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roanniom · 3 years

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Charlie giving you some luxury lingerie and a perfect designer trench coat to wear over it (and nothing else) for your Valentine’s Day dinner. Then seeing where the evening takes you 🔥

Thank you, Issa! You’re such a treasure!

Hello lovely anon. I hope this is everything you’re looking for <3

Freezing

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 2,773

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty, dirty, DIRTY talk, light dom/sub, lingerie kink, size kink, guided masturbation, fingering, mirror sex, implied temperature play

The little bistro Charlie got reservations for on Valentine’s day is just down the street from your apartment, but the brevity of the walk doesn’t keep you from feeling chilled down to your bones by the time you step in the door. The hostess attempts to help you but over her shoulder you can’t help noticing Charlie. He sits tall above the rest of the clientele – your beautiful giant as he notices you and stands to his full height to beckon you over, a broad smile on his face. He had felt guilty about having rehearsal on Valentine’s afternoon, but you’d insisted you’d simply meet him at the restaurant the second he got out to save time. You step past the hostess and into the dining room proper where he pulls you in for a slow kiss. It’s light, not intended to be too obscene for such a public setting, but the way he bends down into you makes you feel the same as when he towers over you, naked and barreling you toward pleasure.

It’s with that heat in your veins that you allow him to help you into your seat. You take him in as he sits as well, beside you rather than across from you. The way you’d always made fun of other couples for sitting. But that had been before you met Charlie Barber. Before you learned how much more delicious a bite of steak or a sip of wine could taste with his hand on your thigh.

You brace now for the way his hand will weigh you down, will massage your flesh and send tingles down your spine. You have to cross your legs quickly as he asks about your day and other basic pleasantries, unsure about whether your accelerated state of arousal is due to your current ensemble or merely due to Charlie’s intoxicating presence. Under your luxurious new trench coat, unbeknownst to the dining couples that surround you both, you are wearing a lacy lingerie set that has you trussed up and ready for Charlie to unwrap, hopefully sooner rather than later.

When Charlie’s hand finally drops down to your thigh you shudder, but Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

“You’re an icicle, sweetheart,” he says under his breath.

“I’m perfectly fine, darling,” you begin to insist, even as you hear your own teeth chattering. Disregarding your words Charlie is already shrugging out of his blazer and placing it in your lap. He moves his hand back under the fabric to find your thigh again, massaging warmth into your muscle discreetly beneath the table.

“I thought we agreed you would wear those wool tights. You would have been a bit warmer at least.” His tone is slightly stern but you see worry behind his eyes.

“These stockings were sexier,” you say with a dismissive shrug, taking a sip from the glass of your favorite wine which Charlie had taken the liberty to order in advance of your arrival. Yes. More delicious with his hands on you, as always.

“There’s nothing sexy about freezing, sweetheart,” Charlie replies, though he chuckles at your enthusiasm as he lifts his own glass to his lips.

“You’re forgetting that time with the ice cubes,” you say, exactly at the moment when he takes a sip. Charlie almost chokes on the liquid before looking down at you with a look that tells you you’ll be punished for this later.

You couldn’t be more excited.

~*~

Two hours later you’re on your knees in the center of the bed, the trench coat discarded at the door and your lingerie perfectly adjusted to accentuate all of Charlie’s favorite parts. He had asked you to get yourself set up for him nice and pretty while he got something and you’re practically vibrating with curiosity over what he could possibly have in store. You’re facing away from the door, per his instructions, so you cannot see him when you hear his footsteps approach. The sound of something being propped up against the wall also catches your attention, but everything else drops from your senses when you hear Charlie’s voice.

“Oh sweetheart. This ass is a gift in itself.”

You feel the mattress dip as he joins behind you. Large hands slide down from your shoulders to your sides to the swell of your ass, posed pertly over your heels in order to show it at its best angle.

“I was thinking of this ass all day, did you know that?”

“No, Charlie,” you say, drawing in a sharp inhale when his hand pushes the small of your back, pitching you forward onto your palms.

“You sure about that, kitten?” he asks, large palms squeezing big handfuls of your cheeks. He pushes you farther forward and you feel the slide of his boxers as well as his skin against the back of your thighs. It registers in your mind that he’s down to only his underwear as well and it excites you further.

“You thought about me all day?” you ask innocently. Provoking him.

“My little tease. You know exactly what you do to me.” As if to punctuate his point Charlie grinds his hard, clothed cock into your ass, pinching you as you whine. “Sending me those pictures while you got ready. Knowing I’d have to keep working with my actors and pretend like my cock wasn’t hard as a rock just from a flash of tits.”

In truth you knew exactly what you did to him. You’d gotten exactly what you’d wanted earlier in the day when you carefully documented the process of strapping yourself into your bra and panties set. You’d also taken a break to touch yourself a little on video, just as an added bonus. It had served the dual purpose of riling you up – you stopped before you came – and riling up Charlie.

You laugh in response to Charlie’s accusatory words, the sound ending in a gasp when he bites down on the soft skin of your neck.

“I might have known what I was doing,” you concede a bit. Charlie’s words are quick to follow in your ear.

“Know what else? I think you get off on how hot you are yourself. You’re sexy and it turns you on.” He yanks you back up then so that you’re on your knees, back pulled flush against his chest. One of his hands holds gently but firmly at your throat while the other gropes languidly at your chest, moving from breast to breast.

“I…I…”

“Oh sweetheart, getting shy on me?”

Suddenly Charlie is whirling you around to the opposite side of the bed. He sits on the edge, feet planted firmly on the ground, and hauls you onto his lap so you straddle his legs, your back still pressed to his chest. When your eyes focus in this new position you find that you are staring directly at a reflection of yourself. A brand new floor length mirror sits propped against the wall next to your bed. It is much larger and grander than the simple narrow one that already hung in the corner of the room by the door.

Your eyes immediately shoot to Charlie, whose frame seems to engulf you despite the fact that he is behind you. His hands grip at your inner thighs to widen your legs slowly, but you still watch him. The way his gaze can’t seem to find a resting place between your heaving breasts and your pussy lips which are now slightly visible around the edges of your thong with your legs spread this wide.

“Don’t look at me. Look at yourself.” His deep voice is commanding and it snaps you out of your reverie. Your eyes dart to your own image quickly, wanting to please him with your prompt obedience, but they widen when you truly take in your reflection.

Your curves are on full display, spread out and sprawled out all over Charlie as you are. Your breasts practically spill from the cups of your bra, straining against the strappy accents that can barely cage them in. Your pussy is a lace wrapped present with a dark splotch forming where your arousal pools unchecked. Your chest rises and falls wantonly as your heart rate accelerates. You are hot.

Charlie’s massive hand comes up and begins to knead one of your breasts through your bra and the size difference makes your pelvis jerk unbidden. He fingers the outer hem of one of the cups. When your hips gyrate again he laughs.

“Like what you see, kitten?”

“Yeah I do,” you say, reaching up to caress the side of his jaw. His hand encircles your wrist swiftly and pulls your touch away.

“We’re talking about you kitten,” he corrects, directing your hand down the line of your sternum. “This,” he adds, dragging your hand over the lace of your bra. “These.” He pulls your other hand up to similarly join the fun, closing his hands over both of yours so you squeeze your own breasts with his aid.

“Oh,” falls from your lips on an exhale. Your eyes roll back a bit, lids fluttering from the way his groping – your groping – continues, but soon Charlie tsks from behind you.

“Ah ah ah, sweetheart. Eyes stay open.”

You oblige him reluctantly, in time to watch him drag one of your hands away from your chest, down the plane of your stomach and to the apex of your thighs. He weaves his fingers between yours but doesn’t curve them in. Instead he keeps them spread wide so that your open, stacked hands smooth over the slope of your covered mound.

“You’re going to see what I see. Feel what I feel.” Charlie is curled around you, gripping you and helping you grip yourself and though little has happened yet your senses are already overwhelmed, already full of him though you are not yet full of him.

“Charlie,” you moan his name, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for. He’s not paying attention, however. Not now as he guides your hand to slide behind the strip of fabric that obscures your pussy from view. He pushes your fingers between your slick folds and the dull press of both his and your appendages causes you to gyrate against your hands.

“I love seeing you all dolled up for me, but do you know what actually gets me hard?” he asks, and it’s absurd if he expects you to answer as he urges your finger to nudge your clit just right of center, back and forth, back and forth with the lightest pressure. Luckily he continues without your response. “The fact that you love getting dolled up for me. The fact that just pouring yourself into these things gets you wet and ready to take me.”

“Fuck,” is all you manage in response.

“I rewatched that video you sent me five times on my way to the restaurant. In the subway, where anyone could have seen,” he continues. “Nobody did see, but it took all the self-control I possess not to just get myself off right there and then like some dirty man.”

You watch yourself lick your lips and swallow. He watches, too, with amusement.

“My kitten likes her man dirty though, isn’t that right? You like being able to send me a video at work of your fingers in your pussy and knowing you’ve gotten me harder than some lovestruck teenager who can barely keep it in his pants. Hmm?”

You know he expects a response this time so you muster all of your wherewithal.

“Yes. I love it.”

“That’s what I thought,” he coos. His hand squeezes down harder around your hand and your breast before dragging it over to cup the other one. “I told you how much I love your ass but have I talked about these tits yet?”

“Mmmm no, Charlie, not yet.”

“These are the most gorgeous tits I’ve ever seen. They fit perfectly in my hands, though they’re beautiful handful for yours.” His hand falls away for a second to admire the way your smaller hand struggles to encompass the pillow of flesh, admiring the fact that you continue his ministrations in his absence. He returns his hand and carries on. “At work I zone out thinking of all the ways I want to ruin your pretty lingerie. I want to suck on these tits through the fabric. I want to fuck you right here,” he says, dragging your hand to run down the valley between your breasts before swiping it over the upper swell of both. “I want to cum all over these.”

As he has been saying these absolutely filthy things, you’ve been slowly falling apart. And not just from his words. He had pushed two of your fingers up into your tight entrance and encouraged a swift in and out motion in your wrist. In the meantime, his own index finger has gotten to work pleasuring your clit with tight, focused circles.

You don’t know what to look at any more as you feel yourself rocket towards the edge alarmingly quick. Your heavy-lidded eyes slide from the way your breasts bulge as he delves your hand inside the cups of your bra to the way your combined hands stretch the fabric of your panties obscenely, your slick causing the material to darken through and through.

As for Charlie, his eyes are on yours as your view settles on your pumping hands down below. He continues watching as he presses open mouthed kisses and nips to the side of your neck, teeth scraping against your earlobe in a way that makes your hips buck harshly.

“But you know that at the end of the day, your pussy calls me home.” His voice is even darker than before as it vibrates into your skin, mixing with the squelching sounds of your slick pussy as both of your hands work inside it. “How wet you get just from the thought of how well I’ll fuck you. The promise of how good I’ll feel in this tight, greedy little hole. And look, it doesn’t matter – my fingers, my cock. Your pussy craves being filled and I’m only too happy to satisfy that craving, kitten.”

You’re wound so tight at this point, grinding down shamelessly against your joined hands, whimpers spilling from your lips. You just want to cumcumcum but you’re also aware it’s too soon. Too quick, too early. Your eyes dart to his feverishly, going against his orders in a desperate attempt to check in on his pleasure. He gives so well but you want to give, too. A moan rips from your throat then, however, and you’re not sure you’re capable of giving much at this point. Not with the spasms already beginning to ripple deep inside. Charlie seems to be reading you like a book.

“You need to cum, sweetheart?” His words are softer than his previous ones, accompanied by a soft kiss to your cheek that directly contrasts the way one hand rolls your nipple roughly and the other picks up speed on your clit.

“Mhmmmm,” is all you can manage.

“Then cum for me, kitten. We have all night. Cum for me now – you’ve got a lot more on the way.”

With his permission you fall off the cliff, all of your muscles clenching, inside an out. He works you through it steadily, the hand on your breast moving up to pull your jaw so that your face is turned back to him. No longer gazing at his reflection but at the real thing. Charlie holds you through the spasms, your lips close enough for him to drink in your heaving breaths as you gulp for air.

When you finally fall limp in his arms, a trembling bliss spreading through your body, Charlie presses a kiss to your lips before laying you out on the bed and moving away. In his momentary absence you close your eyes and breathe deeply, feeling a heavy satiation settle in your limbs. That is until a sharp, cold sensation erupts on your sternum. Your eyes shoot open and you move to sit up but a hand on your chest keeps you pressed into the mattress.

Charlie sits next to you on the edge of the bed, an ice bucket with champagne that you hadn’t noticed before set up on the nightstand. He is gliding a sweating ice cube up and down your skin with a broad smile on his face. He leans down and licks the long line of water that accumulates on your flesh.

“You’re right. Sometimes freezing is sexy.”

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @aloneandsleepless @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @leather-flannel-liquor @soggywhore @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess

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scourgewins · 3 years

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Great, thank you so much! Also I totally understand about the school thing. In fact, school for me ends in 2 weeks and I'm in a lot of pressure as well! So take your time, we will gladly wait! 1. How can I make all the faces look different? 2. Arms??? Looking normal???? PLEASE??? 3. Just a general tip for drawing bodies well? 4. How can I draw comics well? (aka make characters have different expressions and body language in a way that makes sense) Again, thank you so much!

Aw, good luck to you! Thanks for being understanding!

1. I actually struggle with this a lot 'cause I got TONS and TONS of characters! I just choose a few facial features I like to vary. My favorites are hair on the top of the head, bangs, noses, jawlines, and eyebrows. I just have a few different ones I'm good at, and I kinda rotate through them. Grant and Wally have the same square hair with square-lifted bangs, but their noses and jawlines are different, for example. I also like getting the general flavor of the being you're conveying and just adapting the shapes to that. (I just started designing human Transformers on our other blog, so I'm getting a lot of exercise with that due to the HUGE NUMBER of Transformers...)

2. Haha, arms are super hard! I'm weird and I just eyeball the proportions, but if you have trouble, you can always measure with your fingers to see if the elbows end near the hips and the hands end up halfway down the thigh. This can vary for certain characters: for example, Jack has tiny arms and Norman has longboi arms. The shapes are what make me able to eyeball the arm lengths... I got inspired by a few particular artists to make the brachioradialis muscle really defined, and to make the elbow essentially just round. I always cheat and make dudes wearing dress shirts so I can just make it as puffy and round as I want! Here is a dumb little diagram of the breakup. (Red is biceps and shoulder, green is extensor carpi or the round thing under your elbow, blue is the brachioradialis (the part that makes it super cartoony if you accentuate), and the yellow is the inner elbow and armpit.)

3. In my height charts, you can see how I generally make my bodies. Right now, I'm kinda struggling with back shapes and positions that aren't standing. Basically, I take a bent bean for the middle, make the legs extend from it, then draw the outside of the arms to start. I don't know if this'll be really helpful for you, but that helps me understand the general shapes and movements. Sometimes, I look at old comic book poses or pause cartoons to help! (The bottom one doesn't make much sense until you draw the rest of the arms, but...)

4. Ah, the question of a lifetime!!! I've spent years and years reading comics and watching cartoons and just stopping and being like, "That right there is cool. I will remember that." Some people think it's really useful to make the face yourself or use it as reference, but I can't ever figure out how to turn that into shapes. I have a few base shapes and just adapt them to look different. My favorite is the many-use "Sammy mouth" I discovered when I first started developing Sammy. I also heavily rely upon eyebrows creasing in the middle. The biggest way I get the expressions right is trying over and over again until it just feels like what it should. I'm always personally afraid of going too far and making ugly faces, but that's sometimes what you need. You can add more creases around angles or scrunchy parts to get more dynamic expressions. Just play around with it a lot. It's a good excuse to draw your favorite characters a lot!

Body language is something that you can pose for pretty easily! The thing is to remember where the action or attention is. For example, a punch can be shown as overly round to bring attention to the motion. Legs can be bent to show gremlin-like excitement... I personally overuse shoulders as expressive details 'cause my comics are usually from the head to the shoulders. I discovered it when I first started Bendy stuff, and I haven't been able to part with it since! It's a pretty easy way to show emotion without the rest of the body... You can act it out and draw what comes naturally as your character, too. I actually use animal poses sometimes 'cause they're shortcuts by instinct.

With comics, the biggest thing is to remember is to make the actions clear. The important words and actions need to be biggest or centered or darker... (You can see with mine I have background things and additions in grey instead of black or small.)

Thank you so much for asking me!!! It makes me feel so special to be trusted to give advice like this! I hope this is helpful in some way... Your art is adorable from what I've seen! I hope you keep creating and getting inspired! Good luck on your artistic journey! Keep practicing!

#Drawing Entity #Not Batim #Ask #Art Help #Gee it's so nice to yeet this knowledge at other people!#It's helping me learn about myself as well!

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i-growl-growl-growl · 3 years

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hi! i hope they're open, but can i get a yandere match-thing for ateez and seventeen? im 5'10", a dancer (but a little chubby), and i have long brown hair. im fairly outgoing, arrogant, and prideful, but i get scared very easily. i fall for people easily which i guess makes me an easy target for a yandere ^^;; - 🌻

Yandere San and Yandere Wooyoung would duke it out between each other to see who would get you because if there’s anything that these two share in common, it’s the desire to knock their intended victim down several notches. Not just that but they hold high value of their abilities to terrify and one-up anyone in their path, so having a darling that has a lot of pride to lose and who thinks that they can get scary only to learn what real terror in a person is couldn’t be further up their alleys. Also, they both love the sight, and partnership, of a good dancer so that’s a plus to both of them that you are one. In terms of your appearance, Yandere San is likely to enjoy the pleasure of thinking about how he could enjoy seeing your hair wrapped around your neck, held tightly in his hand as he uses it to fulfill his choking kink, and maybe even kill two birds with one stone by using it as punishment at the same time. With your height, he can’t help but love the proportions that not even gods could wish to have- there’s just something about tall people that draws him in. Yandere Wooyoung on the other hand wouldn’t care all that much about your height and his snark comments about it would be proof enough of that, but he does love a victim that has long and dark hair- he loves giving someone a good tug by the hair every now and again. Another place where they differ is you outgoing personality, Wooyoung is all for it whereas San wants to reign it in and meld you into a meek doll that wishes to only be by his side. In the end only one of them can win you and San is the likely of the bunch to win the fight amongst the pair.

Yandere Mingyu will be bringing out his entire bag of tricks to get you to go with him and become his little puppet once he sees that not only do you meet his expectations for a darling to be physically active and eye-catching but also have the personality of a fierce cat but can still be easily manipulated. He’s not the worst yandere to be with but he’s definitely a strict one once he’s got you wrapped around his finger. He’ll allow you to keep that personality of yours since he loves a good fight or night out every now and again- doing so with a darling would only makes these things 10x times better! He’s one to definitely care about appearances so he may force you to walk the walk and talk the talk when it comes to getting dolled up for him, the sexy kind of looks are what he loves most so expects to be making yourself look presentable with dark accents in your makeup to match your hair, and likely even your outfits as well. He’ll take great pride in showing you off to his colleagues, always having you present yourself in poses that accentuate your height.

~Savie

#yandere ships #yandere ateez ships #yandere seventeen ships #yandere kpop #yandere ateez #yandere seventeen #kpop yandere #yandere san #yandere wooyoung #yandere mingyu

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terrifying-testicles · 5 years

Text

Sugar Daddy!Bakugou x Reader Ch. 1

Okay soooo I had this written weeks ago but just needed to get it typed up and wasn’t sure if I wanted to post it without part two ready. I’m impatient though! So, here it is! This is more of an introduction into why our gremlin would be a sugar daddy, so hold tight guys, the second part gets into the actual sugar daddy nonsense. I also have plans to get saucy as the series continues, since I wasn’t originally planning on it turning into such a m o n s t e r. Also, the line I put in near the end is an actual thing someone has sent me before. Go figure.

Btw, the reader’s quirk is based on my OC’s quirk, Energy Manipulation and Absorption, which she will explain in the second chapter, I promissssse. Enjoy!

Words: 6.3k

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“Well how am I supposed to help you if you won’t even tell me your type?” “I don’t want your fucking help!” Bakugou huffs and increases his pace to avoid Kirishima’s persistent pout. Kirishima jutts his bottom lip out further. He honestly didn’t understand how his partner could be so fast and agile in such baggy pants. The two heroes continue walking through the city, on their usual patrol. It had been a relatively quiet day, only having calmed (threatened) a rather rowdy group they had strolled upon earlier in the day. Given how little there was to hold their attention, Kirishima filled the gaps with conversation. However, recently the topic had been circling back to Bakugou’s love life, which was, in Kirishima’s words, “almost more depressing than Denki’s.” The red head had been trying to goad Bakugou into giving him something to go off of so that he could help set him up with somebody. Of course, Bakugou objected. Kirishima was beside Bakugou in three long strides, silently thanking the Gods for the few inches over his friend in height. “Oh, c’mon man! You and I both know how lonely you are—” “I’m not lonely! I don’t need annoying people to fill my time. You do that enough,” Bakugou snapps harshly, refusing to meet Kirishima’s eyes. “Bro, listen,” Kirishima steps out to block Bakugou’s path, left hand raised in a placating gesture. Bakugou’s fists clench at his sides as he levels Kirishima with a ferocious glare, teeth clenched. Despite his hostile posture, he makes no move to push his partner out of the way. “The last time you tried to date someone it didn’t go that well,” Bakugou growls.

“But! I think you’ve let that discourage you! You should try getting back out there, man. You don’t know who you could be missing out on.” Kirishima gave a small, reassuring smile. Bakugou scoffs and crosses his arms. He casts his glare aside and notices a few people around them. Already tired eyes catch a couple of women who were watching the two of them from across the street, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “You really aren’t going to leave me alone about this, are you shitty hair?” he rumbles lowly. Kirishima shakes his head vigorously, not unlike a 5 year old denying that they broke their toy. Bakugou sighs dramatically. “I’m not about to have this conversation here.” He accentuates his statement by glancing back to the women across the street, who now scurry off at the heated look he sends their way. Kirishima’s carmine eyes light up. “You mean you’ll actually talk to me ab—” “Yes, alright?” Bakugou hisses. “Just— later. And you can’t keep bugging me about it after that!” The ash blond punctuates his statement with a gloved finger shoved into Kirishima’s broad chest. He only grins, nodding his head before stepping to Bakugou’s side and throwing a hand across his shoulders. “Excellent! I have this idea…” “Shitty hair—” Bakugou’s warning tone is interrupted by the shrill whine of an alarm. Both men snap their heads up to see a storefront about two blocks down blow out in a spray of glass, three figures jumping out and bolting away from the now wailing alarm. “Fucking finally!” Bakugou roars, feet already carrying him in a spring, Kirishima hot on his heels.

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“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the last thing you want to do today but he’s too new. If he ruins another experiment I’ll throw him in the pressure chamber.” You sigh through your nose, setting your coffee on the cafe table. “I’m in town right now, so it’ll be at least fifteen minutes before I could get there.” You press your shoulder against the phone so that you can shake the two sugar packets, ripping the tops and pouring them into the black coffee while your coworker continues to grumble on the other line. “You’ve got to give him a chance, Aki, he’s only an undergrad. He doesn’t know just how serious our work is.” A sound between a laugh and something offended has you pulling the phone away from your ear quickly. “Why not have him do some observation, keep him busy with recording data or something?” you suggest, smiling to the barista as you shoulder open the door. “What, and have him mess up the numbers? I don’t think so!” Aki yells. You roll your eyes. You thoroughly enjoyed your days away from the lab, but always felt anxious for the disaster group that were your coworkers, worried about what they were up to while you were gone. Too many times had you come back to a poorly hidden disaster or a professor greeting you to explain what new things your lab had been banned from doing or using. “It’s just reading numbers and writing it down. He can’t be any worse than you and that radiologist from Ikeda’s lab.” You sipped your coffee to hide the smug smile spreading across your face in response to your coworker’s sputtered response. “That was only once and we paid for the damage!” You laugh. “Still. Why do I need to go in anyway? I’m not coming in on my day off just to babysit the intern.” You really put up with far too much, more than a supervisor should without bringing in your bosses, but it was never anything you couldn’t handle yourself. You would likely die trying to fix your lab partners’ mistakes before getting the Dean involved. They may run you ragged but you’d never put the lab and your chance to conduct research in jeopardy. “It took three of us to set this experiment up, and not counting the shit inter there’s only one other person in the lab.” “I don’t get paid enough for this,” you grumble into your coffee. “I’ll owe you!” Aki singsongs. With another eyeroll, you hum into the speaker. “Fine, fine, I should be on the train in li—” A loud rumbling draws your attention away from your phone. You and the pedestrians around you look down the street, where the sound of explosions and screeching metal grew louder. You ignore your coworker’s yelling, stepping off of the sidewalk to get a glimpse around the street corner. Another explosion shakes the ground beneath your feet, almost throwing you off balance. You watch people run away from the right side of the street but being 10 meters away you were unable to see the actual force behind the tremors. Your curiosity had always posed a problem for you. Plenty of broken bones and burns and disciplinary action growing up has only proven how dangerous the depths of your inquisitive nature can be. Most people in this situation would follow the crowd and put self-preservation first. You couldn’t be most people if you actually made an effort. So, as bodies brushed past you and orange light flickers across the glass of the office buildings across the intersection, you push forward. Just to see, you tell yourself. You had only moved forward a few steps before a loud crack shocks her into stillness. Glancing up, your (e/c) eyes go wide, the skyscraper on the corner beginning to bow out at the 10th floor, glass cracking and bursting from the pressure, two floors above and below the point of tension suddenly bared to the open sky. The corner beam of the building rips away, split at the place where it bowed out. The piece that meets the ground whips out and down, arching and then reaching around the side where all of the commotion seems to come from, and effectively out of sight. A strong impulse tells you to get just a little closer, to watch whatever mayhem was unfolding so near, but before you can take a step, you hear a scream above you. On the 11th floor, the room that was once a corner office is now destroyed, the floor falling. The floor flaps down, desk sliding with gravity until it tumbles out, landing with a loud crash on the pavement. You, however, only see the person clutching onto the disconnected floor, legs kicking around in panic. You look around to find the street fairly empty. Not only of people, but of heroes. “Please don’t get caught,” you mutter under your breath, slipping your phone into your back pocket before dashing forward.

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“Stay still, you bastard!” Bakugou propels himself forward in the air, heat blanketing the exposed skin of his neck and the back of his shoulders and forearms. After giving chase, he and Kirishima had taken two bank robbers down with ease. The third, however, proved to be a challenge. His quirk had something to do with manipulating metal, and Bakugou was absolutely fed up with being smacked by lampposts and narrowly avoiding cars. The fucker had even managed to throw a manhole cover at the explosive hero and Bakugou really wasn’t looking forward to the resulting bruise on his shin. The criminal kept dipping between different streets to throw him off, but Bakugou was locked on, refusing to lose him. Bakugou shoots forward with another blast from palms open to the world whipping past him. Like this, he was easily gaining on his target, who ran on foot. The man checks behind him at the rapidly approaching blasts, panic in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Swiftly, he throws his left arm out and his hand shakes, but he never slows his pace. Bakugou was so close. Another blast and he brings his knees up closer to his chest, a wicked grin curling at his limps as he aims his body at the criminal. Creaking and shattering drew Bakugou’s eyes up, barely catching the steel beam swinging out from a building and right at him. His eyes widen and his palms shoot out, detonating just in time to push him back from the beam. He lands harshly but keeps his footing and is running in a matter of seconds. He sees the criminal pushing himself up, likely having been thrown over from the blast. He’s almost to his feet when Bakugou comes up behind him and slams one gauntlet-clad arm across his back. The man grunts as he goes down. Bakugou grabs the man’s hands and keeps them in a vice grip in one hand, the other reaching back for the quirk-nullifying cuffs. “You’re gonna regret running.” He barely has them out of his belt when there’s a loud scream. Bakugou looks up to see a desk fall through the air to the left of him. A shoulder bag follows, and his vermilion eyes shoot up to catch legs dangling from the corner of the building the villain destroyed. “Shit!” he yells, slapping the cuffs onto the villain, harshly in his haste. He takes two steps away from the man with a threat to stay put, palms aimed at the ground and ready to blast him into the air, but before he can even get a spark going, he sees [h/c] hair just to the right. It takes him a moment to realize it’s a person. A person jumping through the air. Is that a civilian?! He watches her gaining altitude, knees curling up to her chest, arms aimed out, and she lands, ungracefully, on the floor below the person dangling. Now that Bakugou has moved he can see the floor falling out and the person’s failing hold on the edge of it. Bakugou blinks, realizing that he’s just standing there watching this. He’s a hero for fuck’s suck! He runs closer to the mess of glass and office decoration. Bakugou get a better look at their position: from the way the floor sags down if the civilian feel they’d clip the edge of the floor below them, but it would be likely it would also fall in with the force of their fall. There was also a chance of them tumbling over the side with the momentum. The woman stands straight and reaches up to the person with both arms, speaking to them, but Bakugou can’t hear her from this distance. The person turns their head to look at her and he’s sure they respond before the woman bends her knees as if bracing herself. Bakugou’s hear pounds in his chest, and then the person lets go and tumbles into the woman’s awaiting arms.

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You hadn’t thought farther than making it onto the 10th floor. Your landing had been met with an unsteady surface, the floor beneath your very feet warning of impending collapse. Anxiety inflates in your chest, wind whipping at the hem of your shirt, hair brushing your shoulders and you are distantly thankful you put your hair up on the way out of your apartment this morning. The person before you whimpers, clutching as tight as they can to the carpet, fingers drained of color with the strain. You step closer to them. “Hey,” you try not to yell and startle them, but the wind whistling past the maw of destroyed glass makes it harder to hear anything. The person tenses. “Oh my Gods, please help me.” It comes out as a sob and your chest tightens. You take a deep breath and take another step closer, arms spread out before you in an almost welcoming gesture. You quickly eye the space behind you from your peripheral, where the floor begins to bow in at the point where it once met a corner and now meets the city air. “Listen, I’m right behind you. You’re going to have to let go and fall back into my arms. I promise, I will catch you.” Promise? You purse your lips at your own choice of words. The person turns their head as much as they can to see you, eyebrows furrowed, tear tracks obvious on their cheek now. “O-okay. Please don’t drop me…” They turn their head back and tighten the grip of their aching hands momentarily. You bend your knees, ready to brace yourself for the weight. You hate your impulsive nature but remain thankful for the nature of your quirk. “Ready.” She yells. When you feels the person’s weight hit you, you absorb the force of them throwing themselves backwards, but still stumble back somewhat, right foot sliding and lodging itself in the gap between the floor and the steel frame, which gives a low groan at the force you unknowingly put out in your panic. Arms securely around the person’s waist, you glance back to check your foot placement. The floor that had been dislodge from the frame is sagging in more with the pressure of your weight pressing right into its weakest point. “Now what?” the person asks, sounding winded. “HEY!” You startle, craning your neck further to find the source of the shouting. Your breath catches in your throat as you spot a hero. Not just any hero, but Ground fucking Zero. You let go of the person and turn to fully face him, brushing away the hair that blows into your eyes. Below, Ground Zero is walking up, kicking glass aside. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells. His arms hang at his sides as best they can with the gauntlets he wears, shoulders bunched up and what you know to be his signature scowl pulling at his lips. “Uh, well, I –“ you try fishing for an excuse, but are cut short by the jolt of the floor under your feet. The added weight of another person and support of the building’s frame quickly disconnecting have you struggling to think fast. You hear Ground Zero curse but can’t decipher it, not that you’re focusing much on it. “Jump!” You look back at the hero as he walks closer. The person grips your arm tightly. “W-what?!” they squawk at him. “Fucking jump! You did it before, didn’t you?” His tone is impatient, but you feel the anxiety hidden behind it, mirrored in the way your knees tremble slightly. “But that’s t-ten stories!” You bite your lip and glance to the person holding to your arm deathly tight, a tremor running through their body. “Hey,” you start softly. Their wide eyes cut over to you. “Don’t worry. I caught you. That man down there is a pro hero, so if I can catch you then you have nothing to worry about.” The frenzied look does not leave their eyes. “Come on!” Ground Zero barks. You look at him, then back to the person. “It’s okay,” you say before reaching one foot forward and bracing it on the empty frame. You push slightly to test its strength and hear the slightest protest from the floor beneath you. “Step up here, I’ll keep you steady.” The person lets out a sound somewhere close to a sob, shakily moving after a moment’s hesitation. They step up, both hands holding yours so tight you feel your bones creak. You keep your other foot on the increasingly unstable floor to provide yourself balance as you keep the terrified person steady. Ground Zero holds out his arms, and he looks ready to dash whatever way he needs to receive the civilian safely. You nod to them, and it’s still another minute before they let go of your hands and leap out. Ground Zero moves forward and locks his knees as they land in open arms. He ends up falling back onto his ass, but the person scurries to their feet and offer to help him up. The blond hero brushes them aside and hops to his feet. “Your turn, lady.” Ground Zero rolls his shoulders, possibly to prepare himself for the next impact. You puff out a laugh. “I’m good.” As his face morphs into confused rage, you remove your foot from the floor, swing it out, and use the one on the frame to push off. You ignore the ‘what the fuck’ screamed at you and focus on your landing. Blacktop comes at you fast, and a breath away from landing you flex your toes out, energy dispersing through the movement and the pavement cracks shallowly beneath the front of your feet. Rolling to the heels, you gaze up to your right, only to find vermilion eyes boring down at your. Ground Zero must have gone to catch you but didn’t make it to you first. He’s less than an arm’s reach from you, heat rolling off of him, and you wonder if it’s from his exertion or his anger. “Are you fucking crazy?” he spits. You frown and cross your arms. “No,” you’ve barely turned to face him when he’s suddenly right in your face, teeth bared at you in a snarl. “You could’ve died up there. What kind of dumbass are you?” “Well, they could have died, and you weren’t here.” You snap back, angry at his scolding. Was he right? Of course. Were you going to admit that and roll over? Fuck no! You didn’t respond well to most authority unless you were paid to. Ground Zero growls, a retort heavy on his tongue. “Zero!” His head snaps to look over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. Red Riot now stands beside the villain Ground Zero had been chasing, holding him by a cuffed arm. The ash blond grumbles and turns back to the newest source of his annoyance, only to find the space in front of him empty. He frantically looks around. You have already made it to the end of the street, eager to avoid whatever the explosive man had to say. You look back, seeing the stunned and furious look on his face, and hive a wide smile and a waggle of your fingers before darting around the corner. Hopefully he wouldn’t give chase. You pull out your phone, dialing your coworker as you slip into the curious crowd of onlookers and flee the scene of your impromptu rescue.

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Bakugou slumps into the booth, arms crossed against his chest and a scowl hard-set on his features. After the fight, they’d talked to reporters, did the necessary paperwork, and all Bakugou had wanted after showering at the agency was to go home to his cat and zone out to nighttime television. Instead, Kirishima had talked him into (“harassed” as Bakugou had put it) going out and grabbing a drink. He had to admit that a drink would help ease the irritation from being shown up by some wannabe civilian. Of course, Kirishima had steered him to a bar near their apartments and when they approached a table the redhead had seemed set on, Bakugou was met with the familiar cackling of two of their friends. “Oi, what the fuck, shitty hair? I thought you said this was ‘winding down’?” Bakugou huffed as Kirishima slapped Sero on the back in greeting. “What? We know how to wind down,” Kaminari feigned offense, scooting further into the semi-circle booth and patting the now open seat beside him. “And it involves shots!” the blond cheered, Sero laughing in response. “He’s already two in.” Sero took a sip of his drink, obvious in his refusal to down it in one go. “You guys better catch up.” The challenge wasn’t subtle, Kirishima laughing and looking over to Bakugou. On any other day, he would have put up a fight, or made a bigger deal out of it than necessary before partaking. Instead, he reached out, snatched Sero’s glass and knocked it all back. Tequila was not on of his go-to’s, but he should’ve expected the tequila-based cocktail to be the ravenet’s choice. Not that it really mattered now that it was burning down his throat and putting a different kind of heat in his chest. Sero made a noise of complaint. Kirishima laughed and stood up from the booth while Bakugou finally dropped into his own and slumped into the seat. “Why don’t we grab some drinks for the table?” he grinned at Sero, who just sighed and waved his hand at the other two dismissively as he got up to join his muscly friend. Once out of sight, Kaminari leans across the table to squint at Bakugou. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bakugou slumps further into the seat. “Fuck off.” “You’re mighty grumpy.” “I’m always grumpy.” “But not like this.” Bakugou kicks his leg at Kaminari under the table, but the shorter man had anticipated it and pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged. “This is more like…like ‘someone wronged me and I’m pouting’ kind of grumpy.” Bakugou growls half-heartedly. “I don’t fucking pout.” Kaminari hums a disagreeing noise. “Sounds fake but okay. You didn’t deny the first part, though!” He smiles brightly, pressing his palms flat on the table and folds himself almost in half to lean closer. “So~ who kicked your cat, huh? “No one fu—” “Some woman from patrol.” Bakugou snaps his teeth at his partner as he and Sero approach the table with a tray of shot glasses. “Shut your damn mouth,” he hisses. “What’s this about a woman?” Sero quips cheekily, sliding in and pressing his shoulder to Kaminari’s, smile wide and sly. “Nothing.” “A civilian saved someone and totally blew him off.” Bakugou lets out an undignified sound. Kaminari leans back when Bakugou slaps his hand on the table. “Shut your shitty fucking mouth before I do for you.” He growls low at Kirishima. Said man pops down beside Sero after setting down the tray, laughing all the while like he hadn’t just been threatened. “Speaking of women,” Kaminari sets down an empty shot. Bakugou’s glare was almost exhausted. “how’s your shitty love life going?” “No, nope. I told you cocksuckers I wasn’t gonna tell you shit.” “Actually…” Bakugou looks over to Kirishima’s devilish smirk. “You said you would.” He sounds far too pleased with himself, Bakugou decides, and he has not drunk nearly enough to have this conversation with these idiots. “Not with dunce face and horse mouth.” With a sweeping gesture to them, both men frowning harshly. “We’re a delight!” Kaminari snaps, taking another shot and pushing one to Sero. The latter nods sagely before downing his. Bakugou swayed his bothered gaze over to his best friend. His resolve wavers at those puppy dog eyes. He grumbles and snatches a shot, knocking it back, followed by another. The ash blond slumps back into his seat and releases a heavy sigh. The three eager men watch Bakugou expectantly. After a long beat of silence, he snaps, “Well, I’m not starting this shit! If you want to know, you fuckers gotta ask.” He eyes another shot, debating how inebriated he could be without this conversation going all kinds of sideways. Kaminari immediately goes to speak, questions ready to burst forth, when Sero holds a hand out and looks pointedly to Kirishima. The redhead purses his lips and holds his chin, contemplation creasing his brow. Bakugou avoids the scrutinizing look and reaches for the drink Kaminari had set out for, enjoying the offended scoff he gets in return. Kirishima hums. “Okay, how about” why are you so scared to try dating again?” Bakugou scrunches his nose. “I’m not scared, you moron.” “Then what is it?” Kirishima looks as if this subject honestly concerned him, that empathetic shine in his eyes that Bakugou claims to hate so much. The other two merely raise their eyebrows at their grouchy friend. Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, looking at the dried water ring on the table. It wasn’t that he just refused to think about it. It was quite the opposite, actually. He knew why he couldn’t date someone, what he regretted in his last relationship, what he missed, what he, dare he say it, feared about getting into something that he’d only ruin again. “I can’t,” Bakugou growls and clenches his fist. “I don’t have the time. I’m gonna be number one and I won’t date someone just to leave them alone all the time.” He purses his lips, feeling the warmth of the liquor hitting him and trying to puke his feelings out in front of this many people. “If I’m gonna be someone’s boyfriend then I’m gonna be the best, and I can’t do that with the way I’m working now.” Kaminari leans forward, face scrunched in an expression of disbelief. Bakugou briefly wonders how many of the empty glasses belong to the loudmouth beside him. “Dude, that’s way less irrational than I thought that would be.” Kaminari sits back to avoid the half-hearted swat from Bakugou. He leans on the table again and says, “Why not just find a friend with benefits or something?” Bakugou sneers. “I’m not looking for a quick fuck. I can take care of myself; I don’t need to rope somebody else in just to satisfy me. Or to spread rumors about my sex life.” “I think you actually offended him,” Sero looks from one blond to the other. “Okay well, what do you want from a relationship? Like, if you could have it without the commitment?” Kaminari asks. Bakugou curls his lip and jabs an accusing finger in his direction. “Are you saying I can’t do commitment?” Kaminari raises his hands in surrender. “What? No! Bro, now way I just—” “Katsuki,” said man turns to Kirishima, shoulders tense. “what were your favorite things about having a girlfriend?” He gives a soft smile, genuine, a weapon more efficient than any other when bargaining with the gremlin. Bakugou holds his glare, then exhales, whole body deflating and sinking into the booth. Kirishima remembers talking vaguely with his friend about this when Bakugou had initially started dating his now-ex. He’d been so much more relaxed an open (as much as he could be). Kirishima knew first hand that Bakugou took his role as boyfriend very seriously and enjoyed many aspects that came with it. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess,” he scratches the back of his head. “I liked getting to spoil her. Seeing her light up when I bought her gifts or taking her out to dinner and showing her off.” Bakugou frowns, suddenly thinking back to all of the dates he planned, the trips he planned and endless effort he put into making her happy. “I liked getting to treat her like a queen and making her feel good.” He gives a half smirk at the multiple meanings behind that last bit. “Just wish it hadn’t turned one sided…” it’s under his breath, but the three of them catch it. Before he can spiral any further through memories, Sero snaps his fingers. “Holy shit, Bakubro, you should be a Sugar Daddy!” Kaminari, mid-shot, snorts and coughs as the liquor comes out of his nose. Kirishima dissolves into laughter, wheezing and smacking his hand on the table. Bakugou goes from a look of pure shock to absolute fury. “Ex-fucking-scuse you, Tape Face?!” Sero waves his hand around as if remorseful, though the shit-eating grin says otherwise. “Hear me out!” Bakugou glares him down while the other two try pulling themselves together. Once Kirishima gets his breathing under control and Kaminari is wiping up the liquor from the table’s surface, Sero speaks again. “I have a friend, another pro, and he’s on this sugar daddy site. Don’t give me that look, just listen!” Bakugou rolls his eyes and tries to keep his features as neutral as he can manage. “He found a sugar baby and he says it works well for him. She’s his date to galas, she does all that publicity shit with him, and he pays for outfits, lets her buy shit, I think he even pays her rent.” “Do they sleep together?” Kaminari asks with a look of bewilderment. “I didn’t ask.” Sero holds his hands up in a shrug. “My point is, if you want to treat some girl like a queen but don’t want to date her, there’s women out there who would be beside themselves if THE Ground Zero said he wanted to spoil them.” He wants to yell at him. Tell him how stupid it is, how low it is, how he’d never do something so…sleazy. “Don’t people like that expect sex? It’s the same as paying for a prostitute and playin’ ‘Pretty Woman’.” Bakugou crosses his arms again. “I mean, some sugar daddies do. A lot, actually.” Sero says the last part under his breath. “But! Not everyone does, and not every sugar baby does, either. Each person has different needs, I guess.” Bakugou scoffs, willing another refusal to come to mind. “I don’t know, man. It might be worth it to check out.” Kirishima says, picking out a shot. Bakugou grumbles and looks at his phone to take his attention away. After a couple of minutes, the rest of the group catches on that he’s done with this conversation, and move along to other topics, laughing and yelling like drunken idiots in no time.

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You crouch down, pouring the cup of food into a ceramic bowl next to the fridge. The cup wasn’t even empty before you feel a wet nose against your elbow, then the weight of your dog leaning against your left side. You laugh and turn to pet the red heeler. He shoves you over, losing your balance and tumbling over, almost knocking into the water bowl. “Rōrupan, you naughty boy! You’re such a bully, you know that?” You scratch his scruff while the brindle dog scarfs down his kibble. You stand and walk to the dining table, opening up your laptop and typing in a webpage. You walk around the kitchen, pulling out leftovers and assembling some sort of meal before throwing it into the toaster oven. Once the timer was set, you sit down in front of your laptop and sigh. “What do we have today?” you ask aloud, briefly glancing at Rōrupan, who could care less. You scroll through four new messages and grumble at each of them. All were from men with no tact in their greetings, coming on way too strong, one even saying: “Any chance you’re interested in a tall, attractive, and well hung married man?” You snap your computer shut, not even bothering to browse tonight. You would put more effort into your search if you hadn’t gotten home only mere minutes ago. You had originally joined the site as a joke, not really putting any stock in sugar daddies and that sort of lifestyle. Browsing through your options, you laughed at half of the men, coming off as try-hards facing a mid-life crisis and wanting to splurge on someone other than themselves – or their wives. You expressly ignored anyone who made their married status known, having no desire to be some rich fuck’s side piece when he had a loving wife at home. In the few months you’d been on, though, you had managed to go on a few dates, completely paid for. One man had bought you a beautiful silver evening gown for the dinner date with him. A couple of men offered to give you an allowance, which you politely declined at the realization that you didn’t want to be a reoccurring presence with these men. You weren’t a materialistic person, by any means. Your apartment was a simple one bedroom with decent amenities. It was well decorated but most of it consisted of gifts from family or absolute steals you found while browsing thrift stores. You spent more money on your dog than yourself, most times. That didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gifts, though. Treating yourself was hard, but you absolutely lived for others tending to your needs and treating you better than most. You never looked too deep into that, ignoring the psychological implications of what led you here. Browsing may have sounded more enticing had your mind not been so occupied by one of your favorite heroes. You had dreamt so long of getting to meet the hothead, and this is not how you imagined it going down. You cursed your impulsive nature. This took the cake for “Dumbest Thing I’ve Done Because of My Cool Quirk”, which had previously been held by “The Tree Incident”, aka “The Reason I Can’t Bend My Left Leg All The Way”. You pull yourself from the table, grabbing your food and wandering into the living room. Setting the food down on the coffee table, you throw yourself onto the couch face first with a groan. He was so much dreamier up close, even when enraged. You turned your body to face away from the couch. Rōrupan trotted over, tongue lolling out of a perfect smile. You grab the throw pillow at your head and hug it to your chest. “You should have seen his eyes,” you complained to your pet. “Rōru, they could pin you in place all on their own.” Rōrupan plopped onto his rear and gave a dramatic yawn followed by a whiny rumble. “Don’t be rude,” you grumbled into the pillow. “If I see him again, I’ll DIE. He probably wants to kick my ass. Right now, I want to kick my OWN ass.” Your dog set you with a bored look. “I pulled some real vigilante shit today. You would be proud of me, bud.” You pull your head up and reach out for the still steaming plate. Sitting up, you furrow your brows and give a worried frown. “What if he tells a cop or something and they come looking for me? You’d starve without me, y’know.” At that Rōrupan leaves the room and retreats to his owner’s. You pout and huff loudly. “Let’s hope that doesn’t actually happen.”

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ba1aphoebeowen · 5 years

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Timing for Animation - Notes

Whilst reading this book, I was looking for advice on how to animate elements such as weight more believably and to look more into the technicalities of animation. Overall, this book was very helpful in this regard, especially whilst we were animating our walk cycles as it gave me more to think about when timing the movements of the legs and arms and how to portray emotion.

This is a series of notes from “Timing for animation” by Harold Whittaker and John Halas, as updated by Tom Sito for the second edition. All images in this post are taken from the book as visual references.

Timing is the part of animation that gives meaning to movement. A circle is just a circle until it’s animated with the right timing to differentiate it between a bubble or a bowling ball.

Forces that operate on a character or an object must be considered in animation: Gravity, Joints & Muscles and the psychological reason for moving.

Cause & Effect - Tendency: Tying a rope around an object and having it pulled tight shows this. How far this goes depends on the strength of the force pulling the rope and the flexibility of the object being squeezed.

- Inertia: On a seesaw, when a heavy stone is dropped, it slams that side down and makes the other side bend as it launches the other side upward. It then reaches the peak of this arc and bends the other way before straightening back to it’s original form.

- Reaction to pain: A character who feels pain (such as a needle in their back) will try to arc and lean away from the pain and go to check where it’s coming from.

Newton’s Laws of Motion - Every object or character has weight, and only moves when a force is applied to it. - An object at rest will remain there until a force acts upon it, and when it does move it won’t stop until a force stops it (e.g. a heavy ball that is rolling won’t stop without the help of gravity and friction). - Heavier objects need more force to move and to stop moving, and have more inertia and momentum in this movement. - If an object is thrown upward, it’s speed gradually diminishes to zero, then starts to accelerate downwards. The rate of deceleration is the exact opposite to the rate of acceleration.

- If something is thrown up at an angle, it’s movement has two components: vertical and horizontal. Vertical diminishes to zero and increases again as it falls, while the forward (horizontal) movement remains fairly constant. Inanimate objects with weight move rather predictably.

- When a rotating object is falling, it move along a ‘parabola’ (another word for arc) by it’s center of gravity. - Most objects have a tendency to rotate whilst in the air, and will fall (if there’s enough time in the fall) on the heaviest part. - If it were a character jumping or falling, their center of gravity would also travel along the parabola, even if their body changes. -In character animation, force is frequently transmitted by more or less flexible joints.

Timing of an action is the same as deciding the number and spacing of drawings

- The close the drawings are together, the slower the movement appears. This can appear jittery if pushed to it’s extreme. If this is to be done then the drawing need to be very accurate. - Fast action requires anticipation to allow the audience to know what’s happening, otherwise it’s too quick.

- Time taken to reach a hold depends on the momentum of the object or character. Avoid having all the parts of the body stop at the same time. Extremities should keep moving then settle back after the body has come to a halt. - If it’s a quick movement of surprise, then the hold has to be gone into very quickly or it loses it’s punch. - An object in hold remains there depending on it’s state equilibrium. If nothing is acting on it to move, it can hold still. A character can also hold for a long time if it’s in a comfortable pose, but it shouldn’t unless it’s for some effect like comedy.

- An Oscillating Movement is a fast, vibrating movement. - To animate a spring or something like a spring moving back and forth, you show the extreme positions of the object getting gradually close to the rest position. - The heavier the object the slower it’ll be timed (e.g. a diving board might take 4 frames to go from the bottom to the top). - In any action in which the direction of movement reverses at the extreme, it tends to come out of the extreme more slowly than it goes into it (snaps back to the movement).

Friction: Can be used to slow a character down (if they’re running and need to quickly stop, they would put most of their weight as far behind their feet as possible. If not, the friction and the resulting slow down would throw the character’s upper weight forward). You can squash objects and characters to increase area touching the ground, which will aid in slowing down. When an audience is aware of a cycle, the cycle is a failure.

Things like fire or smoke require cycles that are quite long (longer than something like a walk cycle) in order to make it more difficult to see the cycle.

Flame movement: - Governed by the movement of air currents above the fire. The hottest part is in the center and above as the heat rises. Colder air rushes in to displace hotter air, heats up and rises itself. - Fire is generally in a conical shape, and flames move inwards and upwards. - Movement is fastest at the base where it’s hottest, slowing as it rises. - Volumes can change quickly between frames. Smoke movement: - Animate puffs on a wave pattern, could remain individual or merge into one another.

Water movement: - No mechanical strength and is held together weakly. - In a splash each drop moves on it’s own parabola and radiates from a central point. - Timing of water is important to make it look right. Rain: - Must be animated with a more random slope and must move quickly downward (roughly 6 frames to travel across screen). - Distant rain should move more slowly (in the background). - Rain should be single frame animation with a fairly long time before it repeats / cycles.

- When shaking water from an object, water droplets will start to travel a frame after the object’s extreme. Snow: - Very long cycles. - 3 different sizes of flakes. - Wavy tracks. Explosions: - Start with a very fast movement and taper off to a slow finish. Short anticipation time, starts with about 4 to 5 frames. - Should fill the screen for about 3 frames, followed by a flicker effect of 6 and then a clearance of the smoke. Perspective animation:

When animating a character in perspective, it’s a good idea to draw up a guide first, determining the pace length between frames and the size / height of the character. For a dramatic rush toward the camera, a low horizon is preferable. ‘Drybrush’ is another way of talking about smear frames in animation, when a movement is too fast to be seen.

You can accentuate a movement by using effects on extremes, like a white flash on a hit. ‘Strobing’ is seeing a repeating pattern go to quickly, giving the effect of a strobe light. An example of this would be the spokes on a bicycle, and this can be worked with by making the spacing bigger between spokes.

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scurvgirl · 7 years

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The Woods, Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Darevas and Felasel belong to @selenelavellan

Uthvir belongs to @feynites

Faunalyn belongs to @justanartsysideblog

She wakes to find Sanaste and Hamiris fussing over her. They even draw blood from her to make sure it’s healthy. They flash magic at her eyes and start to run healing magic over her body, concentrating it on her head. They let her nibble on a simple breakfast while they worked, at least. And it doesn’t take as long as the night routine. Soon enough, she is allowed to stand up and get ready for the day.

By the time Miriel has finished fluffing out her hair, Darevas has arrived. He’s wearing a much more athletic outfit, with actual breeches, and a short tunic with leather bracers and boots.

“This is different,” she says, eyes taking in his more accentuated form. She can practically see the grin behind his mask.

“Do you like it?”

She arches her brow and shrugs, “Changes in scenery can be pleasant.” But she bites her lip and smiles. He steps closer and offers his arm.

“Are you still up for the day?” He asks softly and she nods, tentatively taking his arm.

“Unless it involves fighting that dragon you mentioned.”

“It has yet to be vanquished! Surely a mighty huntress such as yourself can fell a beast.” He guides her out of the annex but she hears Sanaste following not so far behind.

“Alas, my armor and weapons have been confiscated, no dragon slaying for me.”

“Not to mention the concussion,” Sanaste grumbles from behind her.

“Your armor and weapons were in terrible disrepair, you do know this? I wanted to have your armor cleaned for you, as an apology for your injuries but the entire thing fell apart.”

They enter a different part of the palace, more open and less ornate and from the scuff marks on the floor, it’s a high traffic area.

“Perhaps your people cleaned it incorrectly. It takes a gentle touch.”

“Regardless, it was flimsy and unacceptable.”

“Are you determining what is acceptable for me now?” She says, making sure to keep her tone light. Sanaste inhales sharply but Darevas seems unbothered.

“I want my followers to have the best,” he replies and guides her into a large workshop. It is hot and smells of fire, leather, and metal. There is a loud clanging and several people in thick aprons and gloves, some with odd looking face-masks that resemble helmets.

Darevas takes her to an end of the smithy and she inhales sharply as he gestures towards a mannequin.

“We are leaving for the woods in a few days, and I find it imperative to make sure you are armored. It’s simplistic but it should do the job.” He walks around the stand, inspecting it as she walks to the front of it, in awe. The leather is thick and tough, and it hums with a basic enchantment – for barrier generation? She is unsure, she’s never had anything enchanted before.

There are so many pieces to it – the chest, the shoulders, arms, and several pieces for the legs. They all lock into each other somehow to give full body coverage and a cohesive look.

“This is for me?” She asks in a small voice.

“Yes, I know it is simplistic –

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, following him around the stand. Her hands run over the leather, over the ridges and planes. Darevas pauses and turns to her.

“I’m glad you like it. The armorer needs you to try it on though, that is why I brought you here. They need to make sure it fits properly,” he explains but the words seem almost distant in her disbelief. An assistant takes the armor of the stand and ushers Miriel into a corner concealed by a changing screen. The number of pieces of armor is amazing, and it reminds her of when she was just barely an adult.

Her mother had commissioned armor for her – a beautiful set with small embellishments. She had worn it for four years before it was starting to wear in certain places. She saved up for her own armor and it had only been finished for a month before Anduil died. She wore that until it fell apart, and then it was just using animal pelts and furs to the best of their abilities.

But this set was beautiful, and firm, with undeniable quality. The assistant called out numbers and phrases that meant something to the craftsmen, but nothing to Miriel. They tugged on straps and strings to figure out the best fit.

Her waist is higher than they had anticipated, they’ll have to modify two of the larger pieces. But it’s still beautiful, embosses at the cuffs and collar. Once completely secured into the armor, she steps out from around the screen.

She hears Darevas’s sharp intake of breath but the mask offers no other insights to how he sees her.

“It’s amazing,” she says, not waiting for him. She holds her hands out and examines the fit on her. It is a bit strange to be so secure in armor again, it almost feels restrictive.

“It certainly looks amazing,” he says, stepping forward. She raises her hands up and moves around to see what flexibility she can achieve. There is more resistance than what she is used to, but it isn’t unreasonable. Once the leather is broken in, she is sure it will be even more suitable for her. The skirt is a bit long for her tastes, but it can be fixed. The truly odd parts are the boots – they completely encase her feet, shins, and calves, all the way up to her knees.

“I feel very encased.”

“Protected, I hope. I’d rather you not add to all those scars the healers gossip about,” Darevas says.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am quite alright with all those scars. Each one is a check mark on ‘I survived this’. Broken collarbone, fall from a tree, run into a tree, a misfired arrow into my arm, angry deer – each one a testament to my survival. I’m sorry, does that offend?”

Darevas shakes his head, “No, but I would still like it if you were not injured so that you scar.” She continues to stretch, testing the movement. She checks under the boots to see if she will be able to climb in them. There are striations in the leather, but she suspects she may need to take them off if she need to really climb.

“Thank you, my Lord, this is…entirely too generous.”

He seems to preen under the thanks, “I’m glad you like it. It’s yours after the modifications will be made.”

She’s guided back behind the screen where she changes back into her robe. She comes back out and Darevas offers his arm again.

“Not done?”

“Nope!”

She chuckles at his enthusiasm and lets him guide her to the adjacent smithy, this one stocked with weapons from floor to ceiling. Ah, he means to restock her on everything.

“My lord, this is entirely too much,” she tells him but he shakes his head.

“It is the least I can do.”

“But after all your other kindnesses… there is no way I can repay you,” she says as he walks her to the far side and gestures to a rack of bows.

“Do not worry about that, these are necessary things.”

“It would be far easier to simply let me guide you through the woods in a worn robe. But instead you’ve used all these valuable resources.”

He picks up one of the shorter long bows, a dark wood with careful carvings around the grip. He hands it to her and she stares at it, disbelieving.

“Ease is not always best. You do not have to accept if you do not want it, however. You also do not need to think of it as a gift, if that helps.” He does not sound happy about that, but he is earnest enough that it comes across more as harmless disappointment rather than actual disapproval. She takes the bow from his hand, feeling the weight.

“I have no way to reciprocate, my lord,” she says softly, feeling herself blush.

“Even if I was high ranking with access to resources, what exactly do you give someone who has everything?” She does not like the idea of being bought in any way, but with these gifts and the garden from the night before, the interest in her….

Fool’s gold only fools those who do not look further, her mother had said time to time. She glances up to Darevas and hopes that he is not fool’s gold, but she can’t risk it. She can’t just let herself hope for the best when he has all the power. She’ll accept these gifts, but anything else…she can’t toe that line, not while her people are depending on her.

“Whatever you can, if it comes from you that is enough. But you do not have to worry about that, not for essentials. I want to keep my people safe,” he explains and it helps. After last night, everything feels more meaningful. There is a weight to his actions and she finds herself lingering on, analyzing even his slightest movements.

“Thank you, my lord. Could I try the bow in a safer area, please?” She asks and he nods, grabbing a bow for himself and guiding her to the practice field outside. The field is large with people scattered about practicing various forms of combat. There are specific areas dedicated to hand-to-hand, archery, swords of varying lengths, spears – almost anything involving combat. She heads toward the archery field though and stakes her spot across from a target. There are dulled arrows in place, waiting, and she takes no time in notching on then letting it loose to land a bull’s eye.

She crouches down and does it again.

Darevas whistles behind her and she smiles, then lets loose another arrow, just for good measure.

“You are…very good at that,” he compliments and she bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you, necessity and lots and lots of practice have honed the ability,” she explains as she walks over to the target and pulls out the arrows. An arrow lands on the adjacent target, far enough away that it isn’t concerning. When she looks back, Darevas has a bow in his hand and is relaxing from a stiff pose.

“Not as much practice but –

“Your form is atrocious,” she says without thinking, walking up to him. She has him pick it back up, then places her hands on his arms and uses her body to angle his. His height makes it a bit awkward, but she manages to get him positioned, but still he’s stiff.

“Relax, breathe with it, not everyone’s form is going to be the same because of how our bodies work. The bow is an extension of yourself, feel its weight and know it as your own.” She hands him an arrow and adjusts his elbows again.

“Now, aim and fire.”

He does as she says and it lands within the inner ring of the target.

“Good!” She drops her hands from him and smiles until she realizes her gross overstep.

“Oh, I…am so sorry, I had no place to –

He sets his bow to the side and shakes his head quickly, “No, no, that was good. Many of my instructors tend to tiptoe around me about this, and they have not been this hands on since I was much younger, thank you.”

She blinks at his mask, disbelieving, “I…constantly overstep with you.” Her voice is a whisper and her body is tense, ready for whatever retaliation he has. But he just shrugs.

“I told you, it’s refreshing, and this helped.” He picks the bow back up after a moment and aims again.

“Like this?” He asks softly and she purses her lips. He’s purposefully keeping himself tense, but he seems sincere in his assertions that she is not overstepping.

Miriel takes a step forward and gently corrects him again.

“Your hips anchor you, let go with your breath for now,” she murmurs, holding his hips while he fires again. The arrow hits closer to the center this time and she smiles once more, smaller and more conservative this time, though.

“You are an excellent teacher,” he lauds, making her blush.

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclines her head and he sighs. They end up working on his form with the bow and her demonstrating some more complex forms, including crouching and running. After a couple of hours, she’s sweating, her head is a bit fuzzy, but most importantly - she is ravenous.

“The kitchens should have lunches prepared by now, if you would care to accompany me,” he offers and she accepts readily. Food sounds like the best thing right now, along with water.

The kitchens are nearly full of bustling people, cooking and preparing meals that are being sent out all over the palace. Miriel stands close to a wall and lets Darevas navigate it all while she tries not to be suddenly overwhelmed by the number of people in such a small space. The air is thick and hot and it constricts her throat to an alarming degree. She is about to slip outside when Darevas joins her and takes her arm, guiding her into the large dining hall. There are a lot of people, but a lot of space as well, allowing her to breathe.

Two servants pull out chairs for Darevas and Miriel. She almost protests it, but bites her tongue. She’s uninterested in further pushing her luck at this point. More servants arrive with their food – rich smelling bread filled with a steaming stew that makes her mouth water. It’s placed in front of them and she barely manages to thank them before diving in. The stew scalds her mouth but oh, it’s so good. Rich and satisfying in no way the food they had been feeding her at the annex has been.

She is not graceful and manners at this point are lost on her. She tears off pieces of the bread and spoons up pieces of the stew into her mouth, making happy little noises at all the flavors.

Her ears twitch and the feeling of eyes on her makes her look up. Darevas has at some point removed his mask to eat and is staring at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. She swallows the food in her mouth and smiles.

“It’s delicious.”

He blinks then smiles himself, “I’m glad.” He resumes eating and the air eases. The pressure that kept lingering over them feels to have abated somewhat and it allows her to eat with just as much gusto as before. She does take care to not make a mess, she’s not completely without care.

As soon as he finishes eating, Darevas puts his mask back on. It’s a shame, she thinks, that he has this tradition of hiding his face. It’s a good face, princely and handsome. But it does make his sharing it with her that much more meaningful. And yet the meaningfulness is worrying in its own right. She feels like a cornered hare but she is unsure if it is from another curious hare or a hungry snake.

Thankfully, Darevas is pulled away by his brother claiming they have things to attend to and she is escorted back to the annex by a taciturn guard. Darevas promises he’ll see her soon, but she’s not entirely sure how she feels about that. She appreciates the generous gifts and the time away from the annex, and he has been exceedingly kind.

But there is this itch at the back of her mind, something that is trying to tell her something about the whole situation. Something that she knew a hundred years ago but has since gotten lost in the time spent away from society.

“Sanaste,” she asks once back at the annex.

“Hmm?” They hum, looking exceedingly bored.

“Did you volunteer to watch me or was it given to you?”

“A bit of column A, a bit of column B. I’m interested in healing magic concerning the head, so whenever concussion cases come up, I try to worm my way in. Observing you is…the less interesting part of my research. Though I am glad you appear to be making a full recovery.” They back pedal quickly but she doesn’t mind. She can’t really do anything, observing her must be boring.

“I’m mostly making sure you don’t try to do something that will reinjure you. I came close to stopping you this morning, but the Lord…well, there is not much I can do there,” they laugh self-consciously and she frowns.

“If you want to speak up, please do, he’d understand,” she tells them, walking to her cot.

They consider her for a moment, a strange pensive look on their face, “I will keep that in mind. Now I need to examine you again, lie down.”

She sighs but does as they say as they set to examining her. The hum as they prod at her, then whisper a few healing spells at her head. They pour her a glass of water and instruct her to drink it to stave off dehydration.

“I want you drinking more water,” they sigh and she nods as she gulps down the water.

“At least I actually got to eat a full meal and not just snacks, I haven’t felt this satisfied with a meal in ages.”

Sanaste frowns but they don’t say anything, just pour her more water. She takes the glass and sips at it just as a group of lightly armored people enter the room. They approach Miriel and Sanaste with grim looks.

“Miriel, you’re needed, follow us.” Though they don’t really mean follow when one of the bigger folks practically hauls her up by her arm.

“Ow,” she protests, jerking her body away.

“Don’t rattle her, we’ve worked hard on her healing,” Sanaste sighs. Miriel raises her chin but follows the group, two of them following her. The weight of their eyes makes her skin crawl but she keeps still and calm, keeping the same pace.

She is guided to a room by where she was initially held. She shivers and tries not to recount the feeling of being strung up. Her wrists hurt and she feels that much more cowed.

“I told you everything –

“Not everything,” a familiar voice says. They’re standing by a different room, arms crossed over their chest, spikes somehow aligned all pointing outward.

“If you think you are going to get anything else out of torture I assure you simply asking will produce the same result, I have nothing to hide.”

“We are simply asking, come in.” She is guided into the room that is dominated by a large table covered with a map.

“We were able to map out where you were found, now we need you to tell us the directions of where your camp is and where this cave your mother spoke of is,” they tell her. A chill runs down her back.

“Not if you will not let me accompany you.”

“You are still going to lead us, but we need to know the areas of which you speak as a precaution,” they assure her. She frowns but sits down.

“Very well, but I’m not good with maps, everything I know is in my head.”

“That’s fine, close your eyes, describe where you’d go if you had not been found,” they urge and she sighs but does as they say. She closes her eyes and pictures the woods.

“The lords were moving north, which would have lead them close to where the camp is, but not exactly. They would have seen signs though.”

“When would they see the signs?”

“If they were on foot…an hour, perhaps two if they weren’t good. The camp was more north east than that…”

She can see the camp, the trees acting as supports for their tents and buildings, fires burning for pottery making and cooking. Serendipity would be tending his herb garden, Uthbora asking if she can have more elfroot- and they’d argue about the medicinal properties of it. It’s not a secret that she favored it for smoking and stress relief. Several of the others also partook in it, but Serendipity hated it. He hates anything that clouds his mind, says that it makes him vulnerable.

“That’s all very interesting, but if you could focus on the locations, that is our focus,” they urge. Her brows furrow, she said all of that aloud? Odd.

“Right, of course, I apologize. Um. The cave was farther north and west of the camp. There’s…a drop, almost like someone cut out a hillside, then a small waterfall – the cave is in a sinkhole, steam sometimes comes up from it.” She hears the scratch of quill against the map and parchment.

“You did not mention the sinkhole before,” Uthvir says and she shrugs.

“Because the cave is the important part of it. It is more like the entry to the cave. Sorry, I never go over there, the last time I did my mother had a fit.”

“When was that?”

“…Thirty years ago, ish. Before we sent out Clarity.”

More note taking sounds then silence. She opens her eyes to see Uthvir looking at a book and the map both, deciphering…something, she guesses.

“What do you think is out there anyways?”

“That is confidential information,” they answer. She bites her tongue, wanting to press the issue. But it wouldn’t be productive, it’d only make things worse. Still, the idea that there is some lurking thing in her woods, near her people, sits uneasily in her, even more so since here is someone who has an idea of what that thing is and they won’t tell her.

So she frowns and lets her emotions out just a bit to make her displeasure known.

“Now you are being petulant.” But there is a wryness to their tone, almost like when her mother is both displeased and proud of her.

“I apologize, the woods have dulled my manners. I am sure the Lord Darevas can tell you all about it,” she quips. They look at her from the corner of their eye before returning to the map.

“What else can you tell me about the area?” They ask.

The rest of the day is spent with her telling them everything she can about the woods. Apparently being well enough to shoot arrows means that they felt she is well enough to question her ceaselessly about everything. The wildlife, the structures, their hunting patterns – everything. By the end of it, her head hurts and she simply wants to sleep, despite the restlessness in her legs.

When Sanaste takes her back to the annex, she is quick to eat and even quicker to turn in for the night.

The next few days are spent in intensive healing and spreading information from Uthvir to everyone accompanying them. Both Darevas and Felasel are apparently invested in the investigation, much to Uthvir’s displeasure. Faunalyn also seems to disapprove, but the young lords insist that since it is to be their land, they should be responsible for bringing Miriel’s people back into the fold and defending the land from anything sinister. There are…debates. But the lords are stubborn and insist. Most of the push comes from Darevas, who seems eager to see whatever is causing trouble in the woods vanquished.

Felasel is quieter, but there is an edge to him that is disquieting. He leans more curious about the threat than wanting to see it ended, and he constantly side eyes Miriel as if she is still to be considered a criminal.

She holds her tongue. She doesn’t need to add fuel to a fire.

Four days later and she is cleared as completely healed by the annex. Sanaste wants to hold it off but the lords and Uthvir will not hear them over most of the healers. Darevas takes her back to the smithy to see how her armor fits – finding the modifications to be perfect.

The day after and she is taken to the stables where everyone else already is.

“Miriel! So glad you could join us,” Darevas says cheerfully. He takes her hand and lifts it up to a brown hart, letting the beast sniff her.

“This is Elma,” he introduces and Miriel smiles.

“Hello, Elma.” She pets the pretty hart and is thanked with what she assumes are happy noises. Elma nuzzles Miriel’s hand and she giggles, moving around the beast until she comes to her back and saddle. Darevas helps her up and she reorients herself. She hasn’t ridden a hart in a very long time, but she remembers this feeling of being high up, seeing things from an angle she is not used to.

Uthvir and their hart suddenly appear at the front of the stable, a long cloak hanging from their shoulders making them almost appear regal. She looks around and sees Sanaste and a contingent of Darevas’s and Felasel’s guards all saddling up in addition to a few of Mana’din’s people. Faunalyn is also here, wearing a partial mask over her mouth. Her cat eyes gleam with excitement that makes Miriel think of her father.

Once everyone is saddled and the supplies have been tied to the mounts, they set out to the woods.

#my writing #miriel lavellan #mirevas #darevas #felasel #uthvir #faunalyn #wooo plot movement #what do you think is in the woods #ooooo #selenelavellan #justanartsysideblog #feynites #sanaste

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nocturna131 · 7 years

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The Iron King (Part 3)

Fanfiction.net

Rated M

Summery: The former warrior prince has claimed the throne and rules his kingdom in peace. But the neighboring King Natsu rubs in his face that Gajeel remains unwed poses a frustrating question. What is a King without his Queen? Natsu’s wife Queen Lucy brings a certain blue friend along with her to the duel between Kings. What will happen when he lays eyes on Lucy’s friend Lady McGarden?

Part 1 Part 2

Thoughts are expressed in this format.

Support My Writing on my Koi-fi account!

Trying to keep his composure intact as he realized that him suddenly standing up from his throne at Levy’s entrance would’ve seemed odd to those who were paying attention. Taking a deep breath through his nose he kept his eyes locked onto her. Curling his right hand into a fist feeling a claw dig into the scaled chainmail as he tried to remain calm.

Levy’s long orange dress hugging every curve she had causing him to curse mentally curse as his thoughts were trying to betray him. Her white decorative belt accentuated the hips as the rest hanged down the front almost to the floor. But her face had him almost in a trance. The big brown honey eyes looking up at him before shyly looking down on the floor. “Is she blushing?”

Shaking his head slightly Gajeel walked down the red carpeted stairs to base where Natsu and Lucy stood slight to the right in front of him leaving Levy a spot to stand in front of him. Gajeel could see her trying not to fidget with her long sleeves as she stopped a couple feet from him. Smirking Gajeel found it amusing that he towered over her small form nearly encasing her in his shadow.

Levy curtsied in front of him before looking back up into his red eyes as if she was studying them with much interest. He could see decorative design of the flowers and vines in her headband that held back Levy’s blue hair that seemed untamable as framed her face. Bowing slightly with his armored hand on his chest but keeping his smirked smile on his face as he kept eye contact. “Welcome to my Kingdom Lady McGarden.

“It is an honor to meet you King Redfox.” Levy said while trying not to stammer as he took her hand gently with his. She could feel the cool metal against her skin with the claws gently resting against her hand with the deadly points that could pierce through the delicate skin. He raised it up while slightly bending down to make up their height difference and kissed it gently.

Laughing slightly as he felt her jump slightly at the action. No the honor is mine. He mused slightly in his head.

“Hey we gonna fight or what?” Natsu said causing Gajeel to let go of her hand quickly as they both seemed jump back slightly. Lucy smacked the back of Natsu’s head nearly sending the crown flying. Smiling while acting as if nothing happened at Gajeel and Levy.

“What he means is that we should go to our chambers and rest before duel. In which should happen in a weeks time.” Lucy stressed towards Natsu who flinched slightly.

“Yes I agree…..it would be a good idea.” He said sheepishly as he fixed his red crown adorned with orange red stones that looked like fire in the sunlight.

Lucy bowed slightly. “Natsu and I will see you at dinner Gajeel.” Lucy turned as her pink flowing dress moved with her. “Levy I will make sure your luggage makes it to your room if you wish to do something else.”

Levy caught the quick look Lucy shoot towards Gajeel. Blushing at what she was suggesting to her.

Lucy waved over her shoulder and Natsu followed her slightly hunched over in disappointment at the delay of the duel.

“Well would you like to walk with me?” Levy heard him mumble slightly as she turned back to face him. She nodded. “What’s the harm?” As they walked through out the hall she couldn’t help but take in his appearance. When she saw Gajeel first stand up from the iron throne with dark wood accents with a look on his face like he was in a trance Levy couldn’t help but look back down at the floor.

While she continuing to walk towards him earlier she couldn’t look back up. “Why was I blushing earlier?” she thought as Levy held her hands together in front of her. Looking at Gajeel as they walked towards what she assumed was the courtyard. Levy couldn’t deny that he was quite handsome and dangerous looking.

The pointed black armor he wore with red outlines and scaled chainmail shifting as he walked. The deep red cape flowed behind him while they walked in silence. A black Iron crown holding red jewels resting on top of his head gave him a underworld king look to him. Wild and untamed long black hair she found enhanced his already intimidating look but seemed to draw her in. However it was the studs on his face that she was most interested in. “Why does he have those?”

“So how does a shorty like you know Natsu and Lucy?” Gajeel broke her out of her train of thoughts. Shutting her mouth which came agape at his question. “How dare he call me shorty!”

Gajeel had to hold back a laugh at her reaction. “Little feisty Lady I got here.” Feeling her glare up at him.

Levy huffing slightly before looking forward trying to stand up taller. “Well my parents died at a young age and Lucy’s family took me in as they knew us well.”

“Then I know Natsu because Lucy’s parents would often take us along to visit him while they discussed business with his father.”

Slowing down his step slightly as they reached the court yard. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Levy was slightly surprised to hear that after the jab at her height. “No need….I was quite young when it happened so its ok.”Looking around as they stopped walking. Levy looked around at her soundings with the large sculpture in the middle getting her attention. She was amazed at the sculpture. It was a dragon sat tall with its wings spread wide. Its head looking up at the sky as if it was letting out a roar.

It looked like the dragon wore armor with chain mail covering the joints.

Gajeel looked at her before turning his head grinning. “This is Redfox family symbol a Great Iron Dragon.”

Stepping closer and placing her hand on it. “Its amazing.” Levy said turning her body slightly to look at him.

“Gi hi hi I know.” Gajeel said as he crossed his arms. Looking at the sculpture. “Mother always loved it. Said it reminded her some good memories.”

Smiling at him. “That very sweet.”

Gajeel blushed slightly. “Why am I feeling like this? I just met her. But that smile…..” Walking towards Levy he placed a hand next the hand she moved off the statue and onto the stone base it rested on. Servants stopped what they were doing to stare at the couple in the court yard. They never have seen their King act so different around such beautiful woman so vastly different than him.

“So Lady McGarden…”

Levy cut him off. “Just call me Levy.”

Nodding “So Levy what would you like to see?…” Looking down at the petite form.

Levy looking up at Gajeel she didn’t realize how close he was standing to her. She could feel the raw power that seemed to exude from him. Looking up and down his body. Despite the armor covering himself she could see the outline muscle where the chainmail was. He was obviously fit in order to walk around with such ease and grace in such heavy armor. Being this close to his face she could see his red eyes. It was if she was looking into a pair of dragon eyes.

“I want to…..” She said while leaning her face towards him.

Stiffing slightly as he watch her get closer to his face. “Yes?….” He started to lean down to meet her half way. Catching a small form rushing towards him out of the corner of his eye Gajeel had to tear himself away from Levy. “Brother!” He heard as he turned and bent down in time to catch Wendy throwing her arms around his neck as he lifted her up.

Levy looked in shock while trying to get rid of the blush caused by her actions. “Brother? Lucy never mentioned a sister.”

Gajeel laughed as he spun Wendy around and putting her down. “Well she has been at Sherria Blendy’s place for the last couple months. So Lucy has never met her.”

“Wendy this is Lady Levy McGarden, Queen Lucy’s friend.”

Levy curtsied “Well its nice to meet you Princess Wendy.” Wendy smiled and returned the gesture. “Well I must return to my chamber. The journey back was long.” The pair watched as she ran towards a white cat that was scolding her for interrupting her brother and his guest.

“Your sister is very sweet.”

Gajeel turned back and nodding. “She is but she can hold her own when she needs too.”

“Well its starting to get late I think I should go.” Picking her dress up slightly and walking away. Stopping before she got to far “I…see you later right?” she said while looking over her shoulder.

“Yes.” He felt his heart stop for the second time that evening as she broke out into a smile.

“Good.” He heard her say as she walked away.

Leaning against the statue and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

Why am I acting like this?

#gajevy #fairy tail #mature fanfiction #the iron king #the iron king part 3 #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #panther lily #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel

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Hyperallergic: Seeing Beyond Alberto Giacometti’s Bronzes

Alberto Giacometti and his sculptures at the Venice Biennale, 1956 (courtesy Archives of the Giacometti Foundation)

LONDON — In April 2016, following the announcement of Tate Modern’s monumental new retrospective devoted to the Swiss sculptor, Alistair Sooke mused in the Telegraph: “What is it about Alberto Giacometti?” The National Portrait Gallery had recently closed its major Giacometti show, the Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts in Norwich had opened its Alberto Giacometti: A Line Through Time, and it was only in 2015 that the Swiss sculptor’s “Pointing Man” (1947) became the most valuable sculpture to sell at auction, for $141 million. Though art historians and curators have in recent years sought to diversify the traditional canon of Great 20th Century Artists — i.e. predominantly white, male, and European or American — it is fair to say that Giacometti remains firmly categorized as one of those artists in the popular imagination. For many, his slender bronze figures are a shorthand for the wrought emotion and desolation caused by the horrors of war.

Alberto Giacometti, “Head of Woman (Flora Mayo)” (1926), painted plaster, 31.2 x 23.2 x 8.4 cm, collection of the Fondation Alberto et Annette Giacometti, Paris (© Alberto Giacometti Estate, ACS/DACS, 2017)

Granted unparalleled access to the Giacometti Foundation in Paris, curators Frances Morris and Catherine Grenier have assembled a staggering 250 works, including ample material with which to explore Giacometti beyond the bronzes. To immediately dispel the artist’s restrictive associations with bronze, the co-curators take as a starting point the Giacometti Foundation’s recent efforts to restore his plaster works, many of which had been damaged by their usage in creating bronze versions. Giacometti actually favored bronze and plaster equally and, as becomes clear here, explored various media, styles, and influences, often simultaneously in a methodical and inquisitive manner. Unlike his contemporary Pablo Picasso, there are no definitive periods in Giacometti’s oeuvre, and as such the show’s chronological progression underlines his consistently exploratory approach. It is as expansively comprehensive as you could wish, with room for some creative display techniques that, for the most part, enhance the viewing experience.

The exhibition’s first room precedes the chronological sequence with a display juxtaposing bust portrait sculptures in varying media and styles in neat, uniformly regulated rows on plinths of equal height, generally progressing from early to late from front to back. The installation acts as a synopsis for what is to come; Giacometti appears not to have progressed from one style and medium to another in a conventionally linear fashion, but produced at any one time naturalistic (though lightly stylized) portraits in the round as well as deliberately primitivist pieces, their features incised crudely into flattened surfaces. The familiarly mangled, elongated bronze figures emerge toward the back of this prologue display. The group appears like a theater of faces looking forward in unison; we are invited to walk all around and compare the styles and media, observing closely the physical marks and qualities of the differing materials. It is a bold curatorial decision that cleverly introduces what will become an overarching theme: the significance to Giacometti of the process of making and constant exploration as intrinsic to the artworks’ raison d’être.

Alberto Giacometti, “The Hand” (1947), bronze (cast 1947–49), 57 x 72 x 3.5 cm, Kunsthaus Zürich, Alberto Giacometti Stiftung (© Alberto Giacometti Estate, ACS/DACS, 2017)

The display technique allowing groups of works to be seen all at once, and then one after the other, continues in the exhibition’s early rooms with similar effect. During the mid 1920s, Giacometti moved away from traditional representation, exploring abstraction methods like his contemporary Constantin Brancusi, or drawing inspiration from African and Oceanic art. In a sequence of works all titled “Woman (Flat),” each piece presents an upright, loosely oblong form with only minimal undulations hinting at the figures’ intended anatomy. The different versions span many media: bronze, marble, plaster, terracotta. In the same room are examples of Giacometti’s forays into surrealist thinking, similarly in search of modes of abstraction. “Cage” (1930–31) is a cube containing suspended spokes and crudely geometric forms constructed in untreated wood. You can see its joins and pins and the marks of its making, offering an altogether rawer impact than the smooth, polished bronze seen elsewhere in the show.

As the exhibition’s chronology progresses to the familiar, stick-like figures, a sequence of small pieces is presented evenly spaced behind glass and very dimly lit, befitting work that emits such a sense of stark solitude and desolation. “Very Small Figurine,” from around 1937, is barely the size of a matchstick on a tiny plinth, with minute traces of pigment, but it packs the most intensity of the more than a dozen pieces in in its case. The display is minimalistic, sombre, and evidently conceived to enhance the intensity of viewing, but this uncluttered design comes at the expense of clear wall text. All the labels are crushed into a tiny space at the entrance to the room. No visitor is going to be walking back and forth between each sculpture and its distant wall text 15 times — I like to read what it is I’m looking at without the extra exercise. This is not such a problem in most of the other early rooms in the show, which similarly place sequences of sculptures together on one plinth with captions elsewhere. One room contained a single plinth with only four works on it, and reading all the scattered wall texts necessitated walking all the way around, thus accentuating the startling physical contrast between, for example, the violent “Woman with her Throat Cut” (1932) and the distinctly non-rectilinear mound of “Cube” (1933–34). Some exhibitions opt for pamphlets instead of wall captions to avoid this issue, which may have been a better idea here if the curators were so concerned for the uncluttered display of these works.

Alberto Giacometti, “Woman with her Throat Cut” (1932), bronze (cast 1949), 22 x 75 x 58 cm, National Galleries of Scotland (© Alberto Giacometti Estate, ACS/DACS, 2017)

The eight surviving works from the Woman of Venice series — which Giacometti created when he represented France at the 1956 Venice Biennale and are reunited for the first time here — boldly introduce visitors to the iconic elongated figures, firmly asserting the significance of plaster alongside bronze. Five of the original works have been restored specially for the show by the Giacometti Foundation, and the immediacy of the medium is evident in the surfaces he savagely worked with his hands. Giacometti often returned to the work to cut away at the dried plaster, reapplying liquid plaster, sometimes finishing with fine lines in dark red and black. The figures are at once solemn and still, and full of feverish working.

Alberto Giacometti, “Woman of Venice V” (1956), painted plaster, 113.5 x 14.5 x 31.8 cm, collection Fondation Alberto et Annette Giacometti, Paris (© Alberto Giacometti Estate, ACS/DACS, 2017)

The exhibition’s return to a more conventional mode of display here, with sculptures dotted around the room instead of sharing a central plinth as in the earlier rooms, is probably a gesture of mercy, lest we be faced with a forest of indistinguishable stick legs. It is perhaps a minor and unfortunate consequence of this show’s impressive number of loans — some utterly breathtaking to behold, like “Head on a Rod” and “The Nose” (both 1947), which are as distressing as they are awesome — that they detract from the powerful sense of loneliness and distinctness that comes from seeing a solitary Giacometti.

Aside from their diluted emotional impact, in numbers the sculptures nonetheless invite comparison of their differences in size, surface texture, and finish (or lack thereof), bringing the focus back to the centrality of the process of making. The presence of Giacometti’s portrait paintings enhances this idea. A work like “Bust of Yanaihara” (1959), for example, is an unhappy, thick pool of grey sludge, and Giacometti himself lamented that it is “lacking in likeness,” according to its wall text. The exhibition concludes with a late group of paintings he made of his mistress Caroline between 1960 and 1965, all identical in pose and composition. The painting method employed here bears less of the differentiation of mark-making and physical emotion that Giacometti achieved with his sculpture sequences. Like his sculptures, the paintings appear many in a sequence, all similarly searching and experimenting. Yet somehow the canvases fall short of the essential and unique visual language present in the physical marks of his bronzes and plasters, which by comparison feel alive and urgent.

The show is colossal and comprehensive, even including forays into design from the period in the 1930s when Giacometti made a living producing decorative objects. Throughout, his methodical practice is clearly demonstrated across styles and media, presenting an essential dichotomy between the process of making art as crucial to its very being, and the idea that art is the end product as a vessel for an idea, emotion, or ideology.

Giacometti continues at Tate Modern (Bankside, London, UK) through September 10.

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