#that composition is just way too good to be left alone

[mari-lair]

Let's talk about Akane's overprotection of Aoi and the dangers of not properly setting up a narrative tone.

We are told that Akane stalks Aoi because guys have been trying to force her into a relationship for years, so he protects her by beating up anyone who approaches. Nene and Kou are understandably horrified by this.

But in the very next page, Aidairo hit us with this tone switch:

What Akane is saying is contradictory to the violent and possessive narrative that was shown during his introduction, to this yandere role he played the entire chapter, but the manga is trying to convey that we should take him seriously here. Even the lighting and composition are the ones used when characters are vulnerable and Aidairo wants to show that what they feel is real.

It's strange...

Being possessive is never framed as something that leaves other characters in awe, just compare Akane's melancholic and peaceful gaze to the creepy tone used when Kou and Hanako have their "you are possessive" moment.

Both Kou and Hanako hate that part of themselves, Kou even rejects it, but it's still clear the rejection doesn't make him any less possessive. Both want to be dependable, they want to be the only choice, no one else is acceptable. It's a selfish feeling. Being 'the most important person' is more important than the joy of the person they want to help (Kou's wish is Mitsuba needing him, instead of Mitsuba happy as a human. Hanako wants to be the one to save Nene, the idea of Nene being saved by someone else does not satisfy him even if it would make her happy and safe)

So this isn't a "Akane is lying to himself" or a "he is delusional" case.

The narrative, which had presented Akane as someone violent and obsessive, wants us to believe his claim "I will protect Ao-chan... Even if she never looks my way" is not only what Akane believes to be true, but also something admirable. A sentiment Nene craves directed her way, claiming to be 'a little jealous' of Aoi, despite calling Akane scary a single page ago.

Let's rewind to see how we got here.

Akane and Aoi's stories suffer from being mostly given to us in gags for a good chunk of the manga, as they are not very relevant in the early arcs, but the crumbs come together after their confrontation in chapter 69.

Why is Akane stalking Aoi? Because he worries about her. Not about someone stealing her necessarily, but about her being hurt or forced into situations she is uncomfortable with.

They are very codependent. They have been for years.

We can see Akane being shocked at the sight of people bullying Aoi since they were kids, it isn't just 'boys who want to date her' that makes her uncomfortable. Jealous girls do too.

Even when Aoi is left alone, using clothes completely out of her cutesy style to attract less attention, and just living her life, she is still harassed.

Aoi's life is a nightmare, it straight up sucks. She hates that, and when Akane notices this discomfort, he hates that too.

He is far more protective than possessive, he doesn't care when people are touchy with Aoi as long as she welcomes the touch: Take Nene as an example.

Akane never touches Aoi at the start of the manga but Nene does, a lot. He never think "Nene is touching my Ao-chan! Unforguivable". "Maybe Ao-chan likes Nene more than me is not far!" or anything of sorts

Even when Aidairo uses the same over-the-top/creepy gag humor I personally find excessive, and Aoi straight up flirts with Nene, Akane's only thoughts about it are the usual "I love her so much"

When he does show dislike for Nene it's never because she is of value to Aoi. It's because of how dismissive Nene can be, not taking Aoi's safety seriously and easily excusing Hanako's actions.

We only see him be aggressive with Nene when Hanako possesses her and makes Aoi uncomfortable.

The problem here is the framing, the comedy focus. It's hard to take it seriously.

Everything about Akane's intro chapter is hard to take seriously. We are told he is "Hard working. Reliable. What a nice and sweet person."

But we aren't shown these honorable qualities much, not explicitly at least. The big panels, the main focus, is on his gag.

And his main joke is that he loves excessively, even for this school standard where everyone is weird (like Nene writing a self-ship fanfic with Teru) so he needs to be over the top, his behavior has to stand out!

How do they try to achieve this? Yandere jokes.

It is overplayed, they spend pages on it. WHOLE PAGES on it.

It is an old narrative trick to present a twist character as a comic relief to lower suspicion, to keep the more important characterization for after a reveal when they are oficially important, but framing all his actions as comedic and devoid of dept to make his reveal as No.1 more unexpected leaves him in a strange position: Akane is intended to be written as a protector but framed as a joke, to the point his introduction become the satire of a protector.

When he is revealed as the clock keeper and allowed to be given more focus, Aidairo try to explain his behavior and show signs of him being a genuinely caring and kind person, as the first part of his intro had promised.

But it's to late.

His crazy actions and anger issues is in most people's minds, a few lines can't erase pages and pages of his introduction as a yandere like archetype, so it's easy for first impression bias to come into play and interpret all his actions as a simple "He is obsessive." instead of trying to find dept or nuance to the established dependence he has on Aoi.

When we are shown that above wanting to date her, he just wants her to be safe and happy, it does not become clear. The reader needs to pay a lot of attention to small moments like these:

Which a casual reader likely won't. Most are reading for the toilet trio at this point in the manga.

This fumble on his character introduction makes it hard to know what should and shouldn't be taken seriously. Aidairo discarded the yandere narrative relatively quick (we haven't seen Akane's bat in ages) but this gag about being happy as long as Aoi is happy turned out to be important:

It was used to further contrast Aoi's and Akane's mentality on their big arc, and highlight how much nearly losing Aoi affected him.

So the only way we can tell what joke to take seriously cause it will be used to build up his character and what isn't important is hindsight.

I did not care about Aoi and Akane's relationship when I first read the manga, i went 'oh cool!' on their conflict, cause that was very well done, but since their characters were not well introduced, I did not notice a lot of the ideas being shown to me.

Akane is a sweet boy. That's his core, his consistency. Even with Aoi, being kind is the priority over being with her.

Let's compare him with Hanako, who is an openly possessive character, and see how they approach their love interests when they don't know if their love interest likes them back yet, and they aren't reduced to a gag (so we'll dismiss Akane being 'a yandere with a bat', and Hanako's joke of him being a tactless pervert, like peaking under Nene's skirt when her time was frozen)

(so pre-chapter 86 to Hanako and pre-chap 69 to Akane)

Hanako traps Nene, he will cling to her anytime he can, he cares about Nene and loves her dearly, he even says he "loves everything about her" but he is greedy for her attention, he is selfish, always trying to make her focus on him out of everyone in the room and keeping her in his hold, out of others reach. His unsubtle possessive nature is a charm of his, makes for an interesting character.

Akane has a different vibe to it. He doesn't have many serious moments with Aoi before their spotlight arc, unfortunately, but when he does, he focuses on reassuring her (even when her time is frozen and she can't hear him) and avoids touching her at best he can. He has known her for more than 10 years, but he doesn't act as if she belongs to him.

I am not saying Akane is not possessive of her, he is. But he tends to be more worried about her than anything.

Using hanako as the trademark of possessiveness again, check out these two scenes:

At the start of the manga Kou likes Nene, and Akane is under the impression Teru like Aoi, so both scenes follow the basic premise of "A know B has a crush on their crush, and they get possessive over a possible romantic rival being too close."

Hanako doesn't say anything, but his message is clear "She is mine."

Akane explicitly says he doesn't like Teru near Aoi but he doesn't try to remove Aoi from Teru or try to do anything violent. Why would he? Aoi is in no danger, nor is she uncomfortable, so he changes focus to the person who is troubled, awkwardly reassuring Teru that his distress is, in his personal opinion, stupid, so "chill bro".

He wasn't like that with Teru before.

He was so determined to stop the wedding he even rejected hanging out with Aoi, crying tears of blood and asking for her forgiveness in his mind but prioritizing not making her get together with Teru above her joy.

Is that because of his development? Yes! A big part is. Notice the way he treats his mental image as reality? That was his biggest flaw, he imposed his views on Aoi (the view being "everyone is stupid in love with Teru" in this case), and assumed what he believes is a universal truth, doing exactly what Aoi accused him of: Not seeing her, just an idea of her.

But the reason he went so crazy and determined, it's because Akane saw Teru as someone dangerous. Someone who would use Aoi. Hurt her. He believes he is protecting Aoi from the big bad president. A view that makes sense when we take into consideration both Aoi's history of being forced into relationships, and when we go back to their interaction.

Look at this and tell me this isn't a threat:

Teru acts as if he barely remembers her name, she is just 'that cute girl', mostly a tool for him to use against Akane.

When his view of Teru changes to someone kinder who genuinely cares about Aoi as a person, he no longer enters protective mode.

He is still bothered about the idea of Aoi being with someone else, he does noooot look pleased even with his fairy tale vision of a happy couple, but the way he treats this possible 'rivalry of love' when he does believe Teru loves her is so different from his "Don't get close to her!! I will NOT allow it!!" approach.

There is no insecure overthinking. No aggression. He is playful about it. He even teases Teru.

He just wants to focus on rescuing Aoi. A 'rivalry' isn't important. He needs her to be safe.

These two parts of Akane have been juggling for a long while.

But now, character focus is the priority, and I am thankful the damage is being undone, that Aidairo let Akane's love take up whole pages instead of small panels buried under pages of jokes.

Their codependence, no matter how many issues it has, and how it can sabotage them, is based on so much care for each other.

It's a shame I only believe Akane was sincere when he said he'll always be there to protect Aoi regardless if he 'gets to be with her', because of what we see later in the manga, not because of what had been set up in his intro.

#Every time i see the page of Akane gently cradling Aoi's face and crying over her being safe my heart break #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #look at me trying to do a narrative structure analysis despite always failing lit class #aoi akane #akane aoi #aoikane #aoiaoi #long post #character analysis

[according2thelore]

watching season 1 of gilmore girls is just an exercise in gut-wrenching angst when you live with the knowledge that jarpad was 18 when it premiered. like, that's the face of the kid that john winchester told to stay gone for good if he left. that's dean's baby brother. that's the kid who's about to be alone for the first time in his actual life (bar some very specific small blips along the way). i'm cry 😭 thank you to the wb for this gift that we must bear like a thousand-pound cross

LITERALLY

like this sammy??? this sammy right here????

this kid steals dean's flannels even though they don't reach his wrists because they're "more comfortable." he can't keep a pair of pants longer than six months because he grows like a goddamn weed.

this is his big brother's leather jacket!! dean stole it from a surplus store in kentucky and sam wears it everywhere!!!! you cannot tell me otherwise!! they steal it back and forth all the time, but dean doesn't actually want it back bc sam wearing his leather jacket makes him sweat in weird places, which is totally unrelated, okay?

this kid has dreams!!! he writes everything down in composition notebooks stained at the corners with dried, rusty blood from a werewolf four states and five schools ago.

he's been storing his money from pool hustling in the canvas lining of the duffle bag that holds all of his possessions.

this little guy????

the people they save cling to sam like fucking vines, white-knuckled fingers in his sweatshirts because if someone this bright, this innocent, can survive this, they can, too. nothing bad can possibly happen to this kid, because the older one is snarling and spitting and chewing through bone.

because this is just a kid!!!!!! and this kid should be saved, not saving. he's got a pimple on his jaw that's been there for months, and he sweats through almost every shirt he puts on.

LIKE THIS FELLA RIGHT HERE??????

this kid keeps wiping angry tears out of his eyes because no one in this family cares if he's happy, as long as he's here. sam's got money in his bag, and dean won't look him in the eye, and dad is telling him to get the fuck out.

he's telling him that he might as well not even be a part of this fucking family, if he's not going to fight for it. like sam hasn't lost litres of blood for this family, like he wasn't weaned on sweat and stale coca-cola and what adrenaline tastes like when it's the only thing keeping you conscious.

this kid is too big to fit into a queen w dean but goddamnit he's going to, anyway, lazy long limbs splayed on a couch while they watch a re-run on a spotty, fuzzing tv in skin-melting, stifling motel rooms.

having access to video footage of J2 at pre-series ages makes me howl at the moon. because!!!!! like!!!!!! these kids were CHILDREN!!!!!!

anyway. you get it, anon. you know the vision.

dean winchester and i see each other: i would also want to pinch his cheeks and tuck him under my arm and ruffle his hair and buy him milkshakes and new sneakers and cut his silly bangs.

-lizzy

#these anons are kicking me in the ribs while i'm down #and i am so grateful <3 #ask box #kissing each anon on their forehead #lizzy writes #kinda? #samdean #also kinda #lizzy answers

[etirabys]

I've spent the past several days in the kind of art hole where it's been hard to focus on my day job, so here's a blog post about painting.

I had a four month painting hiatus that I decided to exit by making something really easy ("I'm going to make a simple shitty painting by slapping together some geometric shapes"), which produced the square painting on the right (explanation here). It turned out to be a combination of easy and hard – laying down the outlines was easy, since this is the kind of doodling I always do anyway. Putting down the colors was easy. Refining and swapping those colors was hard. In that last step, I realized that the variance in outcome was wider than expected – in particular, that the right combination of colors could probably make this something I truly loved. So that refinement step ended up being ~50% of the work by time, ~70% by mental energy.

This was surprising. This is a child's coloring exercise. On the other hand, I don't remember doing those coloring exercises while growing up, and they turn out to have a lot to teach me. They feel like exactly the right intermediate exercise for me to refine my sense of what colors and shapes look good together.

I've always been bad at colors-and-shapes – and since those are the basics of artistic composition, I considered myself kind of a fundamentally untalented painter. ("Okay, 'fundamentally untalented' is a fake and unhelpful label and I try not to think about it, but in my heart of hearts I know it's a meaningful concept and it's obvious that I'm fundamentally untalented...") It's been a surprise to fuck around in a genre that makes this static fact about myself buckle.

The painting on the left (still in progress) was harder than the first, because I decided most of it would be monochrome except for the top right circle, because the abstract concept I'm trying to convey demands it. (To me, that abstract concept is having a promising fiction synopsis or outline that I may not be able to breathe life into – "breathing life" being something that perseverance and intelligence alone seem to be incapable of promising – and gibbering and sweating and praying hoping it's just going to happen.) I don't want the colorful part to be garish or the monochrome part to be boring, but I don't want to dilute the dichotomy by colorizing the monochrome part too much or vice versa. After a few false starts it's exceeded my expectations, and I know it's going to get even better by my lights. I'm iterating much faster than usual, and I can feel the gravity of the local optimum pulling me in.

There have been multiple points in my life where I suddenly left some plateau of technical skill and bumped up to a new level. I think I'm in one of those phases again. When I close my eyes I see my painting the same way I see Tetris blocks when I'm in a Tetris phase. Cores that are unused for even ten seconds get reallocated to art. It feels amazing.

#rambl #eti draws stuff

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XXXIV

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Some days after Sukuna’s defeat, you wake up.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: i can’t believe this is truly the final chapter

You weren’t sure how long you dreamt for. The scenes you were shown were random, an assortment of the things you had lived through, but in no particular order. Many of them were about Yuta, or were memories featuring him — whether this was because he was generally there for the most important events of your life, or because he himself was the most important thing in your life, you did not know. Some of them were things you had not even experienced: a woman being eaten alive but spitting in defiance at her tormentor anyways, another woman embracing a tall, dark-haired man in the rain as she cried, and a girl with golden hair drinking someone’s poisoned blood-like-pomegranates, signing a contract she was not even aware had been written.

When you opened your eyes, you were lying in a hospital bed, the last remnants of your hazy sleep fading in the face of the bright gold sunlight streaming through the glass-paned window. The room was sterile, as most hospital rooms tended to be, but on your bedside table was a pot of blue irises, the colorful petals brightening up the otherwise-white space.

“Am I dead?” you said, sitting up, your voice rough from disuse. You were not alone in the room; Maki was dozing off in a chair beside you, and this made you frown. If you were dead, that meant she was, too, and you hadn’t wanted that to happen. You had sacrificed yourself so that she and the others didn’t have to. Had it been for nothing?

Maki woke up with a start, scrambling to her feet as soon as she heard your voice. She stared at you for a second, and then her eyes filled with tears and she was wrapping her arms around you so snugly that you actually coughed from the pressure. Something wet and warm dripped onto your shoulder, and you realized she was sobbing as she hugged you, pressing her face against the crook of your neck.

“No,” she choked out. “You’re alive. Stupid, stupid Y/N…you’re alive.”

“I thought for sure I’d died, though,” you said with a small frown. “Did I really grow so weak that I couldn’t even manage that? Well, I guess it’s not important. Where are the others? What about Sukuna?”

“Everyone else is as fine as you could expect,” she said. “And Sukuna is gone.”

Sukuna was gone. They had figured out some way to do it, some way to defeat him. The creature who took and took and took — you were finally free from his all-consuming grasp. You were all finally free. At least, those of you who were left to enjoy it were.

“That’s good,” you said. “Does that mean Megumi—?”

“Yes,” Maki said, looking at the ground. You swallowed but nodded.

“How is Gojo?” you said, daring to hope for just that one second. She gave you a pitying look, and you knew even before she said it what her answer would be. You closed your eyes, waiting to hear it from her mouth.

“You’re the prodigy with Composition,” Maki said. “If you couldn’t bring him back, that means no one else could, either. He’s really gone.”

You pushed aside your grief, knowing that the time to mourn would come, but not yet. There was still something you had to know, someone you had yet to ask about.

“Where is Yuta?” you said. It was odd that you were in a hospital room and he wasn’t by your side, but you refused to think about what that could mean.

“He’s…” Maki trailed off, lost for words.

“No,” you said, cold washing over you. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was saying, and she immediately shook her head.

“It’s not like that! He’s alive.” she said. “He’s just in one of the hospital rooms.”

“You should’ve said so,” you said. “As long as he’s alive, it’s fine.”

“Yes, he is, but he’s been resting recently,” Maki said.

“Resting? Why?” you said. As the special grade sorcerer with the most cursed energy and a Reverse Cursed Technique of his own, such prolonged rest was generally beneath Yuta, who recovered almost instantly. Although you were glad he was taking a moment to relax, it was out of character enough for him that it confused you.

“Y/N,” Maki said with a sigh. “Yuta is — he’s not — he’s not exactly okay, just because he’s not dead.”

You threw your blankets aside without waiting for further explanation, sliding to the floor without even bothering to put your shoes on, your hospital gown fluttering around your bare legs as you sprinted out of the room. Maki shouted in protest behind you, but you ignored her, running through the hallways of the hospital ward with only one thing on your mind.

“Yuta!” you shouted as you ran. “Yuta!”

At the end of the hall, a door slammed open, and Yuta, also clad in a hospital gown, sans even a pair of slippers, stumbled out. He was unsteady on his feet, walking with an uncharacteristic gingerness, but when he saw you, his face lit up and he began running towards you.

“Y/N!” he said, opening his arms as you collided into one another, his frail limbs fitting around you as securely as if they had been made to be there. You held onto him, your breaths falling into sync, your heartbeats in tandem as he kissed your neck, your cheeks, your temples and forehead over and over like he was in disbelief that you were real.

“Are you okay?” you said. “Maki was insinuating that something had happened, but you seem fine. What’s wrong?”

“I’m the one who should be asking that,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’re the one who died.”

“Died?” you said. “But Maki said I’m alive.”

“You are,” he said. “Because I brought you back.”

It was the same story again. You thought Yuta had been the Heian Era Y/N and you had been her husband, the nameless one whose only claim to fame was bringing her back to life after she died against Sukuna, but it wasn’t the case. You were Y/N. He was the original L/N, the one who loved someone so much he could not bear to live without them.

“How?” you said. “You don’t have Composition, so how did you manage that?”

“The words ‘I love you,’” he said. “By refusing to say them out of a fear of cursing you, I made a Binding Vow with myself. All of my cursed energy got concentrated into that phrase, and so when I finally did say it, I was able to funnel every bit into healing you.”

“What does that mean, though?” you said. “If you used all of your cursed energy to heal me, then—?”

“I have none left,” he completed. “I’m a normal person now, Y/N. Your life for my sorcery; to be sure, it was an easy decision to make.”

Yuta was a normal person. Special grade sorcerer, Yuta Okkotsu, was a normal person. You cradled his face in your hands, brushing your lips against his, delicately, softy, afraid you’d break him now that he didn’t have his typical strength. But he grabbed the back of your head, crushing you to him, kissing you like he wanted to meld with you into one person, like he never wanted to be separated from you again.

“You’re in danger now,” you said, pulling away and panting, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. “Without any cursed energy, you’re in danger now, right?”

“From who?” he said, lips parted as he regained his breath. “Kenjaku and Sukuna are gone. And since there are no more special grade sorcerers left in the world, the few remaining curses are extraordinarily weak. We’ll get rid of them soon, and then there won’t be anything endangering us.”

A world without curses. It sounded like a fairytale, a utopian possibility that couldn’t occur for many years, but to hear Yuta tell it, it was something that was happening now. Something which you would get to see in your lifetime.

A world where you could all go to university together and have normal jobs that didn’t require you to risk your lives. A world where your only farewells would be borne of distance and not death. That kind of a world…was it really something that you might one day know?

You weren’t sure. For the moment, though, you decided not to worry about that. The future would always be uncertain, after all. But you had Yuta. No matter what, in some way, shape, or form, you had him, as he had you.

“Don’t let go,” he said when you tried to step away. There were things to be done, after all, others to meet, a funeral to plan — funerals to plan, actually, considering just how many people were gone now.

But, then again, all of that could be done later, too.

“Okay,” you said. “Not yet. Not today.”

“Not anymore. Not ever,” he insisted. And because you both had spent so much time apart, because you had died for him and he had died for you, because neither of you had to say goodbye anymore, you only smiled slightly.

“Yes,” you agreed. “I won’t let go of you, Yuta. Not anymore. Not ever.”

So, as the sun shone down the hallway and the sweet smell of irises filled the air, the two of you clung to each other tighter.

closing thoughts: i would like to thank everyone who was supported me with this story. whether by leaving a comment (or comments), sending me an ask (or asks), liking, reblogging, or even just silently reading, each of you are the reason i was able to finish this fic. there were definitely some ups and downs in terms of how consistently i posted, but i managed to get the whole thing done before the official two year anniversary HAHA so i count it as a win.

i never thought that this story was going to get so long, but it is my first to be over 200k words, which i think is crazy. in that many words and the time that i’ve been writing the characters of pomegranate ink, i’ve grown attached to them, and seeing everyone be as invested in the story as i am always makes me smile a little bit. i will miss writing the crew’s (mis)adventures, inside jokes, and various relationships, but i am glad i got to do so for as long as i did.

thank you all again for reading and watching y/n, yuta, and co. come into their own with me 🫶🏻 it has been a pleasure and i hope to see you again on one of my other stories ❤️

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #reader insert #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[vulpes-fennec]

@elainweekofficial Day 2 🌱

Elain loves to garden, so here's a moodboard of her garden at the River House! Read below the cut for an Elucien one-shot 🦔

Gardening required precision: the right soil composition, watering frequency, timing of planting, and placement. But it also required leniency, for the pollinators, animals, and weather systems that played a role were out of Elain’s control. 

Which was why Elain strung up bird baths and propped up old pots for toads. She left the spiders and praying mantises alone, even though they scared her. She suppressed the urge to tidy everything into neat arrangements, knowing that a little messiness was beneficial for the ecosystem.

Gardening had its fair share of physical work, too. Elain was not a warrior like Feyre or Nesta, but she still flexed her muscles by lugging the watering can around, yanking out weeds, digging up roots, and vanquishing the pests and plant illnesses. 

Gardening was the satisfaction of watching the spring buds flower, of biting into the first summer harvest. But out of everything, experiencing warm sunshine on her skin was Elain’s favorite part of gardening. 

It was shaping up to be a perfect day, she thought. Already Elain had changed the bird bath, refilled the bird feeder, turned the compost pile, pruned the bushes, and inspected the budding fruit trees. She was in the middle of harvesting a bundle of herbs for dinner when she heard distressed squeaking coming from around the bend. 

“Oh no!” Elain cried when she spotted the source of the squeaks. A large hawk had a small creature clasped in its talons, and was taking flight. “Stop! Stop this right now!” 

The animal squirmed its way out of the hawk’s grip and fell several feet to the ground, to Elain’s horror. She rushed over immediately, finding a small hedgehog dragging its hind foot as it struggled towards a brambly hedge. 

“You poor thing!” Elain exclaimed. The hedgehog curled into a ball of brown and black spikes when she approached. Elain knelt down in the grass, cooing softly. “It’s alright little one. You’re safe with me.” 

The hedgehog did not seem to think so. It let out another cry of terror when Elain gingerly touched it. She winced at the spines pricking her calloused palms. A quick glance revealed the hawk waiting patiently in the tree for its afternoon snack, its beady yellow eyes glaring at Elain. 

“Go away!” she shouted up at it. “Don’t you dare come any closer!” She turned her attention back to the hedgehog, who was trembling in fear thanks to her raised voice. 

“I didn’t mean you, little one,” Elain whispered softly, hunching over the hedgehog. “Please don’t be afraid. I only want to help you.” Bracing herself against the temporary pain, Elain gently scooped the curled hedgehog up and placed it into her straw hat. 

Gravel crunched urgently behind her.  

“My lady?” The emissary of the Night Court stood just a few yards away from her, looking like he’d been running. Lucien Vanserra. Her mate. 

Elain stiffened. “What are you doing here?” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, and she regretted using them as her first line of greeting. 

Lucien’s flaming red hair glinted in the sun like molten ore, his russet eye studying her carefully. The scar cutting down his face only drew attention to his angular features. It had been several weeks since Elain saw him last, and every time he reappeared in her life, his handsome face seemed to grow begrudgingly more attractive. “I came to hand deliver an invitation for Queen Vassa’s coronation,” he replied. “To Feyre and Rhysand, but it seems they’re nowhere to be found.” 

“They’re at the Hewn City.” Elain’s words were a frank dismissal to her ears. She winced.

Lucien’s mouth tightened. “Well, I heard you shouting at something so forgive me for making sure you were alright.” 

I don’t need your protection, Elain wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. Her good manners always eluded her whenever she saw Lucien Vanserra. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a hedgehog with an injured foot. I’ll have to send for Madja tomorrow morning.” 

“Broken limbs should be set and healed as soon as possible. Waiting until morning may be too late.” Lucien frowned slightly. “I can try to help.” 

“You’re not an animal healer,” she objected. 

“No, but I did fix your sister’s broken nose under the mountain.” Lucien’s good eye flickered with the faint memory of the traumatic hellhole. 

I don’t need your help, Elain wanted to say, but the hedgehog’s shrill vocalizations begged to differ. “Alright,” she admitted. “We can go to the greenhouse.” 

The creature was shaking like a leaf when Elain set the hat down on the surface of the greenhouse work table. The surface was littered with gardening notes and bottled tonics. A cupboard, filled with seeds and dried flowers stood opposite a shelf of gardening tools. And every other available space was filled with plants. 

The greenhouse was sizable, but the space felt small and hot the moment Lucien stepped over the threshold. He stood silently in the doorway, golden eye clicking and whirring at the haphazard interior. 

She had gauze and healing salves…but perhaps ointments that worked on the Fae would be toxic for animals. The enchanted gloves Lucien gifted her were carefully tucked in a box. Elain had barely used them, only taking them out occasionally to admire its make. But perhaps it was time to put away that stubborn pride…Elain glanced over her shoulder furtively at her mate.

“Hello, aren’t you a cute little thing?” Lucien greeted the hedgehog as he bent down until he was eye level with the table. “My name is Lucien, Night Court’s emissary.” 

He extended a tanned brown hand towards the creature. The hedgehog peeked out at the emissary, unfurling itself to sniff his fingers with its pointed nose. “That’s right, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

“What do we do?” Elain approached the table anxiously. 

Surprise flitted across Lucien’s face at the sight of her gloved hands. “If you could sit and hold the hedgehog so I can see the leg…”

“It’s me, Elain,” she cooed to it, extending her hand just as Lucien did. “I’m going to have to pick you up now.” The hedgehog shrank away, and Elain’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“You can do it,” Lucien said encouragingly. “I’m talking to the hedgehog, but I suppose it applies to you as well.” 

“Why does it like you more than me?” Elain demanded indignantly.

Lucien’s grin was positively smug. “Hedgehogs were quite prevalent in the Autumn Court. They thought quite highly of me.”

Elain rolled her eyes at him. “Come on now. Up onto my hand we go. You’ve seen me around the garden, haven’t you? I’m not a stranger.” The hedgehog reluctantly limped onto her outstretched hand. “Good job, little one!” 

Elain’s heart pounded anxiously as she settled on the chair, for the creature seemed so frail and small. The hedgehog scrunched up its small face, crying out as she shifted it onto its back. Elain gasped when she noticed several red lacerations on its furred underbelly. “Cauldron, it’s worse than I thought,” she fretted. “And I think it’s a female.” 

“Hmmm, you’re right.” Lucien murmured as the hedgehog made more high-pitched whimpering sounds. “Shhh, it’s alright, sweetheart. Let me take a look.” Heat shimmered in the air between them as Lucien knelt in between her legs and leaned closer.

“If you want to give him a bite, you have my permission,” Elain added. As cute as it was, hedgehogs were still wild animals. And she didn’t know if they were aggressive when threatened. 

“I don’t have a problem with biting.” Elain’s blood ran hot when Lucien looked up at her with a humorous glint in both eyes. She quickly looked away. How can I be thinking improper thoughts about him when this poor hedgehog is practically dying in my lap?

Golden light shimmered as the cuts on the hedgehog’s soft belly melded together and disappeared. Elain sucked a breath in, fascinated. But the happy moment was short-lived. 

Lucien’s fingers gently probed the crooked foot, eliciting a plaintive screech from the hedgehog. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Regret laced in his russet eye. 

Elain felt like crying herself at the hedgehog’s distress. “Oh, Lucien. Please hurry! It seems to be in so much pain!” 

His face was grim. “I need to make sure it’s set in the proper position before I heal it. But it’s going to hurt her,” he explained. 

Elain hoisted the hedgehog up so that it leaned against her chest, praying her heartbeat would calm it down. “He’s trying to help you,” she whispered to it. “Please hold on just a little longer. Everything will be alright.” 

“It’s going to be alright, munchkin,” Lucien’s low voice soothed. He tilted his head left and right, as if assessing the proper positioning for a hedgehog foot. “You’ve been such a brave girl. Are you going to be the bravest little hedgehog in Velaris?” 

Golden webbing—a spell—was woven along the hedgehog’s ankle, bracing it in the proper position. The hedgehog screeched. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lucien murmured. 

“Oh, when this is over, I’ll build you a little hedgehog house,” Elain added, trying to keep the hedgehog’s attention on her face. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of treats. We can invite some hedgehog friends over, alright? Don’t think about your foot, darling.” 

A flash of light burst from Lucien’s hand and a final terrified squeak pierced the air. The hedgehog writhed in agony briefly, shivering and whimpering. “Oh gods, oh gods,” Elain gasped. “Is it alright? What happened?” 

“I think so. Put it on the table and see,” Lucien said gently. The hedgehog was indeed back to normal, ambling around on all four legs and making snuffling sounds. 

“It worked. It really worked!” Elain smiled broadly, her heart swelling with relief and joy. “Thank you for helping, Lucien.” Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. Realizing what she’d done, Elain disentangled herself from him sheepishly. 

Lucien shrugged as he stood up. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” He paused. “Did you really mean it? Everything you said to the hedgehog? About building a whole house and bringing more of its kind over?” 

“Yes?” Her mate appraised her with a small smile on his lips that stripped Elain bare. Did he think she was being childish? “And what about it?” Elain demanded hotly. 

“It’s refreshing.” Lucien glanced over his shoulder on the way out of the greenhouse. “The way you care for a small hedgehog, when you treated it gently…it gives me hope for this world.” 

You too, Elain wanted to say. But her mate had already winnowed away without saying goodbye. Meanwhile, the hedgehog was sniffling at a gold-embossed envelope on the worktable. The invitation to Queen Vassa’s coronation had indeed been delivered.

#elainweekofficial #elain archeron #elucien

[prettyiwa]

DO NOT MENTION MY WORKS ON TIKTOK.

(previous) | (next) Relationship: Drummer!Levi Ackerman x Bassist!F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Tags: Band!AU, Modern!AU, Fucking Your Ex, Unhealthy Relationship, Unhealthy Coping, Infidelity, Shameless Smut, Slight Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Oral Sex (M!Receiving), Face Fucking, Degradation Kink (Levi calls reader "slut"), Impact Play (Face Slapping), Slight SadoMasochism, Use of an Anal Plug, Choking, Hair-Pulling*, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Addiction, Allusions to Addiction, Heavy on the RCHP Mentions~ Summary: You used to be his girl and he'd remind you of that fact every chance he got. Then came an offer too good to pass up, even with all the strings attached. Now you're left without your band, without him. But hell, you can remedy that first part, right? And what's a little not hate sex between exes? Word Count: 5820

A/N: Changed it a bit but most of it remains the same. Apologies, tall readers, but we’re Levi’s height here. (I also imagine him a few inches taller here if it helps)

Levi hates this entire fucking thing. He hates being under Zeke’s thumb—what should have been a great opportunity for the band is now Zeke micromanaging them, manipulating what the music will sound like in the studio. He hates that it was Eld who played that night—not that he didn’t like Eld, but he wasn’t you. He hates that he’s here in this dirty ass club with this brunette who won’t leave him alone while Eyebrows and Quiet Blondie whisk you away.

He hates—

He hates that this is the result of his choice and he hates that he’s realizing just how much it’s affecting him now after he’s seen you.

Did Zeke do this on purpose? Did he know that you’d be here tonight? Is that why he sent Levi? He wouldn’t be surprised. It's very much in Zeke’s character to pull such a shitty move, especially as Levi is open about his dislike of the blonde.

He tries to live without regrets, without second-guessing his choices, but, shit, if signing that contract with Zeke wasn’t something he’s starting to regret.

You looked like sin tonight, dancing, singing, playing like you used to—no, not quite. You were playing better, nearly carrying the entire performance. The drummer was good. Regardless of what you may say, the two of you played well with one another.

Shit, he missed having you play bass with him. Listening to you provide the bassline, watching you play—it’s pure sex. There’s no other way to describe it than utterly sexual. You keep time with him, unlike any other bassist he’s ever played with, instinctively knowing how he’s going to move. And your harmony is unparalleled, easily transforming around whatever kick pattern he gives, whatever percussion he’s throwing your way. He’ll follow whatever accents you give the piece, wherever you lead him, he’ll lock-in. Together you’re one instrument providing harmony and rhythm.

When the two of you play together, it’s transcendental, invigorating, indescribable. And he misses it. He didn’t realize just how much until he saw you play tonight.

Nor did he realize quite how much he missed you. You were his girl. He couldn’t claim any part of you, save for your orgasms tonight. Those were his, and his alone. You waited for him, knowing that he’d come, that he couldn’t get enough. Knowing what your music does to him.

You taunted him, teased him, riled him up, reminded him what it was to feel intoxicated, reminded him what it was to be drunk off of you.

He wants to hate you, wants to hate what you reduce him to, but he can’t. He can’t when you feel so fucking euphoric when around him, when the sounds you make are his most beautiful composition, his most beautiful song.

And the thought of you leaving with them makes him sick. Makes him want to find you and remind you that you’re his. Except that you’re not his girl. He lost the right to call you that, even if it was that which made you orgasm so hard you couldn’t stand on your own anymore.

You’re the addiction he wishes he never gave up.

The guitarist won’t stop pestering him, and, unfortunately, Zeke told him that he had to come back with a prospective bassist. She said she played and was a decent enough guitarist. Maybe if she tanks, Zeke will send someone else out. Doubtful, considering the importance of a unified bassist and drummer, but Levi knows that he’s not going to find someone more compatible for him than you.

As a pair of musicians. Nothing more.

So he takes her offered number, dodges her unwanted kiss, and gets the fuck out of the shitty club.

Four Weeks Later

She’s a fine bassist. Nothing special. Doesn’t lead at all, doesn’t do anything more than follow. Disappointing, but Zeke loves it.

Oluo and Gunther hate her and he can’t blame them. Petra came too close to slapping her when she nearly found herself in Oluo’s lap, trying to make Levi jealous. It’s his own damn fault.

It was like the floodgates opened after that night with you. A year and he was fine. He was fine not fucking. It no longer carried the same meaning—music. He didn’t feel that urge to combine the two, to indulge, and then he had to go to that club that fucking night, had to see you, had to hear you.

One stupid relapse and he was doomed.

So he fucked her once. Left right after. Showered in scalding water to try to wash it away.

That was two weeks ago.

He’s about to burst.

He wants to find you. He can’t find you. He wants to remind you that you’re his girl. You’re not his girl. He wants to tell Zeke to fuck off. He gave up everything for this opportunity.

He needs a distraction. Something to tear his mind away from you. Away from this shitty reality. The guys are surprised when he agrees to go out to Utopia District Lounge.

To make matters worse Amy takes it upon herself to invite Zeke. And they don’t find out that you’re the performer for the evening until you arrive with the two blondes and they’re already two shots in.

His eyes are transfixed on you as you set up, as another brunette with glasses comes and helps you, chattering excitedly at you. Amy keeps pouting and whining that he’s not paying attention to her when it’s impossible for him to pay attention to anything but you.

He’s curious to see how you’re going to pull this off—a performance with just your bass and your voice? It’s possible, but if the blondies are here, then he can only assume that they have a plan of some sort.

Eyebrows looks at the door as Zeke walks through, missing you altogether as the latter scans the bar for the band. Levi can’t help but watch as Eyebrows walks over to you, as his hand touches your lower back and he leans in to whisper something, the wink you give Eyebrows. He can’t help but watch as your gaze meets Levi's and you give him a cocky smirk, eyes flickering to Zeke joining them in the booth.

“It’s good to see my band here, together!” Zeke announces, flagging down a waitress. “Such a rare treat for you all to be able to relax, isn’t it?”

Oluo and Gunther pick up the conversation, wanting to avoid Levi punching Zeke, allowing him to focus on you entirely.

You greet the patrons of the bar, introducing yourself as a solo artist in need of a drummer who can keep up—a not-so-subtle dig at him—and that you’ll be improvising the set for the night, but that you’d like them all to come out of the night feeling some sort of way.

And, shit, if you don’t deliver. It starts out slow, lyrics angsty, voice sultry. The songs centering around sex in one way or another, associating sex with drugs, with addiction, but if that doesn’t describe the thrumming of his heart right now, aching for you, to join you, to fuck you. It’s hard to be sober when his drug is standing before him, looking at him like that.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, I have one more song for the night. It’s one that I’ve been perfecting for several years now, so I hope you’ll all like it. In fact, the person it’s about is in this bar right now,” you announce with a wicked smile. “I call it ‘My Ex is a Fucking Asshole.’ Say ‘Hi,’ Zeke.”

Your words take him by surprise, previously unaware of the identity of the "Ex" belonging to your song. Now that he knows, everything clicks into place—Zeke's terms before signing the contract, your potent reaction to the choice he made, your allergy to Marleyan Music Group. Now that he knows, he hates this entire situation even more.

And even though you’re playing with nothing but rage fueling you, he’s certain he’s never seen you look so ethereal, so dangerous, so exhilarating. Fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his dick, fuck if he doesn’t need to indulge.

You finish, glowing like you always do after a show, worrying your teeth between your lips because all that adrenaline, all that blood that’s pumping is going straight to your cunt and you need a release just as much as he. He knows how you operate, knows your singularities, knows what goes through your mind. After all, you were his girl.

And even though your eyes meet his, even though the electricity is there, the pull, you don’t approach. Not with your ex at the table. Does Levi count as an ex, or was he just a long-term fix?

Instead, your eyes find the blondes, looking at you like you’re the golden goose. Hell. With a voice like that and the mastery of your instrument, you may as well be. He can’t help but watch you leave while he’s vibrating with need, desperate to be buried inside you. But he can’t. So he makes a decision that he definitely comes to regret.

She tells him, too. “Just so you know—when I let a guy fuck me twice, it means I’m serious and we’re starting a relationship.”

He waves it away, needing release more than anything. It’s after that he realizes how idiotic he was. How, if he wants out, he’ll have to leave the band or get her to leave. He’ll have to risk his contract, including the non-compete clause. Everything that he had done, everything he had sacrificed—

“Fuck.”

Six Weeks Later

He’s miserable. Truly. Stuck in a relationship with someone he’s come to realize he hates. She talks too much, doesn’t clean up after herself, drinks nearly every day, and is too damn needy. Not to mention she’s not musically compatible with him at all.

And he runs into you more frequently now that you have a label—the label he wished he had gotten but was too poor for the move at the time. They’re playing it smart, advertising you like you’re a soloist, making you desirable to play with, to perform with. So you’re everywhere.

But it isn’t until six weeks after that fuck up that he snaps. You had just performed with one of the more prominent bands in the city sounding like sex, sounding like sin. He had to watch as the lead vocalist draped his arms around you, touched you like you were his, playing one of the songs that you had performed back at the bar.

He seeks you out in the back, overcome with the urge to mark you, to fill you up, to fuck you raw. Playing like this always made you an insatiable little shit, desperate to continue the high, to continue the music. He knows because you were his girl. He knows because listening to you play made him want the same damn thing.

You’re squeezed between the vocalist and the guitarist, arms wrapped around either of their waists, smiling with that post-show elation. As though you could sense him, you turn, making eye contact with him, licking your lips with a distinct rapaciousness playing in your expression. He approaches, unable to stop himself, unsure if he even wants to stop himself.

The air gets hotter, thicker the closer he gets, attention drawn to him when the band realizes you’re not paying attention to them, but to him, and the room seems to shrink until it’s just you two. You release yourself from the band, stepping forward to meet him, eyes raking his form as you near.

He wants to take you, kiss you, show everyone here how you respond to him, but before he can make a move, you walk past him as you had before. He has no choice but to follow, just as before. You live for this, making him follow, making him chase you for release—he was the one to walk away, after all. You’re not his girl. Shit, if he doesn’t want to make you his girl again.

Amy’s face flashes in his mind as he catches up to you, grabs your wrist, yanks you into a closet. He should feel bad, guilty, even if he doesn’t like her. But the way you whine as he pins your arms above your head against the back of the door sends shivers up his spine that wipe out all coherent thought.

The sound of the crowd and the ambient music reverberates in the small room as you grind against his thigh between your legs, whimpering and squirming with need. When his lips crash against yours, it feels like an inevitability, a certainty, a fatality. You feel like velvet against his skin, taste saccharine against his lips, sound euphonious to his ears. He makes quick work of the buttons on your pants, pulling them down, expecting to find lace or spandex or silk or something, but finding nothing.

“You like?” you croon at his sharp intake of breath. “Was hoping to get a good fucking tonight.”

The whimper that comes out of your mouth as he drags his fingers against your sopping folds fills him with an undeniable buzz that spreads across the entirety of his being. “Such a fucking slut.”

“What’s that say about—” your taunt is cut off by a discordant cry as he flicks your swollen clit, as he starts to massage it, setting you on course to that delicious fucking high that you’re so desperate for.

“What was that? I can’t quite hear you,” he whispers, leaning in so his mouth ghosts over yours.

“Shut the fuck up and fill me up already,” you utter between broken moans, still insolent, still a fucking brat. He removes his hand from your clit, bringing a pout to your perfect fucking lips, bringing a daring look to your lust-blown eyes.

It’s an impulse, an automatic response after years of fucking you, of knowing you, of—

His open palm stings a bit as your head snaps to the side and he thinks he’s gone too far—you’re not his girl anymore, and you have no tolerance for face-slapping otherwise—but an exhilarated smile forms and you peek at him from the corner of your eye as your chest heaves.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you sneer. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He lets go of your wrists and you immediately begin tugging on his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, undressing, trying your damnedest to ignore the way he pinches, pulls, and bites. He springs free and you drop to your knees, looking up at him like you’re about to devour him and fuck if he doesn’t want you to.

You stick out your tongue, licking a stripe from his base to his tip, drawing out a shudder from him, causing his mind to go blank. And when you swirl your tongue around his head—the groan that comes out of him is loud and he’s certain the people on the other side of the door would hear him, but it doesn’t matter because all that he can focus on is the way your mouth is swallowing him, taking him to the hilt, the way his fingers bury themselves in your hair, controlling your pace.

And that look in your eyes, refusing to leave his—concupiscent, lascivious, absolutely pornographic. He’d let you kill him, here, now, if he could have this image, this sensation permanently branded in his memory. How pliant you are as he guides you to his pleasure, how pleading your eyes are to be stuffed with him, how intoxicating are your nails as they dig into the hard muscle of his ass.

His pleasure is building, mounting, but he doesn’t want to coat your throat with his cum—yes he does, but not right now—so he pulls you back with an unceremonious pop! Your gaze turns bitter for a moment before false docility washes over your features. You give his cock a peck before shifting, bringing your mouth to his hip, sucking at the sensitive flesh, certain to leave a mark. He can’t even bring himself to give a damn, not even when your teeth sink in, deep enough, hard enough that a forensics team could pull your dental records off his body.

He pulls you up by your hair, bringing you to your feet. He turns you around, slams you against the door, relishing in the breathy moan that escapes you, in the way you perk your ass for him, pulling your cheeks apart, showing the shiny plug nestled in your tight asshole. He taps the base, the surprisingly cool metal, and watches as you jolt, desperate for stimulation.

“You ready, you fucking tease?”

“Please, just fucking fill me already,” you beg, face pressed against the door. If anyone’s on the other side, they’re sure to hear, but as it is, it’s just you two—the world has boiled down to you two. Nothing else matters but the music that floats between you two, the music that you two create as you both seek passage to Elysium.

He nudges your opening with his cock, throbbing, begging to be inside you. You squirm against him and he tightens his grip around the back of your neck.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he orders before entering you in a single snap of his hips, groaning at the snug fit as your plug presses against him through the tight walls of your cunt. You meet him as he slams his hips forward, as the closet fills with the joint sounds of your gasps, your moans, as you two create a song so beautiful that it’ll be stuck in his head until next time.

Because there's gotta be a next time. How could there not when your pussy takes him so well, when your body responds to him the way it does like it was made just for him?

“Look at you,” he growls, pleasure rolling through him with each thrust, each twitch. “Such a good fucking slut for me. So—fucking—tight!”

The signs are there—the tensing of your muscles, the light fluttering of your walls, the quickening of your breathing—and he wants to feel you, feel the intensity of your orgasm just like the last time. He slips his hand between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in the way he knows you love. It rolls off his tongue far too easily, a habit, a recognition of what you once were, what he hopes you would be.

“Cum for me. I want to feel my girl cum on my cock.”

Your orgasm is like a tidal wave—a massive surge that takes everything with it, leaving no survivors. The guttural scream that leaves you and the clenching of your pussy around him sparks his own, exploding all at once, making him see stars, grabbing onto you as tightly as you’re holding onto him. A deep satisfaction washes over him, feeling the release of tension he’s been holding onto for far too long. Tremors still wrack through your body and he finds himself uniquely jealous of the lasting pleasure you feel, the magnitude of your high compared to his.

But it’s the least he could do for his girl.

Even if you’re not his girl.

“Agh, fuck, I missed that,” you mutter, low and what he can only assume was meant for your ears alone. You tap his thigh lightly, communicating your desire for him to pull out. He groans as he complies, as his dick rubs against the plug one last time. As he tucks himself back into his pants, he notices the cum that trails from your swollen lips.

You shrug out of your jacket, handing it to him, before ridding yourself of your tank top and use it as a makeshift towel to clean yourself up. He watches as you ball it up and throw it to the back of the closet, leaving yourself in your black lace bra.

“That was fun,” you wink, extending your arm to ask for your jacket. “Till next time, handsome.”

You open the closet door, stepping out before his hand closes around your wrist. He doesn’t like the look in your eye as you turn back to regard him. He doesn’t like the lack of warmth, the attempt at indifference. He doesn’t like the harsh reminder that you’re not his girl.

“Next time?” he questions the promise in your tone, the certainty. He simply needs to know when.

You lean in, smile sickly sweet, unnervingly cold, until your mouth is level with his ear. Your voice is silky smooth and dripping with poison. “You and I both know that your girlfriend’s cunt just doesn’t cut it. We’re both addicts, Levi, and I’m tired of being clean.”

Two Weeks Later

The next time is a benefit concert, one that you’re both playing at, albeit at different stages at different times. The band manages to catch your first performance and you’re covering “Orion” like you were born to, like your entire purpose is to remind everyone of the power that bassists hold. It’s transcendent to watch as you perform, as you throw yourself into the music, the rhythm.

They catch Zeke watching with a hungry expression in the back, cataloging the way you make it look almost effortless and sound even better. Finishing strong, you look out to the crowd, glowing from playing, from their adulation. You ask them for another song to cover, watching the counter tick up, up, up as donations pour in. Someone requests “Coffee Shop” and your excitement turns palpable, loving the opportunity to play RHCP.

“Well, it’s not like she didn’t get better with time. Remember all of those times you and she would warm up with the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Look at us now,” Oluo remarks snidely, throwing a glance at Amy to Levi’s right. “What I wouldn’t give to play with her again.”

The last comment is loud enough for Amy to hear. She elbows Levi in the ribs before pouting that he stepped away from her. “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to defend me?”

Levi leaves before he has to deal with any more of her whining, thoroughly missing a decent fucking bassist who makes going into the studio worthwhile. After an hour of checking out the different stages, the different acts, he makes his way to the back of the stage they’ll be performing in later, only to find you, perched at the barstool, flirting with the bartender.

“What are you doing back here?” Levi asks, much harsher than intended.

“I’m playing with the headliners,” you shrug. “Erwin and Mike rep them.”

After the final encore, you emerge, sweaty and jubilant. The musicians from the day intermingle with one another, making it easy for them to get separated, lost in the sea of bodies, making it easy for him to find you and drag you to the bathroom.

The time after that was after a show in a park. You went down on him behind the bleachers like a couple of high school kids and were nearly caught like high school kids.

Then a show at the ballroom of a hotel—in the restroom, on the empty balcony, almost in the elevator, in a room that your label had gotten you in case you were too exhausted to take the train home.

A jazz club that had tiered balconies, perfect for private stripteases and overstimulation.

At a casino—which was the first time he had actually sought you out—he fucked you so hard that you forgot your name for a minute.

Again.

And again.

And again.

A symphony of moans, whines, whimpers, exhales, all permanently ingrained in his mind. Enough that he doesn’t fuck Amy anymore. Not when he can get his fix elsewhere. Not when he has the real thing.

She pouts, cries, complains, and he would say that it affects her performance but it doesn’t. She wasn’t good enough to begin with for it to affect her performance. He doesn’t find enjoyment in making music with the band anymore, not with Zeke hovering over them. It’s almost like he has a keen focus on Levi and the band, like they’re his only clients, like he doesn’t run one of the largest labels in the country.

He’s taken to playing alone as he used to when he met you.

He misses when music was something he looked forward to making, not just a means to an end. It’s getting to the point that Gunther is talking about leaving, too, taking the hit with the non-compete clause. It helps, of course, that Gunther can lean on his mother and grandmother for support. And Oluo has his mother’s restaurant.

And Levi? Levi has nothing but a record label that’s suffocating him, a woman he doesn’t want, and a woman he doesn’t have. He had moved here, hoping he could turn his passion into a career, one fruitful and rewarding. Before their deaths, he had promised Isabel and Furlan that he would do what he could to make it, to play and share his music with hundreds, thousands, millions.

Maybe he chose this particular rehearsal hall because it’s the one you frequent. Maybe he had chosen it because it was the cheapest in the area—but he doesn’t even live in this area. Maybe he just wanted to see you.

And see you he does, through the glass window of the door of his practice room as you pass with your bass. It’s such a weird thing, the way his heart hammers in his chest at the barest glimpse of you. He was fine—

For a year, he was fine. Except that he wasn’t.

Just as he decides not to pursue, the door is yanked open and you step in with your case. Your hair is tussled, breathing a little erratic, brows drawn together in confusion.

“Since—what—The fuck are you doing here? You don’t practice here,” you yammer, confusion seeping through your voice.

“I can practice wherever I want. I paid for this room, after all.”

His answer only seems to fluster you more, while you shake your head. “You—”

“Are you going to join me or can I get back to my practice?” he drawls. He had stopped playing, lost in thought, but he needs you to make up your damn mind. As does he.

Your eyebrows shoot up at his proposition, at the prospect of playing with him again before they relax and a contemplative smile forms.

“You sure?”

“Tch. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Okay,” you lilt. “You mind if we do some warm-ups?” You immediately start setting up, establishing your pedals in the space where you’ll be playing, moving like you’ve never been happier, the skirt of your dress swaying as you move back and forth.

“Anything in particular?”

“Mmm, no. Just throw me a beat,” you call, connecting the last of the cables to the amp.

“It’s good to hear that,” he mutters, having missed a competent bassist who doesn’t need explicit direction.

“‘S that so? Well, you guys are using someone who used to believe that playing bass guitar and playing guitar are the same.”

“How long ago did she believe that?”

“Hmm… Two years ago? If I remember correctly. You good? Or do you want me to start?”

He picks up “Naked in the Rain” and you flow into it easily, effortlessly, like it hasn’t almost been two years since the two of you played together. The smile that is plastered to your face is radiant in its own right, unadulterated joy, and fuck if he’s not feeling a little bit of it, too. It morphs into “Blackeyed Blonde” at your direction and it’s a rush for his bassist to take charge again, for the two of you to play off of each other.

You lock eyes with him as you move to the beat, to the harmony you’re providing to his outline, and it’s unquestionably sexual as the energy in the room shifts. It’s always been like this. This is what it should be.

You wipe sweat away from your forehead as the two of you come down from the warm-ups before tossing him an extra water bottle.

“You, ah, you have something you need to practice? Or just here to jam?” you ask as you open the bottle. He’s mesmerized by the way your throat moves as you drink the water, catching himself before you have a chance to notice.

“Today is unstructured. Do you have a song you need to practice? You’ve been writing more than you used to.”

“Yeah, well, got some shit I gotta work out,” you grumble. “You mind if I practice this one song? I have the drum tabs with me if you wanna take a look. Or we can see if you pick it up?”

A challenge.

But you’re his bassist and he knows you like the back of his hand, knows your music like it calls out to his soul.

“What do you think, brat?”

You wink and click your tongue against your teeth as you smile, keeping the offered pages in your case. The two of you have done this countless times just to see if you could. This is an old habit, an old game, one he’ll happily participate in.

Starting, he picks up the rhythm you’re giving him but waits to see how it evolves. It’s unexpected when you start to sing—you could, but you never used to. Now it’s a part of your package, but it’s still unexpected in this session that almost felt like things used to be.

The raw emotion in your voice is devastating, powerful as your eyes screw shut in concentration, engulfed in the music. He starts playing along, generally uncomplicated, and your face relaxes for just a moment before it twists into a mournful expression. Your lyrics are powerful, evocative, talking about him, about how you want to love him in wonderfully calamitous ways, leaving him bleeding and broken as when he left you.

He can’t bear it. He can’t bear watching you anymore, watching the emotions dance across your face—the pain, the betrayal, the longing. He can’t bear to watch anymore because it’s mirrored within him.

When he finishes before you do, he’s lucky that you’re so invested in the song that you don’t hear as his drumsticks are discarded, as his seat is pushed back, as he steps closer. Before you have a chance to open your eyes again, he’s cupping your face and pulling you to him in a fervent kiss, desperate to wash the pain away—yours or his, he’s not entirely sure. It doesn’t matter.

You pull back, pupils wide with desire, hands secure around your instrument.

“Here?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together, though you’re already preparing to remove your bass guitar.

“You were the one just singing about wanting to fuck me,” he points out.

“Those were the lyrics, jackass,” you mutter, gently placing your instrument in its case.

“Were they any less true?”

“No.”

A whispered admission. A whispered confession.

You turn, an indecipherable emotion behind your eyes as you step forward, as you extend your arm, your hand, wrap it around his throat. He gives you a growl in response as you push him back towards the wall, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, all teeth and tongue. Your grip around his throat loosens, remaining there only as a symbol of your power over him. His hands bunch the skirt of your dress, lifting it up so he can grab the supple flesh of your ass.

Your lips chart a path down his jawline, sucking a bruise just beneath his ear as your fingers carefully undo each button of his shirt. As much as he wants to mark you, claim you, remind you that you’re his, you must want to do the same. Once his shirt is open, you trail your lips down to his chest, nibbling on his collarbone and sending an intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure through him.

He pushes you away so he can start loosening his belt only for you to swat his hands away and do it yourself. There is no foreplay this time, no teasing, nothing beyond base desire, base need. As you tug his pants and boxers down, his own fingers loop around the bands of your underwear, shoving them down.

His hands dig into your hips as he tries to turn you around, but you pull him off of you, instead pushing him to the ground and stepping out of your lingerie. You climb on top of him, positioning him against your dripping folds before sinking down on him, punctuating your breathing with a throaty moan.

The pace you set is brutal, unrelenting, full of words that go unsaid, unexchanged. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. His grip on your hips is certain to leave bruises as he rocks you against him, seeking that high for you both.

But this isn’t like the other times—this isn’t about the high, the addiction. This feeling that’s simmering beneath the surface isn’t addiction, though it could easily be confused as such. He wants you. He wants you in ways he was too stupid to admit nearly two years ago.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you near your end, as you press your forehead to his in an unusually tender expression that nearly crushes his heart.

It’s a cry, a plea, the breaking of your heart—

“Say it, please, say it, please, please, please.”

“You’re my girl,” he grunts, caressing your body as you shriek and shudder through your release. “Mine.”

He made the wrong choice back then. He knows that now, and he hates that it’s taken him this long to figure it out.

Once you’ve regained control of your faculties, he grabs your chin with a tenderness that’s been missing from these encounters, these indulgences. Your eyes are wary, afraid, achingly hopeful as he brings your mouth to his for a sensuous kiss, a delicate promise to you, to himself.

He doesn’t like living with regrets.

You break away, eyes taking in as much of him as you can before maintaining his gaze.

“You’re my girl,” he reiterates.

“No,” you whimper, voice cracking. “I was your girl.”

“I want—”

“No.” It comes out more forceful and he wonders if it’s for him or for yourself. “I hate you. I hate you for leaving. I hate that I can’t stay away from you. I hate that I can’t hate you. I want to be your girl, but you made a choice, Levi.”

You flinch as he tries to wipe away the tears that have started to fall.

“I’m going to make another,” he promises, fingers gentle on your face, careful in how he comforts you. “You’re still my girl.”

fic page (including link to the playlist) | Attack on Titan Masterlist

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk smut #aot smut #✒.his girl #✒.ix writes #🥔.snk #this is for you his girl anon #snk.✒

[allycat75]

Some dos and (mostly) don'ts for the upcoming Comic Con, Boston Dumb Fuck.

So I don't know if your handlers have had a chance to program you for the event yet or if they are waiting for a software update, but here are some tips for your trip to Seattle.

When you smile, try to have it reach a little up your face. You could scare the children with your hollow, soulless eyes. You may have become an automaton, but these people paid good money so try to look and act like a human male. And stay off the weed- makes any chance of a sparkle disappear.

When speaking, try to avoid the "ok" sign, or even the Italian thing you do sometimes with the fingers together (🤌)*. It's too close to the sign the smug wifey likes to flash with her close Nazi buddies. You are already tied to her and carry around a certain amount of shame for that, don't need to make it worse by appearing like you are a true believer now.

Don't mention your inconsequential political site. These folks just want a picture with the dude who once played Captain America. They don't care about you and your vain extra curriculars.

At the same time, don't play too much into the Captain America role. You signed on for this fake marriage with the antisemetic, racist wifey to reset your image (I guess?) and you cannot claim any similarity or want for similarity or admiration for the character, when you embody everything he would be ashamed of.

Don't try to get your feminist street cred back by wishing people a good Women's History Month. That ship has sailed for you.

As much as I hate seeing that liars ring, keep your left hand out of your pocket. You look like you are diddling yourself and people don't need more reasons to try to label you as a p**vert. We all know you are an "alone guy" and maybe that is what you do back at the hotel, although with its dubious metal composition, I don't recommend getting that piece of jewelry too close to your junk. It could cause sterility...On second thought, whack away, rub, rub, rub with good old lefty. Do society a favor. You are enough of a child for you to raise.

Of course you could forgo the ring altogether (in unison "You could forgo the ring". Sorry, I had to do that. My dad trained me too well watching "Airplane"). Have the OFFICIAL break up announcement come out before the con. Garner some sympathy. Begin to remove all reference of her. But don't forget that this does little to clear your karmic debt or repair the pathetic shreds of your life. You have a long road to travel, if you chose to do better. Leaving this debacle is only the first step. No matter the narrative being told, the only thing for certain is that you are a major liar who has selfishly hid behind his privlege to get what he wants, no matter the collateral damage.

If you are in real trouble and are in need of serious help, send us the message by wearing your California cap and we'll come running. Maybe. You've been a real shit and may not derserve it. We'll have to assemble a coterie of mods to discuss your fate, like in a Wes Anderson movie. Any mods interested?

If, on the other hand, you are ok but would like to acknowledge you have been a manipulative, selfish sack of White Privleged shit who needs to actively work to become a trustworthy, authentic person and make amends, wear the NASA cap.

Well, that's all I can think of for now. Enjoy the coffee up there in the Emerald City, if you are into coffee that week, you Mercurial mother fucker! 👋

*PS- I would like to clarify that I am in no way equating one gesture with another. My intent was that, in this case, there is a likely possibility the Italian gesture could be taken out of context and skewed to look like the beginning of a WP sign because of BDF's association with the little Nazi twit. Photshop has been used before, why would it not be used for this nefarious purpose? Even these simple and inert gestures can become weapons in the wrong hands.

But I should have been more careful and I sincerely apologize to anyone I offended. I tell BDF to do better, but unlike him, I am not a hypocrite so I will follow my own advice. Thank you to those who politely called me out and I hope this helps.

#brian wilson vibes #ai in human form #you are the company you keep #i hate manipulation #i don't like hypocrites #do better #liars suck!

[th3lost4uthor]

Wakfu Oropo OAV : Why I love to hate it

Hum, sorry not sorry, but you read correctly, dear Kosmoz's traveller it is time to give my opinion on the latest Ankama OAV focusing on Oropo's background, and well... Let's at least start with the good parts.

A long forgotten animation we love

The title screen framing Oropo's figure, graphically underlying he will be the center of this story is quite nice. There are few other choices of composition that are also really good and meaningful.

The animation is still... Well it's Ankama : it gives energy in the fight scene, emotion when needed, it is colorful yet pale (underlying maturity after a childish beginning for the series).

The Eliotropes' design and presentation : so nice to see more charcaterisation of this race we have still so much to uncover ! And I LOVE to see "bad eliotropes", especially this little guy there ("Rictus" in french), because if Eliotropes are Yugo's shadows, then it means that our dear "EliAtropes' king" is not as a white knight as we would like to see him ~

The fights are pretty cool

The music... well still awesome

Don't know about the english dub, but oh well, the french one is still very neat. Even if I can not help but to find that Chibi's way of ALWAYS screaming is just tiring in the long run...

AND THERE IT IS.

We have reached the end of the "good points", and oh boy... It can not be compared to the bad ones...

De Profundis : why this OAV should return to the White Dimension

CHIBI : he should NOT BE ALIVE !!! I KNOW that IoW is no more canon but the fact that he is still alive after the second war against Orgonax ? Bollocks ! And his character design ?! What is this ?

From now on... I will rename Chibi "no eyebrows stupid screamer"

And yeah... STUPID !!! For someone who is supposed to have outlived Orgonax and Qilby's "treason", how is it possible for him to be this nut-head ? He lost the fight at the end for what ? Because he only screams and yells and DID NOT THINK ONCE ! Talk about a Council's member : no shit Qilby became crazy with a brother like him for centuries.

And Grougaloragran, can we talk about him ? WHY IS HE FIGHTING NAKED ?!? Why does he not transform into his dragon version ?! WHY NOT USING ALL HIS POTENTIAL FACING SUCH A THREAT ?! And if he wants to stay in a more agile version, fine, but keep your damn clothes ON, please ! I mean, it brings up nothing interesting other than his abs : can we be serious for once ?

Chibi's death : no emotion. I mean, he does not seem very wise for his age, he does not listen to his brother, he does not talk about Yugo or perhaps his feelings about encountering other "versions" of his brother after so much time being appart from him. Did not particularly care about him at the beginning, hate him after seeing that version of the character.

THE FU**** CONSISTENCE WITH THE LORE ?! WHERE IS IT ?!

The fact that Oropo is held into the cube.... It could be a good idea, huh ? Yes, yes... he could become.... THE F***** VOICE THAT NOX IS HEARING, RIGHT ?!?! For which reason ? Why tossing the cube into the ocean ?! How does it come back in season one ?! Can't Nox be left alone and just be a great antagonist WITHOUT OROPO being "at the beginning of everything" ?!

Ankama is probably going to follow that last idea, aren't they ? So, like at the end of the 3rd season, we're gonna have the "it was Oropo's plan"... Thanks, really.

Hum.... Did Oropo really though that they could take out a freacking dragon ? Like... He's Yugo's shadow : he knew that Grougal was powerful. Why not trying to sneak out ?

Because of that choice to show "fighting" instead of sneacking, we were stuck 30 minutes on a beach. There was only few different backgrounds with flashbacks (and we already knew that beach from season one, so not even something new).

Hum, I love the design of all the Eliotropes, but... WHY ARE THEY SO DIFFERENT FROM THE ORIGINAL ?! I mean, the saga is supposed to be part of the game too ! You're going to tell me that there are all different even though all the in-game Eliotropes have the same design ? And what about the fact that their design are litteraly caricatures of their personality ? Same note for their names ("'"poet" ? "rictus" ? "bouillon" ?) ! I mean, we're not children, and gosh, it is so... plain ! Can't they have nuances ?!

The dialogues... Lame. No emotions. No good humor. No really good informations : I had the the impression to see children taunting each other each time someone was talking.

Oropo being full of disdain towards his brothers and sisters when they are talking and suggesting other plans but being full-emotional when one of them dies : once again, show why his characterization is a fail.

Aton's death : "you were a brother... A sister... Whatever..." Is this a non-bineary reference here ? WHY ? I mean, it is not bad to have more diversity, quite the contrary but its just... there. No explanation, And for a antagonist with "no emotion" : what a great depiction for this stigmatized group... And who dies at the end... If it was just to put a reference to LGBTQ and + because its trendy or because you have a to-do list to check, please don't.

Why is Grougaloragran using his adversaries' names like he knows them even he just met them ?

The Eliacube showed Oropo the destruction of the Eliatropes' world after Orgonax came, or some kind of destruction. And he still wants to use it... Genius.

Well, I think I will stop this monolog here.

I will gladly exchange with whoever want to share their own experience of this OAV.

To conclude : I will not recommend this OAV for something else than the animation. The story is sh*t, the characters are a pain in the eliacube and I can't help but fear for the 4rth season after watching this...

#wakfu #ankama #personal opinion #oav #oropo #Oropo OAV #that was horrible #try to convince me otherwise #I posted this on my past account - repost it here #repost from me to me

[codesandstuffs]

Mcyt Yuri Week - Day 1: Dance

(full fic below the cut, and link to ao3 version here!

hiya @mcyt-yuri-week i hope this fits the prompt alright!)

<File Retrieved...> <Loading...>

MISSION REPORT - 060623 - G SUBMITTED AT 07:09

Target attended gathering at 0158 hours to meet with associates. Multiple suspicious persons seen on location. G and Z tracked target throughout night. At 0232 hours, target approached G and initiated conversation until 0457 hours. Z found multiple encrypted documents at suspected dead drop. Both agents left gathering at 0524 hours.

Further observations detailed below:

████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

<End Of File>

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Gem stepped over the dashed white line that marked the entrance to Olive Point.

This mission had been stalled for over a month by multiple complications, including but not limited to the introduction of a new department head in her agency, but today was the day that she was finally permitted to return to it. It had taken a good amount of paperwork; her new boss had spent a good week rereading all of her work so far and then asking question after question about what she had discovered so far, and then she had to re-sign all of her forms and documents for some clerical reason that her boss hadn’t really bothered to explain.

“Paperwork, you know how it is,” her boss had said, waving her complaints away.

Gem had narrowed her eyes in response. “I do, which is why I’m so confused. I’ve already confirmed I understand my legal limitations and turned that form in. Why do they need it again?”

“If I knew, I’d be in administration, not espionage, wouldn’t I?”

And then she’d received another three forms for her efforts - all of which she was certain she’d signed just days ago - and realised that her boss might just be messing with her at this point.

After that, she’d stopped complaining so much, and the paperwork had dramatically decreased. Gem could pick up a hint.

Finally, she’d been allowed to return to the field, this time attending the same party that her target was attending in hopes of finding some sensitive information. It had been a good month since she had even seen her target. Her stomach was doing flips at the thought of sharing a room with her target at all.

Gem managed to keep a calm composition all the way through the process of entering the club and locating her target, but then -

She had changed.

Last time Gem had seen her target, her hair had been longer and straighter, falling flat around her shoulders like a curtain of silk. And she’d only really seen her in the professional wear she wore on the train and in her workplace, which was where Gem had been situated during her observations last time.

Now, however, her hair was cut and curled so that it hung just above her shoulders, shimmering in the flashing lights of the party as if it was set with stars. Her dress was short and bouncy and pretty and cute. Oh goodness - Gem’s target was cute.

Maybe she should have expected to be surprised to see her wearing anything but sharp navy suits and pressed shirts. Maybe she should have known better than to think her target was just a distant figure, moving about her unchanging life with no care for anything outside of it. Maybe she should have seen the butterflies in her stomach coming.

But when her target looked over at her across the room and gave her a small, friendly smile, she was caught entirely off guard all the same.

Well, fabulous.

Gem was doomed.

-

Gem hadn’t come to the party alone, of course. It would be just suspicious enough to be memorable, and so she had asked her colleague and closest friend Cleo to accompany her for the night. Cleo was better at parties, too - she fit in better with the noise and brashness of the guests, without the more delicate manner Gem usually preferred to wear in her civilian identities - and had even lent her one of her dresses for tonight.

Still, Cleo had left her side after only a few minutes, apparently finding some interest in the bar, leaving Gem to navigate the odd social event that was a late party on her own. It wasn’t that much of an issue, or she would have called Cleo back and suffered the grumbling she’d get in return, but it still did make focusing on her mission a little harder - especially with her newfound distraction.

Her target, however, had apparently noticed her loneliness. She approached Gem a good half an hour after Cleo had vanished, a pair of drinks in her hands and a grin on her face.

“Hello!” she greeted, and Gem almost jumped out of her skin at hearing her voice in person rather than over a transmitted signal from a bug. “I saw your friend ditched you and thought you might want a conversation partner.”

“Oh,” said Gem. She was meant to say more, but the smell of her target’s perfume wiped the words from her brain.

“Would you like one?” Her target offered out one of the glasses. “It’s pineapple flavoured, apparently.”

Gem took the glass and tried to inspect it discreetly. “You haven’t tried it?”

“Don’t tell my friends, but I’m a bit scared to try it myself,” her target said, leaning a little closer and dropping her voice as much as she could over the loud music. “At least if it’s bad, someone else will get to experience the same badness, y’know?”

“That does make sense,” Gem agreed. She swirled the glass a little, before deciding that it looked safe enough. “I’d be honoured to give it a go with you.”

“Perfect!” her target beamed, and then downed the whole glass in one. Unsure if she was meant to do the same in this specific circumstance, Gem followed suit.

“Oh shit,” she said suddenly, “that’s stronger than I expected.”

Her target glanced at her expression and burst into laughter, eyes crinkling up at the edges and cheeks flushing the longer she laughed. “You look horrified! Why did you have it all in one go?”

“You did the same thing!”

“Yes, but I can handle it! And no offence, but you don’t really seem like… well, do you feel okay?” her target asked, voice dipping into concern.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Gem said. “Really, I am.”

Her target gets her some water and takes her to another room to sit down anyway, still stifling a few giggles behind her palm as Gem blinks confusedly at the new, quieter environment and the steel table in front of her. Eventually, her target seemed satisfied, settling down on another chair with her chin in her palms and elbows on the table.

She talked at her for a few minutes as Gem sipped on her water, talking about how it was her friend’s birthday party and how her friends had decided to dance far too close to the speakers for her to join them and how her name was Lizzie, by the way, and it was very nice to meet her.

In return, Gem introduced herself as Meg - not her most creative name, sure, but these were more unusual circumstances than usual - and explained that Cleo was far more the party type than her, inventing some tale about how they had decided to drag Gem out of the house for once to see what the scene was like.

“It’s a shame she didn’t stick around to show you around a little more,” Lizzie said when she’d finished her brief story. “It really can be a fun time here.”

“I’m not sure I’m the dancing type, really,” Gem replied, chuckling a little.

Lizzie gasped and raised her head from her hands. “But you haven’t even tried it!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t think -”

Without warning, Lizzie stood up and stretched a hand out to her. “Meg. You are going to dance with me right now, or so help me, I will find your friend and tell them you’re being a total scaredy-cat.”

“Alright, alright! Just for one song,” Gem compromised, taking Lizzie’s hand and letting her pull her to her feet. “And if I don’t like it, I’m sitting back down.”

“Trust me,” Lizzie said, tugging her towards the centre of the room, “you’re going to have a great time.”

There weren’t that many people in this room, as it was a little too early for most people to want to sit down and listen to slower music, so Gem felt almost unshielded as she awkwardly followed Lizzie’s steps, stumbling a little as she did. She wondered if the others in the room could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest.

The truth was, she wasn’t nearly as much of a lightweight as Lizzie thought, nor was she as bad of a dancer as she was pretending. She didn’t have any excuse at all for her rapid heartbeat or the flush in her cheeks. Even a few songs later, after they’d tried a slower dance and a faster dance and something in the middle that they couldn’t quite figure any good way to dance to, it felt as though she was floating in a warm haze.

Even when Lizzie eventually bid her farewell to go home with her friends, she could feel her hands tingling from where their hands had been tightly knitted together for the last hour.

Cleo returned, finally, her back pocket a little less empty than it had been a few hours ago. The moment she saw Gem’s face, she sighed.

“Please don’t tell me you spoke to her,” Cleo said. “And please don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on her.”

“I don’t!” Gem replied, but her flustered tone gave away the lie in an instant. “I - listen, it’s nothing important. It’ll vanish by tomorrow - it’s just the alcohol, probably!”

“Uh huh. Well, I think I’m good for the night, so I’m headed home. Are you ready?”

Gem folded her arms over her chest. “Of course. I’ve been waiting for you. This really isn’t my kind of place.”

“If you say so,” said Cleo, grinning in that practised way that Gem knew was reserved for missions in the public. “I’ll order us a taxi, then.”

Fortunately, Cleo didn’t press her on her recently acquired feelings for the rest of the night, and Gem got all the way back to headquarters without having to think about them at all, getting back into uniform and sitting down at her desk to finish the night’s task.

It was only when she was actually writing up her report that she had to stop and scream into her hands for a moment, unable to believe that she’d let this happen.

Of all the people to fall for, did it have to be her target?

#mcytyuriweek2023 #trafficshipping #empiresshipping #ladytay #gemlizzie #i have no idea which ship name it is but i also dont want to maintag so asldjfg

[alostlovergirl]

She is all mines (Tony stark x reader)

Summary: Tony stark has always been spoiled. So spoiled, that when he is rejected by a journalist, he takes it as a chase. A chase to make that beauty belong to him and only him. I mean in his mind she was already his, so why not in real life too?

Warnings: possessive behavior, stalking, kidnapping, non-con, abusive behavior, forced pregnancy, breeding, and violence.

Tony stark has always gotten what he wanted in life. He never took no for an answer and no one cared to say no to the big man himself, no matter now insufferable he was to them. So, when his manager declared to throw a party for other mechanical inventors to show off their inventions and be funded by the big man himself, he agrees because he knows he can get a hookup for the night.

He got dressed up real nice and hosted this event. The party was going real nice. New inventors getting the recognition that they deserved and inventors that had been long forgotten, were now getting back into the game. Everything was going very well when he caught the eye of a young and beautiful journalist that seemed to be walking around like a lost puppy dog. The young women was looking around at all of the hightech inventions that were being presented to the public eye with curious eyes. Tony chuckles to himself before downing the whiskey he had in hand and walking over to the young women.

"Darling, you seem to be lost. Are you sure you are supposed to be here?” he teased as he comes up behind the young women. She immediately turns around with fear dancing around in her tummy. She looks at him and Tony watched her eyes widen with glee.

"oh! I had been looking for you!" she seemed excited and nervous. She holds up a tape recorder, a beaten up composition book, and an old #2 pencil. ” could I please interview you for a newspaper?”

That question did not surprise him. He had beeninterviewed countless times and plus being alone with this beauty meant that he could charm his way into her pants. He doesn't say anything to the poor nervous women to a private conference room upstairs and away from the loud crowd.

They walk into the conference room and Tony closed the door, cutting out the loud downstairs party. He turns on the bright, white light in the conference room. He turned around and saw that the young women had already made herself comfortable.

"sorry for the nervousness. I have social anxiety and it’s hard to find my assignments in such a big crowd.” she says as folded her hands in between her thighs with such an innocent gaze that Tony felt his cock twitch in his pants. Goal, he couldn't wait to fuck her dumb when he finished this interview.

He thinks that he was getting into her pants, but little does he know that his night would take a drastic turn for the worst.

She started her interview and Tony listened intensely to her questions, providing answers to everything she wanted to know about him. " enough about me, sweetness...” he holds up his hand to her before standing up. He walks over to her, filling her nostrils with vanilla, coffee, and whiskey. He sits on the table, next to her laptop, and grabs her face.

"tell me some things about you", he expected to see her face full with a red tint, but all he got was an annoyed look that was fully directed at him. She pulls her face from his firm grip before standing up.

“ I think this interview is over, sir. I must go home and write my report." she packed up her things and slung her bag over her shoulder. Tony watched as this women pushes past him and to the door. He got up, quickly and grabbed her waist.

" oh come on, don't be like that, darling. I can show you a good time. " he tried his best to convince her to sleep with him, but she was one feisty women. “ can I at least get you name?”

“ don't be desperate, Mr. Stark. I am engaged. I am not for you, but my future husband." she pushed his hands off her waist and left the room as quickly as possible. She left Tony to think about what just happened.

He got rejected by a beautiful, young women. He chuckles to himself and rubs a hand over his face.

" this is a new experience and I love it"he takes a deep breath and turns off the light before leaving the conference room. He is going to chase her and steal her away from her fiancé.

———————————————————————————

Third Person POV

"what a fucking creep." you grumble as you maneuvered your way through the crowd and out of stark tower. You rubbed your hands against your waist, feeling absolutely disgusted with what just happened. God, you knew he was a playboy, but did he not know how to take no for an answer? You climb in your car and looked at your phone that you left on your passenger seat. You see a text message from the love of your life, Alex.

Alex was perfect in every way. He had soft brown hair, freckles, plump lips with a beauty mark smacked dab at the bottom of his deliciously plump lips.it wasn't only his looks, but he was so kind and cared so much about your needs and wants. He spoils you rotten and tries not to bother you when you are working. He listened to your experienceswith mean or creepy celebrities. He even offered to be a bodyguard for you when you go on these interview runs.

He was amazing touris and you love him dearly.

The message read," Chinese or Mexican?"

You smile and type a quick response to him before leaving the parking lot, hoping to forget about this crummy experience. You really thought he would be a nice guy.

———————————————

It had been a few weeks since the party and you have been feeling weird. It felt like someone was following you, wherever you went there was a different person sitting there with a newspaper and some sunglasses. It just felt like she was being watching all the time. At the cafe, at work, at the library, especially at home. Whatever you are doing, there is somebody watching you and it was leaving you unnerved. You swear that you saw a pair of eyes in your window when you went to be with your fiancé.

Once you started to get threatening texts messages, you decided to tell your fiancé. He seemed pissed off and forced you to make a police report, but they couldn't do anything since it was a cyber attack and not a physical attack. All they said is that they would try to monitor the activity, but they didn't keep their promise.

Your lover put cameras all over your shared apartment and promised to keep you both safe. You finally felt safe. You and not know how unsafe you actually were..

On Friday of a cold October the 13th, you and your lover was watching a Friday the 13th movie. Alex held you close and was pressing loving kisses to your temple here and there. He knew you hated horror movies, but he had begged and begged you to have a movie night with because it was such a special day. Friday 13, the national unlucky day. So, you reluctantly agreed to watch it

You had completely forgotten about your ever worrying problem. You wanted to enjoy your time with your lover and leave the situation in the past.

You thought you had left it in the past until you and your lover hear a loud, banging knock on the door.

Alex paused the movie and gets up without a cautious thought in his head. "wait! Alexander! What are you going!? It could be dangerous!" you whisper-yelled at your idiot lover. He just looked back at you and lifted up his shirt, showing off the gun tucked in his pants. Your eyes widen and her continued walking towards the door. He finally opened it and not even seconds later, you hear a metal bullet hit something else metal. You jump and immediately hear your lover yell at you to hide.

"w-what?"

"FUCKING HIDE, Y/N!”

You jumped up off the couch and run down the hall. You could hear the punches being thrown and groans. You hide in the hall closet and you finally can feel the hot tears running down your face. Your heart was pounding out your chest. Who the hell was in the house?

* crash*

You hear a loud crash, like someone went through a wall and finally the intruder speaks. You almost cried again when you realized who it was.

" come on out, sweetness" the calming, sweet sounding voice sounded like it was laced with poison. His footsteps get closer and closer to where she was. "well, if you don't come out it doesn't matter cause I got you heat signature. I am giving you a chance to come out to make your situation better, but I could do this the hard way.".

Your body started to shake horribly bad. Maybe you could make a run for it. Try to get help from your upstairs neighbor. You don't get a chance to think because the door swung open to reveal a crazed looking Tony stark.

You scream and are taken under the cover of night.

———————————

When you finally come to, you wake up to being naked and tied to a comfortable bed. You start squirming immediately, terrified of what you were doing here. You couldn't remember what happened to you. Finally, he comes out. Tony came out with just a robe on him and he smiles a wicked smile.

"oh,you are finally awake, my darling. Thought you would never wake up.", his voice sounded like he was taunting you. It's like he was saying, 'i caught you and you thought you could get away from me.'

You felt like crying again and all he did was smile at you. He walks over and hover over you, already touching your thighs. He rubs them, gently and leans down towards you ear as you turn away from him with a disgusted look on your face. He spoke into your ear, “ I only have you because I get whatever I want, sweetness. You don't say no to Tony stark. Should be grateful that went through all this trouble to get you all to myself. Oh, and don't worry about your boy toy. He'll be fine, just will be in the hospital for a zero day, my love." he says as slips off your engagement ring and throws it across the room.

You could feel yourself shaking and you closed your legs. He put his hands between your legs, pressing himself against your sensitive parts. He places his hand on your pussy and spreads your folds apart, running his thick finger against your dry clit. You hated every inch of it. It felt wrong with this disgusting man touching you like this, but your body was betraying you.

You could feel yourself getting wet as he brought warm pleasure in between your legs. He pushes his digit in and you cried out in pain. You were still quite dry, but Tony didn't give one fuck about you and your pleasure. He only wanted the thing that he was denied. He wanted your body and he wanted to finally fuck you dumb, like he had promised himself.

He moves his head down in between your legs and decided that tongue will do the trick of wetting you up. He kisses, licking up and down your pussy. That did the trick. It made you nice and wet, making smacking sounds. He pushes his tongue inside of your pussy and you couldn't help, but let out a sultry moan. He sits up and smiled at the fact that he dragged that moan out of you.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks his hand. He places his hand on your pussy and rubs your warm pussy to make you nice and wet for him. He places sloppy kisses against your next as you treat to fight him off, whimpering and begging him not to do this. At one point, you spit in his face as he wets up his cock. This only caused him to smack you in the face. “don't fucking spit my face, whore.”

You started trying to kick him, trying to get the arc reactor in his chest, but he just dodged you and while your legs were opened, he slammed right in. You scream out and he just covered your mouth' starting an unruly pace. He assaulted your pussy and watched your reactions with twisted look on his face.

You felt absolute pain. Felt like a fire was brewing in your pussy. You screamed and cried as your vision turns blurry. You did everything you could to try to get him off of you. He was so big and you felt so weak as you couldn't get him to budge. He wrapped his hand around your throat and your mind comes up with a coping mechanism by imagining that Tony was Alexander. You tried to imagine that it was Alex's big hands touching your throat and thighs. That Alex was pounding into your sensitive pussy. That it was his dick that was filling you out so amazingly.

It worked because you let out a loud moan. Your fearful screams turned into loud moans of pleasure and you hear Alex's chocolately voice speaking to you, telling you that he wanted to keep you. That he was gonna marry you and breed you to have his kids. You dian't realize that it was Tony's voice talking and not your baby.

You became dizzy with pleasure as you mind kept you in your sex filled fantasy. Tony pushes his cock deeper as he announces that he was gonna cum. He buried his cock inside which caused you to moan out and say, “cum! Fill me up with your babies please!"

Your thoughts had completely clouded your right judgement. He smiles, thinking that you finally wanted this, that you wanted him and not that fuckboy you called a boyfriend. He needed to hear you say it.

“ mmm...say it. I want you to say you want me” he growls as he starts slamming into you at a harder pace. His cock felt like it was gonna burst.

“I want you! I want you, so fucking bad”, you yell out, loudly. You felt a rush come over you. You squirted and immediately felt a warmth enter your body. That’s when you snap out your trance to the disgusting truth. Tony came inside of you.

He looks at you and smiles, wickedly. “ we aren't done. You are all mines, sweetness.”

————————————————————————————————————————————

Note: this may be bad because I haven't written smut in awhile. Hopefully, y'all enjoy it!

#dark marvel #new writer #new page #marvel #tony stark x reader #x reader #new #new story #hello #robert downey jr #forcedsex #non con #possessive #trigger warning.

[corvuscrowned]

my year in fic

big smooches to @oknowkiss (x), @lqtraintracks (x),  @maesterchill (x), and @cavendishbutterfly (x) for the challenge to share one line from each fic i wrote this year. it was such a nice way to look back on my year in fic writing! p.s. we are interpreting the word “one line” v loosely here folks

shades of dawn | E, 3k, angsty ginlav

The night after Lavender comes and goes, the moon always appears to be just as full as the night before, but Ginny knows that the smallest part of it is missing.

magpie | T, 4k, klepto harry

Draco thinks Potter might be able to take things from him not just with his hands, but with those eyes alone. He thinks if Potter keeps looking at him this way for long enough, Draco might just offer it all up. 

lovesick | T, 13k, healer draco, love potion victim harry

“Maybe I’m a bit tired of all of the swooning and heart eyes and —” of watching you love anyone else. Draco shakes his head. “Forget it.” 

ad infinitum | E, 14k, angsty getting-back-together + sentient house

“I love you,” Harry says. “I don’t care about any of it. I love you.”

“I know,” Draco murmurs. “You always did the most idiotic things.”

from the same cloth | T, 8k, t4t  idiots to lovers

Draco nods, and Harry realizes his face is stitched with the same nerves that are butterflying through her stomach — and the feeling the two of them are standing side by side on the precipice of something new, and there’s nothing left to do but fall into it.

undergrowth | M, 2.5k, horror + floral pining

Draco worries that Potter’s eyes might carry sunlight, and if they shine on him too long, he’ll have no choice but to grow, and grow, and grow.

the seventh life | E, 18k, vampire!draco & immortal!harry reunited in paris

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco said. “I only know the times I’ve loved you.”

“How many times has that been?” Harry pushed.

“Since the very first time I met you,” Draco said. “Six lifetimes ago.”

ash, fire, ash | G, 1k, arsonists to lovers

Malfoy tosses the butt of their cigarette into the flames. “They’ll know it’s you doing it eventually.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Then maybe it’ll make them remember my name.”

an emerald in the sky | M, 6k, time traveling fuckbuddies to lovers

There are so many Harrys sitting in front of him right now, so many men he’s met once and then lost, threading their way in and out of his life at the sharp point of a needle. The composite sum of so many strangers, and a single man whom Draco has been fighting, from the very beginning, not to fall in love with.

with hands full of dusk | E, 15k, drarry as mythical creature hunters

But Harry is older now, and has long since learned that doubt and hope are just two shades of the same color. 

the night of the fireworks | E, 6k, porn with feelings

Harry’s mind was swirling, still slightly loopy in a post-sex haze. “You love me,” he said. “You said it first.”

“I didn’t say it,” Draco said. “It doesn’t count. Fuck off.”

twelve moons | T, 6k, innkeeper harry & potioneer draco

Draco climbs the first step to the door, and Harry joins him on it, learning immediately that there isn’t space for two, unless you’d like to see the other person up close — the way the glow of the moonlight might be captured on their hair, or on their skin, or in their eyes.

im tagging @teledild0nix, @sorrybutblog, @thehoneybeet, @orange-peony, @moonstruckwytch, @jalesidor, @basicallyahedgehog, @pennygalleon, @the-sinking-ship, @mystickitten42, @geesenoises, @makeitp1nk, and @m0srael if any of you havent been tagged!

#i wrote twelve fics this year!!! dang #i dont even know how many words but suffice to say a lot #and then another like 250k of stuff that is still in the works or will never see the light of day #dam... #2023 is not going to be nearly this prolific #but hopefully ill get some wips finished up!! #op

[foranpo]

ੈ˚☆ who they fall in love with.

fandom: naruto!

characters: kakashi, itachi, sasuke.

reader: gn!

genre: headcanons.

au: modern! (high)school edition.

content: fluff.

word count: ~340 each // 700 total.

 ੈ♡˳────── enjoy the reading <3 ──────

˚ʚ hatake kakashi. the class president.

when he entered high school, kakashi would never have thought that anyone would catch his eye; after all, kakashi was never interested in anyone, believing that love was just a facade created by poets and romantics to justify their most irresponsible acts. however, when he saw you, when he saw you for the first time taking a stand to defend the interests of the class, kakashi realized that you could be more interesting than anyone else he had ever met.

he fell in love slowly, like a flower blooming; first he admired your dedication and commitment, the way that your role lit up your face with a pride known only to people of higher power; later, kakashi realized that you didn't fulfill your tasks just for pride and praise - you really wanted the best for your classmates, your altruism being the little hook that grabbed kakashi by his heart and didn't let go of him for a second.

and then he spoke to you. knowing your mind and soul, after meeting the person you showed everyone else, impacted kakashi in a way he refused to admit; your friendliness and all your unfunny jokes that always made him laugh; your generosity and heart of gold, always ready to help everyone; kakashi admired you at first, not even noticing that the little seed inside him started to grow according to your friendship.

and he's fallen in love with you over the years. he didn't fall in love, it grew on him, like a little flower, a strong tree; it was in your senior year that he became aware of his feelings, understanding why he was anxious when you were missing a day because you were sick, understanding why his heart beat slightly faster when just the two of you shared a space.

he knew it was love, he read lots of books on the subject, but never, not for a second, did he have the courage to declare himself to you; instead, on your last day of school, when your ways were uncertain the following year, kakashi held your hand in front of everyone for the first time, his eyes averting all prying eyes, light rosy tone on his cheeks drawing a light and tender smile on your face.

yes, there was never an official confession on his part, there was never a formal request between you, but the reality is that the future stopped looking so scary when you knew you would have kakashi by your side.

 ੈ♡˳─────────────────────

˚ʚ uchiha itachi. his study partner.

you met by chance; the library was never a very popular place at your school, so only the same five people made use of the space - including the two of you. your study routines were quickly studied by both of you, the books you picked up to interest the other, the desk you used to fascinate the other. maybe it was curiosity, or the feeling of not feeling alone in that school, but the reality is that your eyes met once and, after a shy smile on his part, and a wave on your part, you left of using two separate tables to share only one.

there was mutual help between the two of you. you completed each other. when one of you had more difficulties in understanding a certain subject, the other was always ready to take some of their time to help and explain the themes, the ease with which your words entered the mind, and the heart, of the other to look like a scene written in the cheesiest romance novels.

but it was reality. the sympathy with which you spoke to each other, the ease with which conversations beyond school flowed through you, the comforting silence that exists on the most intense afternoons of study - everything that seemed so cliché and too good to happen to you, was happening between you and itachi.

he wouldn't let you give up on understanding a subject, and you'd force itachi to finish the composition before taking a break; he always brought you fresh fruit and water for your breaks, and you filled itachi's notebook with little messages of motivation.

and when the first year was over, itachi realized that he loved you. your relationship went far beyond simple exchanges of study cards and words of encouragement. itachi realized that he had fallen in love with you the first day he saw you alone in the library; it was your dedication and your commitment, the way you tried to assimilate everything at once and how frustrated you were when you couldn't achieve the perfection you knew was impossible.

but he fell in love with you at first sight and he knew that getting to know you, that starting to really hear and see you, just rooted his feelings for you deeper and deeper.

as such, and when the last week of exams came to an end, itachi couldn't help but smile as he asked you, very shyly, to come celebrate with him that night, the picnic you had under the starry spring sky becoming a tradition for the rest of your relationship.

 ੈ♡˳─────────────────────

˚ʚ uchiha sasuke. the basketball team manager.

sasuke would join the basketball team in his second year to escape extracurricular activities that contained groups of girls who only knew how to scream his name; and, when he signed the paper to belong to the team, he never would have thought that he would be so eager to play every week - after all, your presence, and support, in the stands was always mandatory, as you would do anything to scream for your team.

the first time he saw you, that he really paid attention to you, you had just screamed his name. and although so many other girls screamed and yelled sasuke's name after he hit the ball, you were the only one who had the courage to scream his name when he first failed to get a point for the team. your words were kind, shouted with the fury of those who believe in him, sung with the confidence of those who knew he would really be able to help the team win.

and at the end of the game, after sasuke helped the team to win the first game of the season, he just unconsciously looked for you in the crowd, his eyes desperately trying to find you in the midst of the confusion that had settled in the gym, no understanding why you hug all the players as if they won the cup, secretly wishing he was the next to get your arms around his body.

all it took was a game. a scream from you. a hug from you. and sasuke was melted to your charms without even knowing what was consuming him so fiercely. he felt a fire burning inside him, something completely alien to him, and quite frightening even; sasuke liked to talk to you, he wanted to win every game to receive a hug from you and, even if they lost, he wouldn't be too sad, because he knew that you would be waiting for him to dictate a speech that came from your heart, encouraging him to do better next time.

you were like magic to sasuke, casting a spell on him with every sung word, making him become better, not only on the court, but also in his life outside the field; you looked like a star to sasuke, someone who always managed to make his day better, make him want to go to school every day, make him look forward to living the next day.

and when you confessed to him in your senior year, embarrassed by your words, not being able to face sasuke head on, was when he realized that it was not a spell you had cast on him. for the words you so timidly uttered to him, and to him only, could perfectly describe what he really felt for you.

sasuke had fallen in love with you in his second year, but it wasn't until your senior year that he realized it was really love.

 ੈ♡˳───── feedback is appreciated <3 ─────

#;naruto constellation; #kakashi x reader #kakashi headcanons #itachi x reader #itachi headcanons #sasuke x reader #sasuke headcanons

[dementeris]

Wakfu Oropos' OAV : Why I love to hate it

Hum, sorry not sorry, but you read correctly, dear Kosmoz's traveller it is time to give my opinion on the latest Ankama OAV focusing on Oropo's background, and well... Let's at least start with the good parts.

A long forgotten animation we love

The title screen framing Oropo's figure, graphically underlying he will be the center of this story is quite nice. There are few other choices of composition that are also really good and meaningful.

The animation is still... Well it's Ankama : it gives energy in the fight scene, emotion when needed, it is colorful yet pale (underlying maturity after a childish beginning for the series).

The Eliotropes' design and presentation : so nice to see more charcaterisation of this race we have still so much to uncover ! And I LOVE to see "bad eliotropes", especially this little guy there ("Rictus" in french), because if Eliotropes are Yugo's shadows, then it means that our dear "EliAtropes' king" is not as a white knight as we would like to see him ~

The fights are pretty cool

The music... well still awesome

Don't know about the english dub, but oh well, the french one is still very neat. Even if I can not help but to find that Chibi's way of ALWAYS screaming is just tiring in the long run...

AND THERE IT IS.

We have reached the end of the "good points", and oh boy... It can not be compared to the bad ones...

De Profundis : why this OAV should return to the White Dimension

CHIBI : he should NOT BE ALIVE !!! I KNOW that IoW is no more canon but the fact that he is still alive after the second war against Orgonax ? Bollocks ! And his character design ?! What is this ?

From now on... I will rename Chibi "no eyebrows stupid screamer"

And yeah... STUPID !!! For someone who is supposed to have outlived Orgonax and Qilby's "treason", how is it possible for him to be this nut-head ? He lost the fight at the end for what ? Because he only screams and yells and DID NOT THINK ONCE ! Talk about a Council's member : no shit Qilby became crazy with a brother like him for centuries.

And Grougaloragran, can we talk about him ? WHY IS HE FIGHTING NAKED ?!? Why does he not transform into his dragon version ?! WHY NOT USING ALL HIS POTENTIAL FACING SUCH A THREAT ?! And if he wants to stay in a more agile version, fine, but keep your damn clothes ON, please ! I mean, it brings up nothing interesting other than his abs : can we be serious for once ?

Chibi's death : no emotion. I mean, he does not seem very wise for his age, he does not listen to his brother, he does not talk about Yugo or perhaps his feelings about encountering other "versions" of his brother after so much time being appart from him. Did not particularly care about him at the beginning, hate him after seeing that version of the character.

THE FU**** CONSISTENCE WITH THE LORE ?! WHERE IS IT ?!

The fact that Oropo is held into the cube.... It could be a good idea, huh ? Yes, yes... he could become.... THE F***** VOICE THAT NOX IS HEARING, RIGHT ?!?! For which reason ? Why tossing the cube into the ocean ?! How does it come back in season one ?! Can't Nox be left alone and just be a great antagonist WITHOUT OROPO being "at the beginning of everything" ?!

Ankama is probably going to follow that last idea, aren't they ? So, like at the end of the 3rd season, we're gonna have the "it was Oropo's plan"... Thanks, really.

Hum.... Did Oropo really though that they could take out a freacking dragon ? Like... He's Yugo's shadow : he knew that Grougal was powerful. Why not trying to sneak out ?

Because of that choice to show "fighting" instead of sneacking, we were stuck 30 minutes on a beach. There was only few different backgrounds with flashbacks (and we already knew that beach from season one, so not even something new).

Hum, I love the design of all the Eliotropes' designs, but... WHY ARE THERE SO DIFFERENT FROM THE ORIGINAL ?! I mean, the saga is supposed to be part of the game too ! You're going to tell me that there are all different even though all the in-game Eliotropes have the same design ? And what about the fact that their design are litteraly caricatures of their personality ? Same note for their names ('poet" ? "rictus" ? "bouillon" ?) ! I mean, we're not children, and gosh, it is so... plain ! Can't they have nuances ?!

The dialogues... Lame. No emotions. No good humor. No really good informations : I had the the impression to see children taunted each other each time someone was talking.

Oropo being full of disdain towards his brothers and sisters when they are talking and suggesting other plans but being full-emotional when one them dies : once again, show why his characterization is a fail.

Aton's death : "you were a brother... A sister... Whatever..." Is this a non-bineary reference here ? WHY ? I mean, it is not bad to have more diversity, quite the contrary but its just... there. No explanation, And for a antagonist with "no emotion" : what a great depiction for this stigmatized group... And who dies at the end... If it was just to put a reference to LGBTQ and + because its trendy or because you have a to-do list to check, please don't.

Why is Grougaloragran using his adversaries' names like he knows them even he just met them ?

The Eliacube showed Oropo the destruction of the Eliatropes' world after Orgonax came, or some kind of destruction. And he still wants to use it... Genius.

Well, I think I will stop this monolog here.

I will gladly exchange with whoever want to share their own experience of this OAV.

To conclude : I will not recommend this OAV for something else than the animation. The story is sh*t, the characters are a pain in the eliacube and I can't help but fear for the 4rth season after watching this...

#wakfu #ankama #personal opinion #oav #oropo #Oropo OAV #that was horrible #try to convince me otherwise

[zelda-cooper]

Thoughts, Headcanons and Comments on Liquidator (My AU).

This here is more of a commentary blog and maybe a rant, it can also be considered as a headcanon blog and also for Liquidator fans like me. Maybe I'll make the others Fearsome Five/Four, but I'll see about it... For those who want to, they can read it as they wish, but I'm already advancing that it's LONG and will have some low-level words (I'll censor it, but it's still worth it).

I was watching Avatar these days while I was doing some drawings and I ended up realizing something that could kind of be used for Liquidator from Darkwing Duck... I thought something like this: "Calm down there, the water dog there is pure water... He was basically going to M@SS@CR@TE DWD with his powers alone! HOW THE F*CK DID THEY NOT EXPLORE MORE OF HIS POWERS?!?! LOOK AT THESE WATER BENDERS!!! WOULD KILL THE DARKWING DUCK EASY!!!"

It was just like that... Only mentally...

But my point is... I understand very well that the series is a comedy, it shouldn't have that much budget for the series (correct me if I'm wrong) and it would probably take forever to animate moving water. But, man... LIQUIDATOR HAD ONLY ONE EPISODE OF HIS OWN AND THE OTHERWISE WAS ONLY WITH THE FEARSOME FIVE!!! SOME OF THE FANS DON'T EVEN PUT HIM ON DARKWING DUCK VILLAIN LISTS!!!! WHAT IT IS?!?! AHHHHHH-

*takes a deep breath*.... Sorry, my Liquidator fan side got pissed off. But I think you get my point. I don't know if ALL Dator fans will agree, but it's kind of my thought. Let's face it, Liquidator is already strong considering the dog IS PURE WATER, which makes it intangible. In fact, I suspect that even then, you can attack him. The Sandman, one of Spider-Man's villains, is sand, but he can be attacked and have his limbs like arms and hands shredded with specific attacks.

(I didn't find a Gif showing this, so settle for that one. It could even be good to be this scene after Liquidator fell into the water tank...)

And we've ALREADY seen him manipulating water and CHANGING its states. He heated the water to the boiling point, it evaporated and he was good and he TURNED THE FUCKING SAINT CANARIAN OCEAN INTO A YELLOW BORBERCHUDY STUFF!!! (I guess it was some kind of resin or rubber, but I interpret it to be some kind of resin anyway)

But I think the writers forgot about his skills... I think it was to reduce the water dog's power, the villain was a bit stolen. But here are some thoughts of mine... I think it, itself, doesn't exactly control just water. This is MY headcanon, so you may disagree, but Dator controls her liquid and CHEMICAL components more. Let's face it, NOBODY knows what he put in the water tanks, but it was probably random chemicals so basically he's melting in that scene (and in the end he went swimming there to see if it worked... Because of Darkwing Duck... ). Let's face it, if he created resin in an OCEAN, he can make other compositions like acid or even glue. I'm not good at chemistry, but I don't find it difficult... To be honest, if Dator was stolen like that... I'd love to see it!

But obviously... Let's have LIMITS!!! And the first is... He's water, people... One of the points I liked most about his solo episode is the way he was defeated, which is coherent. Use cement powder! That basically left him a statue... He came back, but still (What I didn't think was cool was that they turned him into Jell-O in Justice Ducks, that was pathetic, it's diminishing the character's morals, in terms of comedy, it's got some laughs, but... no). There is another point that is also... He still feels tired, that is, if he uses too much he faints. He doesn't necessarily have to sleep (yes, he sleeps in my AU...), but a five minute break or an hour maybe. And the last one, this one is more specific, would be high sound frequencies. For those who are fans of DC, take the Black Canary, for fans of Ben 10, several of his aliens with sound powers. And that really loud sound frequency. This makes his form fall apart.

So the main weaknesses, um... Cement just in case the situation gets tough, if he uses his powers too much he gets tired and any weapon or high frequency sound powers dismantles his form.

I have more to say about my headcanons than my water dog, but I'll stop here so I don't have to make such a big bible. But, for those who like my drawings, here's one of my Sona with Liquidator. That's it... BYE!!!

(I don't think he likes me...)

(Inspired by this here!)

#liquidator #bud flud #darkwing duck #darkwing duck au #ducktales #darkwing duck purple union #waterbending #nega liquidator #fearsome five #fearsome four

[countessrivers]

Balance, centering, and symmetry. Or, 'Things Alex Rider does that I enjoy looking at so have some screencaps'

I love a good looking show. I could go on for hours about Gotham's sets and cinematography because it brings me real joy and very few can match it. Alex Rider is another show that I really enjoy watching, for many reasons, including for its shot compositions (I don't know if that's the right way to describe it). There is just something about the way so many shots in the show are arranged that make them really interesting and satisfying to look at.

For instance, these shots:

Look at that balance, that symmetry! The even match of people in each scene on opposite sides on the centre line (occasionally with one in a group of 3 or 5 being placed as the centre point) enhanced by the windows, the furniture, the props, the lights, and all of the other set dressings. Of course each side isn't identical, but they're similar enough that the shot looks good, but hardly boring.

And when they tweak this kind of composition, it's noticeable. Like here:

Same kind of thing - Blunt in the centre, 4 other people in the scene evenly divided, with furniture and windows roughly matching. Except that it's not. Not quite. There's the empty chair at the desk, the chair Crawley should be sitting in. He's the right distance horizontally from Blunt to be Alex's mirror, but he's placed too far back, more in line with Smithers and Mrs Jones. The chair has been left in the scene, clearly visible, so a part of us is meant to register it, but it's empty, and the weight of the shot's contents is off balance. Because Alex in this scene is off balance. He's isolated, being dismissed, ignored, undermined. He's alone here, without support, and the set up of the shot is meant to help convey that.

Even shots that could be really, really boring in a worse-made show, like the camera focusing on a single character as they talk, are centred and framed in a way that gives the scene depth, makes them interesting to look at.

The person isn't just in the centre of the shot, everything around them has been placed or arranged to balance, to bring depth to what could be flat, to focus the audience's attention. I just find the symmetry really satisfying to look at you guys.

And then there's this.

Like, not to be weird, but I kind of want to make love to this shot. That's how much I adore it. The line of the stairs perfectly bisecting the screen, the contrasting lighting, the way you can see them both in their entirety so clearly, but they can't really see each other - we know that Yassen is a threat, but Ed doesn't. Ed doesn't see him, see what he's doing, see what he is, but we, the audience, do.

A whole other post or two could be made on similar setups featuring doors and walls and other kind of in-universe lines, and the regular shots through windows and glass, and the feel of tension and voyeurism they evoke, but I can only include 10 images and idek what point I'm trying to make here other than "pretty" so...

#alex rider #alex rider tv #was there a point to this at all? #i'm not sure there was #but look you've got some cool looking screencaps out of it and that's a win in my book

[twizzydraws]

I think the difference between these two drawings is really interesting. They’re about 10 months apart, and I think there’s a good bit of improvement 🤔

• The posing/figure of Jack in the new drawing feels a lot more natural and proportional compared to the old one, especially around the waist/legs, and the set of his shoulders/arms

• The outfit of the new drawing feels more probable, like a more probable appearance in this situation (because it is lol, this drawing is inspired by Year 1 Comic 12!). If Jack were being angsty alone in the locker room, he would probably at least have his jersey off by this point. (Even though he still has his skates on for some reason? I figure the skates add interest to the composition idk)

• The background of the old drawing has a lot more extra bits of interest, but overall I feel like they retract from the overall composition rather than improve it. It kinda feels like the objects are added onto the drawing rather than belong and exist within the drawing

• More on that, I feel like the background of the new drawing has a bit more depth and shape, like it doesn’t feel as flat as the older one

• When it comes to the style change, this is a bit more subjective and up to preferences, but for this specific idea and execution, I kinda feel like the new drawing might work better. The drawing isn’t simply a portrait, but instead it’s the composition of a singular character as the focal point within a setting, and I just feel like I was personally able to execute that idea better in the style of the new drawing

• More on the style, the old drawing’s lines and tone/shade changes are way too sharp I think, and not very smooth, and it just distracts the eye instead of welcomes it

• The faces. I personally loathe the way I did Jack’s face in the old drawing. It’s SO wonky, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it before I uploaded it. But oh well, live and learn

• One aspect where I think the older drawing is actually better is in the shadows, specifically the shadows around Jack and underneath his legs. I think that in the new drawing I could’ve made his under-leg shadows a bit darker, so he felt more grounded within the composition

• Another tweak I would make if I could go back, would be to sharpen up the lines and shades of the upper left area of the drawing, around the hooks and back of the cubby, it feels a little flat to me

• Finally, one last change I would make would be to Jack’s head shape. It just seems a tiny bit small, or maybe angled wrong? Maybe it’s his hair, I probably could’ve spent more time on that area. That was the last section I worked on before basically being done, other than touch-ups and corrections, and by that point I was kinda losing steam and wanted to get it done with lol

Anyways, yeah! Those are my thoughts when comparing these two drawings, I figured some of y’all might be interested to hear a little bit about my drawing thought process haha

#twizzy draws #twizzy talks #fanart