#ooffff

dragged out of the afterlife

Uff, now that I finished and am no longer crashing tf out, time to actually tag the creators and give appropiate creds !!

The lad on the right is the good ol' Ink Demon from BATDR, not much explanation needed.

But the cutie on the left is Benders from @ink0101 and @diznotfound Danger Run Au, found in their @danger-run-au (idk it ain't letting me taggg).

And I just though how funny th difference between the Ink Demon and DR!Benders... who knew it would end w me crashing out at 2 am.

ANYWHISLE!!! I hated how the Ink Demon's left arm and his hand turned out, but I. Gave. UP. Same with Benders hand. Is, I donno why hands aren't handing latelyyyyyy

Also, IF INKPETALS ISN'T CANON IN THIS AU THEN WHY ARE THEY BEING SUCH CUTIES ON MY SKETCH BOOK  🗣️  🗣️ 🗣️  🗣️ 🗣️  🗣️

Extra sketches btw

omg drunk mikasa is so sweet. giddy after one glass too many of leftover homemade wine from a donation drive, cheeks warm and pink, a toothy grin on her face. it makes eren realise she doesn’t smile as much as she deserves, and it brings a pang of regret in his chest. if he hadn’t brought her to this town, if he hadn’t ever met her, would her life have turned out differently? would she have smiled more?

in his office, she’s on her knees because he’s asked her to be. or rather he’d only said it once, a small slip of tongue and honesty, when he’d admitted: you look nice like that, pretty on your knees. if he’d been looser lipped he would’ve also said: … with your small mouth wet and pink like a little kitten. but he hadn’t, and she hadn’t known just how depraved it really got inside his dark place, so he kept coming back, kept kneeling by his side, kept saying ‘father’ in that soft, raspy voice of hers that haunted him at night. today she is less restrained, and rests her cheek on his thigh, right above her knee, more intimate than he ever allows, more affectionate than she thinks she is probably allowed to be with her priest.

“i didn’t know you had to do so much paperwork as a priest.” her voice sounds dreamy, the slightest slur around the edge. eren suppresses the urge to pinch her cheek. “what exactly did you think a priest had to do,” he asks, a fond smile on his lips.

she lets out a long hum. “i don’t know. help people. talk to them. tell them how to be good. teach them how to be loved by god. look pretty in your priest dress, i guess.”

eren’s pen stills, ink blotting against paper. his throat suddenly feels dry. licking his lower lip, he says slowly. “everyone is loved by ymir, mikasa. you know that.” and then, as if the words are too heavy to speak, almost stumbling, he asks, “so you think i’m pretty?”

she giggles, sounding so beautifully childish, for a second he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “father eren is the prettiest priest, in his pretty priest dress. all the girls think so.” the edges of her voice turn bitter, and it hangs in the air until she covers her mouth with her hand with a little slap, suddenly realising what she’s saying. she turns to look at him with puppy eyes and wine flushed cheeks. “but they must have told you already, haven’t they? all the things they think about you. i’m not the only one.”

he wonders then what goes on in her little head. if she thinks he talks to other girls the way he does to her, if she thinks people confess things the way she does to him. if he “teaches” them how to repent in the way he does to her. even though he is barely touching her know, it makes him feel full to the brim with guilt and something worse: a cagey, fledgling beast made of anger that wonders why she has so easily accepted that he has any kind of relationship with others, a calm knowledge that if she had even a hint of anything with anyone else he would destroy it, a sick urge to hold her face in one hand and taste her wine-slick tongue. maybe he could chastise her for drinking too much, stroke her cheek softly and tell her that if there really was a god out there, there’s no way she wouldn’t love her. how could anyone not love her. on most days he feels utterly defeated by the impossibility of it.

“think only of yourself, mikasa,” he says, hating himself for it as soon as he says it. he could’ve said anything— that there really is nobody else, no one talks to him the way she does, nobody trusts him the way she does, even if they did, he wouldn’t abuse their trust the way he does to her. “ultimately, there are no secrets between you and god. everything that goes on in here...,” he taps a finger on her head and strokes it down to her cheek, fighting desperately not to bend down and kiss her. (he could do it, he thinks. she might not even remember. why suddenly is her inebriation a moral cock blocker when his position of power never managed to have that same effect?) his voice feels hoarse as she looks up at him, chin tilting upwards in the sweetest gesture of obedience. no one has ever touched her like this, he thinks. not in the innocent way it might have seemed just now, and definitely not in the terrible ways he has touched her when he made her confess every brief fantasy she might have entertained, only to enact something ten times more depraved. it makes him feel like a bad man, but at the same time, this is probably the closest to god he has ever felt in his life.

eren has drifted off into thoughts filled with guilt and longing but mikasa is still looking at him with reverence, hanging on to his unfinished sentence like it is something holy. her eyes are cloudy grey and not as transparent as he would like. he likes it better when she is sober, when her thoughts are not the slightest bit fuzzy, but full of him and tinged with shame- shame for the desire she feels for him. he lets the edge of his index finger brush against her lip, lets himself bend and whisper over the shell of her ear. "everything little thought you have is ultimately naked in front of ymir."