ILY, FEM!EQUIUS.....

quan millz if he wrote homestuck (im manifesting)

Sure. I love drawing woman

@jupiterjackpot

@escapistdaydreaming

@sug4ry0uth

//Actually gotten a good amount of Sollux as of late so who else we got... I once briefly tried to construct a Femquius blog, but ran out of energy halfway through and scrapped the idea. Was too complicated anyways for a solo blog I think. Let's revisit Ms. Wideflanks.

Equius hunched angrily over the keyboard, typing just as angrily and causing their keyboard no end of distress. Her keys didn't clack, they thudded. This was of course absolutely no special occasion whatsoever, every instance Equius was at a keyboard was an angry one for her. Though in this case it was not insubordinate messages or overly stimulating imagery working up a sweat across her noble form, it was her form itself.

Ordinarily she kept all excess mass that was not strictly being put to a proper use stored away in the Void to "inherit" (such overly formal words must be used, as was tradition) later on when it was proper. And yet empty as it claimed to be the Void seemed to have its own ideas, or perhaps her subconscious... dare she say it... harbored rebellious sentiments...? No. Clearly the nonsensicle otherwordly constraints of Sgrub were at work. Why else would her rumblespheres, practically bolted down by handmade cupping devices and tight, practical tanktop continue to bounce tantalizingly more with each stroke of the keys? She could practically feel something bubbling up in her, a liquid as forbidden as it was oh so tempting...

No, no, this would not do. The towels were all in the wash, this tomfoalery stops now. Ceasing her typing and sitting up straighter, gripping the sides of the chair and further deepening the finger-shaped dents in the metal already present Equius focused on her voidly connection. Carefully, she applied a mental image of her own bosom pressing inward, into the Void's own impression of her noble body and trying not to think too hard about any hands mimicking the activity. This sort of doublethink, necessary for propriety you understand, was supremely mentally taxing. Taxing enough that for every inch Equius managed to submerge into that nondimensional other, she failed to notice another three swelling out underneath her. Her chair always creaked under the weight of the overlarge, overdense troll, a few more as her thighs billowed and rump engorged at a frightening pace just didn't stand out enough.

By the time she'd realized she was no longer sitting on metal, but rather a wonderful sinful cushion of herself things were already out of hand. Out of six or more pairs of hands if they dared. Equius tried to jerk to her feet, but physics as ever worked against the poor girl. Tall as she was, hunched over the chair yet straight-backed, her knees hooked the furniture up underneath her as she stood instead of pushing it out. Glutes as doughy as they were STRONG greedily warped around the poor chair and crumpled the poor thing into scrap metal as they collided with a STRONGCLAP and jiggled it to bits while coming to rest.