#my living room lamp is v yellow and is v bad for photos

[kvarenje]

hhhhhhhhhh SHADING

Experimenting and refining the shading method with this FR adoptable base I've had plans for. I've always wanted to develop a painterly style and this is probably my biggest step towards that goal. For now I'm trying a dark base coat, applying flat highlights, and blending with an oil brush. I may reverse that on my next project and see which I prefer. It's been a goddamn long-ass time since I worked in color, so I'm having to re-learn the basics and apply new knowledge at the same time!!! It's all trial and error babey!!

Honestly I'm kind of glad my laptop's pen only has a 2.5-3hr battery life. Reminds me to stretch and eat sometimes lmao

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays Chapter 3

Welcome to the Chat, Virgil!

Virgil meets Logan and Patton, and learns that the three of them are more than just friends.

Morolo, endgame LAMP

Chapter 2 | Masterlist | Chapter 4

What d'ya say, storm cloud?

Virgil bit his lip, the question looping through his brain. What would he say to that? On one hand, he barely knew Roman. They only had two conversations, with Virgil having an anxiety attack halfway through one. How could Virgil trust him? On the other hand, having more people to talk to other than Janus and Remus… a part of Virgil, the part of him that wanted to cry at the thought of an injured animal, practically sang at the idea. If Patton and Logan were anything like Roman, Virgil knew that they would get along quite nicely. Worst-case scenario, I'll say something stupid and proceed to block their numbers forever.

V- (12:45 PM) As long as your friends are cool with it, I’m down.

R- (12:47 PM) Alrighty then. Just one moment, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.

Virgil blushed at the nickname. Before he could even try and think of a response to that, Princey had already set up the group chat.

R- (12:48 PM) Hello my friends!

?- (12:48 PM) Hi Roro!

?- (12:48 PM) Salutations

V- (12:48 PM) Hey

?- (12:48 PM) Hi! You must Virgil! I’m Patton, he/him pronouns!

?- (12:49 PM) Good afternoon, Virgil. My name is Logan. I also use he/him pronouns.

V- (12:49 PM) Thanks, so I guess Roman’s already blabbed about me? You guys can call me V or Virge if you want, I’m not picky. He/him

L- (12:49 PM) Roman did not tell us much, beyond “He’s a creepy cookie with Pat’s humor and Lo’s smartness.” I also assume that you’re the one Roman assisted last night. I hope the exercises were beneficial.

V- (12:50 PM) They were, thanks

P- (12:50 PM) So, what do you like to do, Virgil?

Virgil bit his lip, glancing around his room. He really didn’t want to tell them about his music career. What if they recognized him and hated him because of his music. Or worse, what if they pretend that they’re friends with him so they can live off of his popularity? His eyes landed on sketch pads and suitcases. That could work.

V- (12:51 PM) I commission art. I also travel around with my friends.

P- (12:51 PM) Ooh, can we see some? Only if you're comfortable of course!

Virgil quickly flipped through his sketchbook. Most of his sketches were designs for The Dark Sides, so they were a no-go. Other drawings had some sort of gore or hellish imagery, and Virgil had a feeling that they wouldn’t like those drawings like Janus and Remus did. He eventually found a drawing that with no blood: it showed three men in dresses, each with their own style. The one on the left wore a black ball gown with yellow accents and yellow elbow-length gloves. The figure on the right had an emerald green mermaid dress with black accents and black fingerless gloves. The one in the center had a purple princess-style dress with black accents and no gloves. Virgil smiled as he sent the photo to the chat. Remus had explained that the only thing he missed from being a girl was the pretty dresses he wore. Janus and Virgil had responded by going to the mall and buying dresses for the three of them, saying that they didn’t need to be girls to wear dresses. Remus had been so happy he almost ripped the dress in his haste to put it on.

P- (12:54 PM) Ohmygosh that’s so pretty! Are these real dresses?

V- (12:54 PM) Yeah. My friend Remus (the one on the right) felt bad for wanting to wear a dress so me and Janus (the one on the left) went dress shopping with him.

R- (12:54 PM) Well, he shouldn’t feel bad. You three SLAY those dresses!

L- (12:55 PM) I also agree. While I don’t believe that I look good in a dress, you three successfully “pull it off.”

Virgil couldn’t help but blush at the compliments. Even though they bought the dresses for Remus’ sake, wearing more feminine clothing was an… invigorating experience. Virgil turned back to the conversation, attempting to change the topic of conversation.

V- (12:56 PM) Okay, I showed my stuff, now it’s your turn. What do you guys like to do?

P- (12:56 PM) I own a bakery/cafe! I just LOVE to bake sweets! Especially cookies! I also LOVE punny jokes!

L- (12:56 PM) I am currently working part-time at a local library. I am attempting to get a master's degree in astronomy and wish to work at the local planetarium. I enjoy reading and stargazing.

R- (12:57 PM) I’m currently an actor at the local theater, though I hope to soon reach my full potential on Broadway!

Virgil smiled at the descriptions. Three VERY different people, all with different dreams and ambitions. And now they’ve roped me into their merry band of misfits.

V- (12:58 PM) So, how did you guys meet each other?

P- (12:58 PM) Me and Lolo were neighbors before we got together. We met Roro in high school. I swear, I thought they hated each other for the longest time! Then I caught Lo and Ro making out junior year, so we sat and talked it out. Now we’re all happily living together!

Virgil blinked, rereading what Patton just typed. Got together? Are they…?

V- (12:59 PM) I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but… are you guys all dating each other?

L- (1:00 PM) Yes, we are. I assumed that Roman informed you of this.

P- (1:00 PM) Ro?

R- (1:04 PM) I apologize, Virgil. I wasn’t sure what your opinions were on polyamory. I hope you can forgive me.

Virgil snorted, imagining the four-minute delay was of Princey getting verbally beaten by Patton and Roman. He imagined Roman wearing a prince outfit (because he’s Princey) with his head in his hands. Patton would be standing over him, hands on his hips, and a disapproving scowl on his face. Logan would be standing next to Patton, arms crossed with an open book still in hand. He quickly turned back to the conversation, not wanting to make them worry.

V- (1:06 PM) It’s fine. I’ve got nothing against polyamory. I would be a hypocrite if I did,

L- (1:07 PM) Are you also in a polyamorous relationship?

V- (1:07 PM) I’ve never been in a relationship. But I WAS thinking about joining Janus and Remus’ relationship when they started dating since we all cared about each other and they offered. I thought about it for a while, but I eventually said no. I see them more like brothers, y’know? And they’re happy together, so it all worked out.

P- (1:08 PM) Good for you, Kiddo! I know it’s hard to tell people that you care about what you want, especially when you don’t know if they feel the same way. You made the right decision. Are you guys still friends?

V- (1:09 PM) Yeah, they’re my best friends. We do everything together

V- (1:09 PM) And “Kiddo”?

P- (1:10 PM) Sorry, you’re all my Kiddos, Kiddo!

L- (1:10 PM) Patton, there is the chance that Virgil is older than all of us.

P- (1:11 PM) Virgil, how old are you? We’re all 24!

Virgil sighed. Patton just gave away his age to someone he just met. I’m not dumb enough to do THAT. Oh, wait, yes I am.

V- (1:11 PM) 25

R- (1:12 PM) He’s just saying that so he’s older than us!

P- (1:12 PM) Ro! Virgil would NEVER lie for something so petty. Would you, Kiddo?

V- (1:13 PM) I mean, if I did you would never know so

R- (1:13 PM) SEE?!?

L- (1:14 PM) While this conversation has been truly invigorating to be a part of, I’m afraid it must end here. I have a shift at the library soon, Patton needs to go manage the lunch rush at the bakery, and Roman is SUPPOSED to clean the apartment while we’re gone. It was a pleasure meeting you, Virgil. I hope to continue this conversation at a later date.

P- (1:14 PM) HOLY SHMOKES YOU’RE RIGHT! I GOTTA GO! BYE KIDDOS!

V- (1:15 PM) Bye Lo, Pat, Princey. Nice talking to ya. See you guys later.

Virgil smiled, setting his phone on the bed as he went to grab his guitar. He was in the mood to play some music, and he needed some lyrics for their next song. He heard his phone go off and waited until he was sitting comfortably on the bed before reading it.

R- (1:17 PM) I knew you guys would get along. Welcome to the chat, Virgil.

V- (1:20 PM) :)

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Taglist (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!):

@bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess 

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch3

For He Saw That Life Lived Upon Death

Warning - this chapter includes graphic descriptions of murder, of a family including a young girl. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

Word count - 5,263

__________________________

You cracked your neck and sighed as you finished typing up your notes. The two sketches sat on your desk, waiting to be scanned into the computer. It made you squeamish to imagine Dr. Malphas knowing the artist had used you as a subject, but you weren’t sure if you dared to omit that detail. It went against everything you’d been taught.

Still… even to think it felt wrong. Was it even relevant to V’s treatment? He’d only used your face because you were available, hadn’t he?

You pursed your lips. It was too soon to imagine why the man did anything, let alone why he chose his muses. This shouldn’t be such an issue; it was obvious what was required of you. It didn’t matter how intimate if felt for him to draw you, how personal it was to see your face on that page.

You glanced at it again. He really was gifted. The smudged charcoal would’ve made your mother smile; hell, she would’ve framed the damn thing.

I can’t put that in the system… I just can’t.

If anyone ever found out, you’d lose your job. Possibly be fined or lose your license. Omitting details… Not a light offense. But who would know? There weren’t any cameras in your office, so unless V blabbed there was no way anyone would find out. Even if he did speak, the man was in an asylum. It would be your word versus his, and not a soul alive would take his over yours.

You slid open a drawer and pulled out an empty folder, hiding the sketch within. You’d take it home, just to lower the risk.

Minutes later, you sent in your summary and powered down the desktop with a tired smile. As interesting as it turned out to be, the week had left you drained. A glass of wine before bed sounded nice, a little reward for the madness. You grabbed your purse and carefully stowed the sketch inside, grateful you carried such a large bag as you stood to leave.

“Hey, Dr. Waras!” a familiar voice called from the doorway. Dr. Ishida.

You smiled and flicked off your desk lamp. She was an old friend, a colleague you occasionally grabbed drinks and compared notes with. Like you, she specialized in extreme cases. Unlike you, she hated it.

“Hey! How are you, Kotomi?”

She grinned as you joined her in the hallway. Her sleek ebony hair shimmered in the florescent lighting and it reminded you of V’s shiny locks.

“I’m good, how about you? I heard you got a pretty intense one,” she replied with a grimace.

You almost laughed. “Yeah, had my first session with him today.”

Her heels clicked on the linoleum as you headed for the security checkpoint. “And?”

Ben buzzed the two of you through and you shot him a smile, waving goodnight at him as you passed. “He seems interesting, should be a fun case.”

Kotomi made a face. “You have a weird sense of the word ‘fun’, my friend. Didn’t he attack someone when he got here?”

She hit the elevator button and you sighed. If she’d just wear flat shoes, the stairs wouldn’t be an issue. Personally, you hated waiting for the damn slow elevator, especially at the end of the workday.

“Yeah, he had a knife. Nobody was seriously hurt, though,” you replied. She shuddered and you found yourself wondering, not for the first time, how she ended up working here.

“Lucky. From what Kevin told me it could’ve been pretty bad!”

“I guess. What about you, have a good week?”

She grinned, always happy to talk about something other than your more violent patients. “Yeah, actually! I had a breakthrough with Miss Andrews, I think next week she might make some big strides!”

The elevator dinged its arrival and her chatter filled the air all the way to the ground floor. Rob buzzed you into the lobby and you took a deep breath of fresh air as you left the building. Kotomi was still rambling and you smirked. She was a good friend but sometimes got carried away. You wondered when she’d realize you were heading for your car, and her parking spot was in the opposite direction.

“Anyway, any fun plans this weekend?” she asked. You clicked your keys and opened the driver’s side door with a laugh.

“No, just catching up on some TV. Assuming I don’t get called in, of course.”

She cringed. Since you took most of the worst patients, it had been a long time since she’d been called in for an emergency with one of hers, but for you it happened regularly.

“Well, I’m back that way. I’ll see you Monday!”

You waved as she turned away, shaking your head at her antics and starting the car. The radio was in the middle of a familiar song and you hummed along with the chorus as you got into gear.

Then your phone rang.

You frowned and fished it from your purse, tapping the screen to accept the familiar call. “What’s the problem?”

“Your new patient is having a fit, are you close?”

“Yeah, I haven’t left the parking lot yet. How bad is it?”

Aaron never bothered you unless it was serious, but you liked to know what you were in for. You switched the car back off.

“Hard to say for sure, he’s just shouting something and we can’t get close enough to sedate him.”

“All right, I’ll be right up.”

You hung up and grinned. Whatever was going on sounded interesting. Within seconds, you were waving at Rob once more as he buzzed you back inside. The elevator was already at ground level so you indulged yourself, sparing your calves from three flights of stairs. The doors were barely open when you heard V’s shouting.

“For he saw that life lived upon death!”

You raced to the security gate and didn’t even glance at Ben as he buzzed you into the patient’s quarters area. The artist repeated the same words over and over and as you reached the door to his room you heard a loud crash. Aaron was just inside, along with two other orderlies. They had V backed against the wall, his eyes wild and darting. He looked right through them, unseeing as he repeated the same phrase once again.

“For he saw that life lived upon death!”

The three men stepped closer as one, trying to reach the incoherent man without incident. He didn’t react to their movement and they took another step. You watched with bated breath.

“For he saw that life lived upon death!”

What the hell was he even talking about? His words had the ring of importance, why else would he repeat them? You pulled out your phone, keeping one eye on the tense situation as you typed his words into the search bar and hit enter.

William Blake? What the fuck?

You glanced back at the confrontation just in time to see the three men close in on the artist and drag him to his bed. He didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening, still shouting the same phrase as they strapped him back into the restraints. How had he even gotten loose in the first place? Had someone set him free?

“For he saw that life lived upon death!”

Once the straps were nice and tight, the orderlies stepped back. Aaron waved you inside as the two others left, leaving the head of security to see if you needed him. He rubbed a palm over his face and sighed.

“Should I sedate him? He hasn’t hurt himself, but…”

You stepped closer to the artist, staring into his vacant eyes. Where was he? What was he seeing? Would he remember once he settled down again?

Doubtful.

Fuck.

“I’ll stay with him and call if he needs sedation. He might say something useful,” you explained. Aaron nodded and took his leave, probably on his way out for the evening.

You pulled out the same seat as when you first met the poor soul before you and sat down to listen.

“For he saw that life lived upon death!”

---V---

The trill of the child’s laugh was what sealed her family’s fate. So sweet, so innocent and pure. He had to make them understand that such naivete was a crime. It was up to him to punish her foolishness.

He followed them to their ocean-colored home from the grocery store and waited, biding his time until the quaint building was silent in the night. It took hours and his legs cramped where he crouched hidden in the shrubs with his absurdly heavy duffel bag. A nice neighborhood, full of young families and retired couples. The park across the street featured a playset and several chess boards, a blend of the needs of the locals. He smirked – soon enough, none would dare venture out alone.

At last, the shadows fit his needs. Darkness hid his approach and his eyes gleamed as he picked the lock. A skill learned only last month, but that already led to untold delights. He hefted his duffel bag high and slipped inside, locking the door behind him.

He prowled up the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and balanced. It wouldn’t do to reveal himself yet. Photos lined the ascent, smile filled snapshots of the young family arranged in a pleasing pattern. He resisted the temptation to rip them off the yellow plaster.

The first door led to a linen closet and he closed it with a quiet huff. The next, a bathroom stuffed with childish toys and soaps. He didn’t bother looking for long. He had to be close now, only three doors remained.

He grinned as the third door revealed a king-sized bed with two occupants – the parents. The father snored, his arms resting over his wife’s waist in a comforting embrace. Her face was relaxed and peaceful, not yet aware of the horrors about to begin. His fingers twitched in excitement and he backed away to find the child. Nothing else would ensure their cooperation.

He sneered in derision as he opened the child’s door. Her bedroom had a nightlight, a feeble attempt to keep the monsters of the night at bay. Pink and purple lines covered the walls, posters of unicorns and assorted foolishness breaking the pattern here and there. Dolls and a child-sized kitchen playset dominated the floor, stuffed animals on the shelf mixed with slim books.

But the bed was empty. Not good.

He stepped into the room and listened. If she was there, her youthful mind would undoubtedly be unable to keep her fear silent. Children were terrible at hiding, especially when it mattered most. A low gasp rewarded him as he stalked to the center of the room – she was hiding in the closet.

The door opened with barely a touch to reveal a tiny form huddled in the shadows. Her arms were crossed over a teddy, legs trembling in fright as her wet eyes met his. A filthy dark spot spread between her legs as he crouched to her level with a threatening smirk, and she squeaked as he reached out to pat her head.

“It’s alright, little one. Shall we go wake your parents?”

Her terror was delicious. A shadow of his past self screamed at him to stop, but it was too faint and weak to matter. Slim fingers wrapped around her narrow biceps and picked up her light body, bringing her to rest in his deceptively lean arms. Her shaking chest was a dark thrill as he carried her to her parents’ room. They were just as he’d left them, oblivious to their impending doom.

“Call to them, darling,” he whispered to the child. She shook her head. Stubborn little minx.

He pinched her, hard. Her tiny mouth opened in a pained wail, pained tears spilling down her cheeks. If only she knew what was to come…

“Becca?” the mother called sleepily. She rose with a startled gasp, hand reaching out to shake her husband awake as she saw the threat. He woke with an annoyed groan, reluctant to open his eyes despite her insistent prodding.

“What the hell, Amy?” he murmured.

The mother, Amy, didn’t speak. She only continued her poking with wide eyes locked on the dark figure holding her child at the foot of the bed. He could almost taste her panic, hear the rapid beating of her heart and he licked his lips. At last, the father sat up with a huff of resignation.

“Ian…” the woman said, and finally the father saw what was so pressing.

“Fuck!” he cried.

V shifted the child in his arms and drew the first of his many blades from his pocket, catching moonlight on the gleaming metal as he brought it to her neck. Both of her parents gasped and lurched forward, desperate to stop his motion. He tutted and they froze.

“P- please… don’t hurt her! I’ll show you the safe, whatever you want!”

He chuckled at the man’s pleading and pressed the metal against the girl’s neck, barely enough to draw blood.

“Follow me,” was all he said, and turned to leave.

The parents followed him downstairs, as he knew they would. They sat on the couch obediently and held perfectly still as he tied up the young girl. He did no further damage, not yet. This had to be done right, of he’d have to do it all again.

Tie the parents, too, fool.

“Obviously, Vergil! I’m not an imbecile…”

They didn’t resist, meekly letting him rope their wrists and ankles together as if their cooperation could save their child. Once all three were immobile, he retrieved the dozens of mason jars full of cows blood from his bag, setting them on the coffee table for the family to see.

“W- what do you want?” the father demanded. V smirked. Should he tell them?

He pulled out his brushes, laying them beside the jars with reverence. Horsehair and enamel, the same ones he’d used all those months ago to create such mediocrity at school. What a waste of time…

“If you stay quiet, the child will live,” he said. A lie, but it wouldn’t do to be interrupted too early. The man and woman nodded. Idiots.

With a length of rope, he hefted the girl above their heads to dangle from the chandelier. She was surprisingly silent, only a few subdued whimpers marking her dread. The couple beneath her didn’t look away for an instant, as if their gaze alone could reassure the terrified child.  

The image of his masterpiece danced through his mind and he ripped the pajamas away from the man and woman with a gleeful smile. They jumped but were wise enough not to scream. He tilted his head to assess them, judging where his eventual marks would lie with a thoughtful frown. The woman’s stretch marks and sagging breasts were as he expected, the man’s pot belly and hairy chest a compliment of mundanity. Such an ordinary family; he would elevate them into greatness through his art.

“Remember, not a sound…” he reminded them. Both heads nodded and he got to work, humming a classical tune.

The first ten jars of blood went on the floor, creating a viscous puddle around his feet and staining the air with the scent of copper. It was fortunate he’d chosen a family with a split-level home, or it wouldn’t have created such a perfect lake. How lucky. Fate must approve of his plans.

He set aside the painting adorning the wall he’d chosen, leaving the bottom few inches to be coated in the red fluid disturbed by his every move. Another jar in hand, he selected the flat size 20 paintbrush and dipped it in the contained fluid. This was the best part, the moment before the canvas accepted his first offering and showed his genius to the world. He took a deep breath and indulged the rush of pleasure at what he was about to do.

The first stroke was like being inside a woman, a heady rush of wondrous beauty and divine need that consumed his senses. Nothing mattered but the next line, the next detail to be added. He lost all sense of time as he painted, creating a unique pattern of scarlet on the plain wall using each brush in turn.

The last jar was depleted before he realized how much blood he’d used. More was required, and the piece desperately needed a frame. He turned to the family with a devilish smirk. Their time was almost up.

You need to be fast.

He rolled his eyes. Truly, Vergil was the master of the obvious tonight. The empty jar and stained brushes dropped to the floor and he drew his blade, stepping closer to the parents and reveling in the repulsed horror in their eyes. Who would go first?

Make em choose, Van Gogh.

“How brilliant, thank you Griffon.”

He pointed the cruel edge at the mother and father in turn, letting them see just how sharp it was before he addressed them. The mother was shivering, goosebumps covering her flesh. From fear or cold, he couldn’t say. It didn’t matter.

“Choose,” he stated simply. They blinked and shared a glance of confusion and he sighed. “Choose who dies.”

The child squirmed and whimpered above as the parents froze. They didn’t speak and he grew impatient. What absurdity.

“Choose or I start with her,” he threatened, pointing at the child with his blade. Instantly the father met his emerald eyes.

“Me! Leave Becca alone,” he said. V smiled. What a fool.

The mother sniffled and tears streamed down her face, but she lacked the courage to protest.

“Very well. Say goodbye,” V said. He would allow them ten seconds, no more.

The man swallowed and met his wife’s agonized eyes. “I love you, Amy. So much…”

She hiccupped and nodded, biting her lip to restrain a wail. It was clear she wanted to say it back, but again, she lacked the courage. The man accepted her frailty with a disappointed gleam and turned his eyes to his daughter.

“Becca, close your eyes. Don’t look, not even for a second. I love you.”

The child nodded and clenched her eyes, so like her mother in her inability to speak. V almost pitied the man, facing death without the reassurance of those he loved so dearly. Not that it mattered in the end.

Satisfied, the father brought his leaking eyes to meet V’s and nodded. He was ready. Not that the artist needed permission…

V twirled his blade and stepped closer, the blood sloshing around his feet as he approached. The woman looked away, unable to watch. What a coward.

“Don’t scream…” V whispered and brought the blade home with a surge of adrenaline.

The man bit his lip, his eyes glimmering in pure agony as he plunged all four inches of steel into his belly. A muffled grunt slipped free and tears left rivers down his face as V started sawing at the flabby flesh. Fresh gore spilled forth, drenching the couch and joining the cow’s blood on the floor. The unique sound of carving meat split the air and the wife sobbed, still unable to look but knowing what was happening nonetheless. Drops splattered on V’s scalp; the child’s tears.

He had to admit, the man had courage. Though he let an occasional groan through, he obeyed the order for silence even as his life slowly drained away. The slash reached across his stomach and through the gap, pink organs and yellow fatty tissue leaked crimson. A flash of white bone hid bashfully behind the initial gristle. It was beautiful.

His hand withdrew, setting the blade aside so he could pull the ropy lengths out with both hands. Supposedly, there should be several feet of the stuff. Plenty for his purposes. Steam rose from the gaping wound and his hands tingled at the heat as he brought the entrails forth. The texture was delightful, bumpy yet slick and firm. He smirked and reached for his blade, sawing until he held what he needed away from the man’s dying body. The echo of his panting gasps was glorious.

V turned away and pulled out the nail gun from his duffel bag. A few quick thuds and the man’s entrails made a delightful frame for his work. Yet it wasn’t quite complete.

He returned to the family and slashed at the man’s torso, ripping open his sternum. He had to punch at his rib cage until the bones shattered and the man coughed up thick blood as he sculpted his malleable form into the perfect complement for the wall nearby. The artist held one of the empty jars to catch what blood he could, but the light in his eyes was fading fast; too fast. He set aside the half-full jar and gripped his knife.

The blade crossed over his arms and legs, dancing a pattern that must be completed before the flow of blood halted entirely. Truthfully, he probably should have started with this.

He’d do better with the woman.

As the man breathed his last, V stepped back to admire his work. Jagged marks decorated his flesh, a tapestry of lines dripping red. The chasm of his belly was a sight to behold, though the smell was nauseating. At some point, he must have pierced his stomach. Vile.

Shards of ribs poked through his upper chest, a cavity where V had forced his way through. His heart pounded in joy at the sight, even better than his imaginings. He turned to the woman as the man’s bowels released in a cloud of foul perfume, wrinkling his nose.

Her eyes were still shut tight, her face angled away from her husband as if by denial alone she could bring him back. She was shaking, her tears run dry. She might go into shock if he didn’t hurry. He used the husband’s blood to finish the last section of blank wall and returned to the wife.

“Amy, was it?” the artist asked. Her petrified eyes flew wide, showing her terror-dilated pupils as she gazed at her husband’s blood and gristle splattering his body. She whimpered.

“Amy. You’re doing so well.”

Her eyes glittered in hatred. He didn’t care.

The fluids around his feet slapped against his calves as he leaned toward her. He’d learned his lesson from the man. “Don’t scream.”

His blade was lightning, flashing against her skin so quickly he barely felt the resistance as he sliced. She whined but managed not to scream. Truly, the things people did for their children amazed him. The pain was obvious in her dull eyes, though she still resolutely kept herself from seeing her husband’s still steaming corpse beside her. Admirable, though pointless.

The artist was panting by the time he was satisfied. Her body matched her spouse, save for the deep wounds that killed him. Perfectly prepared. It was time.

He stood and approached the child. Amy’s eyes widened and she thrashed, realizing far too late that her silence had bought nothing. She begged and pleaded, pathetic whispers offering everything she could think of in exchange for her child’s life. As if worldly possessions or sex mattered to him…

It wasn’t until he rested the bloody blade on the child’s gasping throat that the woman started wailing. He moved slowly, drawing out the moment as long as he dared. The child was too petrified to even scream as the metal bit through the corded muscles of her neck to rip open her windpipe, dragging across her youthful skin to pierce her jugular for good measure.

Her gurgling was barely audible over the mothers keening. The sound reminded him to hurry and he didn’t hesitate, plunging the blade into the girl’s belly and splitting her open just like her father. Hot blood cascaded down like a waterfall, coating her screaming mother and V alike. He brought the blade to his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he dug through her small body to find what he needed. There.

He tore it out and the child jerked, the trauma too much for her body to handle. It didn’t matter and he hurried back to the nail gun, spearing the liver in the ideal counterpoint to his artistry.

Almost perfect. He turned back to the mother, her incessant blubbering reminding him of what he still needed to do. She cursed at him as he came closer, damning his soul as if it wasn’t already beyond saving. He almost laughed, but there was no time. No, it was all he could do to thrust the tip of his knife straight into her broken heart and twist.

Ribs were truly the worst. The blade broke and he rolled his eyes, about to draw another but the damage was done. Her shouted curses faded into silence, only the dripping of her daughter’s blood breaking the quiet of the night. He hummed in satisfaction, pleased at his work.

Red light spilled through the lass of the front door, illuminating him as a siren wailed almost as insistently as the now-dead mother had. Damn. He thought he might have a few more moments before they arrived…

Now for the final touch…

The artist grinned as the door exploded inward, bringing his saturated fingers to his lips to lick at the crimson and humming as he found chunks of meat in his fingernails. It didn’t particularly appeal to him, but the look on the cops faces as they saw him was priceless. He couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting as they drew closer, guns drawn.

“There’s bags over there, if you need to vomit, gentlemen. I won’t resist, take your time,” he informed them with a wry smirk. Indeed, the first three officers lost their dinners at the smell and sight that greeted them.

The fourth merely gagged, keeping most of his composure as he stepped forward with handcuffs at the ready. V turned around to present his wrists and took one last look at his work with a grin.

His mirth vanished as he spotted his error. A void where there should have been lovely streaks of red. His masterpiece was ruined, incomplete and unfinished. Shock and dismay flooded his mind as the cuffs clicked home.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say…”

---Reader---

For over an hour, V lied completely still on the cot, spread eagled by the restraints. You wondered if he’d ever return to his former self, but finally his eyes blinked and he groaned; the first sound he’d made in half an hour. You leaned forward, intent to hear whatever he said next as he returned to coherence. His fingers stretched and he sighed.

“What happened, V?”

He didn’t respond, instead closing his eyes and clenching his hands back into fists. You waited, sure he’d say or do something interesting if only you stayed patient.

“I don’t know.”

You pursed your lips. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

His brows furrowed in concentration. It startled you to see such an intelligent man have to ponder such a simple question. Mental illness was no joke.

“Kevin left me alone… I was thinking, and now I’m still in bed but you’re here and I have a terrible headache.”

You stood and leaned into his field of view, meeting his eyes and assessing his status. Pupils looked back to normal, no gleam of confusion beyond the norm to be seen. He obviously recognized you. You released the strap holding his skull in place and sat back.

“My thanks.”

You hummed. It was best to let him get his bearings before digging in too deep, so you waited. Whatever he’d just experienced was intense and his mind likely needed a moment to gather itself again. The minutes ticked by in silence and you started to wonder if you were wasting your time when he spoke at last, his voice a croak.

“What time is it? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“I was about to leave when Aaron called me. It’s about ten now.”

He grimaced. What was going on? It seemed out of character for him to be aware of where you ought to be. Until now, he struck you as selfish and too consumed by his own struggle to notice, let alone care if he inconvenienced those around him. Was it simply an after effect of his episode?

“My apologies,” he murmured. “I do hope you didn’t have to cancel any plans.”

You crossed your legs. Was he trying to manipulate you, or was this closer to the man behind the madness? Was this who he was before everything went wrong? If it was, you didn’t want to make him feel guilty or ashamed. He needed to feel safe talking to you for you to help him.

“No, nothing like that,” you said carefully.

He didn’t react. Another long few minutes passed in silence. You didn’t press him. Not yet, at least. To keep your mind busy, you focused on the way the shadows played on the plain walls every time a breeze rustled the tree outside. A dance, almost.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked eventually.

“You recited William Blake, the same line over and over. That’s all I know; I didn’t see the whole thing.”

The artist turned to face you, his intense green eyes glinting in the low light. “What line?”

“For he saw that life lived upon death.”

His eyes closed. “The Book of Urizen.”

You wished you had his chart. He was giving you so much new information, what if you forgot something important? You had a pretty good memory, but even the smallest detail could prove crucial.

You almost smacked yourself in the face for your stupidity; you could record the whole exchange on your phone and transcribe it later. If only you’d thought of it sooner!

“Does it have any significance to you?” you asked, reaching for your purse and rummaging around.

“Not to me, no.”

There it was. Enough battery to last a while, too. You tapped the screen a few times until it started recording and held it in your lap. V’s eyes stayed fixed on you the whole time.

“Do you mind? I don’t have my notes.”

His jaw clenched but he nodded. What else could he do? Hopefully he’d still answer the same way.

“Not significant to you? Then who?”

He sighed. His lips twitched, the first echo of his familiar smirk crossing his features. If this odd honesty was an after effect, it was fading. Fast.

“To… another. One who is less amenable to your questions.”

“Griffon?”

He shook his head.

So, he hears others, too? Interesting.

“Vergil. I’ll say no more for now.”

You wanted to insist, but the sardonic gleam in his eye showed that he was back to his normal self. It would be a waste of energy. It felt like you gained very little from the exchange, but you wouldn’t know until you had time to process it. Who knows how much he just let slip?

You needed to get to your office.

“In that case, I’ll let you get some rest. Goodnight, V.”

You switched off the recorder, stood and headed for the door.

“Farewell, Y/N…”

You almost tripped at the purr of his voice. He was definitely back to his normal self.

~~~Next Chapter~~~