#his suit was confusing to draw from this angle

[justaghouletteintheclergy]

My attempt at horror Alastor

[adiadagaki]

heianera!sukuna observed you in your chair, reading a book, engrossed in a world of your own. You spent most of your time nestled in the arm chair by the fire, waiting patiently for whenever Sukuna would call you over in need of service.

Oddly, you didn’t miss the kitchen, most of the time Sukuna was no issue, his commands simple, and he was never violent. All in all, he was a pretty good employer and you were happy.

“Pet.” Your head lifted without hesitation, your book softly falling closed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Come rub my back.”

You froze, perplexed by his ask. Surely one of his concubines would be better suited for such a task, but who were you to question a King? After all, Sukuna always knew what he wanted.

“Rub your back, my lord?”

“Yes. I have new oils I wish to try.”

Setting your book aside, you stood, the ruffles of your work skirt swishing around your thighs. Sukuna licked his lips at the sight. He loved your uniform more than anything in his palace, forever making you look like a sweet treat.

Settling by his bed, you stood awaiting further instruction.

“Undress me, little one.” If you had seen Sukuna around the other servants you’d know he didn’t have pet names for them, not even his concubines, it marked you as special, and you didn’t even know it.

With slightly shaky hands, you removed his kimono, neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. Even with all of his muscles bare, you were polite and didn’t stare, as, after all, that wasn’t part of your job.

Sukuna frowned at the sight.

Maybe you’d be harder to tease than he thought.

Adjusting himself so he was led on his stomach, he nodded his head, indicating to his back. “Sit, pet. The oils are on the bedside stand.”

“Do you have a preference, my lord?”

“Whichever you choose is fine, little one.”

Deciding on a random bottle, you crawled onto the bed, sitting by his side, preparing to unscrew the cap. Sukuna tutted playfully, drawing your attention.

“My lord?”

“How do you suppose you can give me a massage properly from the side?” He quirked a brow and your lips parted, but words didn’t find you.

“Sit, pet.” And this time you understood perfectly what he meant.

Slow in your movements, you kicked your leg over him and straddled his lower back, saddled on the natural dip of his spine, your sex right over Sukuna’s muscles. Your mind didn’t go to such a place, but the Kings did.

Oiling up your hands, you set out on your task, finding it a little odd but not speaking up, knowing your place. Plus, a slightly compromised position or not this was a professional craft for many and it didn’t always entail such lewd endings.

Sukuna had other ideas.

Every time you worked a certain muscle he let out low, drawn out moans, praising you for a job well done. It brought the lightest flush to your cheeks because anyone could walk in and get the wrong idea about all of this.

Seeing the pink on your cheeks, Sukuna decided it was time for step 2. Flexing his back muscles, he watched from the corner of two eyes as you stilled, confused and utterly adorable in it.

You were questioning yourself. Had you made it up? Had the King done something? Had you done something?

Sukuna didn’t comment.

And then he did it again.

This time you were certain he had moved, you’d been still as a statue since your mind had decided to play tricks on you. What was his angle?

Deciding it was better to end this massage sooner rather than later, you put the last of the oil on your hands and made haste.

Knowing what you were up to, Sukuna upped his game, shifting his hips up off the mattress and grinding back against you, earning him the smallest hitch of your breath.

You were definitely getting worked up by his antics. Brilliant, a few more shifts of his hips and you should be-

“There you are my lord. Hopefully the oil is to your liking. Call me if you need anything else.”

Sukuna growled. You had climbed off him, having finished the massage far quicker than he would have liked. But the King was not to easy to give up, he was already plotting how he could have you soaking those white panties again soon.

You were destined to be his, for better or for worse.

Part 1 Part 2

[tojipie]

shiu x fem!reader x toji

content: (fem reader, heavy smut, soo much praise, filming sex, spitroasting, eiffel tower position, threesome, blowjobs, face fucking, cumming on face, aftercare)

summary: just another day at work ! :) nothing raunchy going on here

“fuck, that’s perfect,” shiu mumbles, crouching to get a better shot of where you and toji meet. 

the man rutting into you takes the note as a compliment, bucking his hips back to slam to the hilt. the guttural moan he draws out of you is nothing short of sinful, earning you a laugh from the cameraman.

“oh, the guys at home are gonna fucking love that,” he chuckles, standing to grab a shot of you laying face down, ass up on the leather couch.

a calloused hand raises your face to the camera, squeezing your cheeks into a pucker. you smile, taking note of your fucked out demeanor in the camera reflection. 

“feel good, pretty girl?” toji asks, still gripping your face. 

“mmhm,” you groan, making a show of rolling your eyes back into your head. 

the cameraman looks more than pleased, palming himself over his cheap dress pants. 

“such a treat to have in the studio, y’know that?” he wipes a mascara-filled tear while you look up at him for a brief moment. “driving me fucking crazy.”

the incessant pap-pap-pap of toji’s hips against your ass echo among the walls of the small casting room, nearly drowning out the praise with how hard he’s fucking you. still, you smile, letting the suit-clad cameraman brush your hair from your face.

“where’d you learn how to take dick like this, huh?” toji teases, switching his grip from your face to your shoulders. your scene partner uses his newfound leverage to pull you back onto his cock, groaning at the new angle. 

“only like this with you,” you moan, clenching at the sounds of approval both men give you.

“what, you forget about me?” shiu asks, feigning jealousy for the sake of the scene.

toji leans forward, chest-to-back as he whispers something in your ear. hard, deep thrusts slow to a grind as he speaks to you. you nod, giggling at shiu’s pointed look of confusion.

“what’s wrong?” the cameraman mouths, moving to turn the camera off. you beckon him over to the couch instead, jolting from the pick-up of your scene partner’s thrusts.

the two men share a look as you readjust the camera, gauging the shot in the crystalline glint of the lens. perfect, you think. he was going to love this. 

deft hands make haste with his belt, undoing the buckle ever so slowly. the two of you lock eyes for just an instant as his face contorts into a grin, setting the camera on his shoulder to throw his belt off to the side. 

“oh i get love too now?” he teases, unbuttoning his bottoms and letting you get to work. his ironed suit jacket hits the floor, dress shirt half open. 

“you’ve fucked her before genius,” toji adds, slowing the pace of his thrusts to let you work on the cameraman. he was right, off and on camera even.

shiu’s hard, unbearably so when you free him from his boxers and take him into your mouth. you can practically feel how difficult it is for him to not blow his load right then and there, especially after watching you and toji go at it for half an hour with no stimulation of his own.

“hah fuck— she knows what i like, right?” the question is rhetorical, he wants you to take the bait. 

and take the bait you do, pulling off his dick just enough to swirl your tongue around his aching tip.

the noise you earn is more than pornographic, it’s downright sinful, egging you on as you move to take him to the base. 

“you seein’ this?” shiu gasps, panning the camera up to toji who has since stopped fucking you to watch. thick, deft fingers come up to rub at your clit instead, making up for the lost simulation. 

shiu’s free hand reaches down to nestle into your hair, pulling taught. a quick look to make sure the camera lines up is all he gives you before deft hips snap forward, fucking your throat with urgency.

the two men share a look briefly, chuckling as toji finally ramps up the pace again. thick, hot lengths penetrate you from either side, overloading your brain with pleasure. 

“look up at the lens for me baby,” shiu gushes, losing his grip on your hair to cradle your cheek in his palm. you push back on the cock currently pummeling your walls, eagerly groaning for the camera.

“aww there we go, always our favorite star.”

the praise goes right to your head, throat opening up to allow more of his length in. he hisses at the stimulation, grumbling a soft “fuck this,” before setting the camera down on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

“oh, that’s a good fucking shot,” toji comments, pleased at the new camera angle. the thought of the studio’s loyal fanbase getting to watch you get spit-roasted by the hottest business partners in the industry pushes you closer to the edge.

“fuck, there.” shiu groans, pulling himself from your throat with an obscene squelch. a whoop rings out from behind you, no doubt from toji as viscous ropes of cum paint your cheeks— you swear you hear them high-five each other.

“shit, sorry about the mess,” he doesn’t sound sorry at all, tapping the head on your closed lips with a fucked-out smile.

salty cum floods your tastebuds as you work to clean his manhood off, pulling back with an audible pop and a smile. “s’ okay shiu.”

“that’s talent right there,” the camera man comments, clearly pleased with your performance. shiu tucks himself back into his dress pants, quietly motioning for you and toji to switch positions.

the raven-haired man wastes no time lifting you into the air, thick hands situated under your thighs for support.

the position alone might have gotten you close enough to come had he still been inside you. you’re held against his standing body only by the hands under your legs, back-to-chest as you face the camera. 

you hike your legs up, locking eyes with shiu as you’re lowered onto toji’s dick a final time. 

the stretch is absolutely obscene, filling you to the brim over and over again as he thrusts into you.

“perfect, perfect guys,” shiu leans closer to get a better shot of your face. “just like that.”

“you wanna tell everybody at home where you want it?” toji asks, biting your shoulder for good measure.

“inside—please.” you sigh, laughing at the obscene groan that sounds from behind the camera. shiu reaches down to rub your swollen clit for you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

hot seed floods your body a second time, warming you from the inside out. the things toji pants into your ear are obscene, overwhelming your senses while shiu’s hand deals out tiny pats to your clit.

you both sink onto the couch for the final time, the soft leather cushions embracing your tired bodies. shiu approaches with the camera, flipping through a couple of scenes to seek your shared approval.

you sit quietly as you're wiped down with a wet towel, still attached to toji at your most intimate points.

“tired angel? need to wash off?” he asks, maneuvering you on his dick to straddle him.

“yes please,” you mumble happily, resting your head on his shoulder. two sets of hands gently caress your body, wiping the last drops of fluid from your sweaty skin.

“you’re gonna make us all millionaires, i swear,” shiu mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before stepping into the bathroom to draw you a bath.

[grapenamjams]

20 minutes

Characters: Artem wing x fem. Reader

Genre: Smut

Contains: needy Artem wing because y’all haven’t fucked in a week, fingering, p.n v, mutual orgasm, princess. Gorgeous. Darling. Pet names used, marking.

A/n: needy desperate Artem is my favorite animal

🩵Start here 🩵

When Artem received the notification that his early morning appointment was canceled. He knew he had to take the opportunity that had presented itself. as the rare pleasure of having an extra 20 minutes before needing to get to work.

And he would be damned if he didn’t make every second Count.

So he set out to do just that. Your body trembling with arousal in minutes, breathe feeling like it’s been stolen, letting out gasps and moans.

His chest pressed against your back as you both laid on your sides under the sheets that were getting increasingly warm.

He captures your moan in his mouth Those dark eyebrows furrowing as if not being able to get enough air through your moans. His kisses where desperate. Because that’s what he was. It’s been a week since he last fucked you and the consequences of that, were apparent to him each passing day.

Feeling himself tighten in his suit pants at just the sight of you-hell just at the thought of you got him scooting his chair closer to his desk at work. He felt pathetic, not used to the feeling of lack of control. But if you were the reason for it? He would gladly relinquish any sense of it. having you consume him entirely. 

“I Need to be inside of you” his voice coming out strained. “Please let me fuck you, darling” Artem dosnt care if he didn’t sound composed as he normally did. He wasn’t going to let any second go to waste.

With your agreement in a form of a moan and you throwing off the covers from on top of you both. Artem pulls his hand that was between your thighs away. Fingers coated with your arousal just by rubbing your clit.

He pushes down your pj bottoms along with your underwear. lifting your hips to aid him. He tosses them over the side of the bed.

he kisses any skin exposed to him as he removes his own embarrassingly soaked briefs. His uneven breathing hits your neck. He presses his body closer behind you. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect, my love. Ive missed how you felt” he tries to regain some sense of said composure through his words.

His hand goes down your side and takes ahold of your thigh. Lifting it up slightly so he can settle himself closer. He holds back a moan at just feeling your folds graze his swollen head.

he knows he isn’t going to last long. Not like he usually does, making sure to draw out his thrusts, changing the pace to keep himself inside you as long as possible.

Right now though, it was different. His body trembling with desire. a growing flare that licked at his restraint. “Ready?” He asks even if mind was hazing. his number one priority in everything was your wellbeing and happiness.

Seeing your nod Artem shifts so the head of his cock is at your entrance. Your delicious warmth calling him to a long overdue welcome home. Artem sucks in a breath, lips hovering over your shoulder.

“You finished laundry, correct?” He sees the confused look in your eyes at his strange question.

“Yes I did. Why-!” You feel artem slips inside of you in a single thrust to the base when he heard the words he wanted. The sudden action making you both moan. Only, Artem’s is muffled with a bite to your shoulder. Soothing the mark with his tongue he begins to thrust into you.

“Good. You can cover these up then” mouth latching on to another section of skin. As much as he loves marking you. He’s always careful to place them in areas that can’t be seen, mindful of your professionalism.

But right now he didn’t have much choice. He was needier than ever before, feeling so incredibly sensitive and this position wasn’t helping. Letting him feel you at a whole new angle. “To long princess” he groans. He pulls out to the head and slams back in making you Yelp. To damn long. Feeling your heat stretch at the size of him. Your warmth engulfing him so tightly he wonders how he survived days without it.

“You feel incredible” he pants as his thrusts quicken. “No matter how much time passes, you always take me in so well” he praises landing kisses up your neck to your ear “isn’t that right, darling? Always ready for me.”

You turn your head to the side “I’ve missed feeling you inside me. P-please Artem harder” you beg breathlessly. He looks at your pretty face etched in pure bliss next to him. Something primal snapping in place. He kisses you as he obliges you. Needing it too if not more.

As he suspected Artem felt the all to familiar tension in his body coiling up rapidly. He curses not wanting this moment to ever end. Wanting to shut the world and thoughts of work away and just have you in bed the entire day making up for lost time.

“Touch yourself for me,hm?” hand tightening against your leg. “Together. Alright?” He manages to grunt out. You do as you’re told needing that release.

It didn’t take long for both of you to reach your highs together. Both of you so pent up for the other it was inevitable. Artem lips don’t leave yours, moaning your name and giving you praises as his hips don’t slow down feeling your walls clench around him as if they don’t want to let him go, demanding he stay and give everything he had left. He sucks in a curse at the thought filling your cunt, over and over again with his seed. Burying it deeper and deeper into you.

Groaning reluctantly, he slows down his hips ridding both of your highs. After a moment of catching your breath. Artem lets go of your leg. his kisses become gentler, reassuring. His words asking if you were alright.

A hand cupping your check and another pushing your hair away from your glistening face. He sucks in a breath, when he feels himself slip out of you as you turn your body onto your back.

Clear blue eyes, the hue that is found in the cracks of a glacier. gaze down at you with a sincere content look of fondness. a contrast against the bursting pink splotches across his face and ears. The smile you give him only deepening the color. He feels your hand push back his damp hair. He turns his head and presses a kiss to your wrist. Keeping his sights on you.

“How does your evening look like?”

[ragnarlothcat]

Knows best? Just because the idea is just delicious?

This is my obikin daddy kink fic that I last updated in January of 2024! Is this now a January only fic??? If so, I'd better hurry to get something out this January too...

Anyway the story is that Obi-Wan and Anakin are undercover in a crime syndicate as father and son and Anakin is having a lot of very confusing feelings about it. He's upset because he wants Obi-Wan to finally recognize him as an adult and equal but he's also very horny because Obi-Wan keeps wearing outfits and being firm and doting with him.

The next chapter picks up the morning after Anakin and the other crime youths snuck out to drink and go racing (although not in that order at least!) and then Obi-Wan and Anakin had a sexually charged argument about it. Here's a bit of me mostly describing outfits again:

“You should have let me know you were leaving,” Anakin says in the snidest, most lecturing tone he can manage. “I’ve been told this is enemy territory, Master, and that we shouldn’t wander off alone without someone holding our hands.”

Obi-Wan seems not to hear him, or at least doesn’t take the bait and circles until he’s just behind him. “What,” Obi-Wan says very slowly, “are you wearing?”

Anakin turns and for a moment thinks Obi-Wan’s lost his mind—or that Anakin has—when he notices his master is dressed in his familiar creams, similar at first glance to his usual Jedi robes. But Anakin realizes with dawning horror that Obi-Wan’s outfit is far worse than he could have imagined.

Obi-Wan’s suit, for it is a suit once again, is off-white, high-collared and strangely unyielding. The fabric is stiff in the creases of Obi-Wan’s joints as if it’s been starched to military perfection. It draws Anakin’s attention to the sharp jut of his wrist bones at his cuffs, the shine of his tan boots and the breadth of his chest. Anakin knows Obi-Wan is strong but he’s deceptively slim beneath his robes, almost unassuming. Dressed like this, all rigid lines and stark angles, his eyes sharp above the handsome sweep of his cheekbones he looks—

Anakin unsticks his tongue and looks back at his own reflection. Where Obi-Wan is clean, stiff and appropriate, Anakin is dark, bare-throated and exposed. Aayla would say there’s a metaphor in that.

Anakin hates metaphors.

But the topic at hand is apparently Anakin’s own outfit instead of the distracting madness Obi-Wan has chosen to torture him with today. “More overpriced bantha poodoo for criminals,” is how he chooses to describe Sabé’s latest creation.

“It doesn’t look very practical.”

“You’re one to talk,” Anakin retorts, waving a hand towards Obi-Wan’s pale, starched jacket. “You’re supposed to be a criminal. It’ll be hard to wash the blood out of all that nice white fabric after the Syndicate start stabbing each other.”

“And it’ll be hard for you to participate in this imagined carnage while you’re wearing a corset.”

Anakin picks at the laces around his midsection. “It’s not a corset.” Padmé wears corsets sometimes, especially under her heavy, ceremonial dresses. Anakin’s belt, for that’s exactly what it is, is a thick, synth-leather contraption that extends from the top of his hips to the underside of his ribcage. Admittedly it doesn’t exactly support his pants, and it does cinch in tight around his waist—

Okay, it’s a bit like a corset.

[cum-a-calla]

roman on a busy train/elevator/something and doing things to you whilst everybody else is stood around, maybe you don’t even know him

Of course, he sits next to you.

It’s a long bus ride, considering. There’s probably another.. what? 20 minutes til your stop? And it’s surprisingly light; only a handful of bodies. This is when you like it best, stepping onto the bus and having your pick of empty seats, of empty rows. Just worrying about looking out the window with some headphones, nobody needing to sit next to you. In a pleasant turn of events, the entire back of the bus is bare - you choose a window seat back there, surrounded by emptiness; at least, you were.

He’s in a suit, hair slicked back. He looks vaguely familiar, but that’s a dime a dozen in New York. There are important people everywhere, recognizable faces. The single relief of not watching the news much is not recognizing any of them, not giving a shit. He has little more than a small briefcase, eyes flickering to you as he boards, the hint of a smirk on his lips. You look away and out the window, trying to shrink from his attentions. He’s kind of handsome, actually. Sharp features, deep-set, sleepy eyes. Long, gorgeous nose. He isn’t the worst seat-mate in the world, just… didn’t need to be one at all.

He settles himself without much incident, barely speaking a word or a sparing a glance before pulling his phone out and ignoring you.

Not so bad.

It takes a while, and truly, it’s by mistake - by happenstance, you glance over and catch the screen of his phone. It’s angled at your thighs, your legs in your skirt. His camera app. In one hand he surreptitiously takes a picture. His other hand is down on his own thigh, petting the head of his erect cock in his slacks, tight in that trapped fabric. The gasp that leaves your throat can’t be that loud, especially with the way you snap your attention back to the window, eyes wide, holding your breath, now. You freeze up - there are creeps on the bus, you get it. It happens. It’s not the first, last, or worse thing you’ve seen in New York in public or on public transport. But this is… this is a lot. Of course, you could yell, you could confront him and stand up and cause a scene. You know the driver would kick his ass off. You know you could. You can. Every second that ticks by is wasted, but… for some reason, you don’t. Your cheeks flush and your fingers tremble as you smooth your skirt self-consciously over your thighs, wondering if it’s making things worse.

When he tucks his phone away, you glance again out of habit, his movements drawing your eye. All you can discern is a smug little smirk on his lips as he tucks it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. His cheekbones slice an attractive curve down into his jawline, a barely-there dusting of five-o’clock shadow.

It must be minutes - right? Seconds? Time warps in your panic, and it takes effort to release the tension in your muscles.

That’s when it happens. His pinky, stroking against the side of your thigh. He’s not even subtle about it; he pets his pinky finger there and then it’s more, his fingers crawling, slowly but surely. Hand on your thigh, and then edging between them, his gaze held calm, facing forward, your cheeks burning as you stare out the window.

Emboldened by your silence, the man’s fingers slide over the tender inside of your thigh, undeterred by the way you press them together just a little tighter.

You turn sharply to look at him, steeling yourself, and you even get as far as opening your mouth before he matches your gaze. He furrows his brow, dark eyes glittering as he fixes his face into the perfect mask of confusion, polite concern. He waits, fingers tickling deeper between them. He lifts those eyebrows, expectant. Bored. Annoyed by your silence, the way you need to remember how to breathe.

“You need something…?” he asks, voice clipped. Irritated. Impatient.

Impossibly, you shake your head, turning back toward the window, and his fingers continue to crawl to push and seek until he’s stroking up under that skirt, against your underwear. A thin, damp scrap of fabric separates your flesh from his fingertips as he rubs. It’s barely a moment after he reaches that soft, plush place that he’s pushing underneath the elastic, reaching your sensitive, shamefully wet cunt. He pokes between the lips, rubs around, finding his way idly like it’s a scenic journey he’s taking, no real goal but to feel, test, push against the bouncy, plaint flesh there.

As he makes his home in the slippery confines of your cunt, pushing one and then two fingers slowly inside, he takes your hand. You don’t need to turn and watch to know where it’s going - he pushes it against the line of his twitching, impossibly hard cock, guiding the way you rub him through his slacks. Slow. Controlled. You can feel the curve of his head, fat, the tender ridge there near the tip. He slides his fingers in, out, before settling into a rhythm that makes you gasp. He curls them, fully cupping your cunt and snickering to himself in a low, derisive way as you spread your thighs a little - just enough to allow him proper access, focusing so hard on staring out the window. His middle and ring finger nudge and grind and thrust against that sweet spot inside of you, like there aren’t other people, like you know him. Like you want it. The way he grinds his palm against you puts a solid pressure against your clit. He moves your hand a little faster against his own dick, sighing as he reaches to undo his zipper.

And then… his cock. Fat, thick, leaking. He wraps your fingers around it and guides your rhythm just the way he likes, all that rippling, firm muscle, the slickness at the tip of his cock helping wet it. He makes a soft noise in his throat and disguises it as a groan.

Despite yourself, you rock your hips - just a little. Just a little, because - oh, fuck - are you really this turned on? Really this fucking desperate for some entitled stranger to finger-fuck you on the bus, wrist flicking as he fucks his fingers into you just a little harder? His cock makes an obscenely wet noise as he drips over your knuckles, and suddenly he’s not guiding you at all - it’s you, all you, rolling your hips subtly and stroking his cock, thumbing the slit as he leans his head back in your peripheral vision, shuddering. He hums, almost a whine in his throat, and your cheeks are so fucking red they burn.

“That’s real fuckin’ cute,” he whispers. So low, so quiet you think you may have imagined it, except he laughs again - a breath. A stab. And oh - that can’t be you, tightening up on his fingers and squeezing your thighs together, closing your eyes and leaning your head back as he manipulates your poor cunt into squeezing around his knuckles, and all that pillowy, plush, molten heat around him has him fucking into your harder, faster. Milking you clean of it, your shivery little gasps. In your grip, his cock engorges and he yanks his fingers out of your cunt to reach swiftly behind your head, tangling his wet fingers into your hair as he guides you. “Down you go - just fucking do it.”

He shoves you down over his cock, and can’t you just resist, can’t you just push off of him, slap him, scream? Can’t you? He rolls his hips up and a deep, rolling grunt issues up from his chest, subdued, his cock pulsing over your tongue. He shoots into the back of your throat as he forces you there, choking, drooling over his balls, over the open fly of his expensive slacks. He keeps his fingers in your hair with a grip that stings, that makes you whine softly as you try to swallow around him. After a few last, emptying twitches, he allows you to pop off, catching your breath and wiping your wet eyelashes, your mouth.

The bus comes to a stop moments after, and he rises up from his seat, all put away and smirking. He makes sure to catch your eye, lifting his eyebrows as he brings his fingers to his nose, winking. “Thanks for the ride,” he mumbles.

[rockanroller]

i wanna see you look at blitz turnaround sheet tbh :3 his design is one of the more interesting and better ones from either show, and my only real issue is the eyes on his gloves, his ripped up suit cape thing, and his feet being literal high heel boots. like if he takes his shoes off, his feet are high heeled shaped. octavia actually has the same problem! thats not related but just another iconic vivziepop design trait i hate personally lol

ty for askin, i understand your thoughts. from what i've seen so far, blitzo's the one that seems the most clean/consistent. but i still found inconsistencies that bothered me when i looked closer.

disclaimers; --this will be an analysis of the character model's consistency, not their general design. --model sheets can feature intentional stylization for a character whether or not it makes real-world sense, so something that feels like an inconsistency to me might not to someone else. i certainly wouldn't give two shits if someone disagreed with how i stylized something unless i felt they had a good point. --obv we can't know for sure but we can assume the animators have gotten along ok enough with what they've been given, and/or they might have better more exact guides by now on the production, as the turnaround i'm analyzing is from around 2019.

at the end of the day this is just for fun. if you agree with some things i say here, awesome, but please don't treat my opinions as facts. all that said, this is my personal analysis.

let's go top to bottom starting with the horns.

onto the head...

another disclaimer is that i understand squash & stretch is a thing, personally i feel if you are going to show how a character's face squashes and stretches it should be on a separate sheet like for expressions because putting it on a turnaround makes it look as if the face looks vastly different at different angles, it creates confusion. onto the torso area...

onto the coat...

onto the tail... (mainly issues with inconsistent markings)

one of my biggest issues with having detailed designs like this for hand-drawn animation is if you do not organize them well then you/your team will have difficulty drawing them consistently. i would expect to see inconsistencies like these between scenes or between differing animators bc that is just something that happens... but for them to be on *the* turnaround is frustrating to me bc imo a turnaround should act as your baseline so your team can draw your character as consistently as possible. but if you're handing them an inconsistent turnaround you're more likely to wind up with even more, possibly worse, errors/inconsistencies. if that's something you don't mind in your animations, more power to you. and with that i'll close this analysis off on some inconsistencies that i felt were more personal grievances.

and that's that! this, again, is my personal critique of an image from 2019 that i'm doing bc it's like a fun study for me. it is not meant to be an attack. ty for giving me this suggestion anon.

[mrsoharaa]

Ꮺ ❥ 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞

characters: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

content warnings: biting, mentions of blood, blood kink(??? if you squint I think??), highly suggestive but nothing too explicit, Miguel being...Miguel lol, not entirely proofread (sorry! got kinda lazy towards the end! ૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა )

Imagine just minding your business, actually submitting your reports from your latest mission. Fully concentrated and in the zone, when a over towering, dark shadow casts right above you, makes you blink in confusion, capturing your attention. Searing breaths fanning across the shell of your ear, as a looming, overbearing weight of radiating gloom hounds all over you.

A familiar hefty, brooding aura that you immediately recognize.

Your once tapping fingers puttering away amongst your keyboard now immediately ceasing. A thrashing, vibrant chill running down the course of your stifled blood.

Your lips part for a moment, nothing but a mere low gasp slipping past your pretty, full lips as more barren heat settles against the nape of your clenched jawline. Something supple and tender, hot and inviting all in the same, seeping against your skin.

"Miguel what are you— hush and continue what you were doing" his smooth, low voice bellows through your torrid ear. Feeling his left hand firmly, yet delicately clasp around the juncture of the free side of your jaw. Angles your head to tilt to that free space, as he slips his head into the open, enticing space of your smooth neck.

Heaves out a small breath against the pliable, graceful skin humming lightly as he presses his lips into the stretched, lulling flesh.

Whisks out a sharp, sudden gasp from your puttering lips, hands fidgeting along your keyboard, as prominent heat surges through the abrupt motion of his plush lips craning into your flinching skin.

Your eyes instantly seal close, leaning back into your cushioned chair as you feel a rush of throbbing adrenaline course through you like a tidal wave. Your back slightly arches, as your toes curl tightly within your suits fabric. Drawing one hand up to capture his jaw, but was immediately stopped by his wide, strong hand.

Emanates a deep, sturdy growl against your flesh. Dimly casted eyes of sharp scarlet peers up at you with such warning.

He hardly pulls away from you, clutch around your wrist tightening with every motion you'd make.

"I said...continue what you were doing, Y/n" he grumbles once more, eyes shifting back down to your pulsing jugular. Can practically hear the pumping blood coursing just beneath the thin layer of skin you flaunted to him. Stimulates another gruffled growl from the depths of his rising, firm chest.

Has his mind practically racing with such vile, corrupt thoughts as he grazes his lips over the soften silk of your neck. Takes a deep inhale of your intoxicating, addicting sweet scent that splurges through his nostrils. Forces the man to readjust behind you, giving your neck one last supple kiss before the sudden, harsh inevitable happens—

He sinks his protracted fangs deep into the subtlety of your pliant skin. Groans almost animistically, as he feels the rush of his own blood blind his own sense of composure and self restraint. Dwells and completely submits in to the over compelling need to drive his teeth deep into your neck. To feel every particle of skin that he could, within his firm grasp.

The sound of your pitched yelp rakes a euphoric sensation down the stride of his looming body. Abruptly uses his hand that cupped along your jawline to cover your beautiful mouth to silence your hitched cry.

Hums in delight as he feels your body gradually, eventually, start to unwind and relax in to his steady grasp. Swoons his thumb, comfortably along the open flushed skin of your cheek. As too ease you into a more comfortable position, to ease in to his selfish rapture of your delicate, smooth flesh.

His thumb caress over the plump of your gaping lips, tilting your head to his direction as he slowly parts ways from your welcoming neck.

A hefty groan croons out from the pits of his parched throat, basking in the sweet taste of your candied blood amongst his greedy tongue. Licks over his own dark stained lips with a swish of his hungry muscle, seeping in every last drop that he could.

His hand that clasps securely along your jaw forces you to gaze up at him with lidded, heavy eyes of hunger and primal desire.

Sends a wave of enticing shivers of allure and desire through your shuddering body. Your free hand clutching onto the arm rest of your chair, as your hazy irises gaze up at the towering, starved man. Subtle strands of his mocha hair stringing down along his perfect, brazen skin. Bringing out the sheer beauty that resonated all over him.

You felt almost out of breath, heart clashing ever so rapidly against your collapsing lungs and nerves running wildly. Your thighs throbbing with such erratic stimulation, closing firmly together as the pit of your warm belly swarmed with such fluttering butterflies.

You felt so riled up, just from a simple bite of his piercing fangs and the softness of his full lips.

His thumb placidly caresses the lush of your agape lips, a low, deep chuckle reverberating against his chest. His eyes never leave yours.

"I can feel your blood pulsing cariño..." he begins, pushing up your upper lip in a taunting manner, pupils gradually trailing down to the supple flesh against his.

"The sound of your restless heartbeats...how cute" he husks heavily, deeply, bringing his eyes back up to yours as he continues to toy with your lips. Carefully leans in closer to your ear, warm breaths bouncing off the lobe of your sweltering skin.

"I want more...I crave more...I'll use you till I'm absolutely satisfied with my fill of you...and you're going to be a good girl and sit there and take it...you'd do that for me right, hermosa?"

[take-taker-taken]

maybe a little undertaker and short reader if you’re interested in writing it !

Of course! Here’s a couple things that came to mind, plus some random, head canony thoughts…

As you come down the stairs, he’s waiting at the bottom. You stop on the third stair from the floor and raise your arms in question. “What do you think?” You ask, holding your arms out to display your outfit.

“You look beautiful, darlin’ - you always do.”

Your cocktail dress is a deep, rich purple with just a hint of shine and it clings to you in all the right places - you feel beautiful. A silver choker and diamond drop earrings complete the look.

“You coming all the way down babe, or are you just gonna stand there and look at me?”

Your hand rests on the stair rail as you look him over. “Give me a minute - I don’t normally get this view.”

He looks confused for a second and then huffs out a laugh when he realises what you mean - you’re standing on the third stair, which puts you at eye level with him. He does the same ‘arms out’ gesture to indicate his own outfit and you grin.

“Devastatingly handsome,” you assure him as your eyes rove hungrily across his strong shoulders and long legs, which are encased in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit. The very top of his midnight blue button down shirt is open and you know by the end of the night you’ll be snuggling inside the jacket with him.

“OK, baby - car’s waiting,” he says and reaches forward to settle his huge hands around your waist before lifting you gently from the stairs down on to the floor. You opted for shoes with just a slight kitten heel and as he hugs you to him you smile at how protected he makes you feel. Your small hand disappears as it’s engulfed by his and he leads you out the door to the waiting vehicle.

————

You’re laying on your side, leant against him as you watch the TV. His big hand strokes up and down your body as though he’s petting a big cat. You love how you fit so neatly against him and you don’t have to worry about your head obscuring his view.

“I’m chilly,” you proclaim as you draw your knees up to hug them.

“I’m Mark, good to meet ya,” he replies absently, most of his attention on the screen.

You roll your eyes to yourself and then look up at him and let out a small whine. He snorts and reaches up to the back of the couch where he’s left one of his hoodies. He snags the bundle and then shifts against you. “C’mon - sit up a bit and put this on.”

You haul yourself into a more upright position and he pops the hoodie over your head, but he’s working from a less than ideal angle. After a few tries he curses quietly and abandons you to your fate as you tunnel around inside the garment, looking for the exit. The first false start has you trying to push your head down one of the huge sleeves and unseen, he patiently moves the hoodie around so that you can get your arm down it instead. The hood has flopped over the neck hole and so you’re back to flailing ineffectually inside the dark material, rapidly reducing into helpless giggles that really don’t help matters.

“For the love of…” you hear him mutter and then you feel him shaking because he’s giggling too. He eventually grabs the one arm that you’ve successfully managed to manoeuvre into the right place and pushes the sleeve down so that your hand slips out the end. “OK, now keep still a sec… just gonna… move that arm - not that one, baby… there ya go… you can figure out where the neck is now, right?”

Still in fits, you wave your arms up and down like you’re trying to direct a plane into land. “Help meeee!”

You feel him take hold of you again and sit patiently as he flips the hood back and then pulls the clothing down so that your head finally pops out.

“There she is!” He laughs, and smooches your lips a couple of times.

You giggle and grin and kiss him back. “Thank you for saving me - thought I was gonna die in there.”

“I would never have let that happen, sweetheart. You all good now? C’mon and lay back down.”

Happily you settle back in against him, turning your attention to the TV and all is calm.

“Think I’m too warm now after all that struggling,” You say quietly after a couple of minutes.

His strong arm wraps around you and holds you firmly in place. “Nuh-uh. You stay put - you’re not getting out of that thing for another hour, at least.”

You do a mental shrug, lifting the too-long sleeve to your face where you rub it against your cheek, enjoying the scent of him that’s worn in to the material and decide that actually, that’s fine by you.

————

Head Canons

Going for a walk together is fun, but sometimes it’s a little difficult. You probably have to do two or three steps for every one of his and if he goes striding off then you have to run to catch up - this is why you insist on holding hands. You both love being out in nature though and it’s especially handy because he can lift you up with ease to take a closer look at a bird’s nest in a tree.

Selfies aren’t easy but you’ve managed to perfect it now - if he sits down and you kneel up then it’s workable but standing up selfies are a bust. He suggested ‘one of those stick things’ but even that didn’t improve matters much. Kissing, though… kissing is fun - lots of experimentation there. Sometimes he’ll pick you up for a quick smooch, or if you’re cuddling on the couch then it’s easy. Other than that, you stand up on to your tiptoes and he’ll bend down so that you can meet somewhere in the middle. One memorable time after he’d been abroad for too long you literally climbed up him when he came through into arrivals at the airport, one quick jump and a bit of scrabbling and then you were sat happily with your legs wrapped around his waist while he supported you easily with one arm.

Sometimes he teases you - bending his knees until he’s eye level with you and looking around, proclaiming how ‘everything looks different from down here’. Or he’ll move some of the every day kitchen items up to the top shelves, just to watch you stretch up as tall as you can - sniggering as you bat at things with your fingertips in a bid to topple them down for you to catch. One time out walking in the rain, he called you to an urgent halt and you wondered what happened - only for him to scoop you up and carry you across a puddle (“Can’t have you getting swept away, can we?”).

In bed? Well, he loves to say that height doesn’t matter once you lay down and he’s definitely right when it comes to a few things… Spooning in bed is the best and occasionally he even lets you be the big spoon (“Just so long as you mind where you’re putting those tiny popsicles you call feet!”). He’s so big that you can just climb all over him - lay right on him if you choose to. He sometimes threatens to do it back to you and so if you’re feeling playful you’ll roll off him and tell him to do his worst. Nothing like the feeling you get from him kneeling astride you with a smirk before he captures both your wrists in one huge hand and pins them above your head. You don’t know if there’s a word for ‘feeling so vulnerable but at the same time so safe’ but there certainly should be.

[inkwell-passion]

The Breaking Point

'Fires Erupt in Ithaca' the headline of the most recent issue of 'Golden Sun' News. That's what fills my eyes, everything else getting lost in my tunnel vision. I thought I won. They died, what do you mean the Fires started?

I failed her. The 108 vultures, wanting to obtain her company….her employees. I didn't keep them safe.

My eyes scan the article, trying to figure out how many casualties there were, when my eyes catch, '20 dead, another 21 injured'.

My mind flashes back to the operation, it was only a few weeks ago.

𓃦

Agent Maelstrom and Agent 'Barn Owl' would be sat in the car, checking their weapons, Agent Maelstrom would be carrying an SMG in his right hand, and a stun baton in his left, the SMG was of his own modification, utilizing Caseless ammunition, a suggestion from Agent 'Barn Owl'.

"Ready Little Wolf?" Agent 'Barn Owl' asks, chambering a round into her 'Spear of the Heavens', a unique Sniper Rifle commissioned by the Agent from Hephaestus' Hammer.

"I've always thought myself more of a Fox." Agent Maelstrom quips, a playful smile on his face that quickly hides itself away upon seeing Agent 'Barn Owl's unamused look.

"You rely on a pack, an Alpha, thus you are a Wolf. Show your independence and maybe you'll be a Fox." Barn Owl informs, before checking the window. "Open the door, this is our stop."

"What do you mean Open the door? we're still going 60!" Maelstrom whisper shouts.

"you got training for this." Barn Owl responds, before diving out of her side of the car, Maelstrom following suit due to having no alternative.

Maelstrom measures up the building, giving a confused look to Barn Owl. "Why are we striking a business on your home turf?" The Building itself was grand, as if compensating for something, windows liter every floor providing ample angles for a sharpshooter to make their mark.

"This Business is trying to annex your mother's Company, A Law Firm specializing in Domestic Affairs." Barn Owl explains, before continuing. "They plan to sell it for parts once they have it, destroying all the good she's down for her people, and her employees."

Maelstrom's anger flares as he chambers a round into his SMG. "Keep me covered." Maelstrom would stack up on the door, watching as Barn Owl moves to a nearby Parking Garage.

"IRIS Comms Link Online? Do you Read Me Maelstrom?"

"Five By Five Barn Owl."

"Reading 8 in the main lobby, can you take them out on your own?" Barn Owl requests.

Maelstrom would breach the main door, peppering the receptionists with rounds from his 'Wolf Bite' SMG. "DOWN ON THE GROUND" He barks sparking the shock baton to intimidate the Civilians, who comply easily.

The Receptionists, as they are bleeding out, manage to hit the silent alarm.

"Little Wolf, I'm hearing comms chatter, you've got incoming." Barn Owl informs Maelstrom, who quickly knocks a table on its side, before ducking behind the receptionist's desk.

"So why'd you knock the table on its side?" Barn Owl asks, a slight amused tone in her voice.

"Draw their attention, they're gonna think I'm over there, and not here." Maelstrom elaborates, getting rewarded with a soft chuckle from Athena. "I know I chose the right kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Maelstrom audibly pouts.

"Hey Little Wolf, You've got incoming, 5 of them, well armored carrying Shotguns." Barn Owl returns to the problem at hand.

Maelstrom waits for them to round the corner, smirking as they take the bait and start pumping rounds into the decoy table, allowing Maelstrom to leap the counter and choke one out using his shock baton to put pressure.

The other 4 turn to face him as they start firing at his direction, Maelstrom lifting the one he is choking out to take the majority of the abuse, dropping him when they're reloading. and taking the shotgun from the corpo's corpse, firing at the center of mass and dropping two of the armored juggernauts.

This leaves Maelstrom open for the other two to surround him, Maelstrom starts analyzing the environment for a possible solution. Right before the one behind him pulls the trigger, Maelstrom feels as if everything around him slows down, a Sniper shot ringing out as he watches the man behind him drop like a back of hammers.

"Need some help?" Barn Owl remarks with an audible smirk. "Hey, the guy in front of you, wrestle the shotgun from him and get it under his jaw."

"What the hell do you mean wrestle it from him?" Maelstrom barks. "He'll shoot me before I even get close."

"Not right now, your thoughts and movements are much quicker." Barn Owl informs

"How'd you manage that?! Did you drug me?" Maelstrom nearly whimpers.

"Don't worry about it, quick do it."

Maelstrom dives to close the distance, the Juggernaut seemingly moving in slow motion, as Maelstrom grabs the 'Uppercut' Shotgun, wrestling it from the juggernaut and putting it under his jaw, decorating the ceiling with grey matter.

Maelstrom's temporal perception returns to normal as a line of infantry start running down the hall from the elevator, a single file line. Maelstrom smirks, and links into Barn Owl's Scope Camera, waiting for her to line the shot up, and at the last second, he would dive back under the receptionist's desk.

The Sniper rings out once again as the line of Infantry fall, painting the halls red with specks of white.

"Hallway clear, get in that elevator, we need to wipe that server network." Barn Owl orders.

"Why not just wipe the entire building? We're doing pretty good" Maelstrom inquires

"That might bite us in the ass later, families will demand reparations, raids could start." Barn Owl responds.

"Bullshit, they'll never know we're connected." Maelstrom asserts, leaping out of the Receptionists desk and running down the hall, taking a handgun, ammo, and a plate carrier from the infantry, before sliding into the elevator.

While in the elevator, Maelstrom would discard his suit jacket if but for a moment to get the plate carrier on, before sliding his suit jacket back on, getting the helmet he also nabbed from the Infantry over his head.

"You didn't mention they would be this heavily armored" Maelstrom mentions.

"I didn't expect you to go in guns blazing." Barn Owl barks.

"It was the quickest way!" Maelstrom defends

"The quickest way is also often the least useful!" Barn Owl growls.

The elevator opens up to reveal an advanced firing line of six infantry, three on one knee, and three standing above them.

Maelstrom curses under his breath as he walks out of the elevator putting his hands up. "Alright, Alright you got me." He says calmly, a relaxed smile on his face.

"Maelstrom what are you doing?" Barn Owl Chastises.

Maelstrom doesn't respond.

"KNEES ON THE GROUND." The officer orders, and Maelstrom complies, a twinkling spark in his eyes that is hidden behind the helmet.

"Take his helmet off" the Officer orders one of the infantry, a Security guard that has the name tag 'Jenny R. S.' who complies with the order though not without Maelstrom shuffling a bit.

"Y'know you guys impress me" Maelstrom begins, smirking as his messy white hair frames his face.

"KEEP THAT TRAP SHUT" The Officer barks.

"if you say so" Maelstrom concedes, the glow in his emerald eyes at a full bright.

"Why do you have an Olympian Glow?" The Officer demands.

"Why do you watch the mouth and not the hands?" Maelstrom asks, before rolling his hand and revealing the hand grenade he snatched from the Security guard, pulling the pin with his teeth and tossing it, and diving into the elevator as it opens its doors once more, from reinforcements trying to intercept, Maelstrom uses the handgun he stole to pop them in the head as he hides behind the door of the elevator, feeling the rumble of the hand grenade detonating.

The rest of the rise up the building went smoothly, and Maelstrom cleared both the data and the building, before repelling down and meeting up with Barn Owl.

"You're a dumbass." Barn Owl reprimands, before smiling softly. "Good work today."

Maelstrom grins at her. "Thanks!"

𓃦

My fists tremble in rage, it swells inside me. I should have listened to her, we just needed that data, but I wanted to take the easy route. And what of Odysseus, where was he as I was defending Mom's Legacy from those vultures.

Something clicks.

"Why do I care what he thinks? He's an old man lost in the past." My voice flies free from my lips to open air.

"I'm done living in his shadow. Done trying to live up to his expectations, I'm my own person" I reassure to myself.

I'd message Athena, 'Hey, I'd like to ramp up my training. Make Me Bleed'

All she responds with is an Owl emoji.

I would walk out of my office and head to the sparring grounds, calling for Seraphim-076 to meet me there.

[thotsforvillainrights]

What about stain with a vigilante so who is confused as much as him that she got in a relationship 🤭

(I like the chance to inspect a relationship like this a little closer so this is a really interesting ask, Anon. Hope you don't mind I've of course left the reader a little open and more insert-able for everyone. Thank you for the ask and the Stain writing opportunity!)

~Stain and The Vigilante~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

-Vigilante, anit-hero, villain, monster. He's no stranger to having mutiple title among these and honestly he could care less about any of them at this point. He'd transformed himself from Chizome, to Stendhal, to finally the one true Hero Killer. The man that would take it upon himself to cleanse society singlehandedly and rid the streets of these filthy so-called heroes. Just the thought of them continuining to thrive, infesting the world like roaches made him sick to his stomach. He'd been more active than usual lately, trying to beat his record levels when he'd accidently came across you.

-Naturally he'd taken a moment to think first as he watched you from the shadows. He racked his brain trying to dredge up any information on you that he could but nothing was coming up. He didn't even know your name. Perhaps a newcomer then? A fresh faced hero on their first patrol? Yes that must be it. Without knowing you or your convictions he was hesitant on taking you off the map. He wanted to at least know what agency you worked under. Knowing this would help him determine how he'd split you open with his blade. However when he decided to strike you'd heard the police in the distance drawing near and fled from your spot.

-This was unlike a hero. This meant you were in fact either a villain or a vigilante...

-A week had gone by since this event and he had long since forgotten about you until he finally crossed paths with you again, this time a little closer than usual. "Hero killer Stain, you'll be a big fish for my net." You held a knife to his throat and he smiled. "Oh is that so then? Wasn't aware I managed to get a bounty on my head finally. Amazing how you heroes always seem to slap a price tag on things these days." You scoff at him and shake your head with a small smile. "Hero? Price Tag? Oh no, I couldn't give a shit about that. You're my biggest target and I will me the one to rid the streets of you. It's I alone that'll purge that problem." You push the blade closer to the delicate skin on his throat and he moves his head at an angle better suited for you. "Go on then...slice." He smirks at you. His confidence is unmatched. He knew you couldn't land a hit on him. Had you not been so focused on his face then you would've notice his blade inching closer and closer to your stomach.

-Both of you left with a few nicks on each other but alive nonetheless. Had the authorities not shown up, one of you would likely be dead or heavily incapacitated. This would not be the last time you both me at challengers, but it would be the last time you meet as enemies.

-Somewhere along the lines, your fights had become less action heavy and more conversation heavy. You'd revealed a few things about each other and you noticed the few times he got you on your back he never delivered the last blow, instead opting to disappear altogether until your next meeting. There were less hero deaths lately and way less sightings of the mysterious vigilante going by (whatever your vigilante name is). You both ended up confused when you'd crossed paths on a rooftop one night by accident and didn't end up fighting but sitting alongside each other and talking instead.

-You never formally got asked to be his significant other at any point. It was just a given when he found you bloodied and beaten in a nearby alley one night. Against his better judgement, he brought you to his own home/hideout and patched you up. Healed you and waited until you woke up 2 days later. He revealed his face to you. He saved your life...the complete opposite of something he's usually do. You were indebted to him and he was sick to his stomach at the thought of having you around more often these days. You've both had the thought cross your minds more than once: 'How did I end up with you???' And at some point, you both realized you'd rather die than be without the other anymore

[gordonzola-ramen]

[ID: colored drawings of different characters from the shoulders up from Across The Spiderverse. From left to right: Pavitr Prabhakar smiling and looking to the side with half lidded eyes and raised eyebrows. Hobie Brown facing sideways but looking at us, similarly to when he first takes off his mask in the movie. Miguel O'Hara looking forward at a lower angle, smiling with a pointy tooth and he has some grey hair. Miles Morales, looking a bit sideways with a confused look. And Gwen Stacy, looking to the side and smiling with a raised eyebrow. All are in their spider suits without the mask. The background is white. End ID.]

some spider people <3

[fmp10nicolasliwiak]

Research: Artist research (Poster design)

Heinz Edelmann

I was asked to looked into Heinz Edelman after comparisons to my work…I do see it, but the comparison I think is just a byproduct of me taking inspiration from 2000’s artists, who took inspiration from 1950-70’s art including Edelman’s work. Heinz Edelmann was a German-Czechoslovakian freelance illustrator and designer, and his most well known work is for the art direction of The Beatles movie Yellow Submarine.

Edelmann definitely has an interesting style. While he did have all sorts of stylisations, some more realistic than others, his work still pretty psychedelic regardless. The inconsistent proportions and depth, strange designs and the way things blend together is super visually interesting, and based on what I’ve seen, Yellow Submarine very much embraces the psychedelic angle. It’s a style that manages to look unpolished but fulfilling and expressive.

…And now I think I know why you thought my art looked similar to his. These proportions are very close to how I stylize them. Paul straight up looks like a character I’d design here.

I also thought to bring him up in this post specifically because he has worked on a few posters.

This poster was made for the German rerelease of Ladykillers. If you ever wanted a black comedy crime film to instead look like a horror, then here’s a great execution of that. Everyone here, including the clueless Mrs. Wilberforce, looks terrifying with their pitch white eyes and dark shadows and how the suits of the criminals are pitch black and surround the old women… It’s very effective at grabbing your attention though.

This poster is for the French film Metropolis. The most striking thing about this poster is definitely the colour contrast. The pale blue and yellowish hue of the buildings help contrast the bright red and more 3D letters for the title. The letters also align with the way the buildings are facing.

And of course, the German poster for Yellow Submarine. Colourful, hectic, confusing. It’s the most perfect representation of that movie you can get and would definitely catch you eye wherever you were.

Saul Bass

Saul Bass was an American graphic designer and film maker. His graphic design work, primarily for movie posters, is extremely well known and referenced often in pop culture. His style is extremely minimalist, with his posters mainly containing a single item or figure in an angular silhouette with a single coloured background and visual spectacle, with the title on the bottom in a usually angular font. It’s a real contrast to a vast majority of movie posters, especially nowadays, but that’s what makes it iconic.

There’s not much I can comment on otherwise. Everything flows together nicely and it doesn’t try to overwhelm you while telling you what the main motive of the movie is.

Lyndon Willoughby

Lyndon Willoughby is an American illustrator who has made artwork for many prolific companies and projects.

One thing Willoughby likes to do is implement silhouettes to depict a scene or be used as a prop, such as in this Fantasia poster where a large violin is used to represent a rock while also having the silhouettes of different Disney characters through magic. The violin also blends in with the pitch black instruments at the bottom through a gradient. It’s more straightforward compared to some of his poster, but it’s still a really good one.

My favourite poster of his has to be Speed Racer poster, and it shows more of his usual style, looking like paint on a canvas. The way the colours are blended together and drawn as if the track was painted with an angled sash brush, with the track and colours becoming to detailed as they’re closer to you is gorgeous and represents speed perfectly. The holographic effect is also amazing.

Then there’s this poster for James Bond. I like how this poster looks like a magazine advertisement for a watch and looks akin to 70’s advertising and graphic design. The red draws you to the top image, and the hand painted look is cool and also contrasts the blockiness of everything else and even the look of the more realistic look of the watch.

[diamond-dangeresque]

A figure in black and purple leaps across the Desolation, nimbly springing through petrified snarls of Nightfall tendrils and climbing sheer cliff faces with dug-in toes and claws. At a rocky precipice overlooking a fortress hewn from the stone it hides in, the figure bellows in deep laughter.

What fun! What delight!

Mallyx hadn't felt so free in a very, very, very long time. Climbing the rocky cliffs of the Desolation, leaping from structure to structure, swinging and barreling amidst the remains of his former commander Abaddon...even as a fragmented echo of a long-dead demon, he never felt more alive than now as he took the reins of this "Herald" and his body. Reins Chihiro gave up in silent ease. And with full reins, Mallyx could distort the Herald's body as the demon pleased. Gauntlet digits and fingers within lengthened to dread claws. Legs pulled and spiked and twisted into something better-suited for springing through the Desolation. Six eyes projected over the Herald's tiny face to see better. Spine quills to keep hunters off of you when you travel.

But in this freedom, Mallyx understands purposelessness. His commander is long dead, and with him his mission of Nightfall. He now serves a pitiful brat who fancies himself a spirit lord, bid further on by a dead crystal dragon whispering in his ear promising heroism and purpose. If the ape didn't know any better he'd say this dragon was a guise for Kormir, that wretch of a Human-turned-"God". But he knew of Kormir and he knew of this "Glint". Two different beings, despite their identical behaviors. At least he could tolerate the dragon.

Mallyx stops laughing. Normally the Human would speak up, tell him to "calm down" or "can the laughter already," but he was awfully silent these past few hours. The silence bothered him. If the Human was gone for too long, the Dragon would wake up and banish everyone back into the Garden, back into quiet confinement.

"Herald," Mallyx yells, eyeing the ghosts of the fortress far below, "come out, or I consume these souls for myself!" They look up, a soft panic blooming in front of the Demon's eyes as some begin to scramble for cover.

The Demon can hear the sound of footfalls behind him, barefoot-on-stone, before a response rings back: "Alright, alright, I'm here you stupid ape!" The misty outline of Chihiro Yadora stands next to his own possessed-body self, see-through with edges in a glowing shade of violet. His garb is far more casual, hair untied with no blindfold and only wearing loose sleeping pants. At this angle, Mallyx can almost see the resemblance to Abaddon's Canthan general. Almost. "What do you want."

"I want ans—"

"Fuck off, Mallyx."

"How dare you!" Mallyx turns around, infuriated at the Herald's brazen apathy. Chihiro sighs. "You will take this body back this instant!"

"I don't care." The Herald sits down, legs crossed as he looks across the Elonian horizon. "Do with my body what you will, but you give it back for an hour and you don't hurt innocents. That was the agreement, yeah?"

"Your sloth will draw the Dragon's ire, child," Mallyx growls. His lack of using an indoor voice is reeeeally pissing Chihiro off. The spirits below are both frightened and somewhat confused at the one-man argument far above their heads. Only the spirit of Dunkoro seems familiar with what could be going on, and only just barely at that.

"Buddy, I just died. Again. As if I give a shit what Glint says or does. And keep your voice down, huh?."

"...Very well." Mallyx clears his(/Chihiro's) throat. "I was in belief that death didn't stop you."

"That's not the situation here, chief," Chihiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "it's...okay, when I died the first time, Glint was there intercepting my soul from shuffling off into one of humanity's maaaaany afterlifes. Okay?" The Revenant sees Mallyx nod, so he continues: "When I died a second time—because Balthazar beat the undead piss out of me and smite me with his fire magic—Glint couldn't catch me in time. So my waterlogged soul got tossed somewhere."

"You escaped," Mallyx notes.

"I was released," Chihiro corrects, "something very different. And illegal, if the Envoy's warnings were true. But no. I'm letting you take this joyride because...because I want to be left alone." He pauses. Mallyx can hear the Herald's heartbeat pounding away as he thinks of...whatever exactly happened when their bonds were all severed by the War God. "I need to be left alone. If Glint gets moody, tell her to take a number and I'll get to her never." Chihiro felt his weight shift, feet pulled first and working all the way to the tip of his head. When he blinks, he feels his face and body, realizing that he had forcefully been pulled back into his physical form. "What the f—"

"We've a war to wage against a war god," Mallyx howls, now the figure silhouetted as Chihiro's body pulls itself back into its correct shape, "and I don't need you snivelling about whatever it is you saw in the Mists. What happens after Balthazar dies is none of my business." He leaves, his presence all but dissipated back to the Garden.

Chihiro, corporeal rejoined with ethereal, sits down on the hard ground. This sucks. He wanted to mope in peace.

But the ape had a point.

All this moping served nothing towards Chihiro getting his round 2 with his patron god. He needed to move, and fast. Kralkatorrik's storms were surging, and Aurene was in danger. Something had to be done, and fast.

[avocado-writing]

teehee >:3

Tagging: @felhomaly​​​ @sinfulrefugy​​ @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @wanderedaway​ Reblogs appreciated, Requests Closed while I catch up - let me know if you want to be tagged for future works! (thank you dcbicki for the gif!)

“Where’s my stuff?”

You lift your head up from where you’ve been scrolling on your phone to find him leaning over you, one hand planted on either armrest of your chair. He’s doing his best to look threatening. Bless. That’s not worked on you in a long time.

“What stuff?”

It’s a silly question. You know what stuff. You’re the one who stole it, after all. But it’s worth asking just to see the way his face twitches. 

He holds up a hand in front of you. It does look rather bare without all of the usual rings on it.

“O-oo-oh,” you say, drawing the word out, uncrossing and recrossing your legs - and bumping his shins with your feet as you do. “That stuff. Yeah, I might know something about that.”

“Come on. I need to get a move on.”

He’s trying to sound grumpy but you’ve known him long enough to hear the genuine concern creeping in around the edges of his voice. He really does need to get a move on, he’s in his suit - which means he’s about to go out on a job. You know he likes to be fully dressed and that includes the jewellery. 

You look him dead in the eye and tap your lips. 

“I’m sure there’s a way you can get it out of me.”

“Look, I don’t have time to play silly buggers with you,” Tangerine groans. You shrug.

“Well, guess this silly bugger can’t help you then,” you reply, matter-of-fact. You go back to looking down at your phone. You don’t miss the way his hands tighten on the armrest of the chair.

Suddenly, one of those hands has caught your face in it, holding your chin between a thumb and forefinger, once again angling you to look up. Before you can open your mouth to say something scathing his lips are on yours, hard. 

Tangerine can be a very gentle, romantic kisser; or he can be a ferocious one. This falls squarely into the latter option. His moustache bristles coarsely against you and you secretly feel a little spark inside you at the roughness of it. You have to open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet, dominating. He pushes you back into the armchair, one leg sliding forwards between your knees. The hand holding your chin tangles in your hair and grabs hold tight.

When he breaks, you’re left breathless. You can see from his dilated pupils that he wants to continue. But he was serious about not having time.

“My stuff,” he says, voice hoarse with desire, “please.”

He doesn’t say please often. You give in, reaching into your pocket and pulling out one of his rings. 

His brows crease together, a delightful picture of confusion.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“Well that was only one kiss. And I took five things.”

Tangerine lets out a sigh so long you think he might wither away from it. But you know what’s happening: he’s accepting that he’s going to be late.

It’s nice to win these little squabbles. 

[applesandbannas747]

I always cite BOOM as having mismanaged the comic grossly and set it up for failure. With so little story between such huge hiatuses and with no consistency--plus the lack of marketing and confusion between issues and volumes--fans will drift off and lose interest, which loses money, which makes continuing the comic even less sure, which just starts the process anew and makes it all the more clunky and shaky as it goes on. Every choice they've made has been a bad one.

Like I said, I've tried rationalizing and explaining shit from every angle since the first hiatus hit, and at the start of that hiatus, things were actually looking really exciting! The monthly issues were really fun and worked well enough keeping the fanbase--it's the expected model for a comic. You get 22 pages every 30 days, and that's not a bad deal. But it is hard--especially on the artist. Which was why I was happy to sit on a long hiatus because when Fence was announced to be renewed, it was as a graphic novel. So we'd get less frequent releases with bigger chunks of content--not huge chunks, but not single-issue releases. Obviously a 4-issue volume every 12-18 months isn't a good trade-off unless you take into account that the switch from comic to graphic novel allows for more complete narratives rather than the serialized episodic model of comics. This implied that more of the story had been greenlit by BOOM already and the new installments would be able to focus more on actually building the story and give Johanna The Mad plenty of time to get ahead of the workload of drawing it all. This was not the case at all, and BOOM hadn't greenlit beyond vol 4 at all, so it just morphed into episodic 88-page issues released every 12-18 months. Which is a killer blow to fan interest and is a stupid marketing decision. And listen, if Fence isn't making money, we aren't getting more of it. So dumb marking decisions mean less chance of more Fence, which is why I keep mentioning marketing; money is all BOOM cares about, so by looking at Fence from a marketing angle, you can use logic to try and understand or predict their decisions...except that whoever markets for BOOM needs to be fired because they don't know what they're doing. And to top it all off, Jo's still drawing in the exact same time constraints as before because of when she's given the script.

So BOOM literally shot themselves in the foot with Fence and shot all of us in the foot too for good measure. As a fan, the publishing around Fence is so frustrating--I think they should have bought up the remaining story after issue 12 and immediately let Pacat and Jo start building up some backlog of it too, which would have allowed the plot to progress at a healthy pace and the story to have the depth intended. I can understand other people getting frustrated with the way BOOM's decided to publish Fence and losing interest in the comic/deciding it's not worth it, but it didn't honestly occur to me that Pacat might have gotten bored of his own work because of the model that is losing fan interest until now.

Novelty, though, I've definitely considered as an explanation for his wandering attention. Pacat didn't even pitch Fence; he was approached by a publisher at BOOM and came up with Fence specifically for the opportunity (so already it's not a project born of love), and it was his first comic. He's said himself in multiple interviews that writing comics is very different and quite difficult because there's 'nowhere to hide'. Once he saw what a commitment and challenge it would be to actually bring the story to fruition, I'm betting he lost interest. It's a hard format to write for and he's not suited to it in my opinion. Pacing is his biggest weakness as a writer, and comics make that a fatal weakness. Now he's making it worse by trying to condense the story, and characterization has been the compromise to make that happen. Which sucks because I'd rather have the OG characters until it doesn't get renewed than see the new characters to the state championship.

I've long thought Pacat's disinterest in Fence was from a bigger love for his other works and the realization that comic writing isn't for him, and having heard a couple people say working with BOOM and all the publishing nonsense they've pulled would make them less enthusiastic about the project too, I think that has a part in it too. However, the driving force is still, at the end of the day, Pacat himself. If Pacat cared about Fence, there are things he could do besides half-assing it. I genuinely cannot imagine starting a story (especially with an amazing artist and partner to work on it with) and then having its shininess wear off because the format isn't my favorite to work with--it simply does not make sense to me in a way I can't even articulate. So while I can logically understand how BOOM and the comic format turned Pacat off Fence, I can't justify the way he's dealt with it at all. If it were a problem of the format exclusively, why not negotiate to get the rights to the story back and write a fully illustrated novel with Jo instead? I'll tell you why. Pacat is a slow writer, and he'd rather be writing Dark Rise. When the opportunity to bring novels into the franchise came up, he handed it off to someone else. And now instead of either continuing with the progression and complexity he'd planned originally in the comic knowing that it may never be finished or trying to transfer it to a format he's more comfortable with, he's fucked over the fans and the story by trying to get it over as fast as possible.

does pacat rlly not care about fence anymore 😭 i feel like it’s much better than dark rise and could be better than captive prince too…it’s been a year since i last consumed anything fence-related and i really don’t understand what’s going on with the series?? but anyways i like ur fics a lot & agree with ur reviews of srb’s novels, which also could have had so much potential but ended up kind of sucking in a lot of ways.

Pacat is a mystery to me. Personally, I believe Dark Rise is his best work--it shows much better pacing than Captive Prince and gets the same impact and feel without going to such extreme and explicit horrors, which shows a lot of skill (I know CP is his most beloved series but he's improved a lot since writing it haha). What gets me is that Fence STARTED really strong and I counted it as his best work for sure. There were fun tropes and dynamics, interesting characters with a central relationship promising contention, fighting, and tension, and some fun elements in the mystery of Jesse and potential in the reveal of Nick's lineage. And you could tell there was passion in the project...but even by the later issues of the original 12-issue run, Pacat's social media reflected a large disinterest in Fence, and that disinterest has shown in the story as Fence continues to progress.

I try to logic and rationalize and analyze everything Fence related and literally every time I do I get met with 'it's not that deep' from the actual canon lmfao but I'm going to offer my rationalization anyway lmao the only reason I can think to justify Pacat's lack of interaction with Fence on Twitter besides not caring about it much is that it doesn't fit his brand. Which is only defined by two other series, but it's very much a high fantasy/historical fantasy dark romance with stomach-churning undertones and much darker themes than Fence. So I gave him that excuse for a long time. Fence doesn't fit within that brand at all, so from a marketing standpoint, it makes some amount of sense to focus more on the other franchises. However, I think this strategic thinking is giving too much credit--Fence has always had really shit marketing so either Pacat has no mind for marketing or he doesn't care to market Fence, which both get us back to the only real reason being he just doesn't care about it as much as his other things.

Do I expect Pacat to be hanging out in the Twitter FENCEtag? No. But I do think it's strange that he'll post tweets saying happy birthday to other people's books the day they come out, but literally didn't ever make a Fence Redemption announcement or say anything on the release day. The most he's done is retweet a couple things from BOOM! and 2 other outside sources. And this is regular behavior--he didn't do announcements for RIVALS or RISE either and didn't promote them at all. Yet Dark Rise gets announcements all the way along--title announcement, release date announcement, cover reveal, etc etc etc. He also posts and retweets fanart for his other 2 books really regularly, yet he didn't even retweet all of Jo's (the co-creator and illustrator of Fence) pieces for the Fence event Jo hosted in April, let alone bother with much fanart of it. There's just no reason for the vast gap in involvement and enthusiasm other than him very strongly preferring his other projects and not bothering with the effort of interacting with Fence. He'll occasionally ask culture questions (like if Americans say 'coz' for cousin or how to say something in French) but that's legitimately the best argument there is for his interest or care in the project.

And lastly, his lack of interest shows in the story. He handed his story off to someone else to write novels for and simply let her go wild without regard for how it impacted the comics or the fans. Further, Pacat lost track of his own story and characters between Volume 3 & 4 in a way that I cannot excuse as anything other than inconsistent characterization. And I know I'm biased there, but I make so many people in real life read Fence that I don't jabber at about it/pull into the fandom (so they have no knowledge of my takes), and all of them have commented on the 180 the characters made between the volumes. And, listen, if I wouldn't accept that kind of inconsistency in characterization when grading my 12-year-olds' narrative writing projects, why am I still sitting here trying to excuse the lazy/poor writing in a published and successful author? The pacing is also telling--a lot of conflict was skipped over 'off screen' between the volumes (which, say it with me folks, is lazy writing). Nick's resentment toward Seiji turned into full admiration sans any ill feelings or acknowledgment that even if he IS hot shit, he was still a major asshole in his initial conception, and Seiji apparently agreed to drop his thing about Jesse (you know, the thing that had them in a fist fight approximately 40 pages of comic before). There was no build-up to their relationship or resolution of the conflict that made it unhealthy (expect to have Nick 'admit' Seiji was right to treat him like shit...) These things push the story along a lot faster; rivals to lovers moves really fast if you skip all the tedious development of the characters getting to know, respect, tolerate, and then like each other. Pacat loves rivals/enemies to lovers and (to be blunt) mean/cold bottoms, so it is so fucking bizarre to me that he'd speedrun the relationship and change the characterization so much when it's directly moving away from his preferences (see: Captive Prince, Dark Rise). I don’t know how it happened from anything other than sheer laziness or from not caring about Fence so deeply that he let SRB overwrite the characters and romance he'd originally created.

Last, there are just SO many inconsistencies and copyedit-level mistakes. And I get it that typos happen, but it happens so much that it's like,,, are you even rereading the scripts before you throw them at your publisher? And the continuity errors are massive at this point. Seiji's year in France, which was apparently the result of his loss to Jesse, is only possible if time travel exists and also timelines exist simultaneously. How do you fuck up so big when constructing a story you care about? At least by the time it gets published, you should be sure it's READY to be published. It's like he's writing issue-by-issue as he goes with no plan and can't be bothered to skim through the previous issues to check for things.

I just can't come up with a reality where Pacat actually loves Fence when this is all the care he gives it. We are so so so lucky to have Jo--she is literally the most amazing and gives so much love and care to Fence, and it shows...I just wish Pacat's writing didn't affect her contribution to the comic too. But she at least loves Fence even if Pacat doesn't seem to tell her all that much more than he tells the rest of us LMFAO

This turned into a WHOLE messy essay, I just have a lot of thoughts and they've been brewing for years so sorry to go off on my mad ravings and thanks for tuning in XD and also!!! I'm so happy you like my fics TT.TT <33 and also that you see my point about the novels uwu