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[sansgout]

He found he was holding his breath, then. Purposefully, mind you, for the sake of not muffling even the tiniest noise from that tempting mouth—but that deliberate action only remained as such for a few seconds of a pause. Thereafter, as Rody spilled the plea for which Vincent had demanded, that carefully regulated breath lodged in his throat. Passion bled freely into each and every syllable, the sharp exhales upon which those words rode sweltering against the side of Vincent’s face, creeping like burning wax down the curve of his back. He perched there. Frozen in place despite the molten flames that boiled him from the inside—

And Vincent reveled in that one shamelessly exposed desire far longer than he thought he would.

When that trapped air finally fell out of him, it was stunted, a series of bubbled breaths culminating to another satisfied purr. His head tilted even further sideways, eyeing those cheeks darkened by hues of wanting red there beside him: wanting him. And this was what he’d planned. This was precisely how he liked it: Rody’s thoughts should be on nothing other than that desperation, than that maddening desire for him and him alone. It beckoned the faintest curl to his lips, but did a little something more, all the same. Rody did something more.

But Vincent hadn’t the time—or was it the willingness . . . ?—to address that currently, not with so much left to do. So those thoughts just as well remained tucked in the back of his mind, focus homing in on his masterpiece in the making. Even when that characteristic rambling brought up the rear of that perfect display of desire, Vincent was not only unbothered this time around, but quite nearly laughing again. Another fluttery breath indicated a fleeting chuckle, and there again . . . he ignored the thought that this yearning had been festering for far longer than just that evening—rather, where that thought would take him if he dwelled on it for longer than a second.

There’s so much left to do.

“Perfect,” he murmured against his ear, pausing only when the flex of muscles in Rody’s wrist alerted him to the fist now clenched above his head. His gaze flicked up once to confirm the suspicion. Another hum that was equally pleased promised a coming reward. “That’s what I want to hear. You’ve been so good.” At that moment, the fingers tangled in Rody’s hair released, moving down the side of his face. Vincent lifted his head and looked down at his work: the heated coals in those eyes; the heavy breaths soaking the air between them; that color still prominent in his cheeks. Again, unconsciously, his own teeth ran over his lower lip.

Truthfully, “so badly” spoke for both of them.

And, whether or not Vincent would ever choose to admit it, it was more than just for the sake of giving a reward that finally had him providing one.

He shifted, hand wrapping loosely around his neck to hold Rody in place. And when he moved in to grant him (both of them) that desire, Vincent didn’t waste time or prolong this for even another second. Their lips met in something akin to violence, raw and unbridled. He curled his thumb into the column of Rody’s throat, dug in with enough pressure to force out a breath that’d leave his jaw unhinged, his mouth open. And his tongue wet the shape of Rody’s upper lip before slipping past it, as if searching for a taste he couldn't have.

For a long moment after his (admittedly pathetic) pleas, searching eyes received no response beyond that same hunger in Vincent's gaze, and boy was that not making Rody's task any easier.

Saying that he "wanted to" was an understatement. All at once he felt parched, consumed by a ravenous thirst that could only be satiated by Vincent's mouth. It caught him off guard—the intensity of the feeling, along with how insane he was going from the way that Vince prevented most parts of them from touching. All that was allowed were mercies so slight that they were barely mercies at all.

It just made him want more.

That was a feeling Rody knew all too well. But he'd never thought to apply that feeling to Vincent. At least...not consciously.

Through the haze and concentration, Rody was slowly realizing that maybe, at some point, even without any conscious thought, his body sure had.

Torturous as this was, he tried to placate himself with the knowledge that it would be worth the wait. As was the continued praise that finally answered his earlier pleading. Rody sucked in an audible breath, his face darkening by an extra shade of pink at that approving rumble so close to his lips. It helped make up for the fact that his plea still wasn't granted.

Vincent just hovered right there, knees flushing to Rody's hips as if that didn't just ignite a new urge to grab his waist and force him down to straddle him properly. He concentrated so hard on not doing that that the sudden warmth of skin-on-skin as long fingers encircled his wrist sent another jolt through Rody's frame. He let his arm be moved, hanging off of low, husked words and offering only a half-frustrated and half-pathetic sound as his answer.

He was pretty sure he'd do anything Vincent asked right now.

"Fuck, I want to kiss you, Vince." As commanded, the words were stronger this time. More defined, so heated with that desperation, with the active restraint it was taking to resist guiding Vincent's face back and eliminating that torturous distance himself. Maybe that exertion was why Rody kept talking despite already giving Vincent what he'd demanded to hear.

"I-I think I have? For like, a while now, I mean? I just—I never really thought about it, 'cause you're a guy and my boss and all, so why would that ever happen, right? But now you're right here and—"

Rody cursed again on a growling breath. Both hands clenched tighter: the one below abusing soft sheets, while the one above formed a fist that flexed chords of muscle beneath Vincent's grip. He forced himself to focus on the pleasant sensations rather than the longing: grounding himself in the scrape of teeth at his ear and the sweltering breaths cascading over his neck.

"I never even realized before, but—I really do, I really want to kiss you, Vince, so badly."

[sansgout]

Red.

Everything was red.

Permeating each of Vincent’s senses—incomprehensible: how a color could be so much more than just seen—he felt it like a growing stain on more than just the splatters painting an otherwise white coat. It stung in his nose. Prickled in his eyes. Burned on his skin. Rang in his ears. And somehow, after all these agonizing years, he was almost convinced he could actually taste it . . . as nothing more than a foreign and nauseating sensation like a ball of cotton stuffed in his mouth. Red. Everything. Red. 

It was by adrenaline alone that he moved at all, that he’d successfully dragged Ro—that body into the freezer and found himself back in the kitchen again: here, but not. Present, but a thousand miles away. Every feeble attempt at a thought twisted itself into a tangle beyond recognition, tugged so tight it was torn and discarded in the dregs of his mind. For many long moments after the scene—after the crime Vincent had yet to acknowledge even occurred, that he’d even committed—he stood there atop a streak of crimson. He felt that red collect at the tip of one finger, drip to the floor and join the rest . . .

His thumb wiped at the corner of his mouth. There was something wet there. He didn’t remember what. (Red.) Slow, somewhat trembling steps carried him to the sink, and a tainted hand fumbled with the faucet before a steady stream of water splashed out: pure, unsullied liquid that was a refreshing, almost stabilizing cold against the sticky heat— Mesmerized, his fingers pranced through the stream before diving in fully, scrubbing away at those stains on his pallor that he’d yet to understand would never leave.

The world was warped around him. So much so that he completely missed the next intrusion, the presence that had found its way to the scene and stood there now, taking it in. As if that cotton had spread to his ears, a voice came to him muffled, distant. Vincent’s head cocked, twitched like he’d heard nothing more than a fly, but when he turned enough to see the figure sharing in his space, something clicked.

He stared. The water continued to run. His breath contrastingly hitched there in his throat. And quietly, in those few seconds of stunned silence, his brain managed to at the very least decide . . .

A witness. He was— There couldn’t be witnesses—

Instinctively, his gaze shifted to the knife block on one of the nearby counters, but despite that instinct being the same that had operated the hand on the corkscrew now in a dead man’s neck . . . he hesitated. No, for fuck’s sake, he was frozen. An ache split through Vincent’s jaw, clenched without his realizing, and eventually, he scraped up enough of a voice to croak, “No.”

A pause. Miraculously, he managed a heavy breath, though there was no denying the quake along the edges of it. “No, I don’t think—” It was a decent observation, what came out of the other’s mouth. Quite suddenly, Vincent couldn’t be sure if he had personally been injured, and the curiosity had him passively turning a hand over in front of his eyes. “It’s not mine.”

@sansgout

「 🎻 Dining out was a tedious, mundane activity meant for humans. His brothers and he didn't need their sustenance to survive. It was only a means of pleasure if you weren't lazy enough to chew. The only reason his family even participated was because it was that man's orders. Would it really matter if people thought they were shut-ins? When they were at the restaurant, he unintentionally eavesdropped on the humans' conversations, either about the food and its supposed exquisite taste. Or random, juicy gossip that he couldn't care less about.

To him, they were too loud. Nothing inside the establishment drew his attention. He went because he was ordered to, and rested his eyes until they left. He never once ate the food, and didn't understand why that woman kept ordering for him ( unless Reiji put that responsibility onto her ). The resources would have been wasted, but she always took them home to reheat later. After a few bites, she finally stopped badgering him over it.

This evening, that woman had dragged him out, much to his dismay. He reminded her not to get used to this, or else she'd start owing him. After all, her blood was of the finest quality. It was only fair if she was going to drag him out, that she gave him some in exchange. By the end of their trip, they had ended up near the restaurant. He sat down against the building and refused to get up when she asked. He told her just to go home on her own. She was reluctant, but when he threatened to bite her, she complied. After that, he wasn't sure how much time had passed before he smelt something. It was blood? And it was coming from inside there. Not odd, he supposed, for that kind of place, but the smell...

The scene that greeted him inside was unexpected. That guy was covered in blood. And he knew it was human, solely by the scent. The stench is a bit foul since the smell of the blood barely pulls him in. He supposed he was spoiled by Yui's. But fighting among his brothers for hers was bothersome. If only he had prey of his own, though they'd never compare. Without hesitation, he took a few more steps towards the man.

❝ ...What a mess. …I doubt that's your own. ❞ His tone was nonchalant. Compared to his prior visits, this time his eyes were on the chef. 」

[sansgout]

no one is prepared for how insufferable @howthesleeplesswander and i are gonna be when this game comes out

you have at least 4-5 months of a warning before we go insane; please make the best of it (◕⍸ ◕✿)

[sansgout]

the council has made a decision

see, the og plan was to be a good lil tunglr rper and wait until the game came out before writing a character from it

but it’s been >8 months of resisting this boy and I truly cannot keep waiting

sooooooooo

find Eds over here if anyone is interested! (he’s a sideblog!):

@fistsbet

i’m weak what can I say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ hope to see you there!

no one is prepared for how insufferable @howthesleeplesswander and i are gonna be when this game comes out

you have at least 4-5 months of a warning before we go insane; please make the best of it (◕⍸ ◕✿)

[sansgout]

Still trying to figure out how to draw the professor in this style but yes I LOVE THEM @sansgout!!! 😭❤️

[sansgout]

Because she wants to.

And as if the girl had told him she could fly, Vincent stared at her with an expression broadcasting what had come out of her mouth was equally absurd. The low murmur of the restaurant helped fill what would have been an otherwise awkward silence, din in the kitchen behind him a further background track while his mind tripped and fumbled through the mere meaning of the words she declared so confidently. By the time he grasped that he wasn’t just imagining things, she’d moved on like it was nothing.

It was just as well. God knew he wasn’t willing to pick apart exactly why she insisted on keeping his company. (Did the child not have better things to do . . . ?)

Thankfully, with that conspiratorial shushing at his mention of her proposed “bedtime,” she brought a faint smile out of him: sign enough that he had moved on. “Pfft. Your secret’s safe with me,” he agreed, seamlessly playing along with the idea that he’d even care enough to tattle in the first place . . . and, truly, to whom—? It was amusement, now, that drove him forward; with less arm-twisting than expected, Vincent relented with a light scoff.

“Fine. I can make it a point to get things closed up faster so we aren’t pushing it.” A hand perched on his hip, and he tilted his head while looking her over. “Happy? Now run along until then.”

WHILE HE MIGHT BE RIGHT ABOUT THAT, Itsuki had just been waaaaay too excited to wait. Needing to come straight down here, the moment this BRILLIANT IDEA struck her right on the head. Besides, she will get out of your hair soon, bro! Even she knew not to be a huge nuisance, especially in a place like this. So just say OKAY already, will ya? Pretty please? With sugar on top?

Her smile would not diminish, as she followed him towards the kitchen door. Her eyes glued to the wall temporarily between them, until they were back upon the man himself. Their steps almost in sync, despite her leaning more towards SIDE-SHUFFLING than actual SIDE-STEPPING.

"Mm?" Why? That was when her smile would briefly fall, as she tilted her head at him. Responding to it in a way that made his simple little question seem almost LUDICROUS then, "'Cause ah wanna, bro~ Ah... thought-a 'bout you when ah saw this movie. An' ah jus' wanna spend more time wit' ya~" And she would not understandably at what he had to say next, before gasping softly at the very next thing itself, "Shhh... they might hear ya, bro!" She would respond in a hushed whisper, looking off to the side at GODDESS-KNOWS-WHAT-- before flicking her gaze right back to him. "Anyway, it's fine! Ah can wait till then."

[sansgout]

they are one apple tall

[sansgout]

The professor did always have an inexplicable way of affecting him. Where so many people rarely earned more than a practiced and performed smile from Vincent (if even that, wholly dependent on the situation), Sherman’s energy succeeded almost every time in coaxing even the slightest twitch to his lips—something genuine that only grew at the admission of his appreciation for the meals he typically consumed here. His very next exhale skirted through his teeth in a near-chuff of laughter, and Vincent cast a cursory glance back toward the kitchen. “That can be arranged when we’re done,” he offered, his words trailing off momentarily until the follow-up addition of, “with whatever you claim requires my attention.”

Because it would be the man’s explanation that this very well may take over an hour of their time that confirmed earlier suspicions: Sherman didn’t just come here for a pleasant chat, and certainly whatever happened to be so important had something to do with that case. Once more, Vincent’s gaze fell to trace the mysterious box—as if looking hard enough at it would solve the mystery for him. Instead, that intrigue only heightened, and with all the nonchalance (or perhaps “trust” was the correct word) that came with both familiarity and a deep understanding of Sherman’s amicable character, Vincent made a swift decision.

“Follow me, then, Professor,” he said while pivoting back toward the kitchen. No different than usual, Vincent cared little about the looks cast in their direction, about the unprofessionalism of bringing a customer behind the counter (this was his damn restaurant, after all). He held the door open, murmured a soft, “Please be careful back here,” before guiding the professor to his office. There was no need to utter a word to the cooks, to utter any indication of what was expected of them. . . .

They were not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary.

Vincent flicked the light on, a warm glow immediately blanketing every surface. With a nod to the chair in front of his desk—a quiet invitation—he rounded the back, but for the time being remained standing. “Here we are. You have my time, now,” he announced, shuffling a few papers out of the way to give Sherman room. “The floor’s yours.”

ﾐ @sansgout Continued from Here!!!彡

WHILE HAVING A MEAL FIRST was certainly tempting, the professor was quick to reprimand himself for it. Telling himself not to get distracted by FOOD, not when he had come down here to share his SCIENTIFIC BREAKTHROUGH with this man who had shown him nothing but RESPECT and KINDNESS. This man who had not just treated him as a valued patron to his restaurant, but as someone who was more than just some... blob to be gawked and laughed at.

Admittedly, Sherman had initially felt nervous around the man. But then again, that itself wasn't exactly anything new. Due to his own lack of confidence, Sherman found himself uncertain around most people, even his own students...

But when Vincent had so readily come to his defence that one fateful day, his nervousness would soon quickly turn to ADMIRATION. For there was just after all just so much to be admired about the master chef. From the way he carried himself, to of course his knack at cooking-- he was many things that the professor himself wished he could be.

Well, aside for ONE THING... this one thing that had brought him down here today, as a matter of fact.

"Oh... maybe after this." He would say with a chuckle, for who was he kidding? He would be a fool to NOT have a lil' something something before he left later. Perhaps, it could be a way to celebrate too afterwards, if-- no, when the FORMULA he had brought down today worked its magic on Vincent. "You know I can't resist COQ AU VIN~"

"Oh, e-errm..." He would then falter, having not taken this into consideration. Just how much of this man's time did he need, actually? While it didn't seem like much time would be needed to simply CONSUME something-- it was only right that Sherman properly explained it all to him first, and gave him the time to think it over too... No, this would not be a waste of the man's time at all. So don't feel bad now about something like that, Klump! "Just... just an hour, maybe two hours."

[sansgout]

baby i could treat you so good you just have to get past my strange and off-putting demeanor and my kubrick stare and my inability to behave like a human and the 40 layers of icy fortress walls i have up and answer my riddles three

[sansgout]

slams fist down (⇀‸↼ )

vince is so heckin fuckin weird about intimacy for . . . well, many reasons, but

in my hc of him being an incredibly sickly child who was basically coddled and fussed over for so many years of his life, he's basically made the connection that behaviors of that nature (i.e., showing you care, being physically intimate, etc.) are driven by pity

there's an alarm in vince's head that more or less screams, gtfo i can take care of myself at any of these actions. it's like, the moment he lets down his walls, relinquishes any control: that's the moment he admits he needs anyone else, and that makes him uneasy

[sansgout]

thoughts on boys?

disgusting but irresistible

[sansgout]

Found out that Vincent has poor eyesight and owns glasses when his contacts are missing. Result:

[sansgout]

One might say this wasn’t the most appropriate setting to be discussing a late-night movie-watching session, but then another might just as rightly argue that catching Vincent anywhere else but his restaurant was almost as mythical of a prospect as a rat being a chef . . . which seemed to be some sort of theme here, based on the cover. So, truly, what choice did the girl have? Vincent was remarkably quiet while Itsuki stumbled over the name of a famous dish that had been made into the pun-riddled title, the scrutiny once directed at a customer’s meal—until her interruption—homing in on the blu-ray case.

In that same silence, unreadable as ever, he straightened up again, backed away from the window, and side-stepped to meet Itsuki through the kitchen door. It was only a few nervous glances from his chefs that alerted him to the need for his approval (or not) after inspection, and with little more than a stiff nod and wave of his hand, the dish was marked acceptable before carried away.

This was a first, admittedly. Not common for a child to invite his company, much less want to be near him in any capacity. Despite the time they’d already spent together, Vincent was still getting used to that.

“Why?” The question was vague—probably because he meant it in more than one way, anything from Why do you think I’ll like it? to Why me? “You know I have to stay later than the restaurant closes, right?” He hadn’t said no, yet, even then. . . . “Won’t that be past your bedtime?”

❄️ @sansgout Continued from Here ❄️

"Rat-ta-tat-t-two-WHEE... bro!"

She had tripped and tripped-- and tripped-- in the middle of all that, but eventually she would make it to the end! It was a hard word, and one had to give her credit for even managing all of that out, and twice (Even if the second attempt would sound so much more like her imitating a machine gun)!

Itsuki would continue to hold the BLUERAY CASE (How she got it is a completely different story, and once we shall tackle another time) as high as she could for him to see. While of course-- minding the fancy lookin' dish that he's been glaring at just before she had entered through those very doors.

Not affected by his little reprimanding earlier (It was just his usual way of greeting her, by this point), as she allowed him just a little bit longer to take in the cover itself, and to better understand just what laid in store for him. Not that this would ever be enough, when compared to fully and properly experiencing a FULL PIXAR STORY!

"Yup! With yooou~" She readily affirmed with a beam, his expression only tickling her-- as she tried not to giggle then. "You will like it, ah promiiiise~" Well, you had to admire her for having this much confidence.

[sansgout]

Hello Dead Plate fandom!

B&W (technically silver tone):

[sansgout]

this just in: he's not beating the allegations bc he is one

. . . in certain verses

i.e., finally added a vampire verse that i should've ages ago bc rix and rach more or less already figured it out for me so

if you thought he was bad before gUESS WHAT ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

vince isn't beating the vampire allegations this man sunburns so easily he's in direct sunlight for 5 minutes and turns red absolutely drains his energy to be under the sun

legitimately just give him a parasol if he needs to be outside fr

[sansgout]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THIS AWESOME GAME!!!!

[sansgout]

My iPad is on its last legs, so I'm trying to save up for a new one (It's also my main working tool, that I use to draw my butt off for jobs and earn money to pay those bills and for food, etc.).

Besides my art commissions and graphic commissions being open as usual. Pay what you want sketches are available now through my Kofi, if you'd like to donate and support me through there instead!

I will be posting a bunch of sketch examples so you guys will know what you will be getting (They will be black and white, head to bust shots, and of varying complexity, depending on how much you donate)!

Just leave a comment too on what character you would like a sketch of!

Thank you so much! ❤️