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ur honors i love them actually (ft @gigizetz's ody and @ximena_natzel's hermes)
Did someone say something about Hermes as a dragon?
No?
Well, too bad! Take this concept sketch!
"I know how these arms have held me, and will again. These things are you, my love, and I know them."
Sobbing, screaming, writhing on the floor and throwing up I love this I hate it it broke my heart it solved all my problems it defines me I want it on my obituary
If people keep having amazing ideas I'm never going to get any of my WIPs done. Here's a oneshot of @bigidiotenergytm 's Vasileios (transmasc Penelope) reuniting with Odysseus
-----
Through twenty years of solitude Vasileios had suffered since Odysseus' reluctant call to war. Ten years of uncertainty since the news of Troy's fall. Four years of tension with the arrival of the suitors, and three years of bitter mockery of what should have been a wonderous gift from the goddess Aphrodite. And yet, Vasileios had never been more terrified than in the hundred seconds since Telemachus had announced the arrival of Odysseus.
It wasn't that he didn't trust his husband. They'd made vows to one another. Even after twenty years, he was home. Odysseus had built their wedding bed as a monument to their immovable love, built him a palace around that wedding vow. If, after twenty years, he was still the man who'd loved so fiercely, he could surely accept this.
But, said a treacherous voice in his mind, those vows had been made to Penelope, not to Vasileios.
The door creaked open. And there he was.
Odysseus.
The first thing Vasileios noticed, to his shame, was how frighteningly small his husband was. He looked as though he'd been hungry for a very long time. His beard, though roughened by sea salt and a few days longer than usual, was neatly trimmed. Where had he found himself, Vasileios wondered, that he would care for his appearance but not for his health?
His eyes were hard, framed by dark circles, and angry in a way that had never been aimed towards his love.
"Who are you," Odysseus demanded, a hand clenching the bow at his hip as the other hovered over the quiver at his other side. "What have you done with her? Where is my wife?"
A lump formed in Vasileios' throat.
"I remember once," he said softly in lieu of an answer, "beneath a certain olive tree, that you made me a promise. Do you recall what it was?"
Odysseus' hand lowered slowly from the bow, confusion furrowing his brow.
"We promised to love one another, then and always, no matter... no matter..." Vasileios blinked rapidly.
"No matter how life changed us," Odysseus finished. His body slackened as the tension left him in a rush. "Penelope? Is that... are you...?"
"Vasileios, now," the king's consort explained with a watery smile. "I know it's... rather a bit more literal than we meant it then, but I hope you can still see that I am me."
Odysseus dropped the bow. It clattered to the floor, echoing his footsteps as he crossed the room. He raised a hand, slowly, gently, as though afraid to frighten him.
"...there is a lightness in your eyes I can't recall ever seeing," he said, brushing a hand over Vasileios' clean-shaven cheek and down the well-groomed beard at his chin, "although I dreamt of them every night."
Those gentle fingers brushed a tear from Vasileios' cheekbone.
"You look different," Vasileios noted, before chuckling in embarrassment. "Though, I suppose I'm not one to talk, am I?"
Odysseus smiled, soft and small, as if the expression were afraid to show itself. "I am not the man you fell in love with," he admitted quietly. "It would be remiss of me as a husband to renounce my love simply because you are no longer the woman I married. But I ask, Vasileios, could you fall in love with me a second time, if you knew what terrible things I've done to return to you?"
Vasileios couldn't suppress a sob of mixed relief and empathy. "W-what sort of things did you do?" he asked, fighting to regain his composure. The hand retreated from his cheek.
"Reddened the sea across every island I landed upon," Odysseus declared in a dead voice, his eyes betraying the depths of pain he truly felt. "Sacrificed men I loved with all my heart, because the love I held for them could never compare to that which I hold for you."
Vasileios' hand was lifted softly, clasped between two worn with unfamiliar scars.
"The atrocities I've committed cannot be undone," Odysseus whispered. "Could you still love me as the man I've become, even if I am not your kind and gentle husband?"
Ah, this foolish man. Vasileios stood, pulling away from his touch and pretending it didn't burn behind his eyes to do so.
"If it's true that you have changed so irrevocably," he said, "can you do something for me? A simple task, just to bring me peace of mind?"
Odysseus looked at him quizzically, but with naked hope in his eyes.
"Will you move our wedding bed from this room, so that we might enjoy each others' company in greater comfort?"
The change was stark as the question visibly settled in Odysseus' mind. His gaze darkened with hurt, then with anger. His fists clenched at his sides.
"How could you ask this of me," he asked, the devastation in his voice nearly shaking Vasileios' resolve. "I built this wedding bed with my own hands, a monument to my love for you. I built a home around my love for you!" He was shouting now, anger boiling from the sea of sorrow. "A symbol of our love, our vows, to be as steadfast and everlasting as its very roots in the soil. And you ask me to cut it from those roots?"
Vasileios crossed the distance between them fearlessly, cradling the face of a man who still wore the blood of a hundred others as he stared into his fury with an anger to match.
"Only my husband would know this, or care for its preservation," he shouted in return, tears streaming down his face, "and you dare to try and convince me that you are no longer that man?"
The anger drained from Odysseus so quickly that Vasileios worried for a moment that he may faint. He tucked his king's face into his neck, burying his nose into curls crusted in blood and sea salt.
"I would fall in love with you a thousand times," Vasileios declared, anger at the loss of time turning to wetness on his face and in his husband's hair. "I will fall in love with the man you have become, and every man you've been for twenty years, and every man you will be until we both embrace the shroud of death."
Odysseus' shoulders shook.
"And I ask, husband," Vasileios continued, pulling himself away to meet the king's red-rimmed eyes, "can I ask the same of you? I am not the woman you loved. I am not your sweet and soft Penelope. I have changed much to keep this household safe, to bring myself some happiness in the face of my grief. I will never be her again, and I do not wish to be. Can you love me as I am, and for every man I will be?"
Odysseus pulled Vasileios' hands into his own once again.
"Vasileios," he said seriously, "if I am still the man you love, you cannot tell me you are not the person I married." He turned their hands over, tracing his partner's fingers. "These callouses from your weaving, I know them. I had memorized them a thousand times, so well I could follow a map of them more closely than any of Ithaca." His hand slid up Vasileios' arm to a spot on his wrist. "This scar from the knife you learned to wield in secret as a child, I know it too. This strength," he caressed his upper arms, "from decades of working the loom, I know how these arms have held me, and will again. These things are you, my love, and I know them."
Hands cradled Vasileios' face. Two thumbs traced the dark circles beneath his eyes, wiping away fresh tears. "I do not know this tiredness to your face, nor the wrinkles that adorn it. I do not know this grayness to your hair." Odysseus drew a tentative hand through the softness of his lover's mane. "But I want nothing more in the world than to know them as I know all the rest of you, my love."
Vasileios sobbed, finally caving to his desire to cling to Odysseus like a child. His husband's arms wrapped around him just as tightly, as though afraid he would disappear the moment he let go.
"I love you." It didn't matter who said it first. There would be plenty more to fill their lifetime.
no one:
absolutely no one:
odyseuss: [makes the wind bag he specifically was told not to open into a fucking jetpack]
EPIC THE MUSICAL CONCEPT IDEA ART!! (sorta based on what the acc singers/actors look like!!)
Would you fall in Love with me again?
thank you dear malrows and nikto 😭😭😭
this was one of my first kruegernikto drawings i thiiinnnkkk
When asked if the process needed to be posted, I was told yes. So get it).
I don't know where I dug up this sudden burst of energy, perhaps my body decided to get one last fuck up before the imminent pre-graduation practicum.
Man I love writing weird ass nikto. Idk Nikto who kisses you and licks the spot afterward, wanting nothing more than to smother you in a thin layer of his drool. Idk Nikto who feels so fucking bad whenever he wakes you up because he was talking to himself a little to loudly.
"Apologies lyubov', we were ah...discussing."
Nikto who forgets to be non-violent sometimes so he ends up being doting almost angryly. Ie kissing you and peppering your face repeatedly, harshly gripping your shoulders yet not enough to hurt while he mutters,
"Moy lyubov', mine, my only, mine, we love you." Between each peck because he's too lazy to commit to an open kiss.
Nikto who switches between hot and cold often, kissing you rapidly then running almost comedically back to what he was doing earlier. The pure panic and realization that he got distracted is so raw you can't even be mad at him, only ushering a small, "Don't trip darling!"
"I don't."
While he runs back to the garage. Trying to find that leak you were talking about a few moments prior. Nikto who comes back a few later, shirt somewhat soaked in water or sweat as he makes his way to the shower. A simple man he is, somewhat one tracked as he gives you a dazed glance in the middle of fulfilling his 'mission' to get clean. Not even recognizing you in his path.
The texture of his wet cloth against his skin always itching him the wrong way. He has been so sensitive around texture to the point that he had to order a new custom made couch to replace the one you bought, same looks, different material.
"Leak is fixed."
He tells you as if he just saw you, barely even clothed as he dries himself. Far too comfortable in your own house, only wearing his underwear as he walks over you, making his way back to said couch.
"Let us go watch a show, da?"
Ushering you to sit beside him through random hand movements. Crossing and tangling your legs over each other, one below one above and so on. Using the makeshift platform as a table for your snacks. Leaning back to what looks like an uncomfortable position before he uses your weight as leverage to crack his spine.
Nikto who falls asleep midway through because he has the most irregular sleeping schedule. Finding himself awake a few hours later as he untangles himself from you, placing you back to bed and slotting you right back in his arms. Snoring loudly, comfortable at skin against skin for once in his life, the texture reassuring instead of hostile.
Strikeface
FINALLY finished this. ugh,
mother!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
this made my day ten thousand times better wagghhhhhh (not an exaggeration, day was like 0.03 percent good and now it's 300 percent good.) i will cradle tiny nikto in my arms and let him know that he's loved, maybe hand him a little note to deliver to you about how grateful i am for yours and little nikto's presence :3
I'm closing the session, tomorrow is the last exam....
my telegram channel, if you are interested in the process of creating works, then everything is there, and there is also a bunch of everything that I do not put here: https://t.me/Nuemmannn
Well... I wanted to film a speedpoint for you, but in an attempt to solve the problem with the connection in the laptop, I resorted to drastic measures – returning to factory settings while saving personal files.
In order to be safe, all the most valuable items were prudently transferred to an external hard drive. Alas, technology does not always meet our expectations: the digital medium, like a traitor, made a fatal mistake. Despite the desperate attempts of resuscitation, it is not possible to return the data. Overnight, I lost all my works, even those that were not published. But the video intended for the speedpaint still survived. Of course, I don't intend to give up the idea of creating a new video, but I admit it will take me some time, studying is now the first priority. I understand that I rarely post work, but I'm in my final year of medical school, writing my diploma, going to work, and generally trying to make a living. Excuse me.
I'm sorry if what I wrote doesn't sound right, crooked, I'm not a native English speaker.
If you're interested, here's my telegram channel: [ link ]
Nikto would be the WORST enabler for procrastinating because he jumps at any opportunity to chill with you. He slips himself against you so subtly, so carefully, you don't notice till it's too late.
"I have so much laundry to do...". You'll ponder aloud, climbing into bed.
"we will do it together later, llubov. Do not worry". He'll assure you, also climbing under the covers with you. Tucking the blankets closer around you both as you struggle to not yawn.
"and that email... that I need to send". You'll pout, letting him cradle you against his chest, eyelids struggling to stay open.
"hmm... Yes". He'll mumble, nuzzling his nose into your hair, locking ankles with yours beneath the covers.
Meanwhile you're both snuggled under the duvet in your bedroom, the blinds drawn he did it on purpose, knowing it made you sleepy and you accidentally take a 4 hour nap.
Glare at him with those sleepy eyes, little one. He'll just pet your face with those rough thick fingers of his and usher you to settle down again. Another hour, please.
ah fuck it, thinkin abt: taking public transport with kruger and nikto (especially self indulgent bc i absolutely despise my commute)
going onto a train car hand in hand with nikto and it’s not so bad at first. it’s a little crowded but you’re not shoulder to shoulder with anybody (except nikto).. until the next station over where a whole flood of people get on and it turns into nikto essentially caging you into the train wall with his body.
the thing about nikto is that he and everything about him; from his height, to his built body, and even down to the aura he exudes. it all silently commands respect. so there’s a very, very clear distinction between nikto’s space and everyone else’s. and all other passengers aboard tries their damndest not to step into it, at all costs, even if the train is packed to capacity.
he glances down at you, mirth twinkling in his icey blue eyes. “are you ok, rodnaya?” his eyes never leaving yours, even with the intensity of the moving train and the slight sway of the floor.
a little nod from you has them crinkling in a way you’re intimately familiar with, which is when he’s happy. his heart flutters just a tiny bit, overjoyed at being able to protect you and keep you safe, even in mundane happenings like this.
his eyes then survey the train car again, making sure that no one’s too close to you. he leans his head down, murmuring into your ear, “look at them, khoroshenkaya, packed together like sardines in a tin.” he chuckles (unreasonably hot and dangerous considering the situation you’re in) and gently takes your chin in his hand.
“hm, and you.. my little prince/ss. my sweetheart. i’ll do whatever you ask, yes? anything and everything you want.” pressing a chaste kiss to your lips through his black surgeon’s mask.
by the time you and nikto snap out of your shared reverie you’ve missed your initial stop by three stations.
oops.
ah well, riding the train in the opposite direction now just gives him additional time to sweep you off your feet..even if you’re already dating.
˖◛⁺⑅♡
when the doors of the bus swing open, kruger always ushers you inside first. tapping his card twice on the reader (as if he’d ever allow you to pay for anything) and letting you to grasp his hand to lead him to your desired seat.
if space allows, he’d like for you to sit on one of those single seats, facing the aisle with him standing at your side as if he were your knight.
but if there were only those double seats available he’d assist you to sit in the window seat and him, the aisle seat. his arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his chest whenever the bus swerved a bit too hard.
and if there were no seats available?
kruger held onto the overhead grip, his leisurely stance very out of place with the wild way the bus turned this and that direction. his other arm was wrapped firmly against your waist, squeezing you tightly to his side.
“faring well haschen?” his hand rubs up and down your waist soothingly, eyes flitting to yours to see if you’re doing alright.
“yea—ah!” the bus swerves abruptly again, as if out to specifically ruin your day. kruger adapts easily, catching you before you could go flying (as if you weighed nothing), arm casually readjusting around your waist.
he sighs, exasperated from this god awful driving, coaxing you to cling onto him even more.
“hold tight, mausi.” he nuzzles his mouth into the crown of your head, a kiss through his mask. your arms wrap tightly around him, more akin to a python’s grip than an actual hug (he doesn’t mind, he never does). while bored, your eyes hone in on the way his arm tenses and flexes when he has to adjust his grip on the handle, downright ogling at him and his casual strength.
“enjoying the view, schatzi?” you can hear the smirk in his voice when his comment snaps you out of your daze.
“no.” your curt reply a little too fast, a bit petulantly as you bury your face into his chest, slightly flushed. he can only chuckle as he pats your waist comfortingly.
“ ‘s ok mein liebe. you can have more of this view at home.” he spends the remainder of the bus ride just admiring you and your cute little expressions when you catch him staring.
the rest of the ride goes well without a hitch (ie. you didn’t go flying through the bus’ front windows) even if you did get tossed around a bit.
and when the bus finally stops he wraps an arm around your shoulder, ushering you quickly out of the bus and nearly shoulder checking some poor sap on the way out.
kruger is one mean bastard and impatient to boot, and he’s not afraid to show it. ‘tsk-ing’ when someone’s walking too slowly for his liking or taking up too much room on walk ways
he WILL shoulder check someone for the above mentioned, he absolutely would. he’s more than willing to be rude to someone who’s annoying you (or heaven forbid, being MEAN to you, god help them) and in turn, him as well.
if someone’s standing too close or cuts you off when walking he’ll bark out an authoritative “watch it.” or “move.” it always sends people packing. and if it doesn’t? that nasty glare of his and murderous aura always does the trick.
has and will continue to run with you in his arms up and down the stairs. he got so fed up with the crowded stairs one time that he just scooped you up bridal style and ran up those stairs in 5 seconds flat, without even having to take a breath after.
“what mausi?” he questions, playing dumb and shrugging his shoulders. “you can’t just pick me up and run up the stairs seb!” you smack his chest, embarrassed. he laughs it off “well it worked didn’t it? and besides schatzi, what do i have these muscles for if not to help you, hm? i’m retired now, these are all for you.” and well. you can’t be mad at him after that can you?
god help any other passengers that happen to be nearby if both nikto AND kruger are accompanying you on public transport. everybody else would be maintaining a 6ft (minimum) distance from you three at all times, at all costs. (and, hey, no complaints from you, so. /shrug/)
Nikto can feel that something inside you is hurt. As a man torn by the devastation of violence, he can sense it. Seeks out the wound like a bloodhound, your precious self sinking in on itself like a retreating tide. Making yourself smaller and smaller, till your presence is no bigger than a little mouse.
It crushes him.
The thought of someone being anything other than gentle with you boils his blood. He gets angsty and tense, feels the need to gather you up into his arms as if to shield you from shrapnel. He's felt pain and humiliation, and to think someone as soft and sweet as you suffering anything resembling that kind of treatment? It frustrates him.
Nikto will be gentle with you. They will be gentle with you. Your precious heart, made of cherry jam and sugar- so sweet, he'll lick the remains off his scarred thick fingers. Scarred lips tracing over your closed eyelids, rough fingertips seeping into your sides.
He catches you gazing solemnly at yourself in the bathroom mirror- standing in your underwear, getting ready to hop into the shower. Your dear face fallen and solemn, your eyes empty and tearful. As if you were somewhere miles away- somewhere he couldn't reach. The thought upset him.
"our love". He grunts into your neck with a soft appraise. A soft kiss- bite- lick. Fingertips graze your waist, and he seizes you there- as if catching you from falling, catching you from recoiling away, catching you before you run. A soft muttered comehere is uttered against your temple as he coaxes you to step upon his booted feet, lifting you a little as you timidly coil into him like a shelter. You're so close now- his chin nudging attentively against your forehead.
Fingertips drag softly up your body, up and up, to cradle over your heart. You fluster, skin prickling with warmth, but sink into him like quicksand.
"you are precious. You know this, yes?".
You blink. Lashes filled with tears, and a soft indistinguishable noise bordering on a whimper leaves your throat. At that he holds you tight, swallowing you up in his arms as if to hold you together.
You're not even sure what your breaking point was. A bad day, the thoughts and memories piling up, quickly drowning you like quicksand. Sinking lower and lower till you feel swallowed in isolation. You loathed how words could stick to you like that- how they tore you apart, making you feel too delicate for this world. Too delicate to live.
Nikto cradles your hands like eggshells, thick arms and shoulders swallowing you up like a shelter. His body heat and scent smothering you like a weighted blanket.
He's not delicate, little one. Let him be what catches you when you fall, the one who soaks up your tears with the hem of his sleeves. Let him know you're not alone in this world. You have him. All of him.
little progress on the kn redraw but progress nonetheless
my nikto art so far!! || art dump
all below the cut bc there's a lot!!
sorted oldest -> newest
have a great day!!
nikto let me brush your teeth anime style
dear fish, hello dear fish, how are you doing this fine day?
i would like your input on nikto's teeth, do you think he has sharp/pointed canines teeth? what do you think about the size of his lateral incisors relative to his central incisors or the general shape of his teeth in general, are they more slender or are they more squarish? are his bottom incisors crooked? do you think his dental arch is wide and how many teeth do you think one could see if he were to smile? i think someone mentioned about him smiling, looking like a dog bearing its teeth, was it you? how yellow are his teeth? and are there tobacco and tea stains? when do you think was the last time he had his teeth cleaned at the clinic?
i should go to bed, have a good day dear fish. i hope you are well. <3
My dearest, hear me out on Nikto with the bluntest teeth at the front. Blunt enough that if he bites down it bruises instead of cuts at the front. Canines that have the shape in between a u and a v, not too sharp yet just purely blunt.
And yet these canines can't even cut through skin because they're short, overlooked by flat teeth. Or what would be if he hasn't been fucked over in the face a few hundred times. Square alignment of his teeth that make his smile look more like a grin when he flashes them. Dents in the corner where the right is just a bit more dented in than the left. His teeth are proportioned in a way that makes his eyes look a bit larger.
Its clear to anyone that his central incisors are a bit pushed back, making an almost clean angle if it wasn't for the roundness of his teeth. The left one a bit more forward then the other. If he lets you look inside his mouth it smells like rot. An embodiment of him.
Tongue scraped and cracked, greying and a bit white. If you recommend him to brush his yellowish teeth more he'll just glare at you. Muttering that he doesn't have time, just get over with the appointment. It barely changes anything when you clean them. Though he is an easier patient than the rest, willing to keep still when you floss his gums until they bleed.
Its also far easier to clean when the tears on his face make it easier for you to reach in there. Seeing what you're cleaning on each individual tooth. Not as smooth as the teeth you normally see and yet, they're healthy enough.
"So when was the last time you had your teeth cleaned again?"
"First time."
"...i hope to be seeing you by june."
"Da, I can do that."
Nikto X Kruger, (sorry i dont know german so it may be shi-) Hope you all enjoy
"Nikolai had shattered Yegerov's friend's skull with the wrench propped up against the wall nearby. The blood had spattered up his bare torso, matting his chest hair, stained the side of his face. Shirtless, with a buzzcut he hadn't worn since his time in the Russian Air Force, he looked every part the madman he had become."
From this fic by @on-a-lucky-tide
As you can see, the image staid with me.
Alternate versions ( No blood, Nik with hair, lineart) under "keep reading" ⬇️⬇️⬇️
Nikto headcanons because he deserves some love too
- he’s short. Like 5’8
- loves star gazing. If all else goes to shit, at least the stars are always there
- cannot and will not sleep. Nobody knows how he’s still functional
- keeps a smooth rock in his pocket to fidget with to help ground him when he’s feeling disassociative
- doesn’t understand flirting and will usually take it as a threat
- makes a l o t of dark jokes
- can’t see all too well out of one eye from the disfigurement
- his disfigurement comes from acid burns
- L O V E S opera and will listen to it any chance he gets
- can cook really well. His favorite dish to make is pirozhki
- wants a pet snake
- doesn’t view himself as human and struggles to find self worth
