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colleendoran · 1 year

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How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

#snow glass apples #chivalry #neil gaiman #drawing

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merakiui · 7 months

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eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: period sex

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fueledbysano · 6 months

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WHY'D YOU LET ME LET YOU GO? Satoru G.

They say that time takes away the pain, but you're still the same. After the divorce with Satoru, you were summoned to Jujutsu High to help him with a case, but it soon becomes clear that the pain from the breakup is still very much alive. As the two of you work together, you can't help but wonder if time really does heal all wounds, or if some wounds are just too deep to ever truly heal.

♱ pairing: Satoru Gojo x afab!reader

♱ content: hurt-comfort/no comfort (that really depends on you ;)), angst, toxic relationship, MATURE. unprotected sex, baby trapping. jjk S1.

♱ a/n: ksugurwho, thank you for visiting my haunted mansion. take this jewelry box that you so courageously searched in my basement. until next time and have a twisted halloween. 🖤

♱ wc: 3k

5k event masterlist

You have mostly been keeping yourself busy since the divorce from Satoru, working hard as a sorcerer outside the school, determined to show your ex-husband that his opinion of you didn’t matter. You were in the middle of examining a curse under a private employer, when you unexpectedly received a message from the authorities of Jujutsu High.

Shoko said she “needs your second opinion”. This of course gave you a sense of pride, and the fact that she mentioned your ex referred you by name was a big deal. So as you entered the school to consult a case, you weren’t surprised to see Gojo waiting for you.

“Thank you for coming.” He calmly spoke and bowed alongside Shoko and Ijichi. You bow in response before listening to them go over the incident involving a student while walking towards the morgue. “The kid is only a first year student, [ Y / N ]. But this had never happened before… he’s a vessel.” Shoko explained.

“A vessel? Like… he turned into a curse?” You wondered.

“Sort of… he ate one of Sukuna’s fingers which gave him that ability.” She replied.

“The king of curses?!” You exclaimed, almost stopping your tracks.

Satoru found himself surprisingly drawn to your voice as you made your way through the hallways to the morgue. Even though your marriage had ended, he had missed your mere presence in his life, despite all of the pain and heartache you caused each other.

“Exactly. A unique case, right?” Shoko nodded as she led everyone into the morgue. You watch Shoko uncover the boy’s body, a huge tear in his chest that devoid him of color.

“What was his name?” Your voice is slightly muffled by a face mask as you put on a pair of gloves.

“Itadori Yuuji.” Satoru answered flatly while he sat in a corner with Ijichi.

“Your student?” You asked as politely as you can, out of respect for the kid.

“Did you even listen to a word Shoko said earlier?” He spoke as he sat on a manspread, avoiding your gaze.

“Tch…” You snarled softly, ready to bite back until Shoko stopped you with her arm. “Hey, hey, this isn’t going to be a problem, remember?” She softly reminded. You knew that you are way more professional than your ex, and you were determined to prove yourself not just because the Gojo Satoru had referred you, but because you knew that you are more than capable of handling the case with your ability.

You took a second to look at the kid, offering a moment of silence and wishing him peace— something that you always did before examining deceased sorcerers. Until you noticed the tear on his chest start to close up, as if it was healing itself. You were convinced that this kid was already dead, so you were too shocked to process what was happening, nor to tell anyone in the room.

“We are about to start, are you just gonna sit there and watch?” Shoko was looking at the two men talking as Yuuji casually got up like he was waking up from a nap, which left you more baffled.

Ijichi was terrified, but Satoru was smiling to himself, seeming relieved.

“I’m kinda disappointed, I was looking forward to working with [ Y / N ].” Shoko frowned.

“This is kinda embarrassing. Who are you?” Yuuji looked at you two.

“Yuuji. Welcome back.” Satoru enthusiastically walked up to him.

“Sup, good to be back!” You watched in a mix of emotions as the two hi-fived. The scene reminded you too much of a particular spiky-haired child you used to sort of mother a while back… While you were still newly dating, Satoru took Megumi and Tsumiki in after the death of their father and raised them as if they were his own, alongside you.

With a bittersweet smile, you couldn’t help but picture Megumi now. He must be around Yuji’s age, maybe even his classmate. After all, he was just only learning the basics of his cursed technique by the time you dropped the Gojo last name.

Satoru excused himself with Shoko while you were left to clothe Yuji and give him an examination. You picked up the pace, eager to see Megumi and Tsumiki again. Yuji thanked you with a kind smile for giving him a check-up, before turning to Ijichi.

Discarding your medical gear and coat, you hurried outside the morgue to catch up on Satoru and Shoko.

“Satoru…” you followed Gojo through the hallways, feeling a sense of longing for the children you looked after together. You love them like their own, and the fact that you hadn't been able to see them since the divorce was painful. Satoru didn't know, but you occasionally sent messages to Megumi when you could.

“I want to see the two.” Shoko tensed a little and diverted her attention to something else, distancing herself, knowing that this is something between you and Satoru.

“Hmm… I'm not sure.” Satoru hesitated, knowing full well that he was being petty by not just giving her a straight answer. He knew that he was hurting you by not letting you see the kids, but he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards you for the way you didn't check on them after your marriage, unbeknownst to him.

You were hurt by his response. You knew that both you and Satoru had both made mistakes in your marriage, but you couldn't help but feel like you had lost more than just your husband. You lost the home you made with him and the Fushiguro siblings, and the fact that you're not sure if you can see them was like a knife in your heart. But you refused to let it show. You knew that he was just doing it to rile you up, but you can play this game with him like you did for years.

“I have the right to see them too, Satoru. We took them in together.” It was a long shot, but reminding him of the past was a bad idea. “I told you, you're not their legal guardian.” He flatly spoke. “Because you never fuckin let me be!” Satoru remained silent.

He had always been protective of the two, and [ Y / N ]. He didn't push through with the legal matters of it, because if anything untimely and unfortunate happened, Satoru did not want her to make tough calls, or have the children orphaned once more if anything happens to her. It was something he believed was in his hands, something he had to do alone.

This issue of responsibility and trust was something that had driven you apart since during your marriage, and it was a source of ongoing tension until now.

Nonetheless, you felt the right to see Megumi and Tsumiki again.

“Fine. You can see them after I return Yuuji.” Satoru finally answered.

“Return Yuuji?” You ask, puzzled.

“He remains 'dead' while I train him before the exchange event.” He explained.

“Are you nuts?! You're gonna hide the kid away while his friends think he's dead then you bring him back like potluck?!”

“Exactly. Megumi is going to be shocked.” Satoru smirked.

You scoffed in disbelief, “He's Megumi's buddy?! You're gonna do that to him?!”

“You're overreacting! So what? As if you know what he is like now! Don't tell me how to parent him.” As they began to bicker, you and Satoru found yourselves slipping back into your old patterns. You continue to bicker and argue with him, just as you had in the past.

This gave Shoko time to light a cigarette and look over the balcony, finishing the stick while you continued to bicker nearby. She couldn't even make out what you are arguing about by this point.

“I mean, who even does that?! That's just so fucked up. What if I pull that shit on you with Suguru, huh?” You felt a sense of frustration building inside you, and the pettiness reaching a new level… you knew it was a moment of weakness, a low blow, and you knew it immediately after you said it.

But you just couldn't shake the feeling that you had been backed into a corner, and that Satoru was determined to be the one in control of the situation.

Shoko's expression grew as you mentioned Suguru's name, and she knew that you struck a nerve. As they stood there in awkward silence, Shoko got in between the two of you.

“That's enough.” Shoko stepped between you as she saw the anger in his eyes and knew that it was about to boil over. She could see that the two of you were being petty towards each other, and that it wasn't helping the situation

"Let's not let our emotions get the best of us," Shoko said, her voice firm but calm. “You two need to focus on the case at hand. You can discuss this later.” She pointed out.

As Satoru eagerly welcomed the students from Kyoto, Megumi and Nobara stood off to the side. They were both visibly shaken by Yuuji's sudden return, contrary to what their sensei expected. “You got something to say?” Nobara asks, still baffled.

“Everyone, come with me. We have a guest I’d like you to meet.” Satoru turned to his students with a smile.

He walked into the office with them, and Megumi in particular was surprised, not expecting to see you today. As he walked up to you, you got up and gave him a warm hug. You wished that you should have been there for them the way you wanted it to be,and you were just so lighthearted to see him again. Despite the tension, Megumi couldn't help but smile softly, accepting the gesture.

“[ Y / N ]-sama, when did you arrive?” He asked after bowing.

“I was actually here a couple of days ago to help with Yuji.” You explained.

“You didn’t tell...”

“Well, someone said keep it a secret.” You mumbled, fixing up Megumi’s uniform.

“I can hear you.” Satoru replied, and you rolled your eyes.

“You hear someone talking, Megumi?” You said and pulled him aside. “Come on, let’s get some drinks.”

While the seniors talked to each other, the students sat on a separate table having drinks. Nobara couldn't help but notice the tense atmosphere in the room, and she knew that there was a lot of tension between their sensei and the woman he introduced. “Is it just me but there’s a lot of tension between Gojo-sensei and [ Y / N ]-sama?”

“They used to be married.” Megumi casually spoke while drinking from his cup.

“What?!” Yuuji and Nobara exclaimed, bringing themselves closer to the boy. “So, she’s like, your step-mom?” Yuuji asks. “I don’t call her that.” Fushiguro visibly regrets revealing this information to the two too soon.

“They must’ve married young then.” Nobara wondered.

“That’s why they kept bickering at the morgue…” Yuuji recalled.

“Why did they break up?”

“Dunno. Can’t remember.” Megumi truthfully answered.

“Fushiguro shall have them back together again… this means one thing— parent trap!” Yuuji spoke dramatically.

“Right… If they reconcile, sensei is going to be in a good mood all the time.” Nobara agreed. Megumi had his face in his palms just by listening to the two’s bizarre ideas. “Here’s our plan...— they’re leaving.” He cut off Yuuji.

“What a shame.” Nobara shrugged and opened another can of cola.

Meanwhile, Satoru was already approaching you and asked if you could talk in his office, away from any prying ears.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Satoru dropped the question. Your eyes filled with pain as he asked you that. You had thought about this question so many times, and had always struggled to find the right words to answer it. You knew that you didn't hate him, you were just hurt and bitter, and you wished he had tried harder on being your husband while still serving the jujutsu world.

But she also knew that he had his own resentments, his own burden to carry, and she couldn't blame him for that. She just wished that he had been there for her in the way that she had always been there for him. And as they stood there, looking at each other, they both felt the weight of all that had happened between them.

“You hate me!” Satoru couldn't deny it, he had acted like he didn't need you in his life, but he realized that he did. You meant more to him than he let on, and he hated himself for making himself believe otherwise, leading him to be resentful towards you.

You only wanted to be there for Satoru when everything fell apart. When Suguru fell into the darkness, Shoko became distant, and he carried all collateral damage, you thought it could make you stronger. But it only drove you further apart. It is clear that it wasn't enough. Satoru was struggling to deal with his own pain, and it was spilling out into your relationship in the worst ways possible. You tried to be strong for him, to hold things together, but it was clear that it was only making things worse.

“It shouldn't be like this… Satoru. Everyone should be in there right now, poking fun at your students or something…” You pointed at the door.

“Everyone? You know who is "everyone" to me, [ Y / N ]?” Satoru asks, mirroring your words.

“Everyone is… my smartest and sweetest friend who I never see anymore, my best friend and other half who I should have given more time to, and my ex-wife who I probably should have ended up with and raised the kids with.” He painfully spoke, enumerating each of them. “There's so much going on in all of our lives right now… but all of us hanging out at Shoko's, being young and stupid… we weren't meant to do that forever.”

“I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have come here to see you.” You shed a tear, turning to the door. But before you could make another move, Satoru pulled you into a hug, feeling the weight of all of his pain and everything he had been holding back since seeing you again. It was so heavy that you both fell on your knees, still holding each other and tears welling your eyes.

His firm grasp caught you off guard but you embraced it, not wanting to let go. You felt the weight of all that you had been through together, all over again, but you still did not want to let go. Like instinct, Satoru leaned in for a kiss, returning it with a passion that you didn't know was still there.

He was able to grab your thighs and lift you with ease. You kicked off your shoes and pulled off your coat, while your ex-husband opened his uniform, teasing you to his cut abs.

Satoru didn't take his eyes off of your full tits, the cleavage peeking from your low neckline, and your thighs firm in his palms. He's still in love with your body all these years, filling out all in the right places. His dick throbs just thinking about the new things he could do to you.

His eyes flicker down to yours. “Do you think about this? Having me fuck you again? No one else does it like I do.”

“All the time,” You admit, recalling all the lonely nights you missed his touch. Now you're experiencing it and it doesn't feel real at all. You feel like I've crossed another dimension, one where your body is actually worthy of having his against it once again.

He pulls himself away and lays you on your back with a grunt. You suck in a breath as he hovers over you and then hear his pants being discarded. placing his hand on your waist, he brings his face down next to yours and his hips suddenly thrust in a gradual rhythm, your walls accommodating his length in a reunion. It had been way too long…

“I never stopped thinking what it would feel like to grab your hips and fuck you like a doll.” He growls. He leans back and grips harder, his nails leaving marks. You feel them desperately dig into your flesh as he thrusts forward while I push you hips back to meet him. “Fuck, [ Y / N ]. Yes,” He groans. “You're gonna make me come hard in your pussy if you keep doing that."

Holy. Shit.

His voice is nothing but orgasmic. Deep, guttural, and fucking sexy. You keep doing your movements, arching your back back and meeting his thrust for thrust.

His groans got louder and you breathe raggedly as you clutch your hand to the edge, feeling him reach an area inside you that is triggering your body in ways you've never felt before.

“I feel you getting tighter, honey,” He whispered, addressing you by the pet name he called you when you were briefly married. “Can you feel my cock getting harder for you? Fuck, you're so damn wet.”

The guttural sound of his voice brings you to a dangerous high. You curse beneath your breath and then bite into your bottom lip, feeling that same feeling you had when his tongue played tricks with your pussy for the first time. You were building up second by second, on the verge of climax.

“What if you'd just give me a baby of our own…” You pant as he continues clutching your hip. His mouth falls to the bend of your neck, his lips caressing the sensitive skin there, and you can't take it. “Tempting.” He smirked and his hips stuttered, his tip releasing beads of precum.

“Please…Satoru…” It spills from your lips again and again as he meets you thrust for thrust, you let go, body vulnerable and sensitive to his touch.

He starts to pound after pound, skin clapping together as he lets out a deep, hoarse groan and his dick starts to throb inside your pussy.

You knew what was coming, and so with all your strength, you lifted your legs to his waist and locked himself inside of you.

“Shit… [ Y / N ]... Nng-need to pull out…” His voice was more desperate than you've ever heard it— raw and vulnerable, as if he's needed to cum like this in ages. You couldn't fight your smile when you saw that desperate look on his face and his dick throbbing.

You couldn't imagine how much cum he's spilled, but it seemed like he hadn't had a good fuck like this in a long time.

“Holy fuck…” He panted out with a smirk, slightly shaken by the possible parental consequences of what you just did, but also turned on by the fact that he was able to claim you again…

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru x reader #satoru x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo

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seizethegay420 · 6 months

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Things in the Re-Animator Novelisation that I like and/or found funny or interesting

Herbert is Canadian

Herbert's parents died in a fire and he grew up primarily in Foster care

Dr. Gruber and Herbert had father son relationship

Dr. Gruber killed himself via cocaine overdose for the sake of their experiments

Dr. Hill's middle name is Josiah

Dan's first impression of Herbert was that he looked like an undertaker

Herbert steals the brain from Hills class

Dan's middle name is Jonathan

Megs mother left

Herbert is 24

Med has a horse called Al

She also plays the piano and wrote a song for Al

Mace (the morgue guard) has been arrested twice

Herbert is called a cocky little shit

There's a detective called Vinnie Papa who accuses Dan and Herbert of dating

Meg describes Herbert as "wormy"

Herbert "likes Dan and enjoys being with him"

The corpses in the climax are referred to by their nicknames from earlier

Meatball, Burn Victim, Cracked Rib, Shotgun Wound to the Head, Rotten and Malpractice

It's also worth mentioning that this part is in Herbert's pov, so that's what he's referring to them as in his head

Herbert also dies in it (like frfr)

#bride of reanimator #reanimator #herbert west #herbert west reanimator #daniel cain #danbert #reanimator 1985 #dan cain #Herbert is so queer coded in this #Hes also autistic coded

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campcrystal-lake · 1 year

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Seeing Sailor Moon stuff on T*RFs’ blogs is so funny like how are you gonna be transphobic while also reblogging images from the series with a canon nonbinary character, written by a woman who is currently married to the creator of one of the most sympathetic portrayals of a trans girl in anime history

#theres a fight over at the morgue #sailor moon says trans rights #(the sailor moon creator is married to the hunter x hunter creator)#(and hxh has the wonderful trans rep i refer to here)

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littledata · 1 month

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what are these "best fics youve ever read that barely have any hits" you mentioned? can you give us a top 5 or sonething?

Oh God, you've really shamed me here because I read a LOT of random fics from fandoms I'm not even part of and the stories I was referring to largely come from there.

However, in the interest of practising what I preach, I sat down today and read a bunch of Warrior Nun fics I'd never read before so I could rec you some. To be totally clear, these aren't necessarily going to have "hardly any hits" but are fics that I think could use more love in general.

In no particular order:

I was seeing black and white (and now I'm living in color) by gayestcatra - 1281 words, a beautifully soft fic set in Switzerland with gorgeous description. By the same author I also enjoyed (your life was) my life's best part, an angsty Mary/Shannon exploring Mary's (heartbreaking) grief after Shannon's death.

Cat’s Cradle security checkpoint logs by @jtl07 - 518 words, have I raved enough on tumblr yet about how much I love their writing? No? Oh okay I'll do it again then. JT is one of my favourite writers in the fandom and I love this series of fics they did giving creative looks into the characters - this particular one is the contents of their bags but the whole series is worth checking out (and everything else they write too, obviously).

Lauds by @sisterdivinium - 3152 words, Mother Superion/Jillian Salvius. WE LOVE A RAREPAIR. Gorgeously written fic where you feel the weight of every single action. The author has a TON of fics if you liked this one too.

you're my best friend (in a world we must defend) by @daisychainsandbowties - 3980 words, avatrice and Pokemon. Beatrice's characterisation in this drives me insane. I MUST know more. If you know nothing about pokemon here's your primer: they're funny little guys you catch and make fight, exactly like the Catholic church did to Ava. There, now you've got no excuse not to read it.

Dead People Don't Shiver by waterintheshadows - 2068 words, avatrice soulmate AU set in a morgue FUCK YEAH. This is the kind of shit I live for. Great concept, great execution.

Where The River Bends by @itchyouchyz - 100,750 words, avatrice 1960s midwife AU. Full disclosure - it's 100k - I haven't finished it yet. But I LOVE what I've read so far, tender and lovely. Check the tags for trigger warnings on this one!

keep me in your mirror (but don't take your eyes off the road) by minutetuna - 26,343 words, avatrice season 2 road trip au. It made me feel this precise emotion: hnnnnnnghhhhh. There is a particular style of writing which is just bouncy and pacy and still draws you into every single emotion and this author has it in spades. LOVE.

This was so much fun! If anyone else wants to hit me up with some recs I'd love to hear them - even if (especially if) they're your fics. It's a long weekend, might as well spend it reading fanfiction.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #fic recs #i'm also writing fanfiction update is coming i swear #not really a good rec list just a list of my opinions #i wrote this post as I was reading and you can see me getting steadily more excited by all the awesome fics as I go #asks

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hijinxinprogress · 5 months

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The JL finds out Captain Marvels identity and regrets it immensely

JL find out Captain Marvels a child and they start trying to parent him and just being awkward so it’s decided that Captain Marvel will join YJ (Clark started referring to Billy only as ‘son’ and ‘young man’ one time Billy saw an airplane and Clark leaned down and went “That there, son, is called an airplane and it-” “I’ll fucking stab you istg”)

To the public Captain Marvel is just extra supervision for YJ but the hero community knows it’s a way to discretely move Captain Marvel onto a team with people his age and be ‘safer’

But it doesn’t work out the way they want bc Billy’s a chaos gremlin much like YJ so they’re just doing dumb shit in the public eye bc they technically have ‘adult supervision’ (it takes Billy fifteen minutes to convince yj to go against being supervised by green lanterns)

“We’re literally your coworkers??” “I’ve literally never seen you before besides isn’t it illegal for cops to question a minor without their guardian present? 🤨” “Technically, he’s not their coworker bc he’s not in the jl anymore” “Kon” “What? I’m just saying!” “Stfu wait does Marvel even have a guardian??” “He doesn’t”

Anita and Billy are trading magic tips and teaching each other spells they should NOT have access to esp bc they’ve blown up thirteen city blocks and 1/4 of almost every planet they’ve visited with YJ

Cassie and Billy play high stakes games of catch above the earths atmosphere with missiles and shit in their free time and also during missions

Kon and Billy do just plain dumb shit they have no business doing and then playing up the ‘I’m just a baby…and I’m not even really human/I didn’t have a childhood so how would I know that I shouldn’t do that?’ excuse after bankrupting Luthor for the third time this month along with demolishing all of his newly renovated buildings (Which he and Greta repurposed to create low income housing and food pantries)

Cissie invites Marvel to all her Olympic events and he shows up to every single one with an obnoxiously large magical banner

Bart and Billy plan quips, one liners, and trash talk together and everyone hates it bc they only use the good ones on them but villains (along with everyone in their immediate vicinity) are subjected exclusively to shit like “nuh uh” and “make me”

Greta and Billy are taking down shady government operations with zero fucks to give (they had houses built for the people affected but they did also send a very long list of people to the hospital/morgue)

Billy makes Tim a magic skateboard that flies at like Mach 1 with so many magic cameras it’s concerning bc he thinks Tim being unhinged is funny especially it inconveniences or at least stresses out batman

But they’re mostly talking about what lies they’ve told the jl recently so they can plan their lies around each other “I lied to batman yesterday so you gotta back me up” and Tim’s fabricating evidence despite having no other information bc Billy will 100% “Aren’t you a so called ‘ethical’ billionaire? Nonono it’s whatever, I just thought you’d want to look out for the people but-”

And JL tries to lecture Billy about it ‘you should be more mature. I expected better’ and he’s just like ‘why?? I’m baby 🥺 I don’t know any better’

And Green Arrow’s so goddamn confused bc ‘Bro?? I’ve watched you do negotiations when Superman’s not available…’ ‘I’m just a little guy’ ‘I’VE WATCHED YOU STOP A WHOLE ASS INVASION IN TEN MINUTES’ ‘little baby man’ ‘But you’re one of the strongest members of the league???’ ‘You do know I couldn’t tie my own shoes like six years ago, right?’ ‘HOW OLD ARE YOU’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to know’

YJ and Billy just do a bunch of petty shit until JL has had enough and they’re like fine whatever it wasn’t a problem before

#billy batson #billy batson says acab #dc captain marvel #justice league #young just us #young justice #bart allen #kon el #tim drake #anita fite #cassie sandsmark #cissie king jones #Greta Hayes #shazam #dc comics #superman #clark kent

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heartfullofleeches · 10 months

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Mad Scientist Darling + Frankenstein Dog Hybrid Yans - A recluse who's lost many companions over the decades. They haven't the time to shed a tear to the tragedy or the heart to do so either. Their main stick up over their loses was the lack of security to do their work without prying eyes and ears.

"We've seen you down at the cemetery again, Y/n." "Your science is a crime against God, Y/n." "Their body hadn't even frozen over before you took it." What headaches. They had fewer problems when their hounds were alive. Next to zero really with their loyal pets ready to snap at anyone who so much as raised their voice at their master. Sweet angels with their caretaker's safety at heart - god rest their souls. Unfortunately, after their deaths the scientist was unable to purchase more as they had been banned from all pet stores despite never using animals in their research before. Hypocrites.

They couldn't hire any human guards since they'd stab them in the back at the first sihn of greater opportunity. Alone in their study, the scientist had an epiphany. They could have the muscle and brawn of humans, and the loyalty of their hounds by simply merging the too. They weren't a genius for nothing.

A few trips to the local cemetery and morgue here. Some stitches and coding there. Sweat, tears, and more litters of blood than a person should legally be in possession of - and the scientist had their hounds back again. They were alot bigger and definitely more talkative, but they were still the same old loyal pets they once knew. There was one problem however. The hounds seemed to remember alot more of their pasts than intended - yet they never expressed any desire to return to them. The scientist was sure to bury all memories that didn't include them...

"You don't remember me, Y/n?.... We went to high school together and you were my date to prom until you stood me up. I was never able to get over you, and was hoping you'd be at the reunion."

"I was a reporter that followed you around for my big break... You let me stay the night once - after one of your dogs bit me. I kept the scarf you used to stop the blood."

"...It's none of your business..."

These....creatures. How could they have made such a mistake? This experiment turned out to be the greatest, yet most disastrous study of their time. Their pets kept the riff-raff away as instructed, but their mannerisms were - barbaric. Each would happy trot back up to their master's door with a torn limb in their mouth to trade for head pats and the scientists affection. They crowded the human's single bed and referred full rooms of their own. It wasn't uncommon for the scientist to be tackled by whomever was brave enough to encourage their frustration for a few seconds of lovestruck smothering. The loyalty of their hounds and whatever the humans held for them had warped into something truly twisted. The scientist no longer had to worry about outside threat for their security was more danger than any worry the paparazzi may bring

Crackpost under cut

Scientist Reader: Shake?

[Yan hounds shakes their hand]

Scientist Reader: Drop?

[Whining, the hound coughs up an eye into their hand]

Scientist Reader, scratching them behind the ear: Good puppy~ Now - go fetch with the others.

[Yan hound sprints off to continue mauling the screaming trespasser surrounded by the others]

[Scientist Reader stands in front of a counter as their hounds stand behind them attached to leashes - jaws snapping at the frightened cashier.]

Scientist Reader: Hello, Timothy. The last time I came in here- I specifically asked for no pickles. We won't have that problem again will we?"

Yan Hound #1: wahhh, master - they stole my arm so I couldn't hold your hand when we go out again since it's my turn.

Yan Hound #2, chewing one of their fingers: they're lying

Scientist Reader: It's alright. We'll go shopping for a new one later

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere oc #yandere harem #yandere hybrid #Franken-hounds

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