I threw all these sketches together a year ago as a gift/celebration and then didn’t finish them until now. I don’t know how the incel bagged a goth baddie, but that’s how it always goes, huh?
Crimson splatters groundwards from gloved fist, a lurid display of tantalising gore—the garish exhibition of a defense visibly breached allowed its moment to last in the limelight.
A defense breached, and yet, somehow still a boast—even though their nature meant it was a quiet one. Silent, and yet, utterly undeniable, particularly when it had not been his doing and instead was entirely their own.
In outstretched, wounded hand, a blood weapon pours, coalescing into form with an immediacy to arch even the most unimpressed of eyebrows. Liquid crystalised into solid, unyielding steel, it settles most satisfyingly within their grip.
By now, the bleeding’s stopped.
‘This one’s new.’ Ais grins, a gaze bright with something eager.
‘You’re welcome to ask for a weapon.’ Their voice is far steadier, but it is not for lack of enthusiasm—more so a commitment to propriety. At least for now.
‘Don’t need one,’ is his response. One they’ve long come to expect but the reassurance in checking regardless had them going through with such a ritual anyway—necessary for them to achieve complete certainty.
After all, he had to be entirely willing. That was the only way.
They shrug, readying themselves. ‘It’s your body. And your loss.’
His amusement in implacable place, he continues, matching their readied stance with one of his own.
I’m having such a vibing Sunday we had a brunch over at my babe’s gf’s apt and we’re smoking weed and watching 80s indie movies and cuddling with her cats.
