#this was on the same canvas and it looked like some ‘how i draw men vs how i draw women’ thing help

[myszcief]

hate (love) hong lu my absolute worstie + bestie faust

[anxiousbabybird]

Love and Deepspace men x fem!reader slightly unhinged and NSFW HCs, PART 2!

Once again, minors do not interact! I made you guys a part 2 of my current thoughts. No plot or card spoilers in my comments or reblogs, please and thank you 💙

Part 1

Rafayel

Have you met this man? He wants to know where you’re at and who you’re with at all times. So jealous. It’s probably in your best interest to forget other men exist once you’re dating him

Convinced you to suck his dick while he’s painting to see if it helps convey emotion into his painting—he accidentally pushed the paintbrush through the canvas when he came

Loves when you ride him—it’s so cute watching you bounce on him and use his body for your own pleasure. This also allows him to sit back a little and enjoy every sound you make, every facial expression, every feeling. Of course he does eventually get bored and flips you onto your back for his turn

Before you’re dating, he persuades you into being a nude model for him. He takes his time caressing your skin and telling you he has to “feel” the art, lets his hands wander and linger as he moves your body little by little until you’re in the exact position he wanted. Spends hours staring at your naked body, pretending to draw it (he finished his sketch hours ago but he doesn’t want you getting dressed yet)

Kinks/fetishes: biting, marking, breeding, spit, primal, spanking, mirror sex, praise, wax, shibari, choking, exhibitionism

Loves a pussy job—just sliding his cock between your folds and tapping at your clit like he’s knocking on a door until he cums all over you. Loves this for two reasons: 1) you look exquisite with your clit swollen and body spattered in cum, and 2) the banter between the two of you during a pussy job is top tier. It’s not quite degradation, but you’re both going back and forth in the most teasing way, riling each other up.

Has the biggest praise kink. He thinks he might actually die if you don’t tell him how amazing he is at least 12 times a day

Part of the pretty dick club. It’s actually perfect—thick but not too thick, long but not too long, nice veins wrapping around and well groomed at the base. Some would say it’s perfect.

Xavier

Sometimes when he’s flustered by you, his body emits a soft glow because of his evol. You notice it for the first time when you surprise him with a kiss to his cheek. He glows a little brighter the first time he kisses your lips too.

He’s fallen asleep during sex before. Usually after several rounds, he’s cum twice already, and you’re laying on your sides on the bed and he’s lazily thrusting into you from behind and all of a sudden he stops. Sheathed inside you and an arm around your waist. When you look over your shoulder, he’s sounds asleep and already softly snoring. You have no choice but to do the same, falling asleep in his arms and keeping his cock nice and warm all night

His favorite position is missionary where your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s slowly, deeply thrusting into you. He likes seeing every expression on your face, really feeling you sucking him in, hearing every breathy moan you try to hide from him. And he likes that he can kiss you whenever he wants

Likes to read at night, even though he falls asleep doing it. When you start staying nights at his place, he convinces you to read out loud to him and you do that every night until he falls asleep with his head on your chest.

Kinks/fetishes: hair pulling (he likes when you give a little tug), overstimulation, marking, cum play, face sitting, cockwarming

Loves fresh flowers and brings you new ones every week. He thinks they’re pretty and hopes you appreciate them the way he does. Sometimes he buys them or sometimes he picks them from some lush patch in the forest. Always takes some for himself so he knows when they start dying and he needs to get you new ones.

Loves to lay his head in your lap so you can play with his hair

The kind of guy who will keep his hand holding yours no matter what because he wants to make sure you’re staying beside him. Sometimes takes one of your hands and puts it in the pocket of his sweatshirt with his just so it stays warm.

Zayne

He was very opposed to fucking in the hospital at first but then on a day he was super stressed, you stopped by and sucked him off under his desk while he reviewed charts and he was able to successfully perform a surgery other doctors thought was inoperable—he was more lenient on sex in the hospital after that

Kinks/fetishes: size kink, spanking, brat taming, choking, degradative praise, impact (spanking/flogging/paddle), breeding, edging/denial, thigh riding, dirty talk

Has absolutely bent you over his knee to spank you when you’re being a brat and talking back to him all the time with no regard for your own well being. All he wants is to take care of you because you never take care of yourself. And he would take the best care of you.

Cunt smacks. No further explanation needed.

Favorite sex position is prone bone. He likes hitting it from the back because sometimes the prolonged eye contact that can come with facing each other makes him uncomfortable. But doggy style isn’t what he wants because he wants to feel your body against his, holds you as close as possible. This position works best because every inch of him is atop you and he can feel your body there beneath him, he gets to tuck his head into your neck to bite or kiss or moan into, he’s close to your ear and can whisper filthy things or tell you how close he is or how good you feel around him, and most of all, this position has him so fucking deep inside you that he swore nothing in this life felt better the first time he entered you in this way

Allergic to saying nice things to you 98% of the time.

He runs cold because of his evol and sometimes when he cums, it feels like ice inside of you. Made you scream in surprise the first time but leads to some fun temperature play where he uses his tongue to warm you up after. He’s also often cold and loves to curl up against you and tell you that you’re his heater.

#ThickDickClub

@luffysprincess @seraphofthesimps @adaurielle

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter one: A Favor Given.

Content warning for some … outdated views on women. Don’t worry, you can fix him.

The tournament of Fata Morgana brought with it all the excitement of a tournament, but given it fell so close to the annual Festival of Cupid, it held more still. For as well as the honour of victory, a gold purse and acclaim, the winner was given a crown of roses, to give to any maiden he saw fit to choose, and to open the Ball of Cupid by sharing a dance with said maiden. Captain Jason Todd, the knight of Arkham, had won the past three years, and each year, the same maiden had been given the crown.

You.

You, the princess, and only daughter of the king of a small yet ambitious nation. You, who while understanding that your affection for the hero of the battle of Arkham, the captain of your personal guard, could never be fully realised or acted upon. You, who had the last three years watched him compete with baited breath hoping to dance with him once more. You, who after he had first presented you the crown three years hence, had given him a favour the next two years. You, who on the eve of his fourth tournament, are sneaking down to where the competitors have pitched their tents around the competition field, to do so once more.

The air is warm, crickets and the nickering of horses punctuated by the occasional voice. They are stoic, not rowdy or drunken, that will come tomorrow when the contest is over. Tonight, the sense of anticipation and solemn preparation lingers over the field. You find his tent with relative ease, it’s blood red fabric near black in the darkness, but his steed is tied outside and pays you little mind as you hesitate outside the tent flap. There had been no hesitation when you slipped past your guards. No hesitation in deciding to come here. Still, you hesitate now, when the only thing separating you from him is canvas, struck with nerves over what exactly you would say to him.

Your stalling is ended by the tent's flap opening to reveal the Knight of Arkham standing there, staring you down looking less than impressed. Your mouth goes dry as the desert.

He stands there in loose pants, and a white shirt with the top eyelets undone to just above the lowest point of his pectoral muscles. His hair is mused and out of order. You feel your breath catch, and it is only your lifelong etiquette lessons that prevent you from doing something completely humiliating and degenerate like bite your lip. Granted you saw him nearly every day, but there was something about seeing him out of plate, seeming so much himself rather than maintaining stoic professionalism.

“Your royal highness, you ought not be here so late - and where is your guard? God preserve me…” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

You try not to stare at the way the action causes his arms to move and flex, or how soft his hair seems. Instead, you force yourself to look him in the eyes, and reply.

“All is well, surely. These tents are filled with knights. Men of honour. I am perfectly safe.” You speak softly, so as not to draw attention to your presence, despite what you verbally claim, you know full well that being undiscovered will better serve you.

Captain Todd-Wayne opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Sighs. You suppress an urge to smile, practically able to see his mind working on how to respond to that without offending your feminine sensibilities.

“Your Highness while your father’s knights - myself included - would of course never consider harming you, the matter persists you are without escort.”

You bat your eyes, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “You are the captain of my guard, and have acted as my escort a great many times.”

His jaw clenches, and he makes no attempt to rebut the statement. “Who was meant to be guarding your door this evening?” He asks tiredly.

“Sir West.” You supply.

“Well. Rest assured that by sundown tomorrow he shall be thoroughly reprimanded for allowing this to happen.” He says, anger brewing under his carefully stoic features.

You sigh, but do not argue. You came for a reason, and you will not be distracted by his ire in your goals accomplishment.

You reach into your pocket, and produce a thick, blood red ribbon of finest velvet.

You hold it out, and he takes it, carefully not touching your hand, but where the ribbon hangs from your fingers.

“Best of luck in the morrow.” You say softly. You hope he understands what you really mean. What you cannot say.

You hope he knows you love him.

You turn back into the night before he can respond, the soft look of awe on his face, though the same each year, too great a source of pain and longing for you to take.

___________________________________________

Later that night, Jason lays on the temporary bed in his tent, staring at the ceiling as he idly runs the ribbon through each digit, feeling its weight, its softness. He slides it through his fingers, pulling it through and winding between each with his opposite hand. He closes his eyes and his breath shakes as he recalls its owner. Imagines it in her hair, tying it up, exposing her neck and …No. No. No.

He clenches his hand into a fist, his eyes snapping open. He was a knight. Her Knight, Her protector.

He would not dishonour her with his perverse thoughts.

He refused to.

She had done him a great kindness, in extending her favour. Clearly she knew of his affections, given his actions at the three Tournaments of Fata Morgana past even a woman could deduce the truth of his pathetic circumstance.

It was a great kindness indeed that she allowed him to indulge, one night a year in an unreciprocated fantasy, even feeding into it with this, the most generous of gifts.

Fata Morgana. An illusion. How terribly fitting, his lone solace, the one mercy he allowed his starved soul. To dance with her, once a year. To lay the wreath of roses in her hair, and pretend he was more. That he was worthy.

That he was not the second, adopted, common son of his father. That he hadn’t been sent off to be a squire so young that the Wayne estate no longer felt like home. That he had risen to his honoured rank of his position because he deserved it.

They’d said he was. The king had called him a hero. The people called him a legend. It would not surprise anyone if his story outlived him three generations. Jason Todd, the hero of the battle of Arkham. He had rallied his men, and turned what should have been a massacre into an unparalleled victory, but when the screams fell silent and the dust settled, he had disappeared. He had been declared dead. Turned into a martyr. A fallen hero.

Until he had been found in the woods of the Al Ghul estate, with no memory of who he was or how he came to be there, six months later.

The greatest of healers had helped his mind return - but what happened to him in the lost six months escaped him still.

His Father had asked him to recover at the Wayne estate. He had refused. He said it was duty. It was. But not to his king. It was duty to her, and to his heart. He had not spoken to his father since.

He knew she surely saw only a knight. How could she see more, given how little he was? A knight pinning after her to be sure, but not one she would seriously consider as a marriage prospect. He was not heir, afterall. He was not respected, he was a novelty. A fearsome novelty.

Sleep finds him eventually, a merciful reprieve from his spiralling consciousness. Only to take him away to the same nightmare he has had each night since his return.

That flash of sky, of rocks ascending skyward, the smell of salt and of decay. Pain. Nothing.

[maekyart]

More OC x Pokemon because I can't stop >:D

Trainer 1 - Trainer 2 - Trainer 3

This one took me forever, I don't know why I thought drawing a team of six was a good idea (especially when only one of them flies, I fought for my life to fit them all in my tiny canva in an interesting way). More rambling + process bellow :

I was also looking for struggle this time, like, hopefully you can't tell but I suck at woman fashion and never know what my characters should wear. Men clothing is so boring irl (in my country at least), it's easy to twist it just a little and get interesting new stuff and ideas but women's? The bar is too high, help. And too add to the issues, I never wondered how the colours would go together when picking the team. So I spent a few hours coloring the piece and then about the same amount of time (or more) changing the colours again and again until it was nice to look at (I should keep record of my tries, some of them were atrocious, but now it's all gone aaah, sorry, you only get the nice art). It's like my own process was as chaotic as this team :)

Anyway, thank you for reading all that, I'll go back to drawing some other stuff (or more pokemon maybe, but a smaller team)!

[lunarthing159]

[ Gunshot, Rosette, & Canvas ]

A VSAU-AU Fanfiction For @rhapsoddity And Community.

Characters: Sheriff/Jimmy, Wither/Sausage, & Spectrum/Scott

Content Warnings: Detail of Injury, Non-Consensual Hypnosis, & Hot AU Men (Thanks Rhaps).

Extra Tag; @wilbygoesbrrrr Take Your Villain Saus Man

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Stillness.

It was all so still.. quiet.. tranquil..

Almost too much so for The Sheriff's tastes. This place is usually bustling with villains, or even simple criminals by this hour.. yet still.. nothing..

Heroes rarely ventured into the alleyways of this part of Empires City, it was labeled 'not of immediate concern' a long time ago and hasn't changed since. "Tch, figures." He would scoff under his breath at the thought. The whole job of heroes is to help people, and yet they ignore the areas that most need help. Typical, unfortunately.

Oh well, that means more work for The Sheriff to do instead. Hooray!..

Making his way from rooftop to rooftop using his lasso, Sheriff scoured his usual rounds, checking each and every alleyway for even the slightest motive. Even hours later, as he was already slowing down and yawning along the way, he kept searching.

He kept moving.

He kept slowing down.

He kept watching.

He kept yawning.

He kept looking.

He kept rubbing his eyes.

The Sheriff kept Searching

And the searching would seem to pay off.

A simple paper, tucked away in an alleyway corner. A letter, it would seem. The alley walls were lightly coated in city moss, adorned with glass panels & windows leaned onto the sides at the dead-end.

Bingo.

Sheriff decended down from atop the building, using his lasso for the first half and some ladders for the second. "There we go!" Picking up the paper, it read as follows;

To my newest accomplice,

I presume your travels have been well. As I last heard of you, all things are set on your end of our plan. The target has been found, we can begin stage two.

Turn around~

There was no time to react.

The moss along the alley walls came to life in an instant, rushing out towards the sheriff. There was no time to dodge. There was no time to flee. Within moments, he found himself bound within the vines, sprouted thorns digging into his clothes and skin.

And he knew exactly who was causing this.

"Hello there, little cowboy."

Wither. The Thorned Rosebush. The Garden of Decay. The Mania Flower.

He wore a scarlet red mask to cover his eyes and a shirt of the same hue, buttoned down just enough to where his upper chest was visible. He adorned a navy coat that flowed down to his knees with a collar that perfectly framed his medium-length brunette hair and beard. And his smile,,, one that terrified the souls of many, any, & all who have found themselves in his path and wake.

No matter his title to you, you only had one option,,, one chance of survival...

To Run.

Sheriff spent as little time as he could to collect his words, even as his body was thrown into the ground and his arms were bound above his head. He did his best to keep up his usual demeanor, to not showcase his fear,,, his terror. "Well hello there, I know I've shown myself to be a fan of ropes, but this is no way to showcase your own~"

"Oh?" Wither seemed to inquire, only stepping closer. Sheriff prayed the other didn't see the nervous gleam his eyes have no doubt obtained. "Then just how should I show you? Just how much would you like to see~?"

Oh. Oh Sheriff was in over his head. Wither kneeled right infront of him, not in some act of bowing, but as almost a tease, a taunt, a flaunt and display of the other's power in this situation. Sheriff darted his eyes around them, looking for any exit to this situation.

Sheriff let out a cry, the vines tightened, but only around his skin. The thorns dug deep into the flesh, drawing blood and loosening just enough to let him bleed. Dispite the many pains Sheriff has found himself in, he couldn't prevent tears welling up in his eyes. They were trapped there because of his mask, and the salt began to burn, bringing more tears to trap themselves.

"Adorable, do keep up the act, vigilant. Your suffering is delicious." Wither would taunt him, bringing a single finger to swipe across his cheek, causing another wound. Only a small slash, but it was all adding up to the pain Sheriff felt.

It was all too much, even for him,,, the act could be kept up no longer. "Stop,,," it felt so pathetic to beg, but he had no other choice. He couldn't try and writhe out, it would only dig the thorns farther into his arms, legs, & torso. He can only sustain so much damage and guarantee he can make it home. It's all he could do,,, all he could do was beg.

And Wither would only seem to grin wider at his suffering. Perhaps he actually did feed from pain? Who could say. "Don't you worry, I have no intentions to hurt you further. Keep your eyes open, Sheriff. It's time for stage 3~"

What?

And there it was, just outside his peripheral, endless colors began to warp where there was previously only darkness. The visuals creeped into his sight, coating the world around him in shifting and spiraling hues. There was nothing to stay latched on to. There was nothing to stay grounded to. There was nothing to stay focused on. It ate away at his focus, only intensifying every moment it stayed. And Sheriff knew exactly who was working together now.

"Hello there, Rosette~. It seems you've done your part rather well."

"no No NO-"

Not him, not them- anyone but Them.

But it was them. It was, in fact, Wither & Spectrum,,, working together... for... what? What would they need? What could they want? What,,, does Sheriff have to do with this? He,,, didn't know.

And somehow, that terror,,, it distracted him. The world around him began to shift, nothing stayed the same too long. He could hardly make out the walls of the alleyway anymore, only colors,,, endlessly shifting colors,,, endlessly moving colors,,, endlessly spiraling colors,,,

It was... mesmerizing, and any normal person would have fallen victim right here and now. But Sheriff wasn't normal, at least not like this. There had to be a way out, he had to stay strong-

Wither moved to be behind him, wrapping his arms around The Sheriff in a grapple almost adjacent to a hug. Sheriff struggled to not lean into this embrace. Spectrum made his way infront of The Sheriff, gently cupping the other's face within his palms. Sheriff desperately tried to avoid looking as deep as he could into such beautiful eyes. Both villains whispered words to The Sheriff, he tried not to listen, he couldn't hear them, he listened, he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Hush, --wboy"

"J--- -isten"

"-o thin---g"

"Relax n--"

"D--'t str--gle"

"Fall~."

And fall he did, ever so simply. The colors coated his mind so easily, covering up any thought he may have had and preventing him from forming new ones. They kept swirling in his vision, trapping his mind within it's spirals, falling farther and farther down. All will of fight left his limbs, falling limp within the hold of the one behind him. The world and all in it seemed to fade away as he kept falling further away from it.

His mouth would stay gently open, no tension to keep his jaw closed. His eyes would lose focus, not looking at anything in particular as the world itself seemed to escape him. No thoughts to form, no form to fight, no fight to give. The Sheriff, He could only Be.

Mossy vines untangled themselves from his flesh, retreating back to their posts along the alley walls. Two grins faced the empty husk of a figure, as they knew their plan had succeeded. The bright magenta hue that overwhelmed a previous eye color spoke it all.

They just got a new little puppet~

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Ello! Thanks For Reading! Hope Y'all Enjoyed Your VSAU-AU Villain Yaoi Scosage / Toxic Flytrap Husbands Content :>

[class-1b-bull]

class B with a friend/SO who loves to draw and paint? and is really creative

anajabaisbsjsbsh

thank you 🙏

lord and saviour provider of 1B content

have a nice day :)

Thank you so much! Have a great day! <3

Also I leaned more towards the SO side on some of these but it could still be either or!

Not proofread we die like men.

Awase -

He LOVES watching your creative process when drawing and painting. If you start to pull out your sketch book or whatever he will try to look over your shoulder. Loves drawing little smiley faces in the corners of your art.

Sen -

His entire social media page is pictures of you, random ass scenery and your art work. Every time you finish a piece hes practically running to go take a picture of it. Hes so proud and it shows.

Kamakiri -

Honestly didnt care for the art at first until one day you doddled him or his favorite bug or something on a random piece of paper you found and now he adores your art. He doesent show it but he goes over the moon when you ask him what to draw

Kuroiro -

Hes really edgy about it. Everytime he sees you painting hes just like. "The jet black on the tip of your brush is represents my darkness tainting you, who is the pure white canvas..." or smthn and your just like "actually the background is just black on this one..." please let him be poetic.

Kendo -

Loves seeing the finished product but she loves it more if you show her the ugly stage first so she can see how much changed! She just loves watching your process and how each piece changes over time

Kodai -

She has a few pictures youve drawn hanging in her room but other than that shes not very interested in the actual process. She does like going shopping for supplies with you tho.

Komori -

The two of you make 3d art pieces together. You paint a painting and she grows mushrooms on the sides of it or on the canvas itself to make it look like pop up art <3

Shiozaki -

"$100 to paint jesus" she loves your art! If you ask her for suggestions theyre all gonna be either religion related or scenery because thats just what she likes the most. Shes also one of your biggest supporters!

Shishida -

He loves your art and he makes sure your at your best when painting! Thirsty? He'll make some tea or get you a glass of water. Hungry? Hes already making a sandwich. If youre about to accidentally drink your paint water he will point it out to you before you can.

Shoda -

Hes not one for art but he likes to help any way he can! If you ran out of a specific color he will go right to the store for you. Hes also getting your favorite drink while hes there just so you dont get thirsty!

Pony -

Theres two wolfs inside of her. One is saying to keep all of your amazing art forever. And the other says to watch people bid for it on e bay (with your permission) and sell it to the highest bid. No matter what she is always supportive of your art!

Tsubaraba -

Hes known to be a bit of a perv so if you do nsfw commissions, his wallet will always be empty.. even if you dont though he adores your art! There is no more room in his room for your works.

Tetsutetsu -

Has probably accidentally messed up some setting paint on a canvas and then grabbed a brush to try and fix it.... only making it worse. Poor dude almost cried when you caught him ngl. His life savings is going towards art supplies as an apology!

Tokage -

You two tag team every painting. Youre coming up with ideas while shes looking for good references. You say youll need some pink in a minute and shes already mixing it. Need paintwater cleaned or a pencil sharpened? Shes already doing it.

Manga -

You know that art challenge where you and a friend switch paintings every 10 minutes until your done painting, he LOVES doing those. He also just enjoys both of you silently drawing in the same room as eachother. The class fridge is full of you twos drawings.

Honenuki -

Anything that has your drawings on it he loves! Once you gave him a sticky note with a quick 15 minute drawing on it and he carries it with him EVERYWHERE! One of the pockets of his hero costume is that sticky notes dedicated pocket! After each drawing he will message your hand to stop any injurys from forming <3

Bondo -

Like Shishida, he just makes sure youre taking care of yourself while drawing or painting. What good is an amazing artist if your sick and cant draw.

Monoma -

"I could totally do that.." then you hand him the brush and suddenly he shuts up. Will talk shit about how easy art would be for him if he tried but he would fight anyone else that said it.

Reiko -

She coaxed you into drawing a creepy ghost once and she used her quirk to make it float and chase people around the dorms in the middle of the night. She now keeps that same painting on her wall <3

Rin -

I really like the idea of using his scales for textures idk why. Like imagine you just drag him away from whatever hes doing, you ask him to cover his arm in scales and you just start painting him yellow. He loves helping tho and if you ran out of room to store things in your room his dorm is always open!

When I was writing this I got a random flash back to me selling nsfw drawings to highschool students when I was in 5th grade. I dont remember what I charged but I ended up with about 2k by the end of the school year. :>

[angelsonoah]

For artist ask :)

2, 18, 20, 30

Thank you for the asks!!

2) How long have you been drawing?

Since I was able to pick up a pencil! Or, crayon. So, I've been drawing around 22 years. My first canvas was the wall. Then papers and color pencil 😹 I wasn't gifted or anything, so the improvement came a long way. Before I knew it, it became a routine I just like to do. Even though some bad years made me stop drawing for 2 years, I started again in 2016, which is the first time i acquired tool for digital art(phone), and the same year I created my first blog. Befriending new people really inspired me.

18) What are you currently trying to improve on?

Anatomy! Failed miserably every time, though. Some days it works, some just doesn't. Lately, I'm focusing more on how to draw but also make my brain less overwhelmed/stressed. For example, drawing a sketch and be done with it, or just make it bnw and done. To prevent creating WIPs I don't even know when or how to finish.

20) What is the easiest thing for you to draw?

Men? Especially emo men like Dream. His type had always been my favorite even in other show so it's a habit that made it easier. 😁 and maybe facial expressions! I feel like I'm good at delivering the emotions in my art :3

30) What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist?

The urge to see my blorbos fucking 🥹 that dreampusi deserved to be ruined.

seeing my friends creations inspire me to create too! I still have long long way to go, and I can't wait how my future art will look like. It might be better, or worse than now. But I'm excited all the same.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Artists In The Sun

Ship: Hannibal Lecter x John Citta

Word Count: 874

Summary: Hannibal discovers that John also enjoys drawing and employs a cheeky tactic to improve his skills. CWs for romantic patient/doctor relationship, non-sexual nudity, brief food mentions, suggestive ending if you squint.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

John and Hannibal had been living together for a few months, though they had been seeing each other for longer than that- two years at John’s last count. They had met when Hannibal had been recommended as a psychiatrist for John, despite Dr. Lecter being a forensics psychiatrist and not your day-to-day therapist or psychologist, which is likely what John truly needed… still, Hannibal agreed to see him. Agreed to listen to him. And despite both knowing better, they fell in love. Luckily for John, Hannibal was very good at keeping secrets. Hannibal kept his job, relationship, and patient, all in one carefully planned swoop, while John worked at a record shop, content to turn a blind eye.

John was setting the dining table when Hannibal returned home from work, wasting no time in coming to his side and taking him in his arms, a soft and warm kiss passed between the two men.

“How was work?” John asked as Hannibal stroked the back of his hair, his maroon eyes full of adoration. He clucked his tongue.

“You know that’s nothing to discuss before dinner. But if you must know, no mishaps.”

John smiled. “That’s good.”

“How was your day?” Hannibal turned slightly and found his gaze captured by a set of papers on the tablecloth.

“I’d say the same as you. The usual.”

Hannibal picked up the papers, observing the graphite sketches tentatively. “Did you draw these, paukščiukas?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” John nodded, “when I had some downtime at work.”

A smile teased Hannibal’s features. “They’re me, I presume.”

John blushed and nodded again. Hannibal squeezed him and kissed his temple. “I’ve never seen any of your drawings. You’re very good.”

John waved his hand dismissively. “They’re just sketches… I’m more comfortable with digital art.” He wrinkled his nose as he looked at the drawings once more. “I hardly did you justice.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Hannibal touched his chin gently. “But if you insist on being humble, perhaps you would appreciate some pointers?”

John’s blush deepened. “Oh, Hanni, you already do so much for me. Don’t add arts tutoring to the list!”

Hannibal bent and kissed his hand gracefully. “It would be my highest pleasure, my darling. We’ll do a still life in the sunroom this weekend, if you would attend.”

“How could I refuse?” His stomach then growled and he covered his mouth behind his fingers, giggling in slight embarrassment.

“Ah, but first we must attend to our empty tenders.”

On Sunday, Hannibal arranged a canvas and easel in his sunroom, as well as the scene he wanted John to study. What he hadn’t told his boyfriend was that he planned for them to draw him, nude. It was both cheeky and well-meaning of him, to say the least.

“Come in, mein Schatz.”

John entered, wearing a loose-fitting, short-sleeved buttondown and houndstooth-patterned trousers. He approached the easel and gave Hannibal’s appearance an inquiring eyebrow raise. It wasn’t often that the doctor wore only his silken robe around the house. “Taking a casual day, Hanni?”

He smirked knowingly and began to loosen the robe’s simple belt. “I’ve deduced that the best first lesson I could give you was…” He elegantly removed the robe, revealing his soft but muscular body and a smattering of dark brunette body hair, streaked with somewhat premature grey. “Figure drawing.”

John briefly gasped, flushing instantly despite his intimate familiarity with Hannibal’s body. He could not draw his grey eyes away as Hannibal went to poise himself on the loveseat, picking up a book from the coffee table to quietly peruse as John worked. When no pencil was placed against the canvas, Hannibal gently cleared his throat. “Is there something wrong, John?”

John shook his head furiously, his blush creeping into his ears and neck. “Oh! Uhm, no, no, I was just a bit surprised, is all. Yes. Figure drawing. I could use a brush up on my anatomy.” He swallowed and returned his attention to the canvas. Amusement sparkled in Hannibal’s eyes. As he got over the initial shock, John’s lines began to flow smoothly. Hannibal had even lent him his good charcoal pencils. The minutes ticked by. At the hour mark, John excused himself and returned with glasses of water and a tin of cookies for them both. Another hour passed before John let his partner see the product, a shaded, loving depiction of such a dangerous man.

“I already see improvement from those initial sketches. Well done, darling.”

“You think so?” John’s eyes glittered expectantly. Hannibal chuckled, kissing his cheek.

“You are such a precious thing, John. Let’s put it in my office.” Hannibal put on his robe and the two of them moved the canvas to his home office. John spied his initial sketches on Hannibal’s desk.

“You’re keeping them?”

“Of course I am. Everything your hand touches is holy to me.”

John could have swooned. He held Hannibal’s face in his hands. “You are too much.”

“But its what you deserve. Would you like to see my recent drawings?”

“Of course.”

Hannibal led him to the desk, opening a top drawer. John had scarcely to look at them before passionately entwining with his lover. He already knew what was there on the pages.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 25 - The Shadow of Death

I finally wrote the story of how Kamaria got The Scar. This is canon verse, but essentially this same scene happens in every universe except college and royal. Mind the tags.

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Masterlist

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Contains: lady whump, self harm, panic attack, implied threats of noncon, blood

.

.

Everything is spinning. Kamaria came into her own tent to get away from everyone, to feel safe, but she isn’t safe at all. Only a piece of canvas separates her from all those men. She can’t catch her breath and the ground keeps shifting beneath her feet and blen, any one of them could just walk in here anytime they want. She isn’t safe. She’ll never be safe.

beautiful                                            beautiful

                   exotic

                                      gorgeous

      beautiful

                              enticing                  beautiful

Clutching her head, she struggles to pull in air and sinks onto her bed. No. No, not her bed, she can’t sit there, not after what he said earlier. She can almost feel his hands on her now, pulling at her, stroking her skin. Catapulting to her feet, she scrubs at her arms, the back of her neck, her chest. All the places he touched. She can’t erase the feeling, though, no matter how hard she tries.

beautiful 

           beautiful 

                       beautiful 

                                   beautiful 

                                              beautiful 

                                                        beautiful 

                                                                  beautiful 

She can’t scream, no matter how much she wants to. They’ve trained that out of her for the most part over the last four years, even if it was unintentional on their part. She thought they’d trained crying out of her, too, but right now there are tears dripping down her cheeks and what little breath she can draw is coming out in broken sobs. 

She doesn’t want to be beautiful. She never asked to be beautiful, never gave a thought to what anyone might think she looked like until human men started taking notice of her. They’ve spent the last years proving themselves untrustworthy in every other way, but she never realized just how horrible they were. Until recently. Until she changed from a child to a woman, and they decided they had a right to put their hands on her and threaten to -

Kamaria lashes out at the few possessions in her tent, scattering them to the ground, picking them up and throwing them again when that doesn’t at all satisfy the stabbing pain in her chest. There’s a pile of armor in the corner that some officer ordered her to shine and she’s about to go after that, too, when she catches sight of her reflection in the breastplate. 

Stopping short, she stares for a moment before dropping to her knees in front of it. That’s her. Brown skin, not as dark as her mother’s, green eyes like her father, loose brown curls like her grandmother, and the pointed ears that define her as Vaya. 

        exotic

                                                                      exotic

                              beautiful

stunning

                                                      beautiful 

Is she beautiful, really? She doesn’t know. But beauty is a curse, at least as a Vaya woman among human men. 

The longer she gazes at her own face, thinking about what they must see when they look at her, the sicker she feels. She can’t keep doing this. The touching, the whispered descriptions of what they want to do to her, the images that burn behind her eyelids of her friends, her family being snatched by soldiers and pinned to the ground…

She can’t breathe.

Something has to change.

The knife from her hip is in her hand without her realizing she’s drawn it. She stares down at it, then back up at her reflection. Her hand shakes uncontrollably as she brings the tip to her face, resting it just below her hairline. It doesn’t break skin yet. She just holds it there, trembling, tears still leaking from her eyes. 

beautiful       beautiful       beautiful      beautiful 

                                     NO!

The blade digs in. She drags it down her forehead, between her eyebrows, alongside her nose and mouth. Blood wells up in its wake, and begins spilling down over her left eye and the bridge of her nose. For a moment she leaves the tip there, on the right side of her mouth, just watching the deep red Vaya blood as it drips.

The knife falls from her hand and clatters against the breastplate before hitting the dirt. Still, she doesn’t look away. The cut isn’t clean, it’s messy from an unsteady hand, but that’s what she wants. She wants it to scar. She wants it to be ugly, to mar her face forever, to make everyone who sees her wrinkle up their noses and walk away.

Her tears stop falling. The men’s voices echoing in her mind finally grow quiet. The cut stings badly, but it’s nothing compared to the pain she’s used to and it seems to take away the pain from her chest and the churning in her stomach. 

Kamaria takes a full breath for the first time since entering the tent, shaky but under her control. 

She won’t be beautiful anymore.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics With Titles That Start With M (2) Masterlist

part one

Made For Love - cringe-attack

Summary: A lonely, guarded boy, Dan Howell is Uni dropout with two big secrets. Without any deep passions, he spends his days finding new jobs to get fired from. But everything changes when he lands a job at a gardening center- and when he meets Phil Lester, who’s about to pull Dan’s secrets out of him like weeds from a flowerbed.

made for you (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Phil, in all the years he's known Dan, can tell what he's thinking with a glance, a lock of eyes. Dan, in all the years he's known Phil, is the same.

aka the fic where they have a super psychic connection and insane communicative skills (real life)

Magi (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Dan doesn’t know how he hadn't thought about a gift for Phil yet. Phil is still feeling a little weird about how much he spent on Dan’s gift.

A fic about coincidence and sacrifice.

March Twentieth - placingglaciers

Summary: It’s the beginning of spring, they are juvenile delinquents, and some community service is in order. But that doesn’t mean they’ll actually do it, of course.

Mark Me Up (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: The fan in the broadcasting room does little more than circulate the hot air around and makes the sweat stick to their shirts, making a whirring noise as it oscillates. Phil takes a breath, willing the skittish feeling in his fingers to stop because Dan's shirt keeps riding up and his trousers keep sliding down, exposing slivers of pale gold skin and freckles and everything that Phil is itching to take.

Master Painter, Aspiring Model (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Phil Lester is a master painter looking for a muse. He finds the ultimate muse in Dan, a young university student who becomes his nude model. Over a period of six weeks, the two men fall for each other and have to make a decision when Dan's contract expires.

May I Kiss You? (ao3) - Azure (Fancy_Ravenclaw)

Summary: After finishing university Phil Lester goes on holiday to Greece to celebrate with some friends. There they meet a group of Italian tourists, one of whom catches Phil's eye. Phil has ten days to win Daniel Howell's attention.

Maybe you don’t really want me here - icequeenjules26

Summary: Dan and Phil have been broken up for months, and Dan is over it, he really is! It's just that maybe he possibly isn't over Phil after all...

me time (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Phil enjoys his mandated time alone.

Mean the Most (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Dan figures goodbyes are inevitable, and he’s learned how to leave very effective ones for better or worse depending on how he feels about the person he’s saying goodbye to. That morning he’d given a good one to Phil.

A au fic about friends with benefits and necessary conversions.

Messy Handwriting Club (ao3) - vendettafrank

Summary: Dan is an artist. His main goal in life is to create a masterpiece. No matter how cliche that sounds.

Every day is a struggle when you have art block. One day, on a Halloween night something changes and Dan draws something he never expected to draw. But the next day the drawing is no longer in the canvas...

What happens next will changed Dan's life forever...

Metanoia - sin-n-city

Summary: The plan is to avoid getting too drunk; drink just enough to chat Phil up a bit. Make him blush so much that there is no denying that Dan’s the one causing the prominent tinge of redness on Phil’s cheeks. That way, Dan can get away with it. That way, he can act like the previous night’s events never happened. And that way, Dan can repeat the process, until maybe, it doesn’t have to just be a process anymore.

Midnight Whisperings - manchestereyes

Summary: Snapshots of Dan and Phil’s history, from 2009-2016, told through Dan’s moments of 3 AM introspection.

Middle of Somewhere (ao3) - throughtheirsnoses (det395)

Summary: Phil's an apprentice at a library who is drawn to a regular visitor with fluffy hair and a questionable attitude

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

Miserably Delicious - elliesfics

Summary: Phil’s a demon who feeds off of human arousal. The catch, he’s not allowed to touch. Luckily for Phil, he’s got a firm grip on the art of mental seduction. 

(TW) Missing (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: "So we have a new update on the serial killer running loose around London-" Dan turns the tv off, he didn't want to hear anymore. He just wanted Phil back home, safe and sound.

Missing Pieces (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: When an accident occurs in the middle of filming a new video for the gaming channel, Dan finds himself becoming more reliant on Phil than he was comfortable with. Unfortunately, Dan needs the help and can't push Phil away, but he can feel the situation beginning to dredge up feelings that Dan had pushed away years ago and buried deep within himself.

Missing you (ao3) - roman

Summary: Phil watched as the Skype call went through and Dan's beautiful, pixelated face showed up on his laptop. His smile was wide and he looked really happy, Phil missed seeing this side of Dan; he just missed Dan in general.

-

Phil is in Florida, Dan is not. Phil misses him

Mistletoe Miracles - jilliancares

Summary: Dan just wants to kiss Phil Lester under the mistletoe. And, okay, maybe he wants to do more than just kiss, but so what?

More at Eleven (ao3) - TwistedRocketPower

Summary: Phil Lester, the most beloved meteorologist at Southeast News, isn't sure of many things in his life. One thing he is sure of, however, is that he absolutely hates the new entertainment news anchor, Dan Howell.

More than 2 and a half weeks (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The night before Dan leaves for the American leg of his tour, Phil pulled him into shooting a video and then he pulled him into his arms.

More Than One Thousand Words (ao3) - ctrling

Summary: Dan’s a writer, always staying up late writing stories that won’t ever be read by anybody but him and Phil, so when he can’t think of anything to get Phil from Christmas, he decides to write him a story about their life together so far.

Music Man (ao3) - lilyxxxooo

Summary: Phil attends a concert with one of his best friends. He's really not that interested. Well, that's until he sees the tall, beautiful piano player with the dimple.

My Immortal - yuurisnice

Summary: Two years. Two long years Phil had been alone. Sure Dan was still his best friend; they still lived together and hung out and talked, but there was just something missing. That missing link is what made Phil feel alone.

[shyhaya]

So.. I spent all evening writing this.. I hope it's good. I was feeling inspired, so..

Here's a one-shot following my 'Just to see you again' one. This time, featuring my friend, uppermuse1 's OC!

This is an Upper Moon Two/Douma x OC one-shot. Don't like it, don't read it!

Also, this contains manga spoilers!

« As it was »

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

Icy blue eyes stared intently at the canvas, looking carefully at the landscape design painted in it. A soft melody could be heard as background noise, as the brunette let out a hum, her brush drawing delicate forms in different colors, all of dark tones that reminded of the night sky. She had been painting for hours now, her body moving just when she needed to dip her brush in another color.

She was there since the sun set; first alone, until her long time friend had come to visit her. Hatsumi humored Yushiro for a few hours, chatting about how each of them had been doing the past month. However, after dawn, he had retired to his own home. Although normally stern with his friend, Yushiro always knew when she wanted to concentrate and be alone.

In the past, this fact may have made him inclined to stay, knowing the fragile mentality she had the first few years on her own. But this time, Hatsumi seemed content, relaxed and most of all.. happy. Like, genuinely happy. This left him feeling good, to know she would be fine. And so, he left her in the same spot she now was, totally focused on her what she was drawing on her canvas.

Just when the alarm in her phone went off, showing it was currently 4:45 in the morning did Hatsumi stand up from her seat, stretching her non aching muscles to go and take a bath, deciding to sleep for a while but knowing it was going to be difficult. It was funny to her, how a century ago she wanted to sleep all the time instead of facing reality every night. And now, she couldn't wait for this day to pass.

She thought about this as she was finishing her night-morning routine, chuckling softly at the irony. How curious it was, that the same thing -people- that she missed and made her so sorrowful before is now the very same reason she was so happy now. Honestly, Hatsumi at first didn't believe she would be happy again. Now, it was almost surreal.

And as she had predicted, sleep evaded her for maybe more than half an hour, but she still fell unconscious after much tossing around.

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

Hatsumi wandered carefully around the enormous state as different people, from young men and women to elderly people went on with their day. She had been there for two days now, and even though she was confident in her ability to disguise herself, the brunette had a feeling someone was watching her. If her suspicions were right, this was a fact.

Normally, the sighting or presence of a demon wouldn't have swayed her to investigate further but she had grown curious. In her travels a considerable amount of people had mentioned a special place for troubled individuals or just anyone that needed a home or some divine guidance. Some had commented how it was weird that people they knew went there to never be seen again, while others said nothing wrong was there.

This had been enough for Hatsumi to finally visit the Eternal Paradise Cult. And as she suspected, a demon was residing there, among the humans.

It wasn't difficult to realize this demon was a powerful one, and after her first day she had a hunch that there were possibly two demons. This made things harder for her, because if she could feel them then they certainly could feel her. Hatsumi decided to get out of there, but before she could even think of walking towards she exit, she was pinned to the wall by the throat.

« Where did he come from?! Wasn't there people a few seconds ago?! »

Her instincts were overwhelming her with the need to do something, anything to save herself from dying, but instead of surrending to panic she tried to focus. The demon restricting her was powerful, that Hatsumi could perfectly notice even though he didn't have the characteristic kanji in his eyes, so he couldn't be a lower nor an upper moon, fortunately for her.

He seemed to be a little bit taller than her, with red/white hair that covered his right eye. The left was of a purple color, and golden marks adorned his cheek and neck. He was wearing a mostly black with red outfit and a thin tail swayed back and forth behind him, almost like a cat's. He was growling at her while his sharp nails cut the skin of her neck, no doubt he wanted to end her, but she would at least try to do something to avoid it.

"What is a weakling such as yourself doing here? Speak now or I will kill you."

Hatsumi tried to calm herself down before answering, something that proved to be complicated when she was being overpowered like this. Still, she made an effort.

"I was just.. curious.. about this place.. because I've heard humans talking.. and saying how people.. specially women.. went missing.. that's all.."

The only eye visible in the demon's face narrowed. He probably didn't believe her, but she was talking the truth and he seemed to be thinking about it.

"You blend in with humans well, and you feel.. different. Is that really your only goal?"

Once she nodded, the redhead let her go but instantly grabbed her right wrist, ordering her to be quiet and follow him if she didn't want to die. Of course, Hatsumi agreed silently and walked behind him, feeling the wounds on her neck healing. She looked around, not finding any humans; this was weird but she didn't question this out loud, until they arrived to a fancy looking door, where he knocked three times before calling.

"Brother? There's something we need to discuss. May I go inside?"

From inside the room, a cheery male voice answered.

"Of course! Come in Akemi! And please, bring in our guest~"

Hatsumi flinched. The other demon was already aware of her presence and what she felt was so.. strong. It wouldn't surprise her if this demon turned out to be one of the Twelve Moons. Clenching the skirt of her kimono, the brunette stepped inside the room after the redhead tugged her.

"So she's the one who sneaked here~ she's cute. Don't you think so, little brother?~"

The one she now recognized as Akemi made her kneel down, and she heard him scoff as the other, more cheery demon approached them.

"She's weak. And I'm sure you know this too.. she is not like us. I don't trust her."

Hatsumi heard a light chuckle, before the other demon -Akemi's older brother- leaned and lifted her chin with a fan. The first thing she saw was the rainbow in his eyes, the different colors clashing beautifully in his orbs, before her own eyes widened when she noticed the kanji craved in them.

"You are right Akemi, but she is so.. interesting~"

« Upper Moon Two.. just my luck.. »

Said demon grinned with false happiness at her, and Hatsumi was surprised but intrigued by how.. empty he seemed.

"What is your name, lovely?"

The blue eyed demoness took a few seconds to process his question, too trapped in her fear and fascination.

"Hatsumi.. my name's Hatsumi. What about yours, Upper Moon Two?"

The words escaped her before she noticed what she had said. The blonde in front of her stared into her eyes, a brief sparkle of curiosity lighting in his orbs. His grin widened.

"You may call me Douma. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hatsumi-chan~ I know we'll get along just fine~ Don't you think so too, Akemi?"

The redhead looked at the blonde, surprise evident in his eye. His expression said he wanted to refuse, but he contained himself.

"So.. we're keeping her?"

Douma gave him a nod, smiling as a little child would when someone gifts them a new toy. Akemi sighed, and Hatsumi wondered what did they mean with 'keeping her'.

"Well Hatsumi-chan, it seems you'll live with us for a while!~"

She just hoped it wouldn't be anything bad.

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

Hatsumi woke up slowly, blinking a few times to make sure she was completely awake. She tended to wake in the middle of her rest by a nightmare; so to awake peacefully after dreaming about her first encounter with the two people she loved most in her life was so shocking and wonderful.. that her eyes glossed over with tears as a nostalgic smile formed on her lips.

She stayed like that for some minutes, just replaying her dream/memory and shedding some tears. Yes, maybe how they met wasn't ideal, but she treasured every moment they spent together, no matter what happened. The brunette sighed and sat up, doing a couple of stretches as she had grown accustomed. Then, she took her phone -she really admired the humans that created them- and checked the time.

« 12:00 pm.. »

"I slept for so long? That's new.. Well, at least I have enough time to get ready."

She mumbled to herself, starting her daily routine. She made her bed and went to the kitchen to get her rations. Then, she entered her room again to pick her outfit. She choose something nice but casual, rearranging her closet out of nervousness. Maybe this wasn't the first time she went out with him -they had done so once a week for the past month- but this time was different. This time the two of them will be present.. Hatsumi was excited and scared.

« What if he hates me..? I mean, he hated me before but.. will it be the same? Everything has changed now. I don't want to be trapped in the past.. although they look exactly the same as back then.. »

The brunette questioned in her inner dialogue, pouting. She glanced at the phone again and shook her head, deciding to not dwell on the subject anymore as to not stress herself. She was happy to be reunited with them, and that was all that mattered. With that in mind, she walked to her little art studio, looking at the painting she'd been working on a few hours earlier. It was almost complete. Hatsumi figured she could finish it when she returned home that evening.

She spent the rest of the time reading a book and chatting with Yushiro. The hours went by extremely slow for her, until it was finally time to get ready; she took a quick shower and dressed herself, looking through the window of the living room to see if the sun had set already. When she deemed it was safe for her to go outside, she grabbed her purse and coat before putting on her shoes, noticing she had a message from him, a simple 'On my way with Akemi! Can't wait to see you! <3'.

Hatsumi smiled tenderly, forgetting her nerves and walking through the snow covered streets. Winter would always be her favorite season of the year. It was so festive and beautiful, and the little snowflakes reminded her of the two she cherishes so much. She wore her coat even though she didn't get cold, looking at the sky and loving Winter a lot more because with it's weather the sun was covered most of the time, making it easier for her to go out.

As she arrived at their meeting spot -a park with pretty Sakura trees that waited for spring to make them bloom- Hatsumi looked around for them, soon seeing two very familiar figures in the distance. She smiled sweetly as they neared her. Her blue eyes softened when glancing upon Akemi. He was the same as she remembered. His most demonic traits were gone and his skin was flushed pink by the cold, but he was the same. His eyes were the pretty purple color she liked and he still covered one of them with his red hair.

Being completely honest, Hatsumi had seen pictures of him before. But to meet him again in person, to stare at his grumpy but curious expression and to see him beside his brother.. all this almost made her break into tears. Her heart was beating fast, she felt warm. She felt whole again. All those years waiting and asking whatever superior being was up there if she really would see them again were now justified. To feel like this again. Every last second of pain was worth it to her.

"Hatsumi-chan! I missed you darling!~"

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the blonde suddenly wrapped his arms around her. The brunette laughed and hugged him back, nuzzling into his chest, enjoying his warmth as one of the things that confirmed her he was fully human. She pulled away slightly to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, smiling widely when he looked at her and she saw a speck of emotion in his rainbow eyes.

"Douma-san we saw each other last Sunday, don't you remember?"

Hatsumi felt the urge to laugh when his cheery expression changed to a cute pout.

"I do remember.. but that was so long ago! Do you know how excited I was to see you and to have you meet my little brother?"

She nodded, fully parting from the hug to look at Akemi, whose face practically screamed 'get a goddamn room', she bowed her head as a greeting. The redhead got closer.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Akemi-kun. Your brother has told me much about you."

The younger of the three made a slight bow, sighing softly as he looked at her.

"Likewise.. Hatsumi-san. Even though I still question my brother's decisions, it is quite pleasant to see you are.. decent."

His words were expected, and Hatsumi felt happy to know he was the same tsundere she knew before. She maintained her smile.

"I am glad you think so. I hope we can get along."

Akemi looked briefly surprised, but quickly regained his composure, adverting his eyes.

"We'll see about that.."

She heard his little mumble, but didn't comment on it, focusing instead on the amused expression on Douma's face as he watched them interact. The three then walked together to a café to buy some hot drinks, where the blonde offered to go order for all of them, indiscreetly leaving Hatsumi and Akemi alone so they could talk.

"Akemi-kun, is there something you want to tell me?"

Her question seemed to take him by surprise, as he only looked at her for a few seconds.

"Why are you being so nice?"

She tilted her head confusedly. He sighed and looked down.

"You've been going out with my brother for a month now.. and everytime he returns home he talks about you like.. like you really understand him. Like you.. honestly like him. Earlier too. You acted nice."

She smiled warmly.

"You think I'm not genuine with my feelings? That I'm using your brother?"

Akemi stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"I don't trust you. This has happened before. How can I know if you're honest?"

Hatsumi hummed softly, her gaze never wavering.

"I don't know. I can't tell you a way for you to be certain about me.. but I lo- like Douma very much.. More than I've liked anyone in my life. I feel connected to him. Like it was.. meant to be. And with you. I've heard so much about you, I'm fond of you already."

Now it was his turn to look confused at her words.

"How can you say that?"

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

He had asked her the same question long ago on a Winter night. They were outside, not too far from the cult's place. Hatsumi had said she wanted to get some fresh air, and both brothers accompanied her. It had been.. at least a year since she had sneaked into their home. A year, and she no longer felt like a prisoner.

It was kind of ironic that when they were not doing anything besides looking at the sky and walking around, some slayers stumbled upon them. The humans had quickly pointed their swords to them, scared but willing to fight. And maybe it was because her instinct told her to move or because she didn't want anyone to get harm, but Hatsumi had tried to fight the slayers, getting a pretty bad injury in the process until her companions had killed the slayers. Even when she didn't attack to kill, she had defended them.

"Are you stupid or what?! Why did you do that?!"

She had winced as Akemi yelled at her. His brother watched her injury slowly heal itself.

"He is right Hatsumi-chan. We are strong, you know? You could have been beheaded! Not that I would have let them~ But what possessed you to do that?~"

Douma had talked to her in his everlasting false happy tone, but there was something different about it, a subtle change at the end, as well as a strange sparkle in his eyes. Hatsumi stared at the ground.

"I just.. I didn't want you to get hurt.."

Her tone had been shy, and she could feel Akemi's stern glare.

"How can you say that? We can protect ourselves."

Hatsumi looked at them with a tender gaze.

"Because I care both for your brother and you. I'd rather let myself be hurt than let anyone hurt you two."

Both brothers had been shocked by her confession, and in that moment something shifted in them. They looked at each other briefly, confirming they had thought the same. Douma cupped her cheek, staring at her with an amused and not so fake smile.

"You don't have to worry about that darling~ We won't be defeated that easily~"

He helped her stand up and they returned home. When they were arriving, Akemi turned around to face her, an expression she had never seen before on his face.

"Thank you for what you said.. but don't worry about us. We are the ones who should look out for you.. You won't get hurt again."

Hatsumi smiled tenderly at him after she got out of her initial shock, nodding her head. Akemi returned to his usual attitude when he saw her so moved.

"But it's not that I care for you.. You're just weak."

The redhead said, going on his way. But even if he denied it, the brunette knew he cared.

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

Hatsumi went back to the present time, still a little stunned by how similar Akemi's question and demeanor had been to the first time he said that. She focused on him again, giving the answer she felt was right.

"Because I care both for your brother and you. I'm not asking you to believe me now, but I promise you I'd rather let myself be hurt than hurt you two."

Akemi looked at her, not knowing exactly what to say to that.

"You.. you really meant that..?"

The brunette nodded, staring at him with the same warmth she always had reserved for them.

"I do. I mean it."

His eyes stared down again, as he thought about her words. Hatsumi let him take his time. It wouldn't matter how much it took, she'll win his trust.

"Then.. I suppose I'll try to believe you.."

She smiled widely at that, and continued to do so the rest of the evening. They walked her home, with the brunette and the blonde scheduling their next date while Akemi looked at them with a deadpan. Then, they said their goodbyes and the two brothers left. Hatsumi watched them go and went to her art studio to finish her painting, suddenly inspired.

"And~ did you like her? Isn't she the best?~"

Akemi looked at Douma and sighed.

"If she makes you happy, then it's okay for me.."

The older of the two giggled, knowing very well his little brother was growing fond of her. Meanwhile, Akemi stared forward again, thinking about what she said and how familiar it was to him. Like his brother said when he first mentioned her.. 'It's like I already know her.' A small smile appeared on his lips.

"She's not so bad I guess.."

─────❀◦❀◦❀─────

A few hours later, Hatsumi grinned contently at her finished work. She signed it and wrote something at the bottom. The painting was a beautiful night sky, with stars and a bright crescent moon. There was also a hill illuminated by the moonlight, where three little figures stood. The way they were designed made them look like they belonged together. The brunette gave it one last look before walking out of the room.

At the bottom of the canvas, there was written:

'Where my heart belongs.'

Finally! I finished! I was so excited by this one-shot I just couldn't stop writing~ ^^

Anyways, I hope you liked it <3

Dedicated to @uppermuse1

Your OC and you have inspired me a lot. I'm so glad to have you as a friend :3

[stingslikeabee]

❝  looks worse than it was.  ❞ his sunglasses discarded, he offers her a grin - the grim mark across his left eye something of a focal point for many. the pink flesh that surrounds the white of his gaze, an old wound so easily disguised with the swagger of designer shades (so unfortunately garish without them). regardless, he isn't uncomfortable beside her; not when he knows her so well, and has so many of her girls on speed-dial. he retracts into his seat before stealing a sip of his drink - urges her to do the same with a look. "i mean - i could tell ya th'story but it's no different than all the others. i pissed off the wrong person-" a small chuckle, a lean in close beside her - close enough to bump a shoulder with her own - sebastian no stranger to touch "what about you? got any horror stories-" he pries, grin widening "any marks y'care to share? y'know me, melissa, i'll be respectful." and then a snort. him? respectful? flirtatious perhaps - but never respectful.

unscripted asks . always accepting

"Really? I guess I should have seen the other guy, hm?" the brunette quipped with a small smile, amusement twisting the corner of painted lips while crimson nails held a glass which Melissa did not yet touch. Not because she wasn't feeling it - but because the bartender of that place in particular was really good; the colors of the ingredients mixed nicely, creating an artificial sunset landscape in her glass that was rather enticing.

But no more than Sebastian - although the woman was positive that whatever story he shared would be different if he offered to do it for a second time. It was just so difficult to pin him down - and it was precisely part of the charm, wasn't it? Melissa was used to screening people for her girls, selecting those who would not be dangerous and came with deep pockets... And after all these years reading men for pleasure and partners for business, she was drawing blanks with him.

Sebastian had no reason to harm her, but the man was no protector - maybe, just maybe, this was why they worked so well together and the reason their partnership was seeing such a nice profit for both parties involved (and her little flowers, of course).

Eventually, Melissa did sip the cocktail - only because the colors seemed to have settled and she could do with something refreshing on the tongue. The brunette never moved her eyes from him, however - and his attempts at encouraging her were weak at best, but the modern-day madame knew he wasn't trying; not really. It was no actual quest for intel but more of something to amuse himself with.

And where was the harm in a little game between friends?

"I'm sure you can imagine I have my own secrets from the time I was not yet a gardener; there is a reason I'm no longer a pretty flower myself, darling," Melissa chuckled, another sip of the drink going down but with slight less grace than the first - almost as if she was preparing to share some incredible confession.

And her body language matched it - the brunette leaned forward, the movement highlighted in how the jewelry around her made soft jingling sounds, as if bells were toiling at a distance. The perfume got stronger, the twinkle in her eyes brighter - honey-colored hues like expensive whiskey and inviting Sebastian to get drunk on them, too.

"My issue was always with ties, belts and phone cords. The more respectable they act in public, the more likely they are to use it for control. Luckily, my scars are only internal," she spoke with such tranquility about the topic that one had to wonder - was it even true? The horrors of the profession were not difficult to picture, but had Melissa lived through it at the time she was paired to clients by another, perhaps a less attentive and prudent agent?

"I like keeping my neck free of fabric since then - besides, I look fabulous in a plunging dress. Not a bad canvas for some of the necklaces I own," the woman chuckled, moving just a bit backwards and imposing distance once more between the two of them - but the conversation remained charged, as if the brunette had not shifted at all, "Wouldn't you agree? I'm more than willing to receive the next commission in diamonds, if you happen to be short on cash."

[amdigitalcharacterillustration]

STYLE STUDY 06/06/24

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For homework, we were instructed to pick an artist and artstyle and explain why it appealed to us.

For my choice, I picked Ilya Repin, a well renown Russian painter, who lived from the late 1800's to the early 1900's. I have always been interested in Repin's works, even from a young age, for his incredible portrayal of emotion through oil on canvas. His infamy later meant that his realism style was adopted by Russia as a whole, and became the national artstyle.

I will be focusing on these three paintings specifically:

- Barge Haulers on the Volga (1870)

- Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan (1884)

- The Self immolation of Gogol (1909)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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Barge Haulers on the Volga

The Barge Haulers on the Volga was one of Repin's first pieces, the one that launched him into notoriety amongst Russia's art world.

Like much of his work, it was based off his experiences, and encounters he had whilst traveling.

The Barge Haulers on the Volga depicts 11 men hauling a ship over the land, ready to collapse from exhaustion. Their misery set with their dull and dirty colour palette that starkly contrasts the bright blue sky. The piece holds an air of hopelessness, of people stuck in horrid never ending labour that repeats on loop.

That aside from one boy, stuck out against his peers with his brighter depiction, actively fighting against the bonds that hold him. The younger generations rebellion against the grain.

This art personally resonates with me for not only it's heavy emotion, associated with Repin's work, but how it story holds true hundreds of years later, being a constant parallel to modern day.

The older generation, ground to the bone and slave to their own repetitive, and tiresome, nine to five. Contrast to the youth, fighting against the system and refusing to comply to the corporate machine, craving a change in destiny.

I love how, despite how the world changes, humans will always be the same in some way. Creators of their own torture.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

This piece was the one that got me into Repin's work in the first place, so it holds a very special place in my heart. It inspired me to focus on implementing such stark emotion into my own drawings.

The depiction of Ivan is arguably Repin's most famous artwork, though many may not be able to tie his name to it, if you were to show them the piece, they'd recognize it immediately.

Ivan the Terrible was the Grand Prince of Moscow during the 1500's. He was coined 'terrible' for his questionable acts and many failed war attempts with neighbouring countries.

Repin depicted the moment that Ivan killed his son, accidentally or not, in a fit of pure rage [a temperament he was well known for].

The setting is wonderful. The murder weapon and signs of a tussle [the rucked up carpet, and the tipped over ottoman], in a family room, a place that entails peace and prosperity between people, a place of safety, bloodened by an act of familial violence.

For most, seeing this painting strikes very deeply. Since it's emotion is equal to that of a digital picture.

The raw regret and anguish Repin painted Ivan [Sr] with, as he desperately clutches onto his bleeding, dying son, realizing what he has done; Alongside the singular tear on Ivan [Jr's] cheek as his the unmistakable look of death sets into his features, unable to do anything to the fact that he is dying in his attackers arms, is all enough to make this painting unforgettable.

This art sits with me, not only for it's wonderful and intense detail, but for the simple fact it is what got me into more expressive representation in the media I create.

Repin's skill with eye's in this particular piece is what gets people the most, along with me. Both father and son look regretful, perhaps even scared, but only one of them is getting out of the situation alive.

Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, will forever be my favourite depiction of realism.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Self immolation of Gogol

The Self immolation of Gogol is a more obscure work from Repin, and far less polished looking than the others. It was made to celebrate the birth of Gogol, who is depicted.

Nikolai Gogol was a famously talented Russian writer, who, much like Repin, became the go-to example when discussing Russian literature today.

He succumbed to extreme mental illness, burning the manuscript of his follow up novel to a book called Dead Souls, believing he was being controlled by the Devil to create it. He starved himself to death shortly after.

Repin's painting is meant to capture to moment Gogol threw his manuscript into the fire. Struggling against his assistants grip as he locks eyes with the heavens above, silently pleading for God to recognize his act of repentance against what the Devil had him do.

Again, Repin's eye-work is clear here, so clearly showing the desperation and mania in Gogol's stare: wide, unblinking, and hungry for an answer. He is illuminated only by fire in a dark room, fire being thing so often associated with the Devil, signifying [in my opinion] that even if God is listening, the Devil is the one who is present.

It showed Gogol as someone the Russian public could feel sorry for, and respect. A very important reputation to have back in Russia's older government hierarchy system.

Something about this more unrecognized work, stirs my emotions in an uncomfortable manner. It makes me feel something I don't like, which in of itself I like.

I love how it makes me feel like I'm watching a cinematic frame, how it feels like I'm in the very same room as Gogle, stepping into a personal moment I shouldn't have, witness to his hysteria.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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Overall, Ilya Repin was a very thought provoking artist, his work continuing to hold power over people's hearts when they see it. I truly recommend looking further into his sketch pieces and design process, since it hold very similar to how artists work today.

And although I don't find myself wanting to replicate or copy his realism style, I still respect him greatly for putting such a heavy influence on the genre as a whole.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

[magical-glimpse]

Hello! Happy holidays!

Could you interpret this dream please? I didn't want to bother you on the holidays but this just happened so I'll put it out there for when you have time.

Dream first part:

I was in a classroom, sitting in a table. There were other students there. And there was this guy who I've never seen before (black hair, wearing a black turtleneck). He was standing next to me cause I had found a vcr remote control and it was working on the class tv for some reason. I tried to see which vcr was responding cause the co trol was mine but there were like 4 and none was LG. The guy tried to help me see. After that we went back to focusing on the class i think. We were working on the design for a video game i think. He was the best at it. He was drawing backgrounds with a beautiful tree and leaves and the soil all with beautiful colors. Using something I've seen before but I can’t recall (a 3d canvas for digital painting). The rest of us were watching him work, including the teacher. There was a girl very pretty. Chubby and blonde. She wanted to see closer so she walked up to where i was sitting (i was positioned to the left of the guy, une row behind). And she stood in front of me softly leaning on me. I felt her weight getting heavier the more she leaned on me. And I thought how cozy it was. I strongly dislike physical contact from others but this time i was feeling relaxed and warm. Like covered by a warm blanket. I started to fall sleep. I thought about the teacher scolding me for not working in class. And fell sleep.

Then I was at my old home. I was wearing a robe. I was watching the street and suddenly a teenager tried to walk through me in to my house. She pushed her way in saying she was friends with my brother and they had a project to do. All of the sudden I was naked. Idk when my robe disappeared. Also I saw that behind her more teens where walking up the stairs to my house. So I ran into the bedroom while covering myself. My mom saw me and asked what was it. I explained to her who was there and we looked around a corner to find the teens some on the tv, some sitting on the floor and the first girl laying on our couch browsing her phone. Mother tried to tell them to leave but when she passed in front of me she was naked too. I stopped her and tried to get a robe for her while getting one for myself. Once covered I marched outside and told them kids to get out of my house. Then I saw one of them looked a lot like the guy from the first dream but obviously like 10-15 years younger (same black hair and black eyes. White t-shirt denim pants and a puffyblack jacket). The kid that looked like him tried to flirt with me. I wasn't amused. I pushed him out after i managed to push the first girl out (she was taller than me, brown hair tanned skin, burgundy tank top, denim shorts). The boy looked at me from outside the gate. He was trying to make conversation but I wasn't really listening. I was thinking how much he looked like the guy and that they were probably related. Maybe siblings. Then I woke up, inside dream 3.

I had the sensation of waking up. I was still in my old home but my bed was next to the front window. I had a flashback of my parents getting ready to go out and telling me. I reflected on the first dream looking for something to write it down and thinking the weight i felt of the blonde girl was my mom saying good bye perhaps. I opened the windows cause everything was dark inside the house and saw 3 men I didn't knew sitting somewhere up the street. They felt dangerous at that moment. I thought of checking if my mom was indeed gone. I went to the bedroom and everything was dark. To dark for me to try to open the windows. So i closed the bedroom. I was very uncomfortable and thinking those men I didn't knew might try to break in to the house if they knew I was alone. They didn't. This is supper blurry but i saw them drive by in a car laughing at something.

Then there's a big blur. And I'm walking on the street naked again. Covered in sand. I enter this place that looks like a farmers market. There's some big swings and one had my robe on it. I tried to put it on and though how upsetting was the sand. Then a big middle aged man (bald with dirty blonde beard wearingsomethingI'dexpect a butcher to wear, long white apron, yellow t shirt) asked me what i was doing. I tried to put on the robe faster. The man gathered the attention of others there and the started to move towards me. He told me: "You can't sit there. Don't you see the swings? This i a kid's zone. And you (looks me up and down) are a spectacle". Then proceeded to ask me who i was and why i was there. I felt dizzy trying to answer. He said dont tell me you're sleep walking. All of the sudden I didn't knew where i was. I was aware the farmers market was familiar but not enough to be a place I've actually been before. I didn't knew how i got there. I didn't knew who this people were. I was about to tell them that I was in fact sleep walked. At that point the guy from the first dream walked in. Yelling "Here you are, I've been looking for you". Made me think of Howls moving castle. I pull me against himself and said some stuff to the butcher that i dont remember. And walked outside while dragging me with him. We turned right into an alley and he started walking faster cause butcher was following us. I looked towards butcher and motion for something to come out of the wall and catch his arms. That's when i realized i was dreaming. I tried to put more obstacles in butchers way by willing them in to existence but he wouldn't stop. So i took the guy's other hand (we were running holding hands) and flew towards the sky. The guy was scared at the beginning. I was happy he went to find me and started wondering who was this. My conscius mind theorized he was my soulmate. As long as I'm happy is ok. Then i saw flashes of our family and the blonde girl was there and i was like. I wouldn't mind being a trouple with her. I saw we were happy.

Thanks a lot for your hard work!

Okay so the second part sounds kinda familiar, i'm starting to wonder if I didnt visit you in your dreams lol

The first seems to be mostly your brain trying to find comfort somewhere? Someone doign something beautiful in a familiar setting, someone leaning on you and you feeling so comfortable you fall asleep. The second part seems more about fears you might have about loss of privacy, loss intimacy, vulnerability etc. Usually the home represent you, in your sacred space, so someone invading that, even moreso multiple pushing you when you and your mom are naked, seems like something those teenagers represent make you feel super vulnerable or scared. It's probably not literally you being scared of teenagers, but maybe you are scared of strangers causing trouble in your inner or private self, of a past of being bullied, of your brother or behaviors he has which could make you feel less safe within your self.

The part about the dark home lets me think that in a way, even when you are on your own you have these fears. You are scared of the same thing when you are alone in your home that when you are surrounded with people. It is drawing a parallel between two things that you might want to look into yourself.

The last seems to be a last parallel, the fear of vulnerability you have when alone and surrounded by people in your home, you also have out of comfort zone. Like, very far out. Have you been forced to leave home or leave your comfort zone recently despite not being ready to or still having some things to sort out internally ?

I find it interesting the pattern with the guy in the black turtleneck and the blondke girl, they may be archetypes or actual people but it is interesting and you should look into it if they come back in your dreams.

[dreams-go-abc]

A is for ART (ARNAR #1)

This is just an unfinished short story! Want some actually good storywriting from me? Check for links in my bio or under the text!

---

Theory implemented into Arnar’s brain let him experience the world in the most dry, inhumane way possible - pure theory, no feelings or understanding. That’s why Maria let him leave the flat, the code was “What’s the word of the day?” and Arnar took one unexpanded idea from his database.

“What is art?”, asked Arnar, sitting down at the table one morning. “Dictionary defines it as the making or study of paintings, drawings, etc or the objects created. How would you describe art, Maria?”

“Art is art, you go to art gallery and see a painting, that’s art. I’ll make a sculpture and some would call that art. Some call dance an art form.” she answered gesturing with a spoon above her cereal. “You going out?”

“Yes. Word of the day is art.”

He stepped into the pavement and observed people walking on it. There were children with parents everywhere and in the park in front of their flat was a festival full of music and dance. He walked that way. Entrance to the park was clogged by masses of jumping kids screaming to their parents. He stood among them and looked above the shoulders of men blocking his way, in the space close in front of them, where technically he shouldn’t be causing any traffic jams, was someone playing a guitar and singing. He didn’t hear the words between the cacophony of sounds surrounding him. After the song ended he managed to get in further.

In one of the alleyways he saw a man with an easel and pack of paints. As one of few people he was observing buildings behind the fence of the park and drawing them with precision on the still clean canvas. Arnar sat next to him and watched as he led the lines.

“Are you looking for something?”, asked the painter, his voice quiet, almost silent in the rush around them.

“What is art to you?”

The question seemed to put him off his stride but he shook his head and went back to drawing shapes, this time marking placement of the decorative widow shutters of Maria’s block of flats.

“Who knows? Art is art. Painting, sculpture, to hell, it’s all the same. If you made it and has no purpose except looking nice then it’s art.”

“That’s why you’re painting?”

“It’s the only thing I know.”

Arnar looked at him once again, he didn’t look like an idiot who’d know only one thing. Even then, he knew that knowing only one thing wasn’t possible, humans always knew something about everything.

“Don’t look at me like I’m stupid. I can cook and clean, wash my windows and make small talk with cashier in Spanish, but abilities I’m sure of? I can only do art on paper and canvas. They don’t need a lot of people like me so I’m painting in hopes someone sees it and decides I’m needed to make a mural or an advert.”

Arnar thanked and walked away, mixing into the crowd moving towards the centre of the park to see the newest attraction. He’s heard something about a concert and he stopped in his tracks, hasn’t he seen someone playing an instrument very recently? Where’s the difference between a concert and a song heard on the side of the road? He changed his direction and went back to the entrance he took, the boy with the guitar was still there sitting on the side and looking at his phone.

“Why are people going to the concert and not listening to you?”, asked Arnar without a greeting.

The boy was confused but who wouldn’t be! But he seemed to be thinking about the question and finally looked at Arnar.

“Because concerts seem to be more important. I play on the street so I’m a piece of rubbish, know little so I’m not worth two cents but if I played on that stage, surrounded by staff, with a microphone? I’d be someone.”

“But you are someone, why a microphone would change that?”

“It’s a saying. I’d be someone, I’d be important and better than some roadside musician.”

---------------------

my actually good stories: @ghostly-stories-by-agispa (Polish and English originals!)

my fanfics that I'm actually quite proud of:

archiveofourown.org/users/agispa

[angelictyphoon]

Aid was always rendered at a distance. Bandits and thugs looking for an easy mark never found one in this particular corner of the desert. Merchants, tradesmen, all directed and paid to deliver their goods to the orphanage’s front door. One time, Vash managed a circus.

Adjacent is the closest he has ever been. Like Wolfwood and Livio, he has not set foot on its grounds proper since that day. 

There are children old enough to remember. 

Most people do not soon forget when they see such a thing; an explosion of crystalline feathers glimmering in the sun twisted at the breadth of their tips by the torsion of spinning bullets – miraculous or monstrous, and the pendulum generally swings in one direction more often than not. Small problems, petty problems, problems he has faced before. 

What Wolfwood and Livio each face predates him. How they are received is far more important, and it is telling that Vash discerns no ripple of fear, no bated breath as the children watch on with bald curiosity.

Vash flashes his companions a double thumbs up, content to remain a part of the background noise and fuss as they step indoors. He only has the opportunity to study the two rooms they pass on the way to the stairway. Vash drinks in all the organized chaos of everyday life with wide-eyed fascination nevertheless.

Piles of laundry, sorted by color, have been separated into different halves of the room. With children, it is easy to tell which side is which. ‘Clean’ is a temporary state of being in these parts, he imagines. The storage shelves are far from bare, as evidenced from freshly purchased pantry goods and the occasional flash of colorful treats stored at the highest shelves; kept well away from all but the most daring and impertinent hands.

Goggles and his caravan must have made it up the hill and past, then.

For the duration of their walk through the orphanage’s halls, up its worn stairs, past the walls that bear scars of another kind, of smaller hands and smaller feet, Vash tries hard to imagine that Nicholas and Livio were once small. The orphanage itself is a canvas, and nowhere is free from wiggly, scrawling crayon doodles, taped on drawings, or the crowded timelines of many height charts that migrated away from crowded door frames. 

The reunion precludes him– he assumed.

“Oh, uh…” Vash’s brain immediately scrambles for an excuse, and he almost manages one until he looks into Nicholas’s eyes. 

That’s that. 

His arguments disintegrate. Taking Wolfwood’s hand into his own, Vash squeezes and submits himself to inspection on the couch as well.

There are three full-grown men sitting on her sofa, but motherly scrutiny makes boys out of them all. Melanie smiles at them all, hands on her hips.

“Oh, don’t look so dour.” 

She starts from the right, with Livio. Tears brim in her eyes as she reaches out, smoothing her hands over Livio’s elbows and patting up to his broad shoulders, sweeping up to catch his chin and to study his gaze, then back down, taking his impossibly large hands into her own and mapping the lines of his palms with her thumbs. 

The little boy with puffy eyes and a tear-streaked face is still there. He’s old enough not to need so much rescuing from his big brother anymore. With a clean section of her apron, she gently dabs at the corner of Livio’s eyes.

“Looks like someone’s been feeding you well,” Melanie smiles. “Have you been getting enough sleep? I know it can be hard some nights…Remember to focus on your breathing.”

Nicholas next.

Melanie follows the same routine as she did with Livio, shoulders, face, hands. Like the black markings around Livio’s eye and the metal cap over his ear, if she notices the odd glimmer in Wolfwood’s eyes, the peculiar pattern of beard hairs that are more like feathers collected along his jaw, she gives no indication. They have all seen and survived stranger times, and she does not think to question the gift of having Nicholas and Livio here when she learned so long ago that children of blessing are rarely ever seen twice.

Both of them are too young. Too young to carry so much sadness, so much pain, and so much death. 

“Still getting yourself into trouble, I take it?” Usually by helping someone else (so often to his own detriment, so often ending in that very spot on the sofa, in this office). That remains no different then as it does now.  Nicholas looks perfectly healthy otherwise. Of course, she has surmised that there are additional reasons for that. “I’m happy enough knowing you finally decided to take an old woman’s advice.” 

Melanie glances at the final member of their party, who jerks to attention and visibly squirms like a funhouse mirror when she steps in front of him.

“Ahaha…” Vash laughs nervously. “Hi, ma’am. Name’s Vash…the Stampede…”

Two years have passed since the end of the world. The orphanage evacuated under dire threat, its inhabitants spirited safely off to the ship in Brad's capable hands, all thanks to Vash and his timely intervention. They survived to return, to rebuild.

Riddled with wounds, parts on the verge of collapse, a past that refuses to bow to the present, Hopeland still stands. Steadfast as stone, stubborn as any abbey on Earth, it has a future. So do those who occupy its walls. Humanity is nothing if not resilient; a seed of hope is all it takes, blooming into determination, into something beautiful in the wake of something terrible.

The hush is telling: bated breath as the suns rise and dapple the parish courtyard through cracks and bullet holes.

It all happened so suddenly. But they already knew who he really was.

Laid out on his back with the bladed barrel of a gun buried in his gut, a boot to his neck. Wretched, struggling. They saw. They saw the bloodshed (torn apart and remade again, again, again), the iron stench of a killer forged, a would-be protector. Burned into his retinas, the sorrow in Ms. Melanie's face. Her gentle admonition, his realization that he could have done it if he'd just asked for help.

All the excuses in the world meant nothing.

I...made a friend...

They knew, no matter how he begged her to tell them otherwise.

They knew then, and they know now.

They know all three men approaching the property line, and information spreads as rain through dry river beds, little hands to little mouths to little ears and beyond. There are plenty of new faces amid the familiar ones, some young, some older, some on the cusp of venturing off to find their way in December and elsewhere.

Mouth dry and heart in his throat, Wolfwood finds himself regretting his abstinence from cigarettes for the day.

While caretakers come and go as fortune and need dictate, Ms. Melanie is a fixture. Though her temples have silvered and her smile lines have deepened, her eyes are as knowing and as keen as ever.  She gestures almost imperceptibly; the figure perched in the dormitory's second floor window withdraws (along with the threat of a rifle) at her assent. "Well, no sense in just standing there. Come up to the office."

Livio worries at the insides of his cheeks and doffs his hat, fighting the urge to flee from his brother's flank. To his credit, he does not leap from his own skin when Wolfwood claps him on the shoulder, though both of them share a glance with Vash before following.

The ceilings are shorter than either of them remembered. Thick, sturdy walls and a banded door give way not to the vaults of a church but to the shapes of a building purpose-modified over the decades. The short entrance hall splits off into storage and cleaning rooms foremost, another barrier of safe separation from trouble; further down, hints at classrooms, kitchen and dining quarters suggest sequestration, security, away from the drive up and the worst damage. Melanie leads up the stairs, slow and steady, to the second floor—a space with a view for monitoring inside and out.

Off of the nursery, where the youngest residents of Hopeland are the closest guarded and most carefully watched, the converted Prioress’ quarters are sheltered with narrow slit windows and hand-painted murals on stucco. Every available shelf space is covered in art projects, in framed photos, in precious memories. The squat writing desk has been sanded and stained, but the graffiti etchings and paint splatters remain.

Melanie nestles the infant in her arms into the bassinet beside her worn easy chair, nodding at a wraparound couch nestled beside the door and against the wall. Sun and wear have weathered it to sky-blue, for all that the covers have been lovingly washed and re-stitched.

"Take a seat and let me have a look at you boys."

Rote, this. A calming ritual for her and for any of the troubled youths sent for a chat in this quiet sanctuary, she clasps her hands over her apron and stands between the double-duty ottoman-coffee table and the sofa. When Livio sits at the far end, he shuffles uncomfortably, unearthing a floppy stuffed tomas from between the seat and the back cushion, and it is all that he can do to bite his lip and stifle his sniffles. Wolfwood settles beside him, a sturdy presence. He overturns his left hand to Vash, silent offer.

Maybe a plea.

“You too,” she directs Vash, watery-eyed but smiling just the same.