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marc0wave · 2 years

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Fic丨Insomnia丨Xavier Thorpe x Reader

Still a request about Xavier Thorpe x Reader! This time it mentions fluff and kissing (just the end result) If there are any grammatical errors please let me know and I'll fix them, and more friends are still welcome to send requests by all means!

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

"Still can't sleep?"

The door to the drawing room opens and quickly closes again. Xavier's figure squeezed in through the opened gap, and although it was only a process of a few seconds, you still smelled the damp earth of the woods and the scent of grass burrowing into the small room together.

"Still insomnia. I can't disturb my roommate by tossing and turning and not being able to sleep either." You put down the pencil in your hand and turn around to see the boy standing in the doorway. Xavier is shaking droplets of water off his clothes like a raptor returning to its winter nest. You slowly explain to Xavier, a palpable tiredness and helplessness floating in your language. You usually have a hard time having a good night's sleep naturally, which is probably the price you pay for having powerful divination and psychic abilities. More whining words bubble up from your mind, but are quickly chased away by you, "And, you must be the same, Xavier. That's why you're here."

"I tried to sleep, and I only got maybe half an hour."

"So that's from having that dream again, about the monster?"

Xavier nods indefinitely, not sitting down as he usually did. He shrugs and just casually set aside his umbrella and the keys to his bike. He does his best to answer your question. As he approaches you, you smell the cold scent of rain, but the vast majority of it is passively warmed by Xavier's body heat, turning it into an indescribable, springtime lake-like tenderness. You must admit that Xavier's presence will give you some strength to face your own troubles, as well as some courage to confess and dissect your inner world.

"Since it's curfew time, we're complicit. I'm glad for that fact. Considering you might be coming, I went here at noon to tidy up and put away those ...... not-so-wonderful sketches." He says, eventually standing behind you, examining the results of the drawings you made on his paper during the period of solitude you just spent. Xavier's voice is silent for three seconds, "Your style is kinda ......"

"Wild. I'm drawing you." You smile up. It's a good idea to get creative with the trimmings of the paper left over from his painting, and besides, Xavier won't blame you for ruining his masterpiece with a botched scribble. Even though you are not facing him, you believe you must have heard Xavier's sigh, which is not a complaint, but just a code word between you. You prefer to describe the subtle emotions embedded in it as a kind of doting and eccentricity.

Xavier seems to bend down, something you are almost certain of as you sit in front of his easel while he stands behind you as a shield behind you, his breath close to your cheek with heat and unintentional intimacy, "Oh. I can tell that despite your cute ideas, your drawing skills need a little practice. Like this..."

You seem to feel his untied hair gently pass over your temple, tickling your ears and face. Xavier reaches out, the scent of the humid night wrapping around you, and his hand takes the back of yours at the same time, leading you to pick up your pencil. Xavier's other hand presses against your shoulder, but can't make you to focus on how he is leading your hand and the pencil in your hand to draw wonderful lines.

All you know is that Xavier's palm is hot, unlike the coldness on his jacket, his hand is soft, reliable, and a little larger than yours, and that warmth soaks through your clothes and skin, and your tactile nerves begin to dance with glee as soon as they catch Xavier's touch. He was an artist, that's what all his classmates said about him. Xavier certainly enjoyed the moments when the pen blossomed on the paper to produce beautiful works, the burning creative passion always stirring in his chest, forming that highly romantic part of his soul. You are fascinated by his sometimes forgetful and sometimes contradictory qualities. Xavier is like a poet walking between heaven and earth, but he happens to use his brushes for poetry and his colorful creativity as a rhyme for his works.

"So," Xavier's voice suddenly rings out, and you turn back to your senses. He whispers in your ear, almost making you jump up from your chair. He must have felt you shake in shock, but you're not sure if you heard a friendly bark of laughter from him as a result, "I just worked on your sketches a bit. If I may ask, is that how I look to you?"

You feel your back sweat a little, for no other reason than that you took advantage of his absence to depict him reading a book during class, and at the moment, the Xavier in the painting is no longer focused on reading his textbook. It's as if he's been given a soul in the painting. He raises his eyes, gazes into your eyes, and even reaches out from the paper to touch your fingers that are still holding the pen. Is it just you, or is Xavier really flirting with you, even using his art-filled magic in a brilliant way?

"Oh, uh... it did have so-" you stammer, finding yourself unable to find a proper adjective, and you can only quickly turn your head sideways to try to trick yourself into escaping the question, only to find the real Xavier coming closer to look at you . You almost hit the tip of his nose, your breaths entwined, and for just a moment you think you might have made up your minds about something with each other.

"It doesn't matter what kind of description it is," Xavier says. His breath spills over your lips, and you see with your afterglow that the sketch you've worked on together resumes its stillness, slumbering back on the page. He continues, bringing your attention back to him, "One of them must be fascinating. You're observing me so carefully, how did I miss the fact that Nevermore's good student also have a side of not listening in class?"

"Rightfully so. But Xavier, I didn't realize you had such a narcissistic side."

Xavier smiles and you feel his hand travel down the back of your neck, eventually resting on the back of your head. Your hair wraps around his fingers and you feel a push that you can't deny. Good thing you weren't about to deny him a kiss either.

#xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier x y/n #the adams family

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str8aura-no-not-that-one · 1 year

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how do you make mashups

heres what youre going to do. First you need to have a really good ear. I don't have perfect pitch or anything like that, which I imagine makes my quality suffer as a result, but I listen to 10,000 songs a week, and as a result I'm pretty good at identifying BPM. That's a must- you can slow down or speed up a song a little bit, but if you do it too much to make it fit, it just becomes slush.

Once you've got an idea, listen to the instrumental, and try to sing the desired acapella over it a bit. Do it multiple times, testing to see what lyrics go where and how the instrumental bends to it. Pull up the lyrics and recite them in your head if you don't know them all, see how it feels.

Then comes the hard part. You gotta find the instrumentals and acapellas, and the more obscure the song, the harder its going to be. Not all of them are gonna work out. Those AI sites that handmake acapellas for you? They're bullshit. Only use them as a last resort, and only for songs where the music is quieter than the lyrics.

I use audacity, everyone tells me i should use another software, but these are the same people who tell me i shouldn't draw with a mouse, and look where not using a trackpad got me. My goal has always been 'spend as little money as possible'. Make of that what you will.

Slap both the instrumental and the acapella in, try to keep the instrumental whole. The acapella is what you're going to want to be chopping up and dissecting. take that first verse, line it up where it needs to go so the first word hits the note running- make sure to keep in mind what the original artists wanted, they probably know better than you. See that little gap of empty space in the provided picture? I left the opening to the song untouched, and only brought in the new lyrics where the original lyrics came in (with a little bit of guesstimation, given one is Daft Punk, but thats the general rule of thumb.)

Now start listening, and hard. Music that's out of sync instinctively sounds wrong. Listen to that instinct, and listen to it closely. Speed up or slow down as it demands, until you can listen to it all the way through and nod your head in rhythm the whole time. Experiment, see what instrumental breaks you can fill, and what goes where.

Sometimes the instrumental or acapella are longer than the other track. It's okay to flub it once or twice and copy-paste a verse, but don't rely on it too much, or you start to sound like a hack. If you need to, cut out pieces of the instrumental, but be careful and make sure the transition is seamless. Keep an eye on how long the distance is between those big spikes- those are the key beats that form the BPM.

This is just my personal tip, and a lot of artists dont follow it, but I usually suggest keeping the pitch of the lyrics as close to the original as they usually were. Speeding up or slowing down is gonna make it sound like a bullfrog or a chipmunk is singing it, and that just sounds ugly to me. @chongoblog doesnt bother with that, god knows why, but I imagine he knows better than me.

If you cut up a vocal track, watch the end of it- make sure the syllable fades naturally, and doesn't just suddenly cut. Nothing will take the listener out of the track more than an abrupt lyric cut.

Listen. Don't publish it immediately. Take it on your walks, to the gym, wherever, just keep listening to it, and working on it until you're sure you've ironed out every kink, because as soon as you put it out you'll notice one more problem and want to kill yourself.

Export. Release. Don't profit, usually. Et voila.

Here's your homework: can you tell me the mistake I made around 2:14?

#my posts #music #mashup #longpost #daft punk #logic #eminem

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utilitycaster · 1 year

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also like, the cast approves the official art right? the official artist does not just make changes however they please

so i understand it not being up to your taste or whatever but this is how the cast wanted it to be, so being rude to the official artist accomplishes absolutely nothing

So here’s the thing: it’s totally fine to not like the cast's decisions! I think a lot of the weirdness I feel exists and talk about frequently is that there’s this unevenness and inconsistency in who you can criticize and the content of that criticism. Like, the main reason why ship discourse is so fucking fraught is because no one ever says “I wanted these two characters to kiss and then they didn’t and I’m sad.” It has to be “This guy’s story was clearly building up to a roaring rampage of revenge and this player was clearly avoiding their backstory and was obviously burnt out on the character and this character was clearly being infantilized in the ship I didn’t like and convenient, isn’t it how almost all of this is in the passive voice and I’m not actually coming out and saying I personally simply wasn’t happy with the choices the cast made?”

What’s also super telling is that I keep seeing the exact term “yassified” with regards to Fearne (and to a lesser extent Imogen). First off, whenever I see a very specific turn of phrase repeatedly it’s always a bit of a sign of like…does the person posting this actually feel this way in their individual thoughts or are they just parroting others. But what’s far more interesting is that Friederichs has outright said she fell somewhat short of Ashley’s intentions with regards to Fearne in the initial art, and was able to better grasp the uncanny and too-bright nature of the character now that she's seen the character in action for much longer.

It’s not really about what the cast wants. It’s literally as basic as “they changed it and I don’t like change.” And to be clear that’s very human and understandable. Before going back for my grad degree I worked in a tech role that bridged the gap between developers and end users, and people will lose their shit over minor cosmetic changes in software, let me tell you - but it’s also not rational, and it doesn’t need to be justified. A big part of life is realizing that brains are to an extent wired to be sensitive to changes in their environment, but if it’s a harmless change, it’s often beneficial to take a deep breath and let it sit for a while before knee-jerk deciding you hate it.

But I think my biggest gripe is that like, we’ve just seen the immensely swollen heads unofficial fan artists get about their work. We’ve seen people come up with truly bananacrackers faux social justice reasons to defend every hack who thinks they’re making a ~*statement*~ by drawing Imogen wearing the same exact style of glasses as twenty other people. We’ve even seen unofficial fan artists claim that their ability to make work that people will pay for is in fact evidence of their validity and contributions compared to others in the fandom. And then the second a fan artist actually gets paid by the production because they liked her art enough to hire her, it’s open season, apparently.

Personally? I strongly suspect the reason why the art of female characters in the cast gets the most criticism is because the weird refusal of many fans to be normal and say ‘hey I don’t love their choice in roleplay here’ means there’s just gallons of simmering toxic resentment about the women in the cast and their characters and choices below the surface, and somehow the official artists (who have also all been women) are considered an acceptable target for this bile.

There are also people I respect who aren’t loving the art! I think that’s a completely reasonable response. But they’re not making up a zillion reasons why actually they are correct, or yapping about it in highly visible places! It's fine to dislike it - just admit this is a personal preference with nothing deep behind it and keep it out of the tags! Like, part of why I’m so fucking wild about this relatively minor thing is when I (and others) have made untagged “I’m not a fan of this choice” posts I’ve gotten a barrage of anons thinking it’s time to change my mind and how dare you the cast likes it but for the official art it’s suddenly totally cool to be a huge fucking asshole in public.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag #me? tying things back to persistent toxic positivity?#and the fact that 5+ years post-C1 people still can't tell the difference between misogynistic hate and valid criticism?#it's more likely than you'd think.

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1ore · 2 months

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speaking of deserts, im sad this article isn't available to read publicly because it whips ass, but i can do what i always do. quote heavily

From 'Without Form and Void: The American Desert as Trope and Terrain' by John Beck:

The Hebrew word tohu is usually translated in two ways. It can denote an arid wilderness, a desert, and it can refer to chaos. In this latter sense it is usually paired with bohu, which signifies emptiness, desolation, formlessness, confusion. Tohu-bohu, desert and desolation, chaos and confusion, or “without form and void,” as it is translated in Genesis. Chaos itself denotes a vast chasm, an abyss; in other words, it is a gap. Yet can a gap be without form, since it exists as the opening between things, as the interval that separates? [...] the abyssal chaos, which is also an arid wilderness, is far from being the vacuum of worthlessness it is often read as being. It is, instead, the ground of potentiality, the necessary generative stuff of creation. The void, then[...] is a place rather than a nonplace, and, as the place where God performs His differentiating acts—dividing earth from sky, sea from land, day from night—it is the location of differentiation itself, the place of infinite multiplicity. An actual desert place is thus burdened with a double conceptual significance: it is read at the same time as evidence of an absolute void and as the place for boundless free play, and deserts invariably elicit responses of both terror and ecstasy, of disgust and liberation. The idea of a desert, then, at least in cultures that draw upon Hebrew and Christian traditions, involves a cluster of notions including vacancy, expansiveness, and fearful potentiality. Not surprisingly, actual deserts carry the burden of this metaphorical overlay, a burden that manifests itself not just in the artistic responses to the physical space but in the institutional practices that govern its economic and political uses. The impact of this metaphorical construction of landscape is nowhere more pronounced than in the deserts of the southwestern United States.

[...] From the overarching conception of the desert as vacancy, at least five main rhetorical tropes emerge[...] first, that acceptance of the desert’s emptiness, and thus its uselessness, allows the space to become the venue for unhindered experimentation, a testing ground both physical and spiritual. Second, the desert is a metaphor of apocalypse, evidence of the ultimate wasteland. Third, the desert is often apprehended as the limit to reason, its vastness and tendency to alter habits of perception making it a physical challenge to expected modes of comprehension. Following from this, the desert can become either a venue for an escape from modernity, an elemental alternative to the rational order of “civilized” life, or, conversely, representative of the chaos of an unordered primal “nature” that must be resisted and expunged. Finally, as the American desert lies within the economically emergent post–World War II “New West,” the desert can increasingly be seen as representative of aspects of contemporary capitalism: a space without boundaries, unhindered and unregulated by old practices and habits[...]

[...] What is striking is how these rhetorical constructions accommodate both negative and positive readings at the same time. The desert is glorious and horrible, a refuge and a danger, horizonless and thus a threat to sanity, and so on. These paradoxes not only appear irresolvable, they tend also to be intrinsic to the ways in which the terrain is put to use, both figuratively and literally. This is a space of everything and nothing, a space of visual intoxication and invisible toxicity. In this ostensibly most exposed of environments, exposure functions, perversely and disturbingly, as a form of concealment.

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[...] For a nation concerned with agricultural expansion as the primary civilizing force, hitting arid lands meant that “the project of mastering the continent seemed to have reached a non-negotiable limit. By all the conventional standards of value and habitability, the desert was an irrational environment, a betrayal of abundance fulfilled everywhere in North America."[...]

[...]The American desert, like its biblical counterparts, could be a site for testing, for challenging and overcoming the temptations of civilized life. While the desert became, after the mid-nineteenth century, a site of economic value due to the discovery of minerals, by the turn of the century monetary gain was not the only attractive force drawing people toward a reconciliation with the desert West. Growing dissatisfaction with American capitalist culture among the well-off, educated middle classes made the deserts inviting as a purgative space of romantic sublimity and aesthetic purity. Even as the evangelism of Progressive irrigationists began to display an increased confidence in the possibility of redemption for the terrain through cultivation, as if technology could finally fill the gap and convert the land to the righteousness of agriculture, aesthetes like Rutgers art historian John C. Van Dyke were writing about the visual splendor of a land that should remain untouched by base economic interests.

The conflict between contesting impulses toward either exploitation or conservation of the land is, then, present from the beginning of U.S. interest in its desert dominion, yet both positions derive at least part of their authority from the imposition of ideas of vacancy onto the terrain. Both read the space as empty and see this emptiness as its source of value, whether it be to extract from, build upon, or contemplate as evidence of some cosmic truth. Yet this notional vacancy, saturated as it is in the Hebrew and Christian traditions of desert iconography, functions also as a form of selective blindness that eliminates consideration of native inhabitants, indigenous traditions, and other, alternative spiritual and utilitarian values that may have prior claim to the land. Speculators and aesthetes alike need the tropes of emptiness and uselessness in order to validate their construction of the landscape as available space. Do the Pueblo Indians, for example, see the terrain they have inhabited for thousands of years as a gap, a vacancy, a howling wilderness?[...]

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[...]Given the persistence of desert readings that seem to find apocalypse in the terrain even before the military managed to enact one, is it possible that the landscape somehow invites thoughts of destruction? For a topography that reveals to the human gaze the elemental resistance of the nonhuman to recuperation must then suffer the vengeance of a frustrated conqueror. Is the pursuit of desert destruction an implosion of anxiety in the face of the inscrutable landscape? Faced with a space that refuses settlement and that, in its taciturnity, overturns the logic of expansion and ownership, reason folds in on itself and results in the mentality summed up by the now infamous comment of the general during the Vietnam War that “we had to destroy the city in order to save it.”[...] Could the desert, as a particular topographical site, stand for the terminal point in an entire history of U.S. pursuit of a tabula rasa? Such a history would include, but would not by any means be exhausted by, policies of deforestation, the extermination of Indians and of buffalo, the gridding of the territories, and the marking-off of national parks as managed wilderness. Manifest destiny is here rewritten to mean an unlimited attack on the desert as Other, which culminates in the desert as all-encompassing, the obliterated, uninterrupted space of absolute power.

[...]This is precisely what Leslie Marmon Silko’s Tayo, traumatized by battle and captivity in the Pacific, perceives in a moment of clarity as he cries with relief “at finally seeing the pattern” that connects the alienating deterioration of his southwestern Laguna Pueblo community and military operations overseas:

He had been so close to it, caught up in it for so long that its simplicity struck him deep inside his chest: Trinity Site, where they exploded the first atomic bomb, was only three hundred miles to the southeast, at White Sands. And the top-secret laboratories where the bomb had been created were deep in the Jemez Mountains, on land the Government took from Cochiti Pueblo: Los Alamos, only a hundred miles northeast of him now... There was no end to it; it knew no boundaries; and he had arrived at the point of convergence where the fate of all living things, and even the earth, had been laid.

The apocalyptic power of America’s nuclear weapons has not only been achieved by yet another assault on Indian sovereignty, cordoning off and irradiating great swathes of terrain; this power has, in an inversion of crushing irony, brought everything together in one final communion. After Los Alamos, “human beings were one clan again, united by the fate the destroyers planned for all of them, for all living things; united by a circle of death that devoured people in cities twelve thousand miles away, victims who had never known these mesas, who had never seen the delicate colors of the rocks which boiled up their slaughter.”

#hi. this was in my drafts. and now it is not #i get down on all fours and i start biting #love this desert #long post. very long post #content warning: war #content warning: colonization #content warning: atomic weapons testing

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maytheoddshq · 2 years

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Edison Mitchell. District Five Tribute. Nineteen. Whitney Peak.

Edison was always getting lost. It was the sort of lost that she sought out, and her parents knew this. They never worried when the house was quiet, because it always was, or when their daughter slipped away from their view for a bit. She was always easily found somewhere hidden in plain sight. Their district was a busy and crowded one—polluted with the noise of turbines and the heat of the desert. It wasn’t the kind of place people sat quietly and watched the world turn, but Edison always did.

Edi wandered alone for the first few years of her life, until her little brother came into the world. “Two sides of the same coin,” her father would say. “Two little mice in the house,” her mother would agree. Edi and Franky were the same in nature, but they were opposites in outlook. Edison liked to sit and study the world, to see the big picture, and put it down on paper. Franky liked to feel the world. He would tuck himself between the straggly desert trees just to feel the way the warmth soaked into the bark. Edi scribbled the world in her sketch pad, and Franky was happy to sit on the pavement next to her and watch the red mites scurry. They were always getting lost, but they were getting lost together.

Their parents did what they could to shield the two of them from the Games. It was an impossible task, but their parents agreed their children would see as little as possible. The Games were a terror, but Edi thought about them as little as possible. It was Franky who could never look away. “Somebody should remember them,” he’d whisper to his sister beyond his parents’ ears. “Sometimes, they don’t even say their names.” Hot tears would well in his eyes for the invisible tributes—the ones without a story. The girl from Ten. The boy from Six. The ones who died and no one even noticed. It was that night that Edi started putting them down on paper, so somebody might remember their freckles or the gap in their smile.

The one thing Edi would never do was draw the last portrait of her baby brother. He wasn’t meant to be immortalized with the baby fat still on his cheeks. So, when his name echoed out it was Edi’s voice that followed. She’d be the one going into the Arena. She’d be the one to wear the crown, or she’d be the one forgotten.

What is their personality like?

Edison is quiet, and generally keeps to herself. She’s not the one to seek out conversation, and would actually rather avoid it if she can. It’s not that she doesn’t like people, but she’s thin-skinned and finds that people drain energy she’d rather save for herself. Edison understands how details become the big picture—how insignificant and overlooked things are usually the most important.

What is their district token?

Edison’s token is a paperclip she twisted into the shape of a lightbulb. Her parents helped her put it on a small chain to wear around her wrist.

Three strengths and three weaknesses.

+Observant, artistic, caring -Reserved, avoidant, sensitive

PENNED BY: HAIR

#hunger games rp #thg rp #oc rp #lsrpg #new rp #bio #edison

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husbandohunter · 3 years

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Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

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Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him.

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing.

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel.

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand.

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes- as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it.

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?'

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch.

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart?

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much."

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days."

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds.

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo."

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him.

Thump- thump- thump-

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too.

--------

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!"

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork.

Masterpiece!

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover.

My Albedo.

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed.

"You do realize I'm still here?"

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???"

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me."

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!' You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence.

"Can I see it?"

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations."

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long."

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!"

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight.

"Well? Whaddya think?"

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship.

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement.

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest."

"And the rabbits?"

"They resemble Klee's bombs!"

He lets out a chuckle, "I see."

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time.

"Do you really have to go?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?"

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?"

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried."

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers.

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?"

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate," he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember."

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?"

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have."

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms.

Oh how he hated the colour red.

"Al...bedo..."

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once:

You were beyond help.

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know."

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you.

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help."

Please, hold on.

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think?

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time.

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay.

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?"

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay."

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.."

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss.

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel.

(Y/n).

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone.

"...Meaningless..."

But he refused to accept it.

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws.

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be."

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home.

------

"Have you all heard about the rumours?"

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden.

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..."

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case."

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..."

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock.

No answer.

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation.

"Come in."

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?"

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?"

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!"

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility."

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions."

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed."

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?"

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research;

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion."

"Eh? You still need more?"

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord.

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain."

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius."

He narrows his eyes.

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-"

"Sucrose."

"Y-Yes?!"

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off."

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..."

"..."

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-"

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this."

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..."

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself.

"So, that's what he thinks."

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet.

--------

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return.

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..."

And he was the reason why.

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel.

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?"

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time.

"You must have."

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met."

"..."

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means."

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed."

"..."

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them."

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see.

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?"

Would you still love me the same?

"..."

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination.

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it.

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born."

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright.

"Dains...leif..."

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends."

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that.

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish."

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish.

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences."

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty.

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..."

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #nya-writes #dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #sucrose

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ac3id · 4 years

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The Artist and His Majesty| 18+

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 0 / 5 | fantasy au.

chapter i , chapter ii

pairings: yandere! emperor! shigaraki x female! reader.

warnings: [series] dubcon, exhibitionism, size difference, degradation, masturbation, bondage, reader is also kind of delusional, death, violence (not on reader). (there are more but i can’t think right now.]

↪ for chapter 0: none !!

summary: you come to the big city in hopes of starting your career as an artist but things take a shocking turn when you’re recruited as the court painter for the royal palace.

↪ for chapter 0: a strange man approaches you, offering to buy your painting to which you oblige. little do you know that it kicks of a series of unfortunate events ending with you being trapped in shigaraki tomura’s clutches forever.

wordcount.

a/n: finally !! i started this series. high-key inspired by these two dresses in my wardrobe and @ana-list‘s this drawing ! seriously it’s literally everything. also thank you once again for proof reading this @the-grimm-writer !

taglist: @shigaraki-is-my-master, @deathmemeiverse, @n4dhii, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @mstssister, @nereida19, @prince-zukohere [dm to be added/ removed.]

“That’s a beautiful painting,” a rough, scruffy voice calls out, jerking you away from your daydreams. Your grip around the color canvas resting in your arms tightens as you glance behind your shoulder to see a well-built man standing right behind you. He’s tall and a lot older than you, he has short grey hair which falls right before his eyebrows along beautiful, matching grey eyes. A cigar hangs lazily from his lips as he occasionally huffs on it, blowing clouds of smoke out his mouth. He’s dressed in expensive robes, a choice of style only people better off could afford. You can’t help exachaning a covetous glance between his expensive suit and your sloppy, knee-length, light green dress. “Thank you.” you murmur shoving him an appreciative look, hoping he’d leave you alone. When you come to the city to complete your studies in art, you mother, father, family and friends had warned you about men like these. Rich, snobby men who liked to lure in young, naive girls. Whispering praises of how they are the most unique on the planet so they pull their guard down form them to take advantage of the helpless beings.

“Can I take a better look? It’s the Emperor, is it not? Your painting. ” You hesitate before turning back to him. Not a lot of people had seen the King to be. He lived humbly in his castle, trying his best to not indulge in the affairs of the common people. “ Yes,” you hold up the slightly small canvas (courtesy of you being broke the entire week and not being able to save up to buy a bigger canvas). To even get an idea of Shigaraki Tomura, you had to go through many people. Not a lot of people had seen his face, he had always kept it hidden under a mask. No one knew why he did so but the many conspiracy throes suggested it was something to do with his personal grief.

You had heard many stories about him. Some made him look like a spoiled brat with a demeaning, ignorant personality who didn’t care for others and as the rumors said: self destructive habits which lead him to tear the skin of his own neck down whenever he got anxious or frustrated.

Others portrayed him as a strong, confident man and a reliable leader who cared for his comrades. You did not know which one of the two personas brought him your attention but you couldn’t complain. Tomura had caught you under a spell, and despite never meeting him (and knowing full well you never would), you were still ready to sacrifice your life for him. He was your King even before he had taken his crown, to you he looked like a shining bright light ready to enlighten you. To you, he was a god. And as years passed by, he grew from a caterpillar into a cocoon which was ready to burst open as a butterfly into the beautiful, mysterious world. And it was happening today, Prince Tomura Shigaraki’s Coronation ceremony. After the passing of All For One, it was his turn to take the crown and fulfill his duty as the ruler of the nation

The entire city was busy, bustling with people. Families, friends and everyone in between gathered around the huge castle walls as they waited for the ceremony to begin. They waited patiently, filled with excitement and joy as they waited to catch a glimpse of the new great King. You were among them. You had come down to the centre of the city with your friends, waiting alongside many to catch a glimpse of the new ruler. The painting which nestled in your hand was something you were hoping to sell today, to a shop or anyone who wants to have it. It was a beautiful painting which had taken you several days to complete, and dare you say it, you were quite proud of it. From all the things you had heard about Tomura, you had managed to sketch him decently. Long white, wavy hair reaching till his shoulder, skin white as snow. He sat proudly on his throne wearing a cape with his vermillion eyes peering through your soul. His face was scarcely detailed as you did not have much idea about it but he still looked ethereal. With little scars running both his eyes and a comparatively larger one on his right. Chapped lips with even more scars running over them wildly, he was not conventionally attractive. No one would call him a pretty boy yet there was something more, something alluring which attracted you to him. His beauty was rare, not in the grasp of many but if it was grasped and held close to the heart, it was hard to let go off. And you found him attractive, very attractive.

The man took a good look at your painting, examining it carefully and for a second you really thought he had seen the mysterious Prince. “It’s quite similar to him,” he sends you a friendly grin and you notice a tooth from his front missing, leaving an uncomfortable gap. “Have you seen him before?” he asked and you shake your head, no. He gives you an amused expression, “I must say, you are very talented, miss…?” you complete your name with a nervous smile. “And you are?” you ask.

You realised that you were getting a little too comfortable with the stranger and it could be a really bad decision but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt as he behaves like a gentleman you can find yourself to trust. “Kagero Okuta but I like to go by Giran,” he says with a lop-sided grin. Giran, you’ve heard the name before but cannot recall where and how. It sounds so familiar but you just can’t grasp it, he looked wealthy so you assumed he was a Noble and that made you even more curious as to why he was speaking to you.

“What are you planning to do with that painting?” he asks, diving a closer look and admiring its features. “I must say, you’ve got it quite accurate but,” you stiffen, your hands growing cold as your heartbeat picks up. You realized your painting must have some complications, drawing a man you had never seen before purely out of your interpretation was a hard and a bold task to do. But to have someone who had actually seen the King for himself pinpoint your mistakes sent a rush of anxiety through your veins.

“He’s not that bony.” He completes and you gulp nervously, looking down at your painting in disappointment. Your eyes are filled with disappointment, all of the time and effort you spent making the piece all for it go in vain just because you missed a small detail. Giran notices your remorse and speaks up, “But that’s quite alright. He looked just like that until a while ago,” he hadn’t meant to offend or hurt you. He still believed your painting was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

“What do you mean?” you ponder, giving him a perplexed look. He leans in closer to you as if to tell a secret, “let’s say the King has been working out behind closed doors.” you blink in confusion. It was a strange thing to say, exactly how well did this man know the Emperor? Who was it that you were talking?

“Who are you?” you can’t help but question, bewildered by such a character. Giran says nothing. He just stares at you with his lips curled into a snappy smirk, holding his cigar between his lips. He was not going to tell you anything. Without wasting time, he quickly changes the topic. “What are you going to do with that painting?” he repeats, his voice growing impatient.

“I am planning to sell it,” you feel a bit taken back. The friendly aura which had Giran had now disappeared for a reason you could not conclude. “Sell it? To whom?” the intruding nature of his tone starts to make you uncomfortable, there’s nothing more you want to do other than get far away from him. Yet you still find yourself answering him, “To anyone who wants it.” he hums at your response, his eyes holding a mocking glint. “Wouldn’t you like to give it to the Emperor himself?” you frown, was he mocking you?

“That’s well...impossible.” you reply, stretching your neck awkwardly. “To you, maybe.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, this man was really testing your patience. A part of you tells you to ignore him and walk away but as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag of coins worth much more than you could ever earn in a month, he has you hooked yet again.

“Hey, let me buy that painting, would yer’?”

“What is the problem now?” Giran takes a seat around the round table. It was late after the Coronation ceremony and the Royal palace was already facing problems. Giran was disappointed but definitely not surprised. After all, he was their personal problem solver and broker. “It’s not that big of a deal.” A curt and hard reply cut him off.

“It actually is, Shigaraki Tomura.” a voice speaks, coming from a man dressed in a black suit with a long, flowy robe covering his entire body. He stands taller than the other two men in the as his head is replaced with a wisp of smoke. He was none other than the trusted and talented magician of the Royal family. With eccentric features and an ability to wield strange magic, nobody knew where he came from. There were many rumors about him; that he was once a normal, handsome man cursed by a witch that turned him into a hideous monster or he simply was a ghost. “What is it, Kurogiri?” Giran rephrases his question, directing it to the other man. “We need a new painter,-”

“Servant.” Shigaraki corrected. He stood in front of the giant windows glancing over his city as his men talked about hiring a new painter for the castle. He couldn’t care less about such tedious tasks, he had his focus set on greater things like expanding his territory, taking back stolen land.

“What happened to Mr. Kyo?” Giran asked, Shigaraki rolled his eyes at the mention of the name and clicked his tongue, “His Majesty eliminated him.” Giran stops himself from laughing out loud. He was certain once Shigaraki would take over the throne incidents like so would double the instant. But he was expecting it to happen so soon. “And why was that?”

“He was breathing too loud, like you are right now.”

A cold silence broke over the room as Giran counted his breath. Kurogiri looked nervously at Shigaraki who still had his back turned to them. The longer the pause grew, the dreadful the atmosphere became. Shigaraki’s threat strung the air loud and clear and Giran was afraid to speak again. “What we are asking for is that-,” Kurogiri started in a calm, slow tone easing the tension in the room. “-we need a new court painter. Do you have any names?”

The murderous sent in the air magically disappeared as a grin stretched across Giran’s face.

“Aren’t you in luck?” He says, running a hand through his hair before taking a puff out of his cigar. “Does that mean you know someone?” Kurogiri questioned. Giran hummed, “You see, I met this beautiful painter today. She’s extremely talented and I know for a fact she will love working for the castle.”

“What’s the name?” growing impatient, Shigaraki asks. “Oh, it was,” Giran pauses for a moment to recall.

“Ah yes, Y/N L/N.”

1K notes · View notes

procreate-brushes · 3 years

Photo

70+ New Brushes/Free Updates: Georg‘s Procreate INKTOBER + BRUSHTOBER 2021 Brush Sets

Hi guys! I hope you’re all well and enjoying a creative #Inktober. I just uploaded more than 70 amazing new Inktober/Brushtober brushes as a free update to my 2000+ Brushes Procreate MegaPack XXL (Gumroad + Sellfy versions) as well as to my Brushtober 2020-2021 Brush Bundle. (Note: To avoid confusion with my first Inktober 2017-2019 brush bundle, I renamed this second Inktober 2020-2021 bundle “Brushtober 2020-2021” since it includes many inking as well as matching drawing and painting brushes.)

My free Inktober/Brushtober 2021 update brings you 2 exclusive new Procreate .brushset files, each one containing a broad variety of awesome brushes:

Brushtober2021.brushset - 38 amazing natural media, dual color, wet mix, and creative painting brushes

Inktober2021.brushset - 34 versatile sketching, multi-purpose drawing, gritty inking, and clean lineart brushes

Free Procreate “MODIFICIO” Bastard Brush Family

Both .brushset packs include a variety of popular MODIFICIO brushes from my Procreate brush making workshops. They evolved from our favorite Procreate default brushes, which we combined with dual brush passion, tweaked with drainting love, and optimized together with international artist friends.

Optimize Your Favorite MASHUP MODS In Procreate Brush Studio

The MODIFICIO brush series is also great if you who want to start making your own cool brushes! If you compare the brush dynamics and strokes with those of the respective default version, you’ll get a very good feeling for the different brush settings and how they modify the original brush to fit your needs. Just play around with your favorite brushes in the Procreate Brush Studio - I’m really curious what you come up with. You can always use the “Reset brush” option to reset all changes to your last saved version. I recommend keeping a backup copy of the original brush nonetheless.

Georg’s Inktober 2021 Favorites

You’ll also get some of my personal favorite brushes which I designed for my latest UTOPIA comic book projects to give the drawings a loose, hand drawn look and feel.

Quick character doodles with the new Inktober 2021 SEPIA EDGE PENCIL brush

Quick portrait sketch doodles with the new Inktober 2021 KADIR INK WAX brush

Introducing The “NEUROTIC CARTOONIST” Sketch’n Ink Brush

The NEUROTIC CARTOONIST multi-purpose brush is one of my go-to brushes for loose sketching and dynamic gritty inking as well as for details, cross hatching and consistent erasing. The brush is pressure, tilt and speed sensitive closing the gap between pencilling and inking with broken lines and lots of “happy accidents”. I barely used the brush size and opacity sliders for the shown sketches and drawings. All variance in the different strokes can be achieved just by pressure, speed, and tilt angle of your stylus/Apple Pencil.

Cover/Illustration detail sketched and inked with the Inktober 2021 NEUROTIC CARTOONIST brush

Love Your Symptom Like Yourself: NEUROTIC DRAINTING

BONUS Brushes: You’ll also get a matching pencil as well as an ink brush from my NEUROTIC DRAINTING dual brush series (“Drainting” = Drawing + Painting). Enjoy the ride! 😊

Comic pages sketched and inked with my beloved NEUROTIC CARTOONIST. Colored with the new Brushtober 2021 GEORG WATERCOLOR brush.

Featuring Georg’s Favorite Procreate Dual Watercolor Brush

The Brushtober GEORG WATERCOLOR dual color brush is awesome for watercolor and aquarelle painting in Procreate. You can easily mix and pull colors using low pressure, pencil tilt will add secondary color flow. It may take a little practice to master, but I think it’s one of the most natural and versatile watercolor brushes out there.

I included three versions for you: “normal”, “multiply” (natural color darkening for overlapping strokes), and “screen” (color brightening, unusual for real watercolors but great for highlights and natural color shading).

Use “Color Tilt” For Beautiful Dual Color Strokes

Like many of my favorite paint brushes the Brushtober2021.brushset makes use of a feature I called “Color Tilt”. The suffix “ct” in a brush name indicates that you can add any secondary color flow to your brush stroke just by lowering the angle of your Apple Pencil. Check out this blog post to learn more about using my color tilt brushes and how to de/activate this amazing feature.

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Time-lapse illustration for our upcoming comic book with the new NEUROTIC CARTOONIST and GEORG WATERCOLOR brushes.

Free Downloads For MegaPack XXL and Brushtober 2020 Brush Set Owners

As always, you can download all updates for free in case you already purchased one of my updated Procreate brush sets:

Procreate MegaPack XXL (Gumroad + Sellfy versions)

Brushtober 2020-2021 Brush Bundle (renamed “Inktober 2020” bundle, Gumroads, Sellfy, and Creativemarket versions)

I’m sorry that I didn’t have the time for social media activities and updates lately. I was working with amazing artists on different comic projects and exhibitions. Our Cologne comic anthology just hit the stores while I’m doing research and sketching for a 200+ pages science comic book.

Please apologize that I couldn’t answer all emails and react to social media postings in a timely manner. To address the most common installation/download/support questions I set up a brush wiki with FAQs and step-by-step instructions: wiki.georgbrush.club (work-in-progress)

In case you can’t access your account/orders/purchases or have troubles downloading free brush set updates please contact support@... (gumroad.com / sellfy.com / creativemarket.com) depending on where you placed your order.

How To Download & Install Procreate Brushes?

.ZIP File Troubleshooting

Re-Downloading & Updating Georg's Procreate MegaPack XXL

Check out my new GeorgBrush Wiki for more info, brush demos, tipps & tricks

Hope you enjoy the new brushes and find them useful!

If you like to support my work, please feel free to check out georgvw.gumroad.com and spread the word about my brushes.

Best wishes and happy inking! –Georg

57 notes · View notes

nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 8/8 [COMPLETED]

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight (final)

"Play the Game" Masterlist

You stood by the door, watching the chaos in your brother’s bedroom as he prepared for his wedding at sunset, waiting for everyone to leave so you can finally speak to him in private. He was, after all, the only one in the family you cared for enough to inform him of your decisions.

People always say you and Gojo were similar. However, those very things that made you alike also set you apart. Besides the platinum white hair and remarkable blue eyes you shared – unique even within the clan – being the absolute obvious, the similarities stopped there.

You siblings were supposed to be akin to one another, but the same things they loved about your brother were the same things people abhorred about you. You and your brother were both prodigies. He was richer than the whole clan, all assets combined being the successful businessman he was ever since he was in his teens. It was as freakish as it was awe-inspiring. You were an artist of great renown with your multi-million dollar pieces and the youngest to have been dubbed as a national artist when you were the same age as him.

But where he basked in fame and acclaim, your prominence was fueled by infamy. Gojo built an empire that served as one of the pillars of the local economy. You produced artistic pieces that inspired execration and controversy. Undeniably brilliant, yes, but absolutely contentious.

Your brother was kind. In fact, he was the best older brother one could ever ask for, and that was not lip service nor was it because of your biases towards him. You can never discount how caring he is to you, how hard he tries to make you happy and how he would go through lengths as to be the idiot just to satisfy your whims. He was just genuinely good-natured although he appeared somewhat insouciant. He had his evil streak, too, which is established in the clan, but his goodness radiated like a light that followed him wherever he went.

However, you have long accepted that your side which reflected Gojo in every way when you were younger had long died. Altruism wasn’t one of your strongest suits and you were only ever affectionate to people you had deep, deep fondness for. And that wasn’t even something common. Even your parents had always been the receiving end of your lackadaisical attitude.

He attracted people, you repelled them. Being surrounded by the good people he called friends was a testament to that no matter how vexing his personality was, and more people want to be near him. Apart from your three friends, you didn't make any more and your school life sucked because majority of your classmates hated you. For what, you didn't know. You don’t think you will ever understand.

It was your seven-year gap that made all the difference, you liked to think. It was much easier to swallow than the concept of the whole cosmos conspiring to create two creatures to be equals but of the opposite nature. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be that way, but you will always be the one looking up to him regardless if you did not choose the same path as his; regardless of whether there were no comparisons with what either of you endeavored to do.

And above everything else, you loved Satoru very much.

“Got a minute?” You began, standing before him in front of the mirror. It was rather annoying watching him struggle with the cufflinks, and you didn’t think he would manage to fix the bowtie still hanging loosely on his neck. Thus, you thought of taking charge. “Give it here.”

Gojo was surprised, but he was nonetheless happy. He wore his heart on his sleeve after all, and you could only guess it was that vulnerability he risked showing that attracted people to him. You have only learned the intricacies of such a matter recently, something you had to agree with since it all made perfect sense.

“Thank you,” he said, tilting his head to the side, watching you work on his cuffs.

“You’re really getting married, huh?” you began, feeling yourself start to falter, but you have decided. You may not have gotten him the best wedding gift materially speaking, but you swore to let him in on what was going on with you, to be honest with him like you hadn’t been for the longest time. “Who would have known?”

“Am I finally getting that emotional pre-wedding sibling talk?” he asked, walking towards the seats by the window and looking out into the garden.

“You’re getting married, not being sent away to prison. I don’t even understand why this happens during weddings,” you quipped, sighing. “But I guess you could call it that.”

He smiled at you, patting the space beside him. You did as you were told, assuming the spot, but also looking out the window, watching as the organizers made finishing touches to the garden below. No expense was spared to make the occasion as perfect as it could get. You couldn’t argue with it. Gojo deserved the best, and to him, Utahime did, too.

“I’m waiting,” he said, breaking the silence that had befallen the room. “You’ve been pacing before the door for god knows how long when you should have been getting ready.”

“I got ready much faster than you did.”

“And you look beautiful.” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing you appreciatively. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re all grown up. And what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”

You smirked. “You’re looking at your mirror image after all.”

“Well, there’s that, of course.” He laughed slightly. “But I’m not just saying that because we’re basically the same person. You really are beautiful, baby sis.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, opting for it instead of his usual choice of mussing your hair since it has already been styled for the wedding.

You just shook your head. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“So, what did you want to talk about exactly?”

“The other day…” Your voice trailed off, thinking about what to say. It wasn’t that way before between you and your brother. He was always the easiest person to talk to, always open minded and optimistic about matters. But now that you were going to discuss something that he had vocally opposed, you were a bit scared of saying anything. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do Nanami justice if you decided to hold back now, considering that he was more than ready to speak to your brother.

You’ve both initially decided to sit Gojo down and tell him about your decisions together, but you informed Nanami earlier in the day that you needed to have a proper conversation with him first. It wasn’t just your choice to be with Nanami that was the matter, and you wanted to get things straightened out with Gojo before he gets married.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“You said I don’t talk enough to you; that I don’t tell you things anymore.”

Gojo slowly nodded.

You breathed out. “Things changed. We can’t deny that. I grew up and you…well, you’ve decided you want to spend your life with Iori and build your own family.” Your lips curled up awkwardly as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. It was new territory having such talks with him when you’re used to your easy-going dynamic with him. “I’m scared, too. I mean, I can’t just bother you anytime anymore cause you’ll have your wife and eventually children to pay attention to and prioritize.”

He was taken aback by what you said, immediately drawing closer. “What are you saying, Y/N? You’re my sister. Nothing will change –”

“Our bond will not change, dude, but you have to admit that what I’m saying is true.” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. You beamed at the fact that your fingers were structured in the same tapered manner as his. Even the shape of your fingernails were the same, just that his hands were bigger than your delicate ones. “What I’m saying is that even if you need to do that, I will be fine.”

“Of course, you will be. You’re my sister, and above that, you are your own person, and you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling things on your own for as long as I can remember.” He pouted, trying to act cute with you. “It’s disappointing, to be honest, because you’ve never really given me the chance to play my role in your life because you’re always the mature one.”

You were confused now. “What are you on about? You’re my only brother, but I can’t imagine anyone else holding that position in my life. You’re the best I could have asked for. I’ve always looked up to you. You’re my role model.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. The fuck are you so surprised for?” You snickered. “That aside, if you felt like I’ve been leaving you out, that’s not the intention at all. I always want you to be the first one to know what’s going on with my life…”

He clucked his tongue. “I understand you’re not doing it on purpose, kid. I’m just worried that you didn’t think I’m worth telling anything because, well, I’m not exactly a proper adult, am I?”

“You’re realizing that now that you’re about to get married?” you taunted him, jabbing your thumb towards the direction of the garden. “Should I tell Iori to call this whole thing off?”

He waved you aside. “Hey, don’t say that!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, there’s something I wanted to tell you for a while now.”

“How long is a while, exactly?”

“Years and years.” You flashed him a rueful smile. “I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you because I am not exactly sure how you feel about it although you’ve told me many times you were opposed to it. What I’m saying it that, I know that fact, but it’s the motivation behind it that is beyond my knowledge.”

Gojo’s eyes rounded, realizing what you were saying. “Are you…”

You nodded. “Yes, I am talking about Kento.”

He just blinked and stood up, pacing around in front of you for a while that you had to stop him from doing it. He had such a bad habit of doing that when he is in deep thought, and always in front of you, too. He was making you dizzy.

You seized him by the wrist. “Please say something.”

“I…”

“Why are you opposed to it?”

He stopped pacing and faced you, taking you by the shoulders, his eyes starting to water. “Y/N…”

“Oh no, are you gonna cry?”

He furiously blinked his tears back, the action almost comical if it weren’t for the serious look on his face. “Because you are my little sister. You think it will be easy for me to just hand you over to anyone? My friends aren’t exceptions to that although I trust them with everything that I have. I will always, always worry about you when it comes to that matter because I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of, and I don’t want to have to break either Suguru or Kento’s bones when the time comes.”

“I can manage the latter on my own.” You sighed, finding your resolve strengthening. “But like you said, I’m this old now. I want you to understand that I know what I am doing and I am confident about my decisions. Honestly, I didn’t want to talk about this as if I am asking for your permission. This is what I meant when I said I will be fine. I am not saying you don’t have a say in my life, but I am telling you this time because I want you to know before anyone else does.”

“Suguru doesn’t know?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t be petty. I tell him things I can’t tell you just like you tell him things you can’t tell me,” but you nodded anyway. “He doesn’t know yet…I think.”

“So…you and Kento…”

You nodded again. “I’m in love with him, Satoru. And he feels the same way.”

“You are?” His expressions softened, hugging you to him. “You’ve grown. Really grown.”

You returned the gesture, holding onto him tight. “Please don’t ever think that I am leaving you out of my life because I always want to tell you everything.”

Just then, he pulled back, his brows furrowing while his eyes narrowed at you. “So, why isn’t he the one telling me this? Where is that bastard?”

You shrugged. “He wants to be here. Trust me. I just asked him if I could talk to you first because I have issues to resolve with you apart from my relationship with him.”

Gojo exhaled, nodding in understanding. “I understand, Y/N. But are you certain?”

“Yes. I’m scared of hurting him, but I’ll do my best, I guess.”

“Hmm, yeah. Maybe you should tone down on your mischief, too. I don’t want him dying of stress because of you. He’s still precious to me.”

At that, you laughed. “I know.”

He poked you on the cheek. “Alright then. If that’s what makes you happy, I won’t stand in your way. You have my blessing.” His teeth clenched then. “But I’m still going to have to talk to him man to man in case he thinks he’s off the hook.”

“Worry about your wedding first,” you jibed.

“I almost forgot about that.”

“I’m telling Iori.”

He shook his head, feigning panic. “Don’t.”

You both ended up laughing, joking about the guests who were arriving at the garden, poking fun at the relatives you both detested but had no choice but to invite. Just like that, you were back to how it used to be, easily conversing and sharing the same sentiments about things and same penchant for devilry.

Soon, the organizer came to his room, informing him that he needed to go to the garden to prepare. You reached up and fixed his tie and jacket for him, holding him at arm’s length to appreciate your handiwork. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you.” He smiled wide but you saw the nervousness in his eyes. “I’m getting married!”

“You are.”

“I’m more anxious about seeing Kento after what you told me,” he stated dramatically.

You eyed him witheringly. “Shut up and pull yourself together.”

He snickered then. “Kidding. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

The two of you walk to the garden, your arm around his. He stood at the spot just by the last row of seats with you, grinning at you when he saw you looking at Nanami who was already dutifully standing on his spot, speaking to Geto.

“Concentrate on your vows, yeah?” you told your brother.

“I’m off.”

“In case we don’t get to talk before you leave for your honeymoon,” you began, “Just know that I am waiting for the speedy arrival of my nieces and nephews.”

Gojo laughed at that, but nodded anyway and said, “I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“And Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“I know, kid. I know.” He turned on his heels and walked towards his place at the front pews while you watched, his steps leading you towards the very man you would want to see standing there when the time comes, his halo of golden locks bright under the setting sun but you knew your future with him would be even more brilliant.

The familiar bars of Johann Pachelbel’s “Canon” began to play in a modified, slowed-down wedding version made especially for Gojo and Utahime’s wedding, played on the harp, piano and violin, cueing the beginning to the entrance of the bridal entourage. It began with the entrance of the flower girls who scattered petals of different flowers on the white carpet that lined the long aisle.

Arches and bouquets of flowers festooned the garden, with gossamer cloth hanging about, interlaced with live wisteria that hung down from the canopy along with fairy lights that progressively turned on as the sky grew darker. White and pink dominated the color palette as Utahime had wished and the same goes for the reception area. It was probably one of the most beautiful wedding setups Nanami has ever seen.

But his eyes weren’t on the ornaments. They were trained on the end of the walled garden, waiting for your ascent on the marble steps where the white carpet extended, the march made more dramatic by the organizers by opting for a meandering aisle instead of the traditional, straight walkway for the bride. And it did achieve the desired effect when you finally emerged from the steps and into view.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips upon finally seeing you clad in that familiar faded rose gown he had first seen being fitted on you to perfection. He kissed you while you wore that very article of clothing not long ago at the couturier’s shop, and though he thought back then that he has never seen anything more beautiful, he was amazed at the fact that you looked even more gorgeous in it as you glided towards the front.

He loved you so much it hurts, and although you’ve both professed your deep affections for one another and decided to take things head on together, he still felt like he was in the middle of a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. You came closer, and once more, he was back at the semi-outdoor ballroom the first day he came that week, beholding the goddess that was you but seemingly in a different light – brighter this time, overwhelming him to the point that he had to remind himself how to breathe when you finally looked his way and beamed unabashedly, your affections towards him unmasked, real and not under the guise of a game.

“Kento,” he heard Gojo say softly just then, the man’s blue eyes furtively glancing at him.

“Yes?” he answered in hushed tones.

“Hurt my baby sister and I’ll have your severed head hung by the gates of the estate,” he said. “Are we clear about that?”

Geto snickered, concealing it by facing the other way.

“Understood,” Nanami said seriously. “I’m counting on it.”

When you were near enough, you smiled at your brother and Geto before turning your attention to Nanami. You winked at him as you passed by before turning towards your spot opposite them across the aisle, your attention trained towards the point where you came from.

He couldn’t stop looking at you, not even when he felt Gojo hold onto his arm, squeezing tight as Utahime came into view. He didn’t mean to be insulting to his friends. She was beautiful in her wedding gown and he couldn’t help but be moved by the loving look that your brother had on his face as he watched his wife-to-be come closer, guided by her father who will give her away as the sun set. It was poetic. A new beginning after a beautiful end. He probably looked the same whenever his eyes would find you.

The ceremony carried on as everyone sat down, waiting for the couple to exchange their ‘I do’s.’ their vows, rings and the much-awaited kiss. It was making him emotional, thinking of the time when he himself would draw your veil and get to claim you as his for life in front of everyone you both loved and cared about. He couldn’t wait for it, and he may be getting ahead of himself, but he wanted what Gojo and Utahime had with you.

As the minister announced the pair man and wife, everyone applauded and cheered for them. He did so, too, chuckling when Geto whistled loudly, being his cheeky self. Just then, he nudged Nanami on the side, grinning impudently.

“Is it safe to assume you’re next?” he queried in the same manner.

Nanami rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Who knows? Someone might actually steal your heart in the next months and we’ll be seeing you crying as you watch your bride walk towards you by next year.”

Geto snickered at that. “Yeah, right. You looked like you wanted to jump Y/N and replace Satoru and Iori at the altar all this time.”

“Who wants to replace my brother and sister-in-law at the altar?” they heard you say, appearing out of nowhere, your head tilted to the side as you shifted your blue orbs between the two males, but before either of them could answer, you linked your arm with Nanami who smiled down at you blissfully. You returned the gesture, your cheeks blushing prettily under the twinkling lights overhead.

“I see you’ve figured things out.” Geto smirked, patting Nanami on the back just as Shoko came into view, taking the former by the arm, claiming she needed a smoke. She pulled him away, leaving you and Nanami to yourselves, winking as they walked away.

“So, you told him?” you asked, cocking your head towards the wide lawn where the pergolas were, built on three sides of the square and closed by an elevated area for the band, all surrounding a dance floor under a huge, white tent above, also adorned with thousands of lights. It was your design, solely for the wedding reception and a form of gift to the newlyweds.

“Satoru did indirectly when he said he’ll have my head hung at the gates of Gojo Manor if I hurt you.” He shook his head, laughing slightly. “Bastard had the gall to laugh at me, too.”

“He nearly cried when I told him earlier,” you said, regaling him with how your conversation with Gojo went. “He trusts you and is actually afraid I’ll hurt you, too.”

He shook his head. “It’s all part of the process, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“We’ll take it head on.” He held your hand, twining your fingers together.

You nodded, squeezing his larger hand. “We will.”

Just then, your friends emerged from the reception area with Noabara taking the lead, mischief drawn all over her face as she approached you. “I took care of the sitting arrangement,” she said to you then turned to Nanami. “Take care of Y/N. Make her cry and –”

“You’ll have my head?” Nanami supplemented but Nobara shook her head. “I’ll tan your hide. Satoru gets your head apparently.”

At that, Nanami laughed, nodding nonetheless. But to your surprise, she also turned her attention to you, holding you by the shoulders. “Are you still playing?”

“Nope.” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head slowly.

She smiled then. “Good.” She glanced at Nanami. “You’ve got you a good one here.”

“I know.”

They left you alone after that much to his relief, but then you said, “Wanna play a game?”

His eyes rounded and he felt tension again once he heard you say those familiar words, always the preamble to every single mischievous stunt you’ve ever pulled on everyone including him. He paused and looked at you. “I thought no more games?”

You smirked at him. “One more won’t hurt.”

He sighed, giving in. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear to god.”

“So, are you in?”

“When did I ever say no to you?”

You giggled. “Great.”

“What is it about this time?” he asked, indulging you.

“Whoever gets a rise out of Satoru first wins.”

“The stakes?”

You just winked suggestively at him.

You forfeited. For the first time, you lost in your own game. It counted – albeit momentary – because you initiated the game…said the very words that began everything that paved the way to the result you’ve always wanted. But you did not really consider it a loss when for the long run, you’ve gained the very person you’d always gladly lose to at any given time.

After you father offered a toast for the newlyweds, the speeches began, starting with Utahime’s parents then yours, eventually moving on to you, then the bride and groom’s shared close friends. Geto had been rather irreverent as usual, pointing out the things that both Gojo and Utahime supposedly disliked from one another yet brought them closer, making everyone laugh when Shoko came up the stage and began her speech, saying, “Opposites do attract.”

You sat on your table with Nanami, both of you waiting for your turns. He was next in line after Shoko, smirking at you as he stood up and walked towards the platform and began his piece by congratulating Gojo, “for landing a very gracious woman who has the most enduring patience I have ever known in all mankind, given the grief that Ieiri, Suguru and I had to endure before Iori came to his life.”

He continued on with his witty address, pretty much reflecting what Suguru said and entertaining the crowd enough when he started to express his gratitude. “While I know that this changes nothing between us as the best of friends – including your nature that tested one’s forbearance – I would like to say thank you for many things. Thank you because you are, well, you…” He did a dramatic eye roll.

The guests laughed.

“Thank you because you are a real person who offered friendship to quiet, boring old me,” he said, droning on about the things he appreciated about the couple before saying the things he was thankful to Gojo about. “And thank you, because without you, without our friendship, I wouldn’t have met the very person I also want to walk this earth with for the rest of my life.”

You would have fallen off your seat when Megumi playfully nudged you if it weren’t for Yuuji who also held onto your shoulders from behind your seat, shaking you excitedly.

“If it weren’t for one Gojo Satoru, I wouldn’t have met Y/N.”

You felt all eyes turn towards you, including your parents and your brother, heat suffusing your cheeks as you tried hard to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot for everyone to see. Nanami has outdone you this time, and you knew you didn’t have a chance to go against that when he had so publicly expressed how he felt about you.

“I love her with everything that I am,” he continued, “and I will continue to do so even without your threat to behead me.” He raised his glass. “To Iori and Satoru. May you have the happiest, most prosperous married life from today and for always.”

Geto whistled loudly while the guests applauded. You also stood up, clapping your hands slowly as you shook your head. You’ve lost big time, backed by the fact that your brother stood up raising his glass as he said, “I couldn’t have wished for a better future brother-in-law.” He then looked at you, smiling fondly.

Nanami got Gojo to state his approval for everyone to hear. You can’t win against that even if you nearly made the latter cry.

And now, you were just happy to be in Nanami’s arms as he swayed you both to the tune the jazz band was playing, your arms hanging around his shoulders and your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his head while he held you against him by the waist.

“So?” Nanami began. “How’s that for a final game?”

“Not bad,” you acceded, smirking at him. “I’ll admit defeat.”

“Damn right, you are.” He smiled down at you, his dark eyes reflecting the muted, xanthic lights that surrounded you. “I have a couple of things I’d want you to do for me, by the way.”

You nodded slowly, keeping a straight face at the mention of his prize. “Rules are rules.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Then again, you haven’t told me what you wanted when you won a week ago.”

You grinned, burying your face on his chest, listening to the faint sound of his heart. “But I did get what I want.”

“And that is?”

You met his gaze from under your lashes. “You,” you stated in full confidence.

Nanami nodded, suppressing a smile. “If you say so.”

“I wouldn’t wish for anything else.” You pulled him towards you so you could peck him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what for, but as always, anything for you.”

You chuckled at that. Knowing him, he’ll make good on his words for sure, so much so that you didn’t feel the least bit of worry where your future with him was concerned. “You have to learn how to say no to me.”

“I guess, but since I won, have I finally made it to the list of people you don’t mess with?” he asked.

“As promised, yes.”

“No more games?”

“No more games,” you repeated. “Although I have to say it keeps things interesting between us. Don’t you think so?”

You both dissolved in laughter, the merry mingling of your voices coming to a standstill when he bent down and cupped your cheeks, running his thumb over your cheek before staking his claim on your lips while you returned the gesture in kind, locked in each other’s arms, glad you both played the game. And won.

-THE END-

I would like to say thank you to everyone who read this and kept up with my erratic updating. It's been a good 6 weeks. Thanks!

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

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I just really think Remus Lupin is a ballerina okay AU

Remus Lupin has been doing ballet since he was four. He was exuberant and flashy at first, but after his first teacher, Greyback, molested and abused him, he is quiet and reserved. He prefers to dance by himself and does not speak to anyone inside or outside of the class. He wears pink material and is the best dancer in the school, but everyone is more terrified of him than they are jealous. He has sad eyes and soft hair, but prominent scars (both self-inflicted and from Greyback and accidents) cover his freckled skin. He’s a mystery, but no one wants to solve him.

He lives with his roommate and only friend, Severus Snape, who is a writer. He spins out films and novels and poems by the hundreds, especially inspired by the rain. Remus and Severus will often spend rainy days together in their apartment, with Severus typing furiously and scribbling while Remus dances to Hozier and Lana Del Rey off to the side. Sometimes when Remus will have nightmares, Severus will hold him and sing Russian lullabies until he falls asleep. Severus smokes lazily and wears subdued flower and gothic dresses that show off his jutting hips and collar bones. Having escaped an abusive father and a dead mother, he and Remus bond over their shit parents, with Remus’ father being neglectful and his mother kind but catatonic. Their neighbors think they’re witches, but they’re alright with that.

They both have to work to pay the bills, so while Severus works with preschoolers, Remus works as an assistant for a terrifying professor named Grindelwald at the university. He’s a reformed felon who’s always glowering, and there are rumors he’s Dumbledore’s husband, who is Remus’ mysterious ballet teacher with the twinkling eyes. But no one has the guts to ask him - it’s unknown what he was locked up for, and nobody wants to risk that it was irrational homicide. He mostly ignores Remus though, and doesn’t mind if Remus reads or dances while he works, so Remus doesn’t think he’s too bad.

One day Remus is grading some papers for Grindelwald when Lily Evans walks in, a vision in a white floral lace flowing vest and an across-the-shoulders dark blue dress, a brown belt around her waist and matching ankle boots coming up over creme knee-high knit socks, a black hat on her head. There’s a camera around her neck and her smile is beautiful, surrounded by her freckles, and she and Remus hit it off immediately. She asks if he can spare some time to be her model for the day, and he agrees. They’re hanging out in the park and laughing when Severus walks over, having finished work. The moment he and Lily lay eyes on each other, something happens, something magical, and Remus can see it in both of their smiles as they exchange shy hellos.

Lily starts to hang around them, her and Severus teetering on the edge of something. Remus nudges Severus until he’s brave enough to ask her out, and their first date is in the park where they met, sitting on a bench in the rain and watching the birds. Remus is pretty sure they’re gonna get married one day.

To keep himself busy while his two friends fall in love, Remus escapes to the dance school, dancing alone to Lana Del Rey in an empty room when the door creaks open and he hears, “Wow.” He turns around and smiles, taking in the sight of James Potter, an old school friend who left for Julliard and he hasn’t seen in years. James laughs, pulling him into a hug, and Remus lets him, tangling his hands in James’ curls and grinning when James presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. James tells him he’s been enjoying a gap year before going to search for a job as a back-up dancer for Taylor Swift, to which Remus giggles and tells him he’ll be great. James beams, and pulls Remus along, saying he has to meet James’ best friend-partner-person. Remus agrees, and changes back into his flowing white dress decorated in bees and black flats, tucking spruce leaves in his hair before taking James’ hand and following him out.

At James’ apartment, he calls out, “Babe! I’m home!” Remus watches as Sirius Black comes skidding down the hall, dazzling in a sparkling black croptop with gold touches and a raggedy sheer maroon skirt that falls just above his spiky combat boots. With white and gold dahlias in his hair, he’s the most beautiful thing Remus has ever seen, and he stares as James pecks Sirius on the mouth, coming away with dark red lipstick stains. When Sirius looks up at Remus, his eyes twinkling, and Remus reaches out a hesitant hand, which Sirius takes. “Hi,” he breathes, and Sirius laughs, loud and bright. He leans in and kisses Remus’ cheek. “Hello, beautiful,” he says sweetly, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist. “James has told me all about you, love.” Remus blushes, unable to stop smiling even as Sirius pulls away at James’ indignant “Oi!” and doesn’t touch him again. Sirius is the love of his life - he doesn’t know how, but it’s something he just somehow knows, the feeling taking root in his chest and sprouting flowers.

Sirius, as it turns out, is James’ roommate and queerplatonic partner. He ran away from his abusive home and is taking commissions as an artist. Mostly he draws wolves, dogs, rats, deers, doves, snakes, and cats. He affectionately calls Remus Moony, insisting his scars look like something were bit him and his eyes are the fierce amber of a wolf’s. Sirius in turn is called Padfoot, for his doglike energy and loving nature, while James is dubbed Prongs for being a dumbass who continually forgets he’s too big to fit in small spaces and gets lost in the woods almost every weekend. Remus never wants to stop hanging out with them, and learns to spend hours shopping at the vintage shop where Sirius works, the two of them falling for each other fast while James reclaims them as his partners in love as in life. And Remus is so, so happy.

While he’s busy falling in love with Sirius, Lily has moved in with him and Severus. Remus doesn’t mind, and tells Severus he’s thinking of making a home with Sirius and James. Severus hugs him and tells him he’s proud of him, suggesting they hang out that day just the two of them, like old times. Remus agrees, and lets Severus take him to the cafe where Lily works. In the corner of the shop is Regulus Black, a boy drenched in hoodies and coats that Remus and Severus buy free food and drinks for. Regulus thanks them profusely, and they all make small talk until Remus makes a comment that Regulus looks like Remus’ boyfriend Sirius, to which Regulus starts crying, explaining that Sirius is his older brother and he’s been trying to find him for years but gave up looking when their shit parents died and Sirius was nowhere to be found at the funeral. Remus offers to take him home, and Severus kisses Remus on the forehead before heading off to find Lily.

On the way there, they stop at the bakery and accept some free cupcakes from Peter Pettigrew, who owns the bakery with his elusive partner. Regulus, as it turns out, is homeless, and has been trying to make it on his busking money alone. But while he’s fairly lovely at singing, it’s not enough to buy anything concrete. As they eat, Regulus also tells Remus about Amir Levis, a librarian who lets him stay at the library. Remus exclaims that he already knows Amir, who helps Remus remember his pills and doctor’s appointments and always has a spare wheelchair and some tea for him just in case. Regulus admits to having a crush on Amir, but he’s too scared to do anything about it. Remus assures him he and Sirius will help him with it, and just like that they’re on their way.

At home, Remus smiles softly at the sight of Sirius and James entwined on the couch and says, “Look who I found.” At the sight of Regulus, Sirius shoves James to the floor in his haste to stand up, taking Regulus’ face in his hands and searching his eyes for answers. “You got out?” He says, breathless. “Really? You’re alright?” Regulus smiles sheepishly. “Of course I did, Siri,” he whispers. “You think I was gonna let you have all the fun?” Sirius tears up and tugs him close, rocking back and forth as the two of them mumble apologies and love confessions into each other’s necks and shoulders and hair. Remus gravitates towards James, kissing him with a smile before pulling him out of the apartment, saying they should leave the brothers alone.

Remus takes the opportunity to introduce James to Severus and Lily, who are immediately taken with him. They offer to watch him for the afternoon while Remus goes to therapy with Maxwell Needles, a counselor with magenta hair who talks to Remus about life, his accident, his trauma, Greyback, his suicidal tendencies, anxiety, PTSD, and depression. Remus also takes the chance to pick up Sirius and James’ ADHD medication, Peter’s OCD prescription, Lily’s bipolar medication, Severus’ schizophrenia suppressors, and a few books on autism (for Severus), Tourette’s (for Lily), and eating disorders (for James and, Remus suspects somehow, Regulus). Max is delighted to see him with so many friends, and says they’ll bring Peter over sometime for dinner. Though he’s not sure where that would happen since he’s torn between two homes right now, Remus agrees with a smile and bids the skater kid in the checkered jeans goodbye.

Back at school, Remus spends his afternoons in conversation with Mcgonogall, the waltz teacher who takes care of him. She’d adopted him when his parents died and he tries to stick around, asking advice about Sirius and James and whether moving in with them is a good idea. Mcgonogall says she thinks it is, and that she knows Sirius is a kind young man. As it is, he calls her Minnie, and knows her as a friend and a grandmother of sorts, since she helped him when he first ran away to James’ house. Remus is content with continuing the conversation but is interrupted by a phone call telling him Sirius, James, and Regulus have been jailed for a fist fight on the street.

Remus goes to pick them up, where he meets Bellatrix Lestrange, an abusive cousin of Sirius and Regulus who took particular joy out of torturing Sirius, who she almost killed once. She’s also been known to abuse children, especially those of the poor. Also in jail are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a couple married only in spirit who keep having miscarriages and take their abusive anger out on each other and strangers. Their landlord, Voldemort, had demanded unconventional payments and they’d been essentially enslaved to him for years, only escaping his cultist grasp by means of murder, which is why they’re here now.

Remus sees James holding Regulus close and whispering to him as he kisses the cuts and bruises on his face in the corner of the cell, but says nothing about it, kissing Sirius hello. The four of them go home together, and as soon as Regulus is asleep Remus tells James and Sirius that he wants to make a home with them someday, just not right now. They laugh and smile and tell him they’re ready when he is and that they love him, and Remus thinks, Things are good.

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sanstropfremir · 3 years

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I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

---

the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

#this is long one dear readers #a very long one #strap in #i've sat on this for probably a week now in the hopes my brain can make some interesting connections but honestly?#not a lot about bts is interesting in comparision to the rest of the kpop industry #personally i am of the opinion that lyrics do not matter in idol music and i am not interested in them in the slightest #and bts videos ARE extremely bland visually #unless you like looking at expensive production. whatever floats your boat i guess #they make a lot of sense as an entry kpop group but once you get actually into the industry there is SO much happening #which i talk about in the third part a little bit #this is way too long i am so sorry anon and everyone else who has been asking about this topic #im not entirely sure it's coherent at this point but whatever. its out there now #i wanted this to be under 1k and that emphatically did not happen #it is double that. why am i like this #875 #kpop questions #kpop analysis #group analysis #text #answers

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blancamz · 4 years

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“It’s Over Isn’t It” Reanimation progress

Honestly one of my favourite parts about animating is posting the WIPs online. Here’s the step-by-step of how I went about doing my reanimation for the end section of “It’s Over Isn’t It” from the Steven Universe episode Mr. Greg.

1) Idea and Prep

I was flicking through Steven Universe: Art & Origins. I think at the time I must’ve been between jobs or bored or something, because it came into my head to do a bit of animation based on the pilot style SU. I’ve always been quite fond of the pilot style, especially Pearl’s David Bowie / LaRoux look. The little tux design by Hellen Jo was quite snazzy as well, so I decided to have a go at doing a segment of “It’s Over Isn’t It”, using these designs.

I traced the turnaround from the book in Clip Studio Paint and approximated Jo’s design to it. At first I had the colour turnaround, but did the low-colour turnaround with the heads to give me a better idea of where the lines are and proportions of the body. I also get a clip of “It’s Over Isn’t It” and trim it down to the section I want to do.

This is a long one so strap in.

2) Sketch Pass

I’ll be using gifs that show the first 100-130 frames of the animation, because the full segment is 22 seconds long.

Very very loose animation of what I’m going to be doing with this segment, done in Adobe Animate. I have a video of the real segment in the corner of the stage and audio in the timeline, and closely reference them for layout and acting.

I’ve decided I want to go really nuts with the animation. Lots of angles on her face, smooth movement, secondary animation / follow-through on her various clothing elements. Technically her earring’s supposed to be on the other side but I want to animate that flailing around dangit, so I change it so it faces the camera.

3) Rough Pass

I tidy up the rough I did somewhat. It’s still very rough, but Pearl is better proportioned and the motion is more complete. I get a better idea of how she moves by focusing on drawing keys (the most important drawings) and breakdowns (drawings that help you figure out the motion a little bit, without full animation). I have Pearl, her suit, ruffles and earring on separate layers so I can turn things on and off or lower their opacity as needed.

4) Tiedowns

At some point between the rough and tie-down phase I realized that I’d been animating at 30fps instead of 25fps like I’d meant to, so I had to end up shifting all the roughs I’d been doing. Bad news: having to wrestle with getting the timings I’d so carefully planned out in the rough to still look good. Good news: I have to animate and clean up 5 fewer frames per second, so that’s 110 fewer drawings to worry about. Yussssss. For reference, the above clip has now gone from 132 frames to 107.

During the tiedown phase, I go over the roughs and more carefully try to match the proportions in the turnaround. I keep a flattened version of the first frame of animation to use as reference thoughout to prevent morphing. Sometimes when you’re animating, things will get bigger or small as you re-draw them, so it’s good to have a base drawing to refer back to and make the sizes stay consistent.

At this point I’m way more aware of reasons behind the big design change for Pearl between the pilot and the show. She’s so dang skinny and tall with that extra poof of hair up top that she’s really annoying to frame up. If you want to keep all of her in the frame, there’s going to be tons of empty space.

I also find that my turnaround isn’t enough reference for Pearl’s awkwardly-shaped head. I snap me a bunch of screenshots of pearl’s head from different angles and collate them into a big sheet.

5) Inbetweening

Inbetweening, aka filling out all the gaps in the timeline between the keys and breakdowns. If you’ve done your keys and BD’s well, inbetweening can be a pretty straight-forward.

But I’ve got like a million bits of secondary animation to content with, which means this still takes a significant amount of time. The hair and ruffles have to move a little later than the rest of the body, and some parts of the ruffles have to move at a different rate from the rest. I’m trying to animate like there’s wind since Pearl’s on top of a tall building. I keep animating until it feels good enough.

This is what my timeline and stage look like in Animate by this point. The animation is mostly on 2s, with some 1s, 3s and 4s thrown in when needed.

6) Cleanup and Colour

I did the cleanup in Toon Boom Harmony. As a program, I like it was more than Animate, even though it isn’t without it’s flaws. But it’s also really dang expensive. Fortunately, by this point I’d been working on the upcoming Deadendia series for Netflix. What with the pandemic, we were working from home and the studio gave me a license for Toon Boom. So I exported my frames from Animate, put ‘em in TB and started cleaning up.

I’ve found that cleanup is something that’s often offloaded to new or less experienced artists at studios because blah it’s just tracing the rough animation. But you’ve got good cleanup and bad cleanup, and a good cleanup artist will compensate for flaws in volume and have a good, clear and natural line.

I’m not terribly fond of doing cleanup myself. I feel I tend to end up rushing, which leads to sloppy work. I tried really hard to keep up a standard here.

7) Comping

a.k.a. Compositing, the final layering of the various elements before exporting a film. Another stage I don’t quite care for because of its nuances. Also drawing backgrounds.

I admit that I’m not very good at drawing backgrounds or environments. I tried to do the one for the second shot of this animation, since it was acutally really important. In shots 1 and 3, you don’t really see the ground or even the railing that Pearl is leaning on, but 2 is a wide shot. My first attempts at it were unfortunate. Fortunately my husband @joe-sparrow is both good at backgrounds and good at imitating the style and colour palette of the show. He volunteered to do the BGs and I accepted. See mine vs. his:

So yeah, get me some nice backgrounds, put the animation on top, then fiddle with a couple of elements in the comp to give things a little bit more depth. During this stage, errors that had happened during the animation progress that I hoped would just go away became annoyingly obvious, so there was a fair bit of going back to fix them.

So that’s how I done made this animation. I started April 2018 and posted in on January 1st 2021, so that’s over 1.5 years it took me to do these 22 seconds of animation. However, I wasn’t working on it continuously through that time. Sometimes I’d be working on it every day, other times I’d not touch it for weeks or months at a time. It really depended on how busy or whatever I was at the time. I think if I’d been working on it non-stop, it still would’ve taken me at least like 2-3 months to finish it.

If you made it to the end of this post, I hope you found all this information interesting.

Happy drawing.

It’s over, isn’t it.

#animation #wip #art #Flash #toon boom #fanart #steven universe #pearl

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

kings and queens

a smutty rowaelin halloween oneshot

(if smut isn’t your thing you can still read, just finish when Aelin says ‘you’)

my masterlist

------

The clear gems on her crown shone in the dim, evening light. She had found the crown a week ago in a thrift store and the moment Aelin had seen it she knew it was perfect. It rose up from her golden waves to reach three peaks, the middle slightly taller than the two either side, and they were each topped with shimmering imitation diamonds. A far better find than any useless piece of trash she could have found in a costume store.

Aelin didn’t do costumes by half. The dress she wore was a deep red velvet, with a corset style top that helped to give her chest a boost and a gold lace trim that she knew would draw the eye. It had a short but flowing skirt that hit mid-thigh, showing a peek of the border of her thigh high stockings. She had painted her lips a bold red to match the dress and her eyes were lined with heavy black.

Dressing up as a queen for Halloween didn’t mean she had to be a maiden.

Aelin always went all out for Halloween, but her costumes were never gimmicky. She could find a way to make the dorkiest of ideas sexy to make sure she felt good and more importantly, looked hot.

“You ready?” She heard her roommate and best friend Lysandra call. “Aedion just texted asking where we are.”

Aelin grabbed her small shoulder bag off her bed, her only out of character item for the evening, and left her room to meet Lysandra in the hallway between their rooms. They shared a small two bedroom apartment off campus, it was far from luxury, but it was their space and she loved it. Since meeting Lysandra in her first year of college she hadn’t lived with anyone else.

Lysandra was leaning against the wall, fully dressed in her own costume. She wore a dress with a tight green bodice and a short but full skirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun and her make-up was peachy and subtle. Tinkerbell.

Aedion had invited them to the party he was hosting in his own house off campus that he shared with a few roommates. Aelin had spent most of her first and second years at college tucked away in that house spending time with her cousin and his friends, she loved his friend Fenrys who shared her appreciation for all things devilish and she had been close with his other housemate Dorian. She and Dorian had shared a mutual attraction but had quickly moved past it to become as thick as thieves and he had been one of her best friends.

The time she spent there had plummeted in her third year when Dorian moved out after his graduation and Rowan Whitethorn moved in, filling the spare room. Aelin hated Rowan Whitethorn with a burning passion. He was arrogant, hot-headed and spiteful, all traits she despised.

The first time they had met she had thought they could have been friends, he got along well with Aedion as did she, but he had opened his mouth to let her know his thoughts on the opinions she had shared in a political theory class she hadn’t even known he was in, and that had been it.

Since that day she noted his presence in the same class, and they would share verbal barbs and taunts every week. She knew it made the other attendees of the class uncomfortable and even the professor leading the sessions seemed at a loss with the sparring students. Aelin couldn’t even understand why they would argue, no matter whether or not she agreed with his point the sound of his voice, the rich and swirling Wendlyn accent would set her off.

Aedion had tried to bridge the gap somewhat, playing moderator to their fights whenever they crossed paths, but ultimately even her easy-going cousin couldn’t fight the fire Rowan made her burn.

She knew he would be there tonight, but she wouldn’t let him ruin what was predicted to turn into a great night, especially not on Halloween when she looked so good. Aedion’s teammates from the football team would likely be there, and it wouldn’t take her long to find someone to distract her from Rowan’s presence.

------

The music at the party could be heard from down the road, and as they walked up the path she took in the decorations in the front yard. Someone had strung spider webs through the branches of the twisting tree in the corner and there were fluorescent lights shining orange and green in all directions. There were people in all kinds of costumes spilling into the street as she and Lysandra battled their way into the front door.

They edged their way into the kitchen, pushing past groups of already intoxicated revellers to fix themselves a drink.

Once in the kitchen a loud cry caught their attention.

“Ladies!” Fenrys shouted to them, his voice booming over the music. He reached them and tugged them each under an arm, pulling them into an extravagantly painted but otherwise bare chest.

“What are you?” She yelled.

“I’m your dreams come true,” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she and Lysandra both rolled their eyes at his proclamation. Fenrys was an ass but they loved him for it.

“Have you seen Aedion?” Lysandra yelled in his ear as she twisted to search for a cup and a drink.

“So desperate to leave me when you’ve only just arrived?” He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense but released them and turned to find them each a drink.

“The vision of you is burning my eyes so bad I’m desperate to get away,” Lysandra told him as they accepted the drinks he handed to them. Fenrys only stuck his tongue out at her, seemingly too drunk to bother trying to come up with a better response.

“I think he was in the main room with Rowan and Lorcan.” He told them before saluting them and venturing back into the throng of moving bodies.

Aelin raised her glass in a toast to Lysandra before taking her first sip and tugging Lysandra to find her cousin.

It only took a minute to spot her cousin, his golden hair spilling out of a small brown cap tucked onto the top of his head. She took in the green tights and tunic before sending a sharp glance at Lysandra. She hadn’t known they had planned a couple’s costume, but one look at Aedion told her he was clearly the Peter Pan to Lysandra’s Tinkerbell.

She took in the two males stood next to her cousin, opposites in their exterior, light and dark, Rowan and Lorcan. Lorcan had made the safe choice, a black mask pushed up onto his forehead the only part of his Batman costume that was out of place.

The sight of Rowan Whitethorn had her blood boiling. He wore a deep green velvet cape and a glowing golden crown atop his silver locks. She was going to kill him, how dare he come as a King to the same party she was dressed as a Queen.

She was vaguely aware of Lysandra slipping up to Aedion and Lorcan’s brief greeting and dismissal as he sought out his crush, Elide, before she was marching up to Whitethorn and hissing in his face.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was tight.

“Hello to you too, Princess,” He drawled, tipping his chin down to look her directly in the eye.

“I’m not a princess,” She snapped, feeling her anger bubble in her throat. “I’m a Queen.”

“You look like a princess to me,” His voice was as smug as the smirk that spread across his face, showing rows of straight white teeth, canines flashing in the light. He reached a hand up to poke at her crown. “Especially with your little tiara.”

She slapped his hand away. “It is a crown!”

“Sure it is, Princess.” He was making her blood pound in her ears, the sounds of the party fading into the background and she stepped closer to him again, trying to crowd into his space, no matter the fact that he towered over her. She took a deep breath in, readying herself for the barrage of insults she could throw at him when a voice behind her pulled her out of the spell.

“Aelin, hi!”

Aelin turned her head to the side and spotted the source of the voice. Feyre Archeron. She and Aelin had shared an art class in the previous year and Feyre had been a natural, painting with smooth strokes of her brush where Aelin was all pointed jabs.

Failure in her artistic endeavour aside, Aelin liked Feyre, and she knew Aedion ran in the same circles as her boyfriend Rhys.

“Oh hey,” She smiled at Feyre with a small wave. Feyre seemed to take a moment before approaching, glancing between Rowan and Aelin.

It was then that Aelin noticed their proximity. Her body was fully pressed against the length of Rowan’s where she had managed to back him against the wall. The hard planes of his body sending an aura of warmth into her. Their faces were close enough to share a breath as she leaned up and he down. An outsider could easily assume they were lovers, and to Aelin’s horror it seemed an outsider did.

“I didn’t know you guys were together!” Feyre exclaimed and Aelin’s mouth dropped open. “And a King and Queen costume? Gods, such a great idea, I’ll have to tell Rhys for next year.”

Aelin couldn’t find the words. Her and Rowan? Her eyes flicked to his face and he seemed in a similar state of shock, pink lips slightly parted as he stared at Feyre.

When neither of them spoke Feyre blushed and before Aelin could find words she had disappeared into the crown. Aelin immediately took a step back, putting space between herself and Rowan, trying to ignore the way her body moaned at the lack of contact. It was Rowan rutting Whitethorn for Gods’ sake.

He seemed in a similar state to herself, arms frozen where they hovered at his sides, and she glanced around desperately seeking Lysandra but her and Aedion were gone.

“Fuck you,” She spat at Rowan and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd, putting some much needed space between them and ignoring the way she desperately wanted to turn back.

------

She spent most of the party slipping between groups of people she knew, refilling her drink each time her cup emptied. She didn’t see Rowan again and spent at least an hour catching up with Yrene Towers and Manon Blackbeak in a toilet.

She shook her head, laughing at the unusual combinations alcohol and loud music could bring out in people. She was still yet to see Lysandra and Aedion again, poking her head into each room and looking for her best friend.

Once back at the kitchen, having searched each room she resolved to take a look outside, musing that as long as she spoke before she arrived she’d be unlikely to stumble upon anything she wished she wouldn’t have to witness between her cousin and best friend.

“Lysandra?” She called, wrapping her arms around her body as the chilled October air bit at her skin.

There was no response from her best friend, but a male voice reached her as she tucked the door shut behind herself.

“Unlucky for you, Princess, I’m the only one out here.”

Just her rutting luck. Rowan Whitethorn leaned back against the wall of the house, the butt of a mostly burned cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He threw it to the side as she took a step closer to him.

“Stop calling me princess,” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her chest, lingering a second before dragging themselves back up to her face.

“Why would I do that,” He pushed off from the wall taking a single step closer to her, “When it suits you so well?”

She rolled her eyes. “Suits me how?”

“Well, I think most people would probably describe princesses as spoiled and entitled.”

Despite his close proximity she unwrapped her arms from her chest and flashed him her middle finger. His own hand came up as fast as a flash of lightening, to grab her hand and wrap her fingers up in his own as he tugged slightly, knocking her off balance and she stumbled into him slightly.

“I’m not spoiled or entitled.” She mumbled, unable to draw her eyes away from his lips, now close enough that his warm breaths washed across her face.

“I’d beg to differ, Princess. Seems to me like you always get what you want.”

Her breathing had quickened, coming in short pants and gasps where he had her pressed against the cold wall of the house. His hand still wrapped around her own, burning her skin where he touched.

“I don’t always get what I want.” She whispered as he leant into her even further, bracing his free hand against the wall by her head. He cocked his head at her words.

“What could you possibly want that you haven’t got?” His voice was a seductive caress against her neck where he tilted his head down.

She didn’t let herself break eye-contact, her unyielding gaze staring him down.

“What I want,” She began, voice weak.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, the sound sending vibrations through her own chest.

“What I want is for you to take that damned costume off. I’m the Queen.”

He laughed; a dark sound filled with promise.

“Princess,” He drawled. “If you wanted me to take my clothes off you only had to ask. Don’t pretend it’s about some dumb costume.”

She gasped, frustrated to no end that he always managed to rile her so. Always left her speechless, her mind swimming with rage. Her body drowning in arousal at his closeness. Fuck.

She stared him down, his body now pressed along every inch of her own as he blocked her into the wall. His eyes flashed to her lips and she couldn’t hold herself back from doing the same. He seemed to be warring with himself, his expression pained as he stared into her eyes.

She took a breath, begging herself to do something, anything, but she was frozen.

A beat passed, and then he crashed his lips to hers.

He kissed her as furiously as he argued, his hand grasping her face hard and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and twisted her fingers into his hair in response, holding his face to her own, and she registered the clunk of his crown hitting the floor. Good.

A fire spread through her veins as he kissed her, taking control and owning her completely. She allowed him, opening her mouth to him greedily as he nipped at her lips. She knew they would already be swollen.

He kissed her as if she was a prize to be won, as if he needed to or he would shatter. The desperation spreading through his hands as they roamed her body, slipping down her sides and back up to lightly brush the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and back down again to tug her hips against his own.

He slid a thigh between her legs, and she writhed against the pressure, letting out a small cry as the sensation sent a jolt through her entire body, finishing with a flood of heat below her bellybutton.

He drew back with a gasp, panting. He only got as far as she let him, her fingers still twisted through his silver strands as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Fuck.” He growled, tucking his chin to bury his face in her neck. She tugged at his hair, begging for him to do more than just press his lips gently against the soft skin of her throat. “What is it that you want, Princess?” He asked again.

She tugged his face back to meet her gaze, vaguely aware of her crown slipping from her head as she looked up at him.

“You.”

------

Back at her apartment he crowded her against the door, his heat behind her and a delightful pressure against her lower back had her fumbling with her keys in the lock. She had managed to shoot Lysandra a quick text letting her know she was leaving, knowing her best friend would be safe with Aedion when Aelin left.

When Aelin left with Rowan Whitethorn. Shit.

He had been a storm she hadn’t seen coming, kissing her with a passion that burned all the way to the soles of her feet. He pressed her back against the door once they were inside, leaning down to kiss her hard and fast. His tongue lavishing sweeping strokes that lit a fire inside of her.

He pressed his knee between her legs and this time she didn’t hold herself back from rocking against it, letting out a breathy moan as she pulled back, tilting her head back until it hit the door with a thud.

He pressed hot and wet kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck, nipping and sucking his way down. The sensation sent her wild, drawing short gasps from her lips with every press of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.

His hands burned a path down her side, not stopping with a brush against her chest this time, instead wrapping her breast in one of his large hands and squeezing sharply. She bucked her hips against his thigh as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Rowan let out a dark rumble of laughter at her reaction and did it again, timing it perfectly with a swipe of his tongue up the side of her neck.

He bent down slightly, sliding a hand down her thigh until he reached the crook of her knee and straightened, wrapping her leg around his waist and pressing his hips firmly into the gap he had created.

She let out a moan, slamming her head into the door again as he pressed his lips to hers again. The pressure of his hips was firm, burning against her core, and his lips were relentless as he licked into her mouth aggressively as she fisted her hand in his cape.

She pulled back, panting.

“You need to take this off.” She yanked even harder on the cape and he grinned, hands leaving her leg and chest to loosen the clasp at his neck. He didn’t stop there, reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off his body in one sharp motion.

Her mouth went dry at the expanse of tanned skin now exposed. His chest was covered in firm muscle and down his left arm swept a swirling and intricate tattoo. She traced a line across his shoulder with a finger, transfixed by the beauty of his body.

His hand flashed out to grab her by the chin, tilting her face up to look at him.

“You too, Princess.”

His fingers left her chin, trailing a torturously slow path down her neck and across her chest to rest at the knot at the top of her corset top. The sheer possession in his touch had her grinding her hips against him, desperate for any kind of relief.

Undeterred, he slowly wound one of the laces around a finger and bit his lip as he took in her heaving chest. Her skin was flushed as her heart pounded beneath.

Torturously slow he pulled the string, unravelling the only closure of her top. His deft fingers loosened the ties as the red fabric slid away to reveal her heaving chest and full breasts. His dark eyes devoured the exposed skin and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

His head ducked down as he slowly wrapped his lips around a peaked nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Her head fell back to the door again as she moaned and her hand flew behind her, trying to find any purchase on the flat surface.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down to her core. His thumb found her other breast, flicking her nipple hard. She groaned, pressing her hips into his own, becoming desperate.

She laced her hands through his hair as he looked up at her, lips still around her, and she groaned pulling his head up.

“Bedroom, now,” She said breathlessly as she pushed him away from herself and pressed away from the door, dropping the rest of her dress to pool around her feet. Rowan was silent as he took her in, his eyes trailing a burning path from her face to the tips of her toes.

At the sight she trailed a feather-light touch across the front of his trousers where they strained against his hardness. He groaned at the touch, his head tipping back and the vein in the side of his neck straining.

“Bedroom,” He growled and grabbed her by the waist.

------

Rowan laid her down on her bed, having lost his trousers along the way. She lay bare for him, only a thin pair of black panties prevented her from being exposed entirely.

His head tilted as his predatory stare assessed her.

“You look so good like this Princess,” his voice was raw as he crawled up the bed between her legs, resting his weight against her body and pressing her into the mattress. “We really should find you that tiara again.”

She rolled her eyes but tugged his face to hers. Pressing her lips against his firmly, his short stubble scratching against her cheeks in the most delicious way. He braced a hand by her head, supporting his weight, and the other brushed down her body, starting at the base of her throat until his index finger pressed gently against her centre.

He let out a moan at the dampness of the dark fabric and he swiped a long stroke over the line of her folds. Aelin bit her lip, trying to hold in the moan that his electric touch elicited. Her hips shifted at his teasing, raising them to try and press further into his touch, but he only laughed against her lips.

He nipped her lower lip, the pressure almost painful, but it sent another wave of arousal through her.

Slowly he slid his finger beneath the fabric, pressing a finger into her and the heavy pressure had her fisting her hands in the sheets. His tongue swept into her mouth again as he pumped his finger inside her, slipping a second in a moment later. His thumb came up to press against the apex of her thighs, the friction sending sparks through her entire body as he swirled his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She broke away from the kiss to moan, twisting her face to the side, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was creating. The delightful pleasure his fingers were creating as his mouth pressed hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

“Please,” She gasped, and she felt his lips against her neck curve into a smile.

“Please what?” His voice was playful as he teased her, pulling his hand back leaving her clenching around air.

“You know what. Dick.” She snapped, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Now, now, princess,” He carded his fingers through her hair, twisting them into the strands at the base of her head before pulling hard. “Remember to use your manners.”

She gasped again, back arching off the bed to press her body against his. He ground his hips against her own, the hard length of him catching against the spot she needed most.

He nipped at the skin on her neck before pulling back, tugging her panties down her legs, wasting no time before shucking off his own briefs revealing the full length of him to her. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

He tucked himself back between her legs, pressing the tip lightly at her entrance. Her hips bucked up as he grabbed a hold of her chin.

“Condom?” He asked, his voice low.

“I’m on the pill.” She breathed, rolling her hips, urging him to hurry.

He groaned, lining himself up and pressing into her as he crashed his lips to hers.

Her mind cleared at the sensation, thinking only of where he filled and stretched her. The brief flash of pain sinking into a burning pleasure. He paused his hips, allowing her to adjust, but still pressed his lips to hers. His togue sweeping into her mouth.

She sank her nails into the skin of his broad shoulders, urging him to move and he eagerly obliged, snapping his hips into hers with a force so strong the bed crashed against the wall, rhythmic thuds in time with his thrusts.

Her skin was on fire as he pounded into her, drawing breathy moans from her throat as she clung to him in desperation. Rowan’s hands tightened on her hips, owning her with his touch as he moaned low in her ear and nipped her lobe with his teeth.

Rowan tugged one of her legs up to tuck it over his hip, changing the pace and thrusting into her wildly. Aelin clung to him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his shoulders as his hands dug into the flesh of her thighs.

His pace became frantic as he brought one hand around between their bodies, swirling his thumb over her clit. Her breath hitched in her throat as he growled.

“Come on, Princess.”

His words sent her over the edge, shattering around him with a cry. She felt him increase his pace and he bit sharply into her shoulder as he came sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He ghosted his lips over hers a final time as he pulled out gently before lying next to her on the bed and pulling her into his side, wrapping a broad arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face to his chest, hiding her satisfied smile.

“I still think you’re a dick,” She muttered eventually, interrupting the easy silence.

His laughter rumbled through her, shaking the bed they lay on.

“That’s okay,” He said squeezing her hip. “I still think you’re a princess.”

#rowaelin #rowaelin smut #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowaelin oneshot #rowan x aelin #halloween rowaelin #this got way out of hand i can only apologise for the length #aedion ashryver #lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fanfic #i'm sorry i'm too drunk to deal with tags but i'll do them in the morning

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