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✎ 👀

send me a "✎" and ill draw your muse

home of sexuals

#love u #kyokkou

✎ If you want to! :)) No preference on either one of them.

sacrifice ur muses for some doodles | accepting

TWO OF THEM!! TWO OF THEM!! I hope I captured them okay ;;; I wanted to draw both bc I love them both heheh

#kyokkou #THANK U FOR UR PATIENCE i HOPE IT'S ACCURATE ENOUGH ;;;

@kyokkou

Being a man who stood over six feet tall, Alexander was used to being among the tallest in any given room. However, being in Japan, where most people just barely reached his shoulders at best, always gave him the feeling of being a giant. It didn’t help that he often received stares, though he had learned to just brush them off. He was who he was, and they could simply deal with it.

It did offer him one advantage though, and that was seeing over crowds without issue. He had managed to locate his friend and fellow artist, for whom he was here, without issue. And now that their conversation had wound down and he let him talk with gallery patrons who were there for his art, Alex could focus on a new target. He hadn’t expected Japan himself to come to a simple art gallery opening, and he wasn’t about to let this chance slip away.

Moving through the crowd was easy, as everyone wanted to part way for him. He smiled at the other rep as he approached, trying to make sure he did not seem too intimidating. He offered a customary bow and greeted him in Japanese. “Hello, Nihon-san. I am Alexander Beilschmidt, or Berlin. It’s an honor to meet you, finally.”

#kyokkou #tracking tag

@kyokkou

Boshin War, 1869

"It does... because I'm sure I'll win."

He's a little too confident, and certainly a bit too straightforward than manners should allow him to be when speaking with someone he's only barely had time to get to know. Kiku is also fully aware that the only reason this man is lending a hand in his battle to restore imperial rule is to fight the French-- and quite frankly, Kiku can't blame him. The west is, to Kiku, varying degrees of insufferable, but something about the French just irritates him all that much more.

That's not even to mention his respect for other seafaring nations; it could even be considered a fault of his, so early on in his tenure as the leading representative of his nation. England is someone he feels he can relate to, so a little bit of mutual use of one another doesn't bother him in the slightest. This, he feels, will develop into something more if he can just prove himself now.

"I know Honoka; she is planning an ambush. I have something she wants... so, I'll let her think I'm sailing right into it and catch her completely off-guard. I may not appear as experienced as you, but I ask that you trust me; the assistance you've lent me will not go to waste."

Trust — the ultimate currency, wasn’t it? It seemed there was never enough of it to go around, and yet, everyone demanded at least some portion of it. Not even his reluctance to participate in affairs that did not directly involve his interest had saved him completely from the necessity of participating in this unstable economy of exchange.

It only takes Francis crawling out of whatever hole he’d last been rotting in and sticking his nose into other people’s affairs for him to start hoisting the sails. Hence his presence here. But it’s hardly the only thing. It strikes him that sooner or later he will need a good ally in the east, and why not someone seemingly like-minded? Sick as he is of European affairs, and his own odd place among the rest of them, he has a peculiar sense of premonition: this might be a step towards something larger, more important.

“You seem very certain of yourself,” Arthur notes neutrally. “Not that you have not demonstrated yourself to be perfectly capable thus far, but you understand my concern. There is no room for missteps in matters such as these.” For Kiku, this is an existential affair. But for himself, well, he does despite making poor investments. And then there’s this question of the future —his future in the Pacific, specifically, which is preferably one that doesn’t include the French. “In any case, you have my support. What is it that you have that Honoka wants?”

#kyokkou #( sorry this took so long!!!!! it's been a busy few weeks )#( but i am v excited for this )#( also hope it's ok i copy/pasted ur response w/o the icon! )

Rumor has it Japan cut off your balls and the ones that grew back are tiny.

Joke's on you! They grew back bigger!

#iced i.#anonymous #kyokkou

@kyokkou closed starter.

Toyko, if he had put into words, was amazing? Outstanding? Definitely breathtaking. The mile high skyscrapers that seem to touch the sun’s face, and twice as bright at night with neon lights lighting up the dark streets. The rain only seemed to make it even more noticeable once the clouds pull back to reveal the dormant volcano, Mt. Fugi.

Finding the perfect shot for such a subject was a little tricky. Connor had promised Benji that he’d bring home a beautiful masterpiece, one that he’d be proud and honored to showcase in his gallery. It had to be perfect.

It took his first night to settle in, suffering from jetlag far worse than he’d figured, but too excited to take care of it. He grabbed his camera, his phone, and hotel keys, and he was out the door only after an hour of arriving. The summer still held its tight grip on the world, but it made the day worth it to chill down with a nice drink or sweet treat. Which was the first thing he grabbed right before he hit the main street.

For the capitol of the country, it was as jammed packed as he’d expect, reminding him of New York. Unlike New York, however, this was a vacation and not a work related conference. He held up his camera and took a few shots of the sea of people, the replica of the Eiffel tower standing out, highly contrasting the subtle gray and brown of the mountain. It was beautiful, no doubt, but it wasn’t quite what he was really looking for.

Distracted, Connor checked his camera, flipping between the five photos he already took, frowning ever so gently. With his head down, he did spot something familiar. A fat pigeon. A fat Japanese pigeon, instantly making it better than the ones back home. He followed it, camera up as he tried to get a pretty flattering angel of this particular chunky city rat when he ran headfirst into someone’s back.

“Oof-- oh no, dude are you okay?” The push wasn’t hard enough to make them hit the floor, but it did call for a nasty stumble, knocking whatever they were holding out of their hands. The absolute last thing Connor wanted to be was labeled a rude tourist the very first day he arrived. He was already picking up items, letting his camera dangle from his neck.

“I’m super sorry-- er g-omen-nasai.” He cringed at his own real shitty pronunciation, only knowing enough to say hi, yes, no, bye, and an apology, and he hated he was already using the latter on that list.

#kyokkou #Connor vc Bro i'm sorry for being epic cringe in your country #Main Verse

closed with || @kyokkou

「 ❊ Carlino is a moth to a flame when it comes to gardens. From the most expansive outdoor towns to the densest cities, even when in tourist mode (to the best of his weak capabilities to do so), the desire to seek out a centralized green space - the one where families and singles must gather to spend afternoons, was magnetic and compulsory. He’d heard about the palace gardens early on - pamphlets in English and Japanese handed to him kindly at the hotel reception and a sheepish Carlino returning just a few moments later to ask where exactly such a lovely, lush place could be. The largest gardens in Tokyo, of course, si, I’d love to go - all organized in a flurry of smiles and roughly handled cash.

Despite a series of roadblocks, he’d managed to book himself a tour, and after trailing behind his designated group for no less than fifteen minutes on a late summer day, he’d split from his group. How could he stay confined to those gravel paths?! Massive maple trees, tranquil ponds - the towering, stacked roofs of shrines and palaces that positively enchanted him. There was no way he’d stay trapped like that.

And it was in this manner that he wandered and wandered some more, crossing the gravel sidewalks in his crumbling leather sandals - offering to take photos of families there and again but ultimately, he was at his most peaceful the further north in the garden he travelled. Away from the hum of the street and the people there was a release in his ears - the buzz finally slowing and leaving him relieved beyond measure. With his confidence returned, so too did his appetite - slightly queazy and tense from the group he was muscled around in. Now, finally, he could flop comfortably on the ground, tying thick auburn curls back with an elastic band on his wrist and dig the gas station onigiri from his pocket that he’d picked up that morning.

He’s unbelievably carefree - so carefree, in fact, in the shadow of a maple on a lovely summer day that he scarcely flinched when he felt the presence of another - he didn’t even lift his sunshiney head.

“Beautiful giardìn, no?”

#kyokkou #[ I HOPE THIS IS OKAY IM DYING ]