I have been trying to figure out how to draw Raul bc my style is super inconsistent, but I’m very proud of how this came out! Raul is the best companion ever
Also redraw of that one Matthew Lillard post cause I love it sm
I have been playing so much Fallout New Vegas so here’s a little doodle of my favorite character Raul! I love him so much and I wish he was a romance option.
It was an afternoon as quiet as any other. The sun filtered in through the vast windows; casting a beautiful natural light across the penthouse. The perfect environment for a glass of wine and a good book.
So that’s exactly what you did, all curled up on a plush couch, engrossed by the pages in your lap. The wine went down easy, putting you in a state of content bliss. Even in the absence of your husband.
It wasn’t uncommon for him not to be home for a majority of the day. His decoy, of course, took care of public appearances, but there was still much to do behind the scenes. He spared you the details of the inner workings of his business, but you knew it to be a well-oiled machine. So you never complained about his disappearance. Not as long as he was home for dinner.
Solitude was always something you cherished anyways, and he was the same. Not to say you didn’t enjoy your time together, but the time apart was never spent in anxiety. And it made your reunions so much more special.
The soft ding of the elevator pulled you from your book, looking up from the pages to the sliding metal doors. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly. He was home early, a rarity in his busy schedule.
You watched as he emerged from the elevator. Your heart fluttered as it usually did when you saw him. But something was off, from where you were sitting you could see little flecks of red coating his clothes as well as his face.
It took too long for it to register as blood.
“Oh my god,” you muttered, springing into action. As you hastily tossed your items onto the table, the book slid against the glass, knocking it over with a clatter. The spilt wine didn’t even cross your mind as you hurried up the stairs. You only stopped when you were close enough to confirm that it was, in fact, blood. Lots of it.
And he just smiled, his typical greeting when he arrived home. Like nothing was wrong.
“What…” you breathed, slightly winded from your frantic trail. “What happened?”
He remained silent, the smile lingering on his face as he stepped into your space. Before you knew what was happening, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.
You were stunned for a moment, the sudden press of his lips a shock amidst the mysterious blood that clung to him. It was commonplace for a peck on the cheek or forehead, but the full pressure of his lips against yours, the grip that pulled you flush against his body, that wasn’t.
But you still welcomed it, electing to relax into his hold. You couldn’t afford to let his sudden affection go to waste.
When he pulled away, you were speechless. Through the whirlwind of emotions that fell over you, no words would form on your tongue. All you could do was stare as he wiped a smear of crimson from your face.
“Help me wash off, will you?”
Your head nodded before you fully understood the question.
You followed him to the bathroom where he sat on the edge of the vast tub, watching intently as you retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet. You warmed the water to a comforting temperature in the sink before wetting the cloth and wringing it. There was a slight tremble to your hands as you approached him, raising the cloth to his head.
His eyes closed immediately at the contact. With gentle strokes, you wiped the blood from his skin. Red seeped into the cloth, clinging to the material with a certainty that could never be erased.
He let out a long, soft exhale, a sound you recognized as contentment. He would never tell you how good the press of the warm cloth felt or how he enjoyed your proximity, but you knew. You’d grown accustomed to the cryptic nature of his emotions.
With each soft brush of the cloth, there was the realization that not just blood clung to him. There were also small chunks of flesh that caught the slowly reddening fabric. You let out a shaky breath, beginning to wonder just who you were cleaning off your husband.
You weren’t going to ask, considering your ignorance to be precious. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?
But that thought shattered as you ran the cloth across his cheek. He flinched suddenly, jerking his head away from your touch. Pulling away, you noticed the purple hue on his skin: a growing, painful bruise that just barely missed his eye.
“Tell me what happened,” you said softly. His eyes opened, meeting yours. There was a glimmer of consideration in them before he spoke.
“The details are unimportant,” he started, “but if you must know, I’m working on a new piece of tech. The trial I ran today, it yielded…gruesome results.”
It was strange, the feeling that stirred in your chest. It wasn’t fear, that would be too rational. It was an overwhelming sense of fondness, a complex, primal longing for the darker reaches of your husband’s psyche. The thrill that shot through you at the implication that someone had died at his hand, it was akin to a future addict finding their first fix.
“You…got hurt?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. He smiled at you again, an unsettling turn of his lips.
“Your concern is endearing,” he said, “but it’s unnecessary. No need to fret over a bruise.”
You swallowed, gaze lingering over the subtle purple on his cheek.
“The tech,” you started again, digging deeper into a story you weren’t sure you wanted to be told. “What is it?”
He hummed, a brief moment of stillness before he reached into his jacket pocket. He produced something that made your stomach turn. In his hand was a small, metal box with an antenna. But attached to it was a slab of skin painted red with blood.
“The Automated Man,” he said simply, as if he wasn’t holding a piece of somebody’s flesh in his hand.
But you didn’t have it in you to be upset, or to challenge the morality of your husband. To do so would contradict the undeniable allure of his calculated cruelty, his brilliant mind that held unfathomable secrets.
“It still needs work,” he continued in your strained silence. “But once perfected, there will finally be peace.”
It was the kind of statement that would have read as arrogant coming from anyone else. But you believed him, as you always did. He wouldn’t make a statement such as that without absolute certainty.
Without a word, you returned to wiping away the blood from his face. A profound sense of devotion buried itself into your veins, a sense which was the driving force behind your every move. You were a small gear in a vast machine, a machine that would be unable to thrive without you. So you got back to work, a newfound confidence in your touch.
“I don’t think this will come out of your suit,” you muttered, sliding the cloth across his jaw.
NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.
fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”
Because deltarune chapters 3 and 4 are coming out soon I thought I should draw some of my fave characters! You’ll never guess who my absolute favorite character is
An American that qualifies for retirement, an Egyptian fortune teller, a Frenchman, a Japanese schoolboy, two delinquents, and a Boston Terrier walk into a bar.
What's the punchline? They don't know, either!
Follow the recently incarcerated Rio Ritsuda on a bizarre 50-day journey across the world to save her best friend's mom.
Polnareff is such a funny character. He has a compelling motivation and is interesting when you look at him narratively but nearly every time there's an episode dedicated to him it's Jean Pierre Polnareff's official toilet tragedy number 57 where upon entering a bathroom stall Polnareff is transported into an evil death maze by the enemy stand user King Gizzard the Lizard Wizard and he must find all the hidden notes and escape the maze before time runs out or else King Gizzard the Lizard Wizard's stand Jeff the Killer will Jeff the Kill him. Meanwhile his friends are having lunch and going "huh. Polnareff's been in there for awhile, I wonder what's taking him so long." as if they don't already know.
vaporwave
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