Their hearts were bleeding for different stuff, let’s wonder why
One held his dreams between his hands along with his heart, so thight his dreams turned into power, in a dormant town he saw a sweet prince immune to his eternal dream, he gave away his heart to the prince only to find it broken in a lonely aftermath
The other always felt different, always uncomfortable in a body that doesn’t feel right, he wanted to be perfect as what his heart told him, not as what everyone else told him, he bleed his heart longing for a wish upon a dead star that heard his call, the dead star asked him for his wish, immediately the boy said he wanted to be perfect…, the monster smiles as it ruffles his hair
-Oh Danny…, but you are already perfect-
His wish was granted but he had to pay the greatest price…
The next one was trapped in shadows of a dark godness, claiming blood she turned a hero into a servant who could not scape his fate as day an night get him closer to the breaking point, until a new beast arrived… The monster felt the shadows pain, so they split it in two, their hearts will both turn into roars when the time comes…
The final one trusted too much, so much he didn’t saw the monster roaming around him, although the monster loved to have a brother, as everything else in life, anything can’t last forever when you drawn it in jaws and oil, even so he said good bye with the monster in his final thoughts
I’ve been swamped with uni work between a huge dress make and my dissertation so this year is a bit of a quick one. Its inspired by the very old picture kid me did way back in 2006/07 so about 16 years ago.
I actually went out of my way to use very similar materials for this redraw - ballpoint pen, watercolour (only adding a little pencil so I could put a bit more depth in there). The new version feels like it belongs in a horror comic to me but maybe thats wishful thinking.
I’ll try to post again sometime soon - have a good spooky season :)
Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, brief mild gore, referenced past torture, creepy/intimate whumper, stalking, mentioned panic attack
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Unknown:
How’s your hand?
She hasn’t added the number into her contacts. She can’t risk his name coming up on the screen where someone can see it. And there’s something strange, something wrong about giving him a fake name on her phone when his real name is carved into her skin.
Unknown:
Attachment: 1 image
She never wants to look. But she can’t delete the photos without seeing them. Or maybe it’s just some kind of morbid curiosity, or some hope that maybe one time it won’t be a picture of herself being tortured.
It always is.
Unknown:
I miss you.
She’s a bit surprised that she hasn’t gotten in trouble yet for not answering the texts.
Unknown:
Your hair looks really nice today. Imagine that I’m running my fingers through it, smelling your cherry blossom shampoo.
After having a panic attack in the bus stop, she goes immediately home and throws out anything cherry blossom she owns.
Unknown:
I ordered something for you today. A special surprise for the next time we get to have a longer visit. I’m so excited to see it on you, I can’t wait.
That one haunts her every waking hour for days. A longer visit - meaning he’s planning on taking her again, overnight at least. And what could he have ordered that he’ll be putting on her? It could be clothing, another muzzle, another blindfold, more restraints… Whatever it is, she’s dreading it so hard that she can’t eat.
Unknown:
Attachment: 1 image
Surely he’s almost out of photos from that night by now.
Unknown:
Do you think that staying at home all the time keeps me from getting to you anytime I want? You’re so adorable.
Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, implied attempted noncon, fear of noncon, mild referenced gore
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“Going to meet with Marshall again, eh?”
A ripple of chuckles runs around the bunkroom. Adelaide slows her movements momentarily, but then returns to quickly retying her boots, ignoring what is clearly a taunt. Why it’s a taunt, she hasn’t yet figured out, but everything these men say to her is meant to either insult her or get a rise out of her.
Footsteps approach, a pair of worn black boots stopping just in her line of vision. She knows it’s Jones without looking up. “Yeah, we all know all about your little, eh…visits.”
“Who knew it would be Marshall that’d end up getting what all the rest of us want?” someone else sneers from further away.
Heat rises into her cheeks, and her stomach turns. Is that what they think she and Marshall have been doing all this time? Of course it is. These men can’t possibly think she’s doing something like sword training, learning to defend herself from them. No, they apparently still have one thing only on their minds, and it makes her simultaneously sick and furious.
“Of course he did. He’s first mate. So while we get reprimanded for even trying to touch her, he gets to -”
In one, swift movement, Adelaide snatches her dagger from its scabbard at her hip and stands, placing the point of it directly underneath Jones’ chin. The look of surprise on his face nearly makes her smile. He covers it up quickly, of course, scowling back at her.
She raises her chin. “What I do is none of your concern, and I’ll thank you to keep your opinions on it to yourself.” She could dispute him on what they’re actually doing, attempt to dispel this nasty rumor, but she knows it would do no good. Shutting his mouth will satisfy her.
Jones snarls. “You think you and your little knife can stop me? Can stop us?” He gestures to the two other men in the room.
Fear threatens to turn her legs to jelly and steal away her voice, but she draws on the bit of confidence she’s gained from Marshall’s lessons and stands her ground. “I think slitting your throat would do nicely toward stopping you, yes. And I thought you were smarter than disobeying a direct order of the Captain, but…perhaps I was wrong.”
“You little minx -” He steps forward despite the knife, and it nearly works. She flinches at the movement and nearly lets him in closer, but at the last second she remembers she’s the one with the weapon. She pushes it back toward him, digging the point into the soft skin beneath his beard. He stops, glaring, but there’s a wariness behind the look, too.
His voice lowers, threatening, spit flying from his lips. “If you think that you can just keep hiding behind the Captain, you’re sorely mistaken. Trust me, I can have you without the Captain ever knowing. You’d better watch your back, miss.”
She does watch her back. Constantly. Every moment that she’s not on the upper decks, she’s afraid. His words make that choking, crawling fear even worse.
But she steels her expression, refusing to show it, refusing to back down. She knows that if he and the other two men really want, they can knock the dagger right out of her hand and do whatever they want. It’s three against one, and the one is far less experienced. They know it, too. She’s just hoping that the threat of the Captain finding out will sway them.
An eternity passes before anyone speaks again. “You’d better let her go, Jones,” one of the other men finally says. “We have to report for duty any minute.”
“Fine. I’d rather let her wait and wonder, anyway.” He gives a wicked smile as he backs away from the knife before turning to stroll out of the room.
Adelaide nearly collapses when the door shuts. She wants to curl up in the corner of the room and sob, to ask herself for the thousandth time why she’d ever left home, but she knows it would do her no good. The moment would end, eventually, she’d have to stop crying and get up and go on with this life that she was now trapped in, and all of the crying and questioning wouldn’t have made her feel any better. Or worse yet, someone would walk in and find her in the midst of her tears.
Besides, she does have a meeting with Marshall to get to, and she’s already running late.
As soon as she walks into the storage room after a tense walk through the bowels of the ship, she blurts out, “When can I begin carrying a real sword? I feel I’m ready for that now.” The dagger he’d given her helps, yes, but it’s nothing compared to the swords everyone else carries.
Marshall tilts his head to one side, studying her. “Did something happen?”
She’s shaking all over, she suddenly realizes, and she still has the knife gripped tightly in her hand. She slides it back into place a bit too aggressively. “I do not wish to talk about it.”
“Alright.” He still looks concerned, but he doesn’t push the matter any further. “Let’s see how you do today, and then we’ll discuss whether you may carry a sword. Remember, we agreed at the beginning that you had to be fully ready to fight with one before anyone else saw you with it.”
Teeth clenched, she nods tersely. “I remember. But I need to be ready now.”
“Very well.” Marshall draws his own sword, gesturing with his head toward where hers is leaning against a stack of crates. “Show me. Prove to me that you’re ready.”
He doesn’t believe in me. He thinks I’m just as weak as everyone else does. Grabbing up the sword, she dives into an attack immediately, swinging hard, barely focused on her aim past the need to hit, to be strong. Marshall deflects several in a row before spinning away and backing across the room.
“You’re angry. It’s making you sloppy.”
She grinds her teeth together and lunges after him, not bothering to correct her form at all. He deflects again, then shoves her away.
“Miss Gray -”
“Yes, I’m angry!” She attacks again, punctuating each statement with a swing of her sword. “I hate this life! I hate them, I hate this ship, I hate you for bringing me here!”
It comes out her mouth without thought, but she fumbles once she realizes what she’s said. Marshall, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed. He merely nods, sword still held ready.
“Good. It’s about time that you got angry. You deserve to feel it. And you can use that anger, you just have to pull it in and focus it.”
Hewants her to be angry? She’s never been allowed to be angry before, and it certainly has never been encouraged. Adelaide paces in a circle, emotions pounding energy through her veins and making it impossible to stand still. “I don’t know how.”
“Well, let’s get some of it out, first.” He beckons her forward with his hand. “Come. Give me your anger. Hit as hard as you need, and if you want to say what you’re angry at, do.”
She doesn’t need a second invitation to get back into fighting. It feels awkward at first to start talking again, to pour out her thoughts to this man, but after a moment the feelings bubble over into words.
“I was never supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to have to spend my life frightened, waiting to be attacked, or punished.” The more she speaks, the faster the words and her strikes become. “I’m so tired of being scared! I just wanted to get away from Charles. I wanted to have a chance to live without a man forcing himself on me, and instead, I have a dozen of them attempting it!” She chases after Marshall as he dodges her. “And I hate myself for leaving, and I hate that living with him now seems like it wasn’t that bad, and I hate that this is probably my punishment for forsaking my marriage.”
This time when he pushes her back, she stays, panting, slightly embarrassed for revealing all of her sins, but surprisingly calmer than she had been.
Marshall, thankfully, doesn’t comment on anything she’s just said. “Now that you’re not exploding, we can work on focusing it. Feel it in your center. Don’t try to suppress it, let it give you strength, but keep your head and remember the skills you’ve learned at the same time.”
Right. She can…do that, she thinks. The anger is certainly still burning inside of her, just smoldering now instead of flaming up into a wildfire. She still wants to hit something, still wants to prove herself. But her mind is clearer.
Nodding, she drops back into her ready stance, sword raised. And she waits. Steadies her breaths, slows her heart beat. Marshall has taught her to always be wary of making the first move.
He rewards her patience by making it himself. She blocks his swing, and the next, ducks under a third and skips backward to reset. By the time he’s turned around she’s charging. She bombards him with a flurry of strikes, which he can only continuously parry, stepping back each time until he’s up against a stack of crates. Just as she’s ready to pin him, though, he spins out of the way and finds his footing again in the center of the room.
If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’s…having fun. Almost smiling. She is fighting better than she ever has before, but she can’t dwell on that or she’ll lose her momentum.
Their fights have been getting longer, as she’s been able to hold out better, but this may be the longest yet. It almost feels as if they’re evenly matched for once.
He does still win, eventually, locking down her sword arm and feinting a blow to the head, but she finds she doesn’t mind at all. They’re both out of breath, but she feels like the warmth inside of her is less from anger now and more…a glow, from knowing she’s done well. She’s actually proud of herself, for once.
“I believe…” He huffs, digging the tip of his sword into the wooden floor and leaning on the hilt, “…that you are correct. You areready.”
“Lost is the Storm” I made myself sad with this one.. *Trigger warning* blood and gore [and a mildly suggestive pose? I dunno @thefiercepranda said it] Swipe for the whole finished piece. More Critical Role spoilers of our poor captain Tusktooth after episode98 chewed him up and spat him back out. -Thanks Pickle Wife for the last minute assist on what to post and giving this piece a name-
Finally finished the comission for sims_superior_wife (Instagram). Perhaps, at the moment, this is the most hardcore comission of all that I have had… Ugh…
And also, the pink mold first invented during feeding for the “Fat King laughed: you’re going to die”(VK), it seems to be slowly starting to grow its strange ent… And it looks like it’s going to another fik … (Oh, the Devil! I haven’t finished the second chapter of Halloween yet! How much is possible?!)
The author tried to type the text on newspaper clippings until the last moment. And then the author realized that this would spoilerize the entire second chapter of" The Happiest Halloween, Zim “ completely. It was this fact, coupled with laziness, that stopped me.
Plus, I still haven’t decided on the color palette :D
