you guys made me ink ;)

Alrighty guys here's my color ideas for the main toon crew!

looks like the boys love their new colors! Nice clarinet there boris, and such a snazzy glitter bowtie there bendy!~

now lets check in on Alice Angel, see how her designs doing-

OH MY GOODNESS.

looks like the artist’s cant decide which designs better…


I wanted to make some possible colors for the toon crew, and now with chapter three out, its a good time to show them off!

Bendy and Boris were fairly easy, I just see bendy if he had colors to have those gold eyes and bowtie to match, but have a charcoal color to him rather then pure black and white.

For Boris, I loved the big bad black wolf idea, but I just…give that boy a red tint. also the red nose. he’s now got a very boopable nose now…and yes it honks.

as for Alice, I kept coming up with ideas for colors and dress designs so honesty…there’s so many possible colors I wanna try and there’s even more that other people could come up with. 

It had begun to seem like I would never find someone who felt for me. The feeling of knowing a connection was momentary prevailed; I had begun to see my “friends” as their futures. She’s living with her parents at thirty, she becomes her mother, he grows out of his clothes but not his nervousness, she overdoses in a gas station bathroom somewhere in Indiana; every one of them left a stain in my memory, something that told me I didn’t fit. The plans we made to keep speaking were frivolous: two people searching for something to hold onto in the dark void of our futures when we never worked in the present. I would never find someone who said they loved me and meant it in the way I wanted, the kind that made my heart react in happiness rather than dread. I would never find someone who found my neurotic side somewhat agreeable, who was willing to work with me when we both knew I was stuck in my own head. Someone who felt my need to be alone was not in my future, because the loneliness we both felt kept us isolated together. In the end I believe the loneliness is what brought us together, as there is a certain type of person who loves the label “alone together”.
—  on best friends
2

…I think I’ll get a tattoo.

Continuing our previous report, pressing the R Button apparently allows the squid creatures to use a secondary weapon! This image shows one of these devices that  appears to be some sort of grenade that splatters the surrounding area with ink when it explodes. While surely handy for direct attacks, our researchers suspect these could also be used tactically to restrict opponent movement or expose those hiding in their own color ink.

It’s bleak and cold and standing on the corner you can see your breath outlined against the street in front of you. You can’t remember how to make it home, and you’re too drunk for any cab driver. In retrospect you don’t know how she understood you. Your voice was thick with alcohol and whatever else you had taken that night. You don’t remember and you don’t think you ever will.
—  the voice of rock and roll
And I guess the truth of it is that he was right. He said that him leaving would be the best thing that ever happened to me, and it was.
—  A little sad, a little nostalgic, a little relieved. // lily rose.

WHAT TO GIVE A BOY WHO WANTS NOTHING

1. You offer him half-truths spun from your ugly past. What more could you give? Your pockets are full of so many lies that it threatens to spill. Every inch of you has been bred from violence and pain and fear and yet–you couldn’t entirely lie to this boy. Half-truths, you compromise. He hands you protection.

2. He presses a key to your hand, warm and urgent, offering you a place: a home in the form of his bleeding knuckles, arms bands, blond hair, taunting hazel eyes and a smile made only for destroying–all for your understanding. You give him the promise to stay. 

3. You shove him your fear. It was wrestled under your pathetic half-truths but it screams just as loud as the red buzzer when you made a score. He takes it, breathes it out with unflinching honesty and reminds you of his protection. He just asks you not to run anymore.

4. You thought it’s smart to play a game. Appeal enough to his withering attention span to keep his promises to you. You keep bringing about enough interest to pin him close enough and yet, you know, you know, you will never be that close and it was starting to feel far out to be a game. But questions, questions! All you have are more questions and you throw them cautiously, one at a time, hoping it might be enough.  

5. It was chaos–it was blood and blood and skin and violence and death and you, a boy made for running, a boy who grew up with pain and fear etched in your skin, stay rooted at the spot, never knowing what to give this boy who wants nothing of everything; the laughter in his drugged face enough to spell b-r-o-k-e-n. You realized, with an uncertain skip in your breathing that you wanted to stand at his side. 

6. More compromises: more pleas disguised as conditions, as settlements, as promises, as taking responsibility. It was all a desperate need to help–to give. You haven’t realized it yet but you were beginning to want to give him almost anything. 

7. You say yes to your torture in place for his. What were you thinking? You, a boy of nothing but yourself to give? Saving him, you swallow. Yours for his, you accept. 

8. He comes back and you’re not sure now on where you stand. Never entirely against him, you know. And so you resolve to what you think you know you’re doing best: with giving him almost anything but the pure ugly truth. He mirrors your way of trying to understand and you let, this not-an-actual-sociopath of a boy who traces your scars not to hurt but to protect, you let him in. 

9. With glaring truths out of a bag you prodded with a pin only to see the surface but not entirely to let its contents out, you falter. How could you manage this kind of honesty? You weren’t built right to reciprocate anything. You’ve been trying ever since this boy offered you enough to keep you living. You settled in all in. It was the best you could give him. 

10. You can’t stay away. You already knew that. You keep handing him things to pay for the hurricanes you bring and he lets you keep your game for a while: bargains for bargains just so you can stick near him. 

11. When he turned around and came back for you without hesitation, like it was nothing, like he’d do it again, like it was you or nothing in a heartbeat, you gave him the answer of always climbing in. 

12. His kiss was a fight with the world against the both of you. His kiss was the next real thing you have ever felt in this entire pathetic existence. His kiss was the kick against the horse, the step on the accelerator, the cupping of hands against the wind to protect a dying flame. He warns you and now you’re back again to square one where you need to figure out what to give him. 

13. You give him your yes. Yes, yes, yes. You didn’t dare drop it on him that it’s always going to be yes to this: to him restarting enough life in your lips, but you have an inkling that it’s something you’re never going to give up on.

14. He wasn’t just the would-be sociopath of a boy with a stoic face enough to punch and let your knuckles break; you realize when every wall around you is dissolving and you ran out of things to barter, to exchange, that you didn’t only appeal for his protection. You appeal for his kisses, his understanding, his approval–you appeal for him. You know you don’t have a lot in your hands. You ask him to let you go. Because you’re too caught up to entirely drift away, anyway. You hope he knows this. 

15. It took a while for the meaning of your words to sink, how you promised him, Anything, but you know that the moment they were spoken, you meant them. You meant all of them. 

16. You gave him your thanks. Poured it out from the heart in you that’s left–that’s still trying to figure out how to beat without hurting. For the keys, the trust, the honesty and the kisses. It will never be enough for all those things. Except that: you know you meant them and they’re worth your life. 

17. There was no more pretending. You want every inch of this until they took away your last breath. You give him what you never thought you’d give before: the truth. You know it wouldn’t break him–no, it would never. Nothing would ever break this boy and whatever would, you’d be there to punch a hole in their faces. 

18. You give him the promise of always, of knocking instead of barging in, of walking with him instead of running from, of truths and honesty, of fighting his battles with him, of holding his hand through everything. You give him the promise of yes, of your hungry kisses, of your understanding and acceptance, of your entire being. And this boy, who could have taken all of it with aggressiveness, with greediness, stays a breath away with a yes or no? And it was enough–it is enough. It will always be enough. 

19. You offer him your bones, for him to call you home. You offer him the promise of you, like he had offered himself ages ago. And finally you know this is everything. You know you just gave this unwanting boy, the promise of everything in your nothings.