors are red to pink to white gradient
Hey left eye is a heart with of course a blue eye in the middle(since you said your favorite shape Is a love heart), her right is a normal white eye
She helps PJ in the daycare and helps ania with whatever ania does
She loves voice acting and little kids
Her bones fade from white to black (you can’t see cuz one clothes and two I don’t know how to draw full bodies)
Andddd that’s it! I hope you like it!
Also again CT!PJ X ANIA forever!!
This is the story from the monster’s perspective: He doesn’t say enough.
Before Millport, he wraps his lips around threats, the barrel of a cigarette, the taste of ash. (He doesn’t think anyone else knows what burning steel tastes like.)
(He says, “Better luck next time,” and tries not to hear it echo over asphalt for miles and miles and miles.)
Before Millport, he doesn’t quite get that miles aren’t a physical thing, not as much as they are an empty space in his chest that he’s taught himself to ignore.
After Columbia, he learns to build a tipsy tower not of trust but of trade: secrets and promises, and neither monster quite knows how to put it into words, so one presses a palm to his ruined torso and without words, says, “See?”
There’s Easthaven after that, and the monster thinks: The less said, the better.
(Or, rather, he tries, but settles for bodies pressed closer than necessary, settles for warmth, settles for steadiness.)
On the roof, miles disappear along with words.
There’s the road after that, buses and planes. Miles, of course, hundreds of them, thousands, but the miles don’t stretch between them. Instead, they take them together.
(The monster maybe thinks he’s shedding that monster-skin somewhere along the highway, but it’s probably just the lack of drugs talking.)
Then there’s Baltimore and the unknown expanse between them, and Andrew becomes a bundle of coiled muscle and gnashing teeth and wordswordswords.
(“I don’t trust them to give you back.”)
There’s another palm pressed to another torso and it lacks the follow-through, but the offer is enough. Without words, it says, “I’m trying. Do you see me trying?”
After graduation, after Fox Tower, after Palmetto State: after, after, after, there’s only telephone lines and radio towers and the buzz in his pocket that tells him Neil has sent another picture.
(His scarred face.
His twisted smile.
The exy bruise wrapped around his shoulder like a handprint.)
There’s miles of asphalt between them and the distance varies with the day, with Andrew’s schedule, but it doesn’t matter.