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hoony2k · 2 months ago

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THE LOOKING GLASS

Synopsis: You've never had the best luck with love or in life, maybe that's why you're being comforted by your boyfriend's brother who happens to look identical to him.

Pairing: sunghoon x reader

Genre: a mix of fluff and angst, sunghoon is a twin, right person wrong time trope,

Warnings: mentions of being cheated on (reader)

Word Count: 1k

Note: hii another sunghoon post! I enjoyed writing this so much..why'd i eat with the title need to pat myself on the back

library

It's strange seeing your lover but not truly seeing them. Next to you under the dim porch light , sits Sunghoon with a cold glass of water.

The glass is frosty with condensation, droplets trickle down the boy's fingertips and your throat is flooded with an onset of emotions. His wrist must hurt from being in a rigid position for so long but there is no courage inside you that could take the glass from him.

It should be Sungjin next to you, but it's not- it's his identical twin brother. Park Sunghoon. The shadow. The ghost. The one no one talks about in family dinners, and often forget to message Happy Birthday!

Sunghoon lingers a comfortable distance, near enough for you to feel his warm yet far enough for you two appear as friends. He's always been respectful towards you, never dared to bring you discomfort, subtly looked out for you when he knew his brother was ignorant to your moods. Though, his kind actions never missed your radar.

Common sense urges you to thank him for the water, take the glass from him and down it in one go to prevent another pitiful crying session. But, your eyes are already misty. Sunghoon seem to doesn't mind the wait. You sniffle.

For eons the silence between your bodies stretches on. The house is vibrant with life and colour, muffled cheers and laughter resonate periodically. The wooden floor you took salvation in vibrates with bass.

Inside everyone in the Park family is celebrating Sungjin's new job across the country and you're bleeding out on the porch. Not alone in misery though, as it seems.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you speak, voice scratchy.

"I wish I never found out".

"Don't say that", Sunghoon whispers harshly. It almost floats away in the breeze but you catch it. You always caught his low murmurs and comments whispered under his breath.

Head heavy with shame you bow to nothing in particular. The deities must be laughing at you. How stupid were you really?

There's a shuffle as Sunghoon comes closer, his dry hand rests on your knee, warm, anchoring. the flame in your heart flickers dangerously.

From your peripheral, you eye him up and down.

His features look exactly like Sungjin's. Soft sloped nose sealed with a beauty mark near the ends, strong prominent eye brows and pouty plush lips. Though Sungjin has shorter hair that doesn't curl behind his ears, bleached so many times in his youth the ends are dry. Sunghoon doesn't have a mole on his left ear, a slight crooked canine or a rumble in his voice.

But Sungjin doesn't look at you like this. Hasn't looked at you like this- in years.

Brown eyed Sunghoon looks at you as if you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen. What swims in his pupils is fondness and a hint of worry, of protectiveness.

Sungjin looked at you as if he wished you were someone else. Almost as if he was trying his hardest to envision the doe eyed girl-who lived across the country-you caught him with.

And maybe you're a hypocrite for crying over him and whining about how he wronged you. Because your mind reels you back to occasions where you met his family, in those small moments where you disappeared in the background as Sungjin took the stage, or when Sungjin wasn't breathing down your neck for wearing a sleeveless dress, you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon.

Alone and silently wandering near the kids table. In those moments, it was only you and Sunghoon, trapped in a second together. A sweet secret moment where you truly saw him. Even if the adults didn't. Though, those moments lasted short, filled with Sunghoon rapidly asking you questions and your responding as quick, throwing in a joke or two, aware that something in the interaction would eventually become a secret inside joke. A fond jest he'd refer to during the next reunion, perhaps when he'd find you in the kitchen or when he'd raise his eyebrows at you from across the room. The pair of you trapped in time as all around you blurred past.

The feeling was mutual, it was pure, it was fondness, it was nothing serious.

"I wish I fell for you instead", your body moves on autopilot and you can't believe what you had just said. Shocked at the self discovery, a battle begins within you. Your face is warm with shame and guilt for roping him in your emotions, but you're relieved at the birth of the sentence. It was like finally confronting your reflection. Your heart felt lighter but your face heat up with shame.

Saying it out loud unsheathed the hidden truth, forced you to come in terms with the bitter reality. Sungjin stopped loving you when he was accepted as an intern in another city, maybe along the quiet days and lonely nights, you forgot how to love. Confused love for a routine, to be the polite, pretty partner wrapped around his arm.

Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath. His blown out pupils hide under his lids, lips pulled in a taunt line. Then he goes limp.

He slouches over his long legs clad in a black trouser, elbows resting on his knees.

Sunghoon's head hangs low, dark hair covering his face yet through the gaps of locks you see his eyes and his long yearning desires. His fingers, red from the cold sensation are numb, intentionally tipping the glass until water splatters on the chipped off wooden stairs. He lets the angle of his hand pour water until the amount doesn't reach the tip. Until it stops and the liquid can only slosh in the container.

Half full, half empty.

You glance at the small darkening spot, the wood dutifully soaking it all in. Then, stare at Sunghoon. Lip caught between his teeth, his eyes stare blankly at the ground but you drown in the abyss of despair and temptation inside them.

"I wish you fell for me too".

thank you for reading! Please do not edit/translate/copy.

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rayaverra · 1 year ago

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Love Amidst the Noise // Luke Castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

genre: fluff (i guess)

summary: you get a little overexcited while talking, and your friends find it annoying. When Luke finds you sad and quiet, he comforts you.

warning(s): none

wc: 654

notes: this actually happened to me in real life, so shout-out to my best friend for his kind words :')

english is not my first language, so there may be mistakes.

・❥・༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶・❥・

"And we visited this museum when my dad took me on a trip to Boston, and the art there was just amazing! So many different types of paintings... all these vibrant colours that matched... and the amount of detail..." You were sharing your winter experience with your friends, feeling passionate about the art. Now that summer break had started and you were back in camp, you were excited to share all your latest stories, but none of your friends seemed to really care.

"Yeah... yeah... we get it! Your father took you to see some old paintings," one of them said, rolling their eyes, and soon afterwards everyone else joined.

"Yeah, who cares about some old paintings that all look the same anyway?" Another one added, and your smile suddenly faded, feeling sad that they spoke like that about something you cared so much about.

"And you've been talking about it for almost an hour! Don't you let anyone else speak?" And with that, you closed your mouth, feeling unwanted; you didn't say anything for the rest of your friends conversation.

Later that day, you were sitting on your cabin's table earlier than everyone else, not being in much of a mood. You started to wonder if everyone thought the same as your friends. You knew that sometimes you talked too much, but you couldn't control it. Did everyone in camp think you were annoying?

A familiar figure approached you. At first, you didn't turn to see who it was, but soon you realized it was your dear friend from the Hermes cabin, Luke Castellan.

He noticed your unusual silence and your worried expression. "Hey, is everything okay?" He asked gently.

"Fine..." You said, avoiding his gaze. And that, with the fact that you replied without using many words, like you always liked to explain the details, made him curious as to who got you sad. Deep down, he was also slightly angry that someone would hurt his best friend like this.

"Come' on, I know you better than that." He smiled softly, reaching across the table and gently holding your hand. "You can tell me everything, you know."

You hesitate for a bit, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Do you ever find me annoying?" You eventually blurted out, surprising both Luke and yourself.

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking genuinely puzzled. "Annoying? Not at all! Why would you think that?"

You signed, looking into his filled-with-kindness blue eyes, giving him a weak smile. He was so gentle with you that it warmed your heart.

You sighed, finally deciding to share the weight on your shoulders. "My friends, they... They always complain about me talking too much and never let me finish."

Luke's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "You're not annoying, not to me. I love how you light up when you talk, how your eyes sparkle. Your enthusiasm is one of the things I adore about you."

Your heart warmed upon hearing his comforting words. You realized that you had found someone who appreciated you for who you were.

"Don't let them get to you. You're amazing just the way you are, and anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve your energy." He said, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled, remembering how fun it was when you explained to Luke the history of each painting, and him listening intensively.

"Thank you, Luke." You smiled, moving closer, sniffing a little, and resting your head on his shoulder after giving him a hug.

"Can you tell me about that painting with that couple on a swing again?" Luke asked, and you blushed, nodding your head and starting to tell him about the famous Cot's painting.

In that moment, the weight lifted, and you felt a newfound strength. As you continued your conversation, you found solace in Luke's understanding, grateful to have someone who valued every word you shared.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo #pjo series #luke castellan pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x you #one shot

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ineffableandco · 1 year ago

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Some highlights of the panel with Gavin Finney at @theineffablecon.

Gavin Finney is the director of photography on Good Omens.

Feel free to add things in the replies if you think we’ve missed something.

- He says that Good Omens is a very fun show to work on where you can really let your imagination go.

- One of the challenges with season 2 was to top season 1.

- Everything we see on screen is real. In season 1, the bookshop was designed to be flammable. (Edit- Note: this about the props and the details put in the creation of the sets).

- About the complicated camera move planned for the kiss scene: the plan was to have a moving 360 shot to highlight the fact that Aziraphale and Crowley are at the centre and everything around them is spinning. But the performance was simply so amazing that they didn’t want to take away from that with a fancy camera move so they decided to keep it simple. He also explains that the kiss is an example of something simple that works beautifully. The lighting was done on purpose.

- With season 2 it was possible to control the weather (scene where Crowley creates a storm). The change in weather also contributed to show a change in mood (Aziraphale’s, for instance, with bright and shiny weather when he’s happy).

- His favourite sets are the magic shop (full of wonderful props and tricks), the bookshop (designed to be the loveliest bookshop in London) and the Dirty Donkey pub.

- When it comes to do things on camera vs in post production: they tried to do as much as possible on camera (Hell was mostly on camera). Scenes looking down the street or Heaven are made/adjusted in post-production.

- About the minisodes: Neil and Douglas wanted them to be as different as possible from present day so that they would be their own self contained thing. To show that they used different camera lenses were (anamorphic lenses). The minisode with Job had a religious painting aspect, the 1827 Scotland one had a gothic/foggy aspect and the Blitz one was meant to be the epitome of film noir.

- The colours in S2 look more vibrant because they used a different camera system that captures more light and higher resolution. It’s also a result of post production colour grading.

@neil-gaiman

#good omens #good omens 2 #Gavin Finney #the ineffable con #it’s ineffable angel

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balo-badartist · 3 months ago

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HFDOSN OMG YOUR ART IS SO LOVELY!!

I was wondering if you have any tips to rendering or the way you pick colours?? It's something I struggle with and yours are so vibrant and full of life!

HII I’m actually so happy to answer ur question! I work at the studio I took art classes at to help highschool kids learn the basics to art, so I love teaching a bit of art!!

Mind you, I’m still a younger artist, and I still have a lot to learn. And this is only talking about my style and my tastes! Make sure to look at how the true masters do it too! (My favorite master artists are Redum4, Octahooves, and Matchach on Twitter)

When it comes to rendering, values, and color, it’s all about balance and contrast.

For rending, (at least for my style) it’s all about lost and found edges. Balancing lost edges vs soft edges. Smooth vs textured, harsh vs porcelain.

In my style, I see rendering as a way to convey character and mood. Lost edges equals softness and grace. Found edges equals harshness and severity.

I utilize lost and found edges in this way! In other words, if you ignore balance (such as utilizing many found edges and hardly any lost edges) then give it a narrative/mood reason, I say! :3

But in terms of the basics, lost edges means a smooth surface, a smooth transition from light to dark (or transition of color). While found edges suggests a harsh transition from light to dark. ALSO and probably most importantly when it comes to edges in rendering: Found edges reels the eye in, creating focus. Lost edges typically lose the eye, creating a rest for our eyes. It’s important to balance them for these reasons too!

For colors, it’s all about THE GRAYS. (Ironically enough!) The basics of my coloring method can be described via this sphere:

Basically, a highly saturated color can only have its high saturation in the spotlight BECAUSE the gray tones make it pop by giving the eyes a break period saturation wise. All about contrast!

As you can see, I differentiate the colors and saturations by values. My shadows are deeply saturated, typically warm. (It’s more typical to make the lighter area warm and the shadows cool! But I find that vibrancy comes easier if you desaturated the light, make it colder, and really PUMP UP the saturation and heat in the shadows.) And the areas lit up are typically cooler and have hints of gray in them! This is great for conveying strong direct light (which is typical in my style), and it makes it look as if the light is so powerful it seeps through their skin. You can see how I do this in some of my work, I typically exaggerate these qualities in skin!

You can also do this especially well for skin with melanin!

This also works especially well digitally, because saturation and value works in tangent in the color square! Pure white has no saturation, and the more saturation you add to pure white (the further right you go on the color square) the more value you get.

The use of grays are the most important thing when it comes to vibrancy, in my opinion! Too much saturation is, well, too much. Again, you can disregard this rule if you have a reason for it. Such as a high energy mood or overstimulation you’re trying to convey! Or desaturated to convey coldness, stillness, etc.

Anyways, I hope this made sense! (And sorry about it being more of an info dump than tip-giving >w<) If anyone wants clarification on anything, feel free to ask me in the comments! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

#artists on tumblr #art help #art tips #coloring tips #rendering

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baeksqt · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌 — elisa de almeida

elisa de almeida x fem!reader

(a/n: heyy its been a while ~(>_<~) I thought I would be more active in the summer but idk what happened there as I had this sitting in my drafts for sooo long, I hope you enjoyed this piece luvvies (¯ ³¯)♡)

word count: 1305

genre: fluff/angst

summary: a holiday with elisa allows her to open up.

Elisa had always been captivated by the beach, with its golden sands and the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore. However, while she relished the serenity of sunbathing and the occasional stroll along the coastline, the adrenaline-fueled world of surfing didn’t quite resonate with her as much as it did with you. During your getaway to the Maldives with Elisa and a few close friends, the days unfolded in a gentle rhythm.

You explored vibrant local markets, immersing yourself in the rich culture and vibrant colours of handcrafted goods and aromatic street food. Together, you ventured to breathtaking viewpoints, marvelling at the stunning turquoise waters and lush tropical landscapes. Despite her reservations about surfing, you often tried to coax Elisa into the warm ocean breeze, hoping to share the thrill of catching a wave with her.

Now, on this sun-drenched beach with the sun blazing high in the sky, you found yourself standing over Elisa as you stuck two surfboards into the sand, captivated by the way her bronze skin shimmered under the warm light filtering through your sunglasses. She squinted in the brightness, her brows knitting together as she mumbled softly to herself, momentarily puzzled by what was casting a shadow over her sunbathing spot.

“Ma belle,” Elisa began, her tone playful as she leaned back, the sun illuminating her radiant smile. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing bright eyes that sparkled with mischief. “As much as I adore you and consider you the very light of my life,” she continued, a teasing grin spreading across her face, “you’re going to ruin my tan.” Her gaze met yours, a hint of challenge glimmering in her eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile at her corny charm, a mix of fondness and amusement washing over you. “We leave in just two days, and you still haven’t taken the plunge into the waves with me,” you retorted, pouting slightly, the playful banter dancing between you like the summer breeze.

“It's just not my thing, mon amour.” Elisa stood up, her voice laced with a hint of apology as she felt the familiar pang of guilt creeping in for avoiding the surfboards propped in the sand. The sun glinted off the water, inviting and tantalizing.

“You had no problem getting on the jet ski yesterday, though,” you pointed out, your tone playful but edged with a bit of frustration. You could still envision the way her laughter had danced on the wind while zipping across the water, the adrenaline painting her cheeks with colour.

“Well,” she hesitated, her brows knitting together as she contemplated the potential hazards of surfing, “what if I wipe out and the board hits me? I could end up with a concussion!” Her eyes widened as she imagined the worst-case scenario, the apprehension evident in her posture.

“Firstly,” you replied, arching an eyebrow and giving her an incredulous look, “do you forget that I do this for a living? I’ve seen it all!” You leaned closer, hoping to reassure her. “Secondly, the waves here aren’t rough at all. They’re gentle, perfect for beginners! I wouldn’t just toss you into the water without a proper lesson from moi.” You emphasized “moi” with a playful flourish, landing a kiss on her pink lips, and transferring your watermelon chapstick, hoping to lighten the mood.

Elisa bit her lip, still uncertain, but you could see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes, battling with her fears.

Elisa stood at the water's edge, her smile illuminated by the sun as she watched the gentle waves lap at her feet, the cool saltwater glistening on her skin. Yet, despite the serene setting, a flicker of apprehension danced in her eyes. "We won't venture far," you reassured her, your voice steady and warm. "We’ll just paddle and cruise along the shore. You’ll be perfectly fine, I promise. Just follow my lead." You offered a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, hoping to instil a sense of calm.

With a determined breath, you dashed into the inviting embrace of the ocean, feeling the refreshing rush of saltwater envelop your board. As you lay flat on your surfboard, you glanced back to check on Elisa. To your relief, her expression had transformed; the worry had faded, replaced by a newfound sense of tranquillity. She was right beside you now, ready to embrace the waves.

You both glide further from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the boards harmonizing with the gentle whispers of the ocean breeze. As you find your balance and sit up on your board, the salty air wraps around you like a familiar embrace. Your gaze sweeps across the horizon, where the vibrant colours of the sky blend seamlessly with the island’s silhouette, its lush greenery and rugged cliffs standing proudly against the shimmering blue backdrop. Each breath fills your lungs with the briny scent of the sea, heightening your senses as you take in the stunning view.

Elisa’s voice sliced through the quiet rhythm of your thoughts as she glided effortlessly alongside you in the shimmering water. “You know,” she began, her tone laced with vulnerability, “after the Olympics, I found myself questioning my place on the squad.” She stared down at the rippling surface, her legs creating gentle waves that danced around her. “It’s been constant miss after miss, year after year, and when the moment finally came at a home Olympics, it felt surreal.”

You nodded, empathy rising within you as you observed Elisa’s averted gaze, her thoughts seemingly lost in the depths of the water. Before you could express your support, she pressed on, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’m so grateful to have been part of it all, to be called up to the team. It just feels…” She paused, finally meeting your gaze, the concern mirrored in her eyes. “…exhausting.” The weight of her words hung in the air, a testament to the mental toll of her journey.

“Why didn't you tell me this in August?” you asked, your fingers resting gently on her firm thigh, your gaze searching her eyes for some kind of understanding.

Elisa's expression shifted to one of disbelief as her voice rose in protest. “You came back from Tahiti with a silver medal hanging proudly around your neck!” she exclaimed, the shock evident in her tone. “Who was I to let my misery overshadow your moment of triumph?”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, a pang of regret tightening in your chest as you both reflected on the whirlwind of emotions over the past couple of months. You were acutely aware of Elisa’s lingering discontent regarding the team's performance at the Olympics, but you had never fathomed she might start doubting her abilities.

You both lay on your surfboards in peaceful silence as the sun hung low in the sky, where the sound of seagulls occasionally punctuated the calm atmosphere. The gentle rhythm of small waves, with each ebb and flow, gradually brought you closer back to the soft beachfront.

Elisa settled down beside you on the warm, golden sand, a soft towel draped over her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer as the gentle sound of wave crashes filled the air. “You should really make me surf more,” she said, her voice playful yet serious. The sun cast a warm glow over her face, highlighting the sparkle in her eyes.

“It’s soothing when you seek solace,” you chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the waves. Your gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the tide retreated, leaving a glistening trail along the shore. “But please, don’t hold back. Share anything that weighs on your heart.” Your voice was earnest, a tender plea born from the depths of your concern.

#elisa de almeida #elisa de almeida imagine #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader #baeksqt writes

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doodle-pops · 3 months ago

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Drunken Autumn Nights

Fingon x reader

A/N: Some fluff for a change instead of my usual October content. I was in the mood for lots of cozy autumn fluff this time of year. So, to start Flufftober, have some Fingon. Enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, intoxication (drunk reader), humour

Words: 2.1k

Synopsis: The best way to spend autumn nights when your beloved was free of duties, was to give him an impromptu (drunken) task.

The evening had settled with a soft breeze that rustled the vibrant leaves, painting the world in shades of burnt orange, deep red, and gold. Fingon and you had chosen the quiet seclusion of a small forest clearing, far from the demands of his duties as Crown Prince. The air was crisp, biting just enough to be refreshing, but not so cold that it chased you indoors. A perfect autumn evening, really—where the natural beauty of Arda was at its finest, and the skies had only just begun to darken with the twilight.

You had both brought a few bottles of wine along, eager to unwind after a particularly long stretch of obligations that Fingon had been forced to endure. He had been working tirelessly, and the chance to escape into nature was a rare one. So here you were, seated on a blanket in the soft grass, bottles uncorked and laughter already in the air. Fingon poured another glass, watching the liquid swirl before he handed it to you with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling beneath his dark, braided hair.

At first, the conversation had been light—about the trees and how their leaves looked like flames against the sky. About Fingon’s recent duties and how he felt relief now that he could spend time away from court. But as the night grew older and the wine flowed more freely, something began to shift.

You were laughing at something Fingon had said—something about how Maglor once tried to compose an entire song about leaves, and it somehow ended up being a dirge for lost love. “He’s so dramatic,” Fingon chuckled, his smile widening as he glanced at you. “I swear, if he could write a tragic ballad about his morning tea, he would.”

But you weren’t really listening anymore. Not properly, anyway. The warmth of the wine had begun to work its magic, wrapping you in a pleasant haze where everything felt a little softer, a little funnier. You leaned back, gazing up at the sky that was now peppered with stars, and took another long sip from your glass. Fingon’s voice was still in the background, but your thoughts were wandering, losing focus, drifting like the leaves that tumbled gently from the trees.

“Fingon,” you said after a moment, your voice just a little too loud and slurred at the edges. “Did you know…did you know that leaves…they fall because they’re trying to run away from trees?”

He blinked and glanced over at you with a bemused smile. “Run away? Is that so?”

You nodded, as if you had just revealed some great secret of the universe. “Yes. Yes, they’re done with the whole tree business. They’re like, ‘Nope. I’m out of here.’ And then—” You made a dramatic hand gesture that sent some of the wine from your glass sloshing onto the grass. “—they just drop, you know? Just…they’re free.”

Laughing, Fingon set his glass aside as he leaned back on his hands, watching you with clear amusement. “I had no idea you were such an expert on leaves.”

“Well, now you do,” you said, leaning forward as if to share something even more important. “And, and the pumpkins…do you know why we carve them?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, trying to hold back another laugh.

“It’s to scare away the spirits of all the pies we didn’t make last year,” you said with utmost seriousness. “They’re vengeful. That’s why they’re orange. It’s the colour of rage.”

At this point, Fingon was openly laughing with his head thrown back, the sound rich and warm in the crisp night air. You, however, were utterly lost in your own world of autumnal conspiracy. “And the hay bales! Oh, don’t even get me started on those. They’re…they’re a trap for the woodland creatures. But they’re too clever. They know. That’s why you never see any animals near hay bales. Only humans fall for that trick.”

With all your enthusiasm for conspiracies, Fingon had shifted closer to you, his gaze soft but still amused as he took in your increasingly incoherent ramblings. “You’re quite the scholar tonight, aren’t you?” he teased affectionately.

“Of course,” you said, finishing off your glass of wine with a flourish. “I know all the secrets of autumn.”

The wine had hit you hard by this point, your thoughts growing more tangled with every passing moment. You tried to stand up, but your legs wobbled beneath you, and before you knew it, he was at your side, his hands gently guiding you back down to the blanket. “Easy now,” he murmured, his laughter still lingering on his lips. “I don’t think you’re in any state to be walking around.”

You pouted and rested your head against his shoulder as your body felt heavy and warm. “But I wanted to dance with the ghosts,” you muttered, your words slurring together.

Fingon raised an eyebrow. “Dance with the ghosts?”

“They’re here. Watching us. Waiting…” You waved your hand dramatically at the trees, your voice taking on a ghostly tone. “Ooooooooh, they want to join our fun.”

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you, he chuckled at your statement. “I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight.”

You frowned. “But what about the spirits? You can’t just ignore them, Finno. That’s how they get you.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for them,” he promised as humour danced in his eyes. “No spirits are getting to you while I’m around.”

As if weighing the sincerity of his words, you squinted up at him. After a moment, you seemed satisfied and leaned further into him with a contented sigh. “Good. Because I’d hate to be taken by a ghost during the best part of autumn.”

Fingon smiled down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Of course. I wouldn’t let that happen.” Watching as you settled back onto the grass, your thoughts drifting along with the gentle flow of the brook. The night was growing cooler now, but the warmth of the flask still lingered in your veins, keeping you comfortable as you continued to mumble incoherently about leaves, stars, and whatever else your mind latched onto.

Fingon shifted slightly, pulling his cloak around himself as he kept an eye on you, making sure you didn’t attempt any more dangerous feats. He had grown accustomed to your antics over the years, and while he knew he’d likely have to deal with the aftermath of your intoxicated state in the morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the absurdity of it all.

“You know what else is spooky?” you muttered with your eyes half closed as you lay on the grass, your voice a little more sluggish now as the effects of the alcohol weighed down your limbs.

“What else is spooky?” Fingon asked, clearly humouring you as he shifted to sit more comfortably against the tree, his gaze still trained on you with a mix of amusement and fondness.

“The moon,” you mumbled, as if you had just revealed some great cosmic secret. “It’s always watching. But not like…the stars. The stars are nice. The moon is…suspicious.”

“Suspicious, you say? And why is that?” he chocked as he attempted to bit back a laugh bubbling in his throat.

You struggled to sit up again, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated as you pointed a wobbly finger at the sky. “It just hangs there, all big and bright, but it never says anything. Always just…lurking.”

“Lurking,” he repeated, nodding solemnly, though his lips were twitching with barely concealed laughter. “I see.”

You waved your arms dramatically, nearly losing your balance as you did so. “Exactly! One day…one day it’s going to do something. I’m telling you. We need to keep an eye on it.”

Before you could topple over completely, he reached out to steady gently. “I’ll be sure to keep watch,” he said, his voice gentle and amused.

Satisfied that he had taken your warning seriously, you gave a drunken grin. “Good. Someone has to. You never know when the moon might make its move.”

With a soft sigh, you finally allowed yourself to flop back onto the grass, your body sinking into the cool earth as the last remnants of daylight faded away, leaving the sky a deep, velvety blue. Fingon watched you for a moment, the smile still playing on his lips as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the growing chill.

Despite your increasingly ridiculous ramblings, there was something endearing about seeing you so carefree, so lost in your own drunken thoughts. He rarely saw you this unguarded, and though you’d surely regret the amount of alcohol you’d consumed come morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the peaceful, if slightly absurd, moment.

You turned your head to look at him again, blinking slowly as if it took a great effort to focus. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?” you slurred, a lazy grin spreading across your face. “Always looking out for me…and listening to my nonsense.”

Fingon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say it’s nonsense. It’s certainly…creative.”

“I’m a genius,” you declared, raising a finger as if to emphasise your point. “A visionary. No one understands the moon like I do.”

Fingon raised an eyebrow, smiling. “A visionary, are you? Perhaps you should write a treatise on the subject.”

You gasped, as if the idea had never occurred to you before. “Yes! I’ll write a book. ‘The Suspicious Moon and Other Spooky Things.’ It’ll be a bestseller.”

“I have no doubt it will be,” Fingon said with a grin, unable to suppress the warmth that bubbled up in his chest at the sight of you, so thoroughly convinced of your own brilliance in this inebriated state.

The night deepened around you both, the woods growing quieter as the last of the birds settled for sleep, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound that accompanied the gentle trickle of the brook. Fingon leaned his head back against the tree, his gaze fixed on the sky where the stars now sparkled in full force, the moon casting a silvery glow over the landscape.

Beside him, you had fallen into a more subdued state, your drunken ramblings slowing as your body grew heavier with exhaustion. Fingon could tell you were nearing the point of falling asleep where you lay, and as much as he enjoyed the peacefulness of the evening, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to let you sleep out here in the open.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice low but gentle, “it might be time to head back. The moon may be suspicious, but it’s getting cold.”

You groaned in response, rolling over onto your stomach with a grumble. “Don’t wanna move.”

Fingon sighed softly, though his tone remained patient. “If you stay out here, you’ll be regretting it in the morning even more than you already will.”

With a great deal of effort, you pushed yourself halfway up, your head spinning as you tried to find your balance. Fingon was quick to help, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you as you swayed on your feet. As much as he knew you’d be feeling the effects of your little adventure in the morning, for now, there was a quiet contentment that settled over him, a rare sense of peace that came from knowing you were both safe, happy, and—for the moment at least—free from the worries of the world.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the trees. The night air was cool, but not unpleasant, and as the two of you walked together beneath the watchful gaze of the “suspicious” moon, Fingon couldn’t help but smile.

Despite the silliness of the evening, despite your nonsensical ramblings about leaf spirits and conspiratorial celestial bodies, there was something undeniably perfect about the moment. It was a brief respite from the weight of responsibility, a chance to simply enjoy each other’s company without the pressures of duty or the looming shadow of the future.

And for Fingon, that was more than enough.

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#「 ✦ mina’s flufftober ✦ 」#house of fingolfin #fingon x reader #fingon imagine #fingon fluff #fingon scenario #fingon #silmarillion fic #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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slut4evanpeters · 2 months ago

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Lets Groove Tonight

kit walker x reader

song i recommend listening too: i want your love by chic

warnings: mention of alcohol, suggestive dancing? not really though! reader is mentioned to be a "lady" and female pro nouns are mentioned. lots of build up cuz again.... im a slut for a backstory KIND CORNY.

word count: 4.5k

notes: yes yes i know kits timeline is in the 60s but i mean.... what would it hurt to put him in the 70s🤫 i thought of this while writing a waren lipka club fic and i was like..... KIT + 70S + DISCO = FUCKING HOT! and i apologize for how clunky this is ya girl is TIRED.

Ahh yes, the 1970. The year of the disco scene, the decade of bold colors, high fashion, and music that pulsed through your veins. It was all alive around you, vibrant and daring, and somehow, you were right in the middle of it.

So here you are, seated at the wooden vanity that your husband, Kit Walker, had crafted for you with his own hands. Each detail of it was unmistakably his work, the smooth, polished surface, the sturdy frame, and the slight scent of cedar that lingered as you leaned in closer to the mirror. Warm light glowed softly across the room, catching the soft, coiled strands of your hair as you adjusted them. The pin curls sat tight and meticulous, framing your face with a precision that took effort but looked effortless.

You focus on your reflection as you apply the last touches of your makeup, finishing off the look you’d spent the evening carefully crafting. You sweep a vibrant teal eyeshadow across your lids, letting the pigment stand out against your skin, shimmering in that daring, unapologetic way that only 70s fashion could. You smile at the final effect, a flash of color that catches the light every time you blink. Finally, you glide on a layer of nude lipstick, pressing your lips together to set the look—a perfectly balanced mix of bold and understated.

Taking a deep breath, you reach up and slowly pull each pin from your hair. The curls unfurl one by one, cascading around your shoulders in voluminous waves. You fluff them gently with your fingers, marveling at the soft, touchable texture that’s equal parts glamorous and natural. To complete the look, you slip on a simple white headband, tucking it back behind your ears and pushing the loose waves away from your face. The band sits perfectly in place, giving your style that effortless, carefree touch.

As a finishing touch, you reach for your Aqua Net hairspray and give a few even spritzes, holding the can at a practiced angle to ensure each curl holds without stiffness. The familiar scent fills the air as you watch your reflection take shape, your hair settling into soft, bouncy waves that will last well into the night.

You stand up from the vanity, taking one last look in the mirror to admire the final result. The gleam of teal eyeshadow, the soft waves, and the vintage headband all come together perfectly, embodying that effortless, chic vibe you’ve been craving. You smooth your hands down the front of your makeup-stained robe, then cross the room to the closet you share with Kit. As you open the door, your fingers glide over the colorful array of fabrics inside, each one a piece of the vibrant spirit that fills your life.

Your hand pauses on a bell sleeve mini dress, a shimmering piece of cream coloured fabric with a floral pattern woven into the material. The sleeves are long and flowy and the skirt has just the right amount of swing, giving it that playful, flirty edge that fits the mood of the night. You lift it from the hanger and step carefully into it, sliding the dress up over your hips, letting the fabric settle softly against your skin.

Just as you slip your arms into the airy, loose sleeves, you feel a warm presence behind you, a familiar touch that sends a shiver down your spine before you even turn around. Kit’s hands rest gently on your waist, and he leans close, his breath warm against your neck.

“Hey, suga’,” he murmurs, his voice low, tinged with a hint of mischief. You can hear the smirk in his words, and the sound alone is enough to make you smile. “Need some help with that?”

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with a grin. “Yes, actually, Kit. Could you please zip me up?”

Kit’s hand slides up to find the zipper, his fingers grazing the small of your back. He takes his time, zipping the dress slowly, letting the fabric hug your form as he draws it up inch by inch. Just when you think he’s done, Kit presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and then another, his lips warm and soft against your skin. His touch is slow, lingering, as if savoring the moment with each kiss he leaves along the curve of your spine.

His hands rest on your shoulders as he finishes, giving them a gentle squeeze before he steps back, admiring his handiwork. “There you go, darlin’. Lookin’ like a dream.” His voice is low, thick with warmth, and his gaze travels over you with a blend of pride and adoration.

“Thank you, you’re an angel, Mr. Walka’,” you say with a playful lilt, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin is warm under your lips, and a slight grin spreads across his face as he watches you glide past him. You feel his gaze on you, that familiar, gentle heat, as you make your way out of the room.

At the front door, you reach down to grab your knee high white platform boots, admiring their pristine shine. The boots are perfect, capturing a daring vibe that’s made for a night like this. You slip each one on carefully, adjusting the fit and feeling the slight lift they give you. The smooth leather feels snug against your legs, accentuating the line of your calves, while the glossy finish gleams under the soft lighting. Once they’re on, you stand up, feeling a whole new level of confidence as you balance on the chunky heels.

Kit reaches for the door, his fingers wrapped around the handle, and with a smooth, gentlemanly gesture, he opens it wide for you. “Ladies first,” he says, voice warm and teasing as he dips his head slightly, holding the door as if he’s unveiling something grand.

You grin and step outside, feeling the cool evening air wrap around you, your dress swishing around your mid thighs as you walk. He follows you out, and the two of you stroll together, his hand finding the small of your back, guiding you toward his red truck parked under a tree. The truck has a certain charm, its deep crimson paint shining under the glow. When you reach it, he’s already ahead of you, opening the passenger door with a little flourish.

With a laugh, you hop up onto the seat, the soft interior fabric a comforting contrast to the cool night air. Kit closes the door gently behind you, his face lighting up as he circles around to the driver’s side. He climbs in, settles into his seat, and starts the engine, the gentle rumble filling the quiet of the street.

As he pulls away, the radio crackles to life, and “Heart of Glass” by Blondie fills the vehicle, the familiar bass line vibrating through the seats. You can’t help but start to sing, belting out every lyric with a confidence that only the two of you in the truck could hear. You sway in your seat to the beat, letting the music take over, glancing over at him as he watches you with a smile that reaches his eyes.

You look to the side, propping yourself up over the middle console just enough to reach him, and press a sweet kiss to his cheek, feeling the slight stubble under your lips. His hand reaches over instinctively, finding yours and giving it a quick squeeze, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand.

Finally, the neon lights of the disco club come into view, casting a rainbow of colors over the street. The parking lot is buzzing, the bass from inside thumping faintly even from here, and you can already feel the excitement pulsing through you. Kit pulls into a spot, shifts the truck into park, and turns to you, a twinkle in his eye, like he’s just as ready for this night as you are.

You step out of the truck, feeling the buzz of excitement as the neon lights from the club reflect off the polished white leather of your boots. Kit slides an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walk toward the entrance. The bass from the club’s sound system pulses through the doors, thudding in time with your heartbeat. Kit flashes a grin at you, his own excitement mirroring yours.

As soon as you step inside, the club’s energy hits you in waves. Multicolored lights swirl overhead, flashing across the dance floor packed with bodies moving in perfect rhythm, their sequins, bell-bottoms, and feathered hair catching the strobe lights. The air is heavy with the scent of hairspray, perfume, and a hint of leather and smoke, mingling with the beat of the club

Kit gives your waist a little squeeze, leaning in close to shout over the music, “Gonna start the night off with somethin’ strong? White Russian for the lady, right?”

You nod with a grin. “You know it, babe. Let’s do this right.”

The two of you make your way to the bar, Kit’s hand never leaving your hip. You feel his warmth even in the cool air of the club, grounding you amid the frenzy. He leans across the counter and orders with his signature Boston charm, flashing a confident smile. “White Russian for her, whiskey for me, pal.”

Moments later, the bartender hands over your drinks, and you take a long, slow sip of your cocktail. The mix of cream, vodka, and coffee liqueur slides over your tongue, rich and smooth. Kit watches you, his eyes alight with amusement as he takes a swig of his whiskey.

“Tastes good, huh?” he teases, leaning in close.

“Mmm, perfect,” you say, licking a trace of cream from your lip, giving him a playful look. “Now let’s see if you got the moves to keep up with me, Mr. Walker.”

He laughs, a low sound that mixes with the beat of the music, and takes your hand, leading you toward the dance floor. The opening beats of I Want Your Love by Chic filter through the speakers, and the room seems to come alive in time with the rhythm. People on the floor cheer, spinning in wide circles, hands raised as the song’s bass line rolls out in waves.

Kit moves behind you, his hands slipping onto your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel his warm breath at your ear as he murmurs, “Show me whatcha got, darlin’.”

With a grin, you start to sway to the beat, slipping effortlessly into the classic disco moves. You stretch one arm out, fingers pointed, before pulling it back in, letting your hips sway side to side in sync with the music. Kit’s hands stay firmly on your waist, guiding you, his thumbs grazing over your hips as he sways along with you. The two of you move as one, sinking into the rhythm of the song as it fills the room. You throw your arms up in the air, fingers snapping to the beat, feeling the pulse of the music flow through you.

Kit chuckles, leaning in close to your ear, his voice thick, “Ya look like a million bucks out here, baby. Like ya were born for this.”

You laugh, pressing back against him, feeling his solid presence behind you. “Maybe I was, Kit,” you say, flashing him a playful look over your shoulder. “Ya got the moves to keep up?”

“Oh, I got moves,” he replies, his grin turning a bit cocky. His hands tighten on your waist, and he pulls you even closer, his hips swaying in perfect rhythm with yours.

The chorus kicks in, and you spin around to face him, throwing your arms over his shoulders as you sway together. Kit grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the lights above flashing in his dark eyes. He’s got that look of pure joy, the kind you only see when he’s completely in the moment.

“Damn, baby, you’re somethin’ else,” he says, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

You toss your hair back, giving him a wink.

"Right back atcha, handsome." His eyes glint with something deeper as he gazes down at you, that grin slipping into something softer, more intense, that pulls you in closer.

The music pulses around you both, like it's part of you now, a beat that syncs with your heart. Kit's hands slide up your sides, his fingers skimming over the soft fabric of your dress. You shiver under his touch, feeling every gentle pressure as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer until there's hardly any space left between you.

You look up into his eyes, the colored lights flashing above casting shadows that make his gaze even more mesmerizing. His face is just inches from yours, and you feel his breath, warm and slow, against your cheek. He leans in, and you can see the slight smile on his lips as his hand moves to the small of your back, guiding you in a slow, sultry sway to the rhythm of the music. You press yourself against him, letting him lead you, feeling his solid warmth, the gentle press of his body against yours.

Your hands find their way up to his chest, fingers lightly tracing the edges of his collar as you take in the texture of his shirt, the steady beat of his heart beneath it. His hands tighten on your waist, holding you like he doesn't want to let go, and his head dips down toward you, his lips brushing softly against your cheek. It's barely a kiss, more of a tease, his lips grazing your skin as his hands slide down your back.

You feel your heart race, each beat quickening in time with the music. The world around you blurs, the swirling lights, the heat of the crowded room. All of it fades away until there's nothing but you and Kit, caught in this intoxicating dance. His mouth moves to your ear, his voice a low murmur that sends a thrill down your spine.

"Ya know, I could dance with you like this all night," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Makin' everyone here jealous as hell."

You smile, tilting your head to meet his eyes, your hand slipping up to cup his cheek. "Good. Let 'em be jealous." Your voice is soft but daring, and his smile widens at your words.

Without another word, he leans in, his lips finally pressing against yours. The kiss is slow, unhurried, like he's savoring every second. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he pulls you even closer, deepening the kiss. The music fills the spaces between you, heightening every sensation, every touch. You feel the strength in his arms, the steady way he holds you, grounding you and setting you alight all at once.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of his body against yours. The crowd around you seems to fade entirely, the music a distant pulse as he presses his forehead against yours, catching his breath, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek.

"You're somethin' else, ya know that?" he murmurs, his voice thick with feeling, his gaze locked onto yours, as if he's seeing something in you that no one else ever has.

You bite your lip, barely able to keep the smile from spreading across your face.

"Guess you bring it out of me."

With a grin, he spins you around, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back against him, moving with you in time to the beat.

You laugh, the sound light and free, and he leans down, his lips brushing your shoulder, sending a shiver through you. You sway together, moving as one, his hands guiding you in slow circles, as though he's afraid to break the spell.

As the song's beat pulses on, you let yourself sink into him, feeling his breath, his touch, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. You close your eyes, allowing the moment to consume you completely, each note of the song carrying you both deeper into a connection that feels as electric as the music filling the room.

The night at the club felt like magic, like stepping into a different world. But now, as you and Kit step out into the cool night air, there’s a different kind of warmth between you. A quiet, lingering happiness that’s somehow just as bright as the flashing lights and thumping beats of the club.

Kit’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close as you make your way back to his truck. The music from the club fades as the door swings shut behind you, leaving just the sound of your laughter and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Kit’s fingers give your side a little squeeze, and he glances over, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights.

“Didn’t know ya had moves like that, darlin’,” he teases, that playful Boston drawl coming through thick and warm.

You laugh, leaning into him as you walk. “Thought I’d surprise ya. And you, Mr. Walker, I had no idea you were such a smooth dancer.”

“Yeah? Well, I do my best,” he says with a grin, reaching out to open the passenger door for you. “Hop on in, Mrs. Walker.”

You slide into the seat, a smile lingering on your lips as he shuts the door gently behind you. A second later, he’s in the driver’s seat, settling in and giving you a quick, happy look before starting the engine. The gentle rumble fills the truck, and Kit reaches over, finding your hand with his and giving it a soft squeeze.

The drive home is quiet, the streets empty, and the only light is from the streetlamps casting a soft glow over everything. Kit keeps one hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small circles over your knuckles. The radio hums softly, playing a familiar, gentle tune. A perfect backdrop to the night.

Kit glances over, catching your eye, his smile tender. “Ya had a good time, sweetheart?”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return. “Perfect night. You, me, a little disco… Couldn’t ask for anything better.”

“Yeah?” He lets out a soft chuckle, looking back to the road. “Well, I’ll have to take ya dancin’ more often. You light up that floor, ya know?”

You lean your head against the seat, watching him with a soft smile. “Only ‘cause you’re there with me.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes warm and deep, like he’s memorizing every detail of you in this moment. “Darlin’, you got no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough around the edges, softened by affection. “Every time I look at ya, I just feel… lucky.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, and you feel yourself blush a little under his gaze. “Kit, I’m the lucky one,” you say softly, your fingers lacing even tighter through his.

“Yeah, well,” he replies, his grin turning a little sheepish, “maybe we’re both lucky, then.”

As you pull closer to home, Kit rolls down the window a bit, letting the night air sweep in. It’s fresh and cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside the truck, and the scent of pine and earth fills the air. You close your eyes for a second, breathing it in, feeling completely at peace.

Kit looks over, his face softened in the gentle moonlight, and reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Y’know,” he murmurs, “nights like this… they’re what I live for.”

You smile, your eyes meeting his. “Same here, babe. Just us. Nothing else.”

The truck rolls to a gentle stop in front of your shared house, and he cuts the engine. For a moment, neither of you move, just sitting there, soaking up the quiet, intimate warmth of the moment. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

Kit’s hand lingers on yours as he gently releases the seatbelt, his eyes catching yours in the soft, dim light. The world feels quiet, like it’s just the two of you wrapped in a bubble of peace and warmth. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your skin.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Let’s get ya inside.”

He slides out of the truck, circling around to your side in a few strides. Even after all this time, he always insists on opening the door for you, and tonight is no different. He pulls it open with a gentle smile, extending his hand to help you down from the seat. As your boots touch the ground, you can’t help but smile up at him, your fingers still laced in his.

The night air feels even cooler as it brushes over your skin, but Kit’s hand is warm. The two of you walk up the path to the house slowly, savoring each step, your fingers still intertwined. He holds you close as you make your way up the steps, the wooden porch creaking slightly underfoot, a familiar sound that makes home feel even cozier.

Kit pauses at the door, giving you a long, lingering look, his dark eyes shining with that deep affection you’ve seen in countless moments like this. He raises your joined hands to his lips, pressing another kiss to your knuckles. “Ya look real pretty tonight, ya know that?”

You smile, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Thank you, Kit. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckles, a quiet, content sound, and finally reaches for the door, opening it with a slow creak.

As you and Kit step through the front door, a calm stillness settles over the house. The warmth of your night together lingers between you, a gentle reminder of the fun and closeness you shared. Kit’s hand is steady at your waist as he guides you inside, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles.

Once you’re in the soft glow of the living room, he turns to you with a gentle smile. “Alright, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice soft with tenderness. “Let’s get ya comfy.”

Without another word, he kneels down in front of you, one hand sliding along the back of your calf as he reaches for the zipper of your boot. His fingers work slowly, careful not to rush, as though he’s savoring every little moment. When the first boot slides off, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the arch of your foot, then moves up to your ankle, leaving a trail of warm, soft kisses that send a shiver up your spine.

He looks up at you, a soft grin lighting up his face as he takes off the second boot. “Been lookin’ at these all night,” he teases, his voice low and playful. “Ya wear the hell outta these boots, but I’ll tell ya, they look even better comin’ off.”

You laugh softly, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. Kit stands, sliding his hands up to your waist, his fingers tracing over the fabric of your dress before he takes your hand and leads you down the hallway. You follow him, feeling a gentle anticipation as he brings you into the bathroom.

Once there, he turns to you, his gaze warm and focused. He reaches for a soft cloth, dampening it under warm water, and then brings it up to your face with a gentle touch. He starts wiping away your makeup, careful and precise, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek as he clears away the remnants of eyeshadow and lipstick. The warm cloth feels soothing against your skin, and his tender gaze never leaves your face.

As he works, he murmurs softly, his voice thick with affection. “Ya know, you’re somethin’ else. Didn’t need any of this to begin with,” he says, gesturing to the makeup he’s gently wiping away. “Just as beautiful as ya are. Hell, I’d say even more so.”

You smile, eyes soft as you watch him. “Flatterer,” you tease, but his words make you feel warm, like you’re wrapped in a soft glow that only he can give you.

Once he’s finished, he sets the cloth aside, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before gently guiding you out of the bathroom. His hands are steady on your shoulders as he leads you to the bedroom, his touch grounding, calming. He steps behind you, unzipping your dress with the same care he showed with the boots, sliding the fabric down over your shoulders and letting it pool softly around your feet.

He finds your favorite pair of pyjamas. A soft, worn set that’s seen countless cozy nights and slips the top over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves. Then he gently pulls the matching pants up your legs, his hands warm and careful as he helps you step into them, before smoothing the waistband comfortably against your hips.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice filled with quiet pride as he guides you toward the bed, pulling back the covers and tucking you in with a softness that melts your heart. He presses a quick, tender kiss to your forehead, his eyes lingering on you with an adoring smile.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, “just get settled. I’ll be right back.” He straightens, giving you one last look before heading back to the bathroom to finish getting ready himself.

You watch him go, feeling the warmth of his care still wrapped around you. A few moments later, he returns, his face fresh and hair slightly damp, and he slips into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulls the covers up around you both. He wraps an arm around you, and you feel his warmth spread across your back as he settles in close.

You turn to face him, resting your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm slips under your head, his fingers finding their way into your hair, gently twirling and stroking through the strands. His other hand rests against your back, drawing slow, soothing circles that send you into a deep, quiet peace.

“Ya know somethin’?” he murmurs, his voice a low, comforting rumble in your ear. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I mean that. Every damn day, I get to look at you, love you, be with you.”

You smile, nuzzling into his chest. “I love you too, Kit,” you whisper, feeling a deep, contented warmth settle in your chest.

He holds you close, his hand brushing gently through your hair as his voice grows softer, his words gentle. “That’s my girl… Just close those eyes, honey. I gotcha.” His hand continues its gentle, soothing motion, and the sound of his steady heartbeat lulls you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep.

#evan peters #evan peters x reader #american horror story #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker #kit walker fluff #evan peters x y/n #evan peters fluff #kit walker x y/n #kit walker x you #evan peters x you

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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ok i know it's a very specific request but can you PLEASE do a softish joel x reader where they've been partners for a while and they have a lil soft slow dance moment to Fooled Around and Fell In Love and then like.. smut. but like a softish, needy, primal sort of smut iykwim.. i just love soft joel and need more. thank you 🫡

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K], Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K], Animal [4K]

Summary: Joel’s birthday is coming up, but it isn’t something to celebrate.

Word Count: 3K.

CW: Sad, made me tear up at some points. Touches on trauma, references to gore and violence. A little artsy again. Joel feels guilty, oral (f receiving).

Tease: “Christ- I’ve been neglectin’ you, Darlin’. How could I neglect such a pretty thing?”

Brass clatters against the small wooden table beside the front door to your shared apartment, jolting you from your sleep. It's Joel's keys, and he hasn't set them down quietly to not disturb you– instead, choosing to discard them with the toss despite knowing it would make a racket.

Even in your hazy consciousness between the dreamworld and whatever the fuck this was, you had enough of an idea to understand that this was Joel's attempt to ask for help. His lack of improper communication was less about pride than stubbornness, refusing to share his pain, especially after the raging argument that had preceded him leaving the house without you.

“No, you will be staying here this time,” Joel ended his speech, explaining his next smuggling run with an admittance you hadn't heard him utter or even considered that you might hear.

"Wait-your going without me?" You ask with a scoff, expecting Joel to drop the funny joke. He's not laughing.

"I need to do this one alone," Joel insists, his voice forceful as though his decision wasn't up for debate.

You had fought with him quite loudly but not unnecessarily. You presented to him all the logical questions of what if. What if someone attacked him? What if he got hurt in the smuggling tunnels, and a stray quicker had wandered in? What if Robert and his lackeys attempted some payback for the deal that had gone wrong last week?

It had all fallen on deaf ears, Joel shouldering through the door and ignoring your yells of protest.

The shuffling of Joel's leather boots against the kitchen floor is a relief to you, indicating his safety. It also sparks an unpalatable feeling of guilt, one that settles in your stomach and curdles when you consider the reason Joel had been particularly standoffish recently.

While Joel fixes himself a whiskey, you rise from the sofa slowly in an attempt to avoid detection. You sneak a glimpse of him and find him invested in pouring the amber liquid into a chipped crystal glass. Hurrying, you use the moment of distraction to slink into your shared bedroom and make a point to avoid his gaze.

Calendars were a long-forgotten relic of the past in the Apocalypse. Who would waste precious paper that they could use for a map on something to track what day it was? Regardless, without knowing the date or even what month it was, you always know when Joel's birthday is coming up.

The days would get shorter, and the dying light of the sunset painted the clouds orange much earlier in the day. Leaves would begin their metamorphosis and fade from a vibrant evergreen to a muted, pale rust colour. They’d be littered with cracks and holes as if they were the bodies that lay slumped on the streets outside the QZ, chunks of flesh ripped from their muscles by the jaws of the infected. You were sure that the caterpillars that had no doubt left the shark-bite-like indentations in the green membrane were much less brutal.

And then there was Joel, his mood taking a brutal hit as the memories came flooding back of how he spent the final seconds of his twenty-sixth birthday clinging to his limp daughter's body and screaming into the blackness. He'd washed his hands of Sarah's blood almost two decades ago, but when he looked at his palms, they were still stained crimson.

See, Joel’s birthday was marred with death, so much so that it reeked of decay. How could it be a celebration of his life, of surviving another year, when the whole world, including his daughter, was slaughtered in the time it would have taken for the wax candles on his birthday cake to melt—had he remembered to buy it?

Of course, his forgetfulness had saved his life. The cake’s contents would have turned him into one of those things, scratching at the mossy walls of the quarantine zone with their long nails. However, you are confident that the regret of not picking up the cake box after work kept Joel awake at night as summer gave way to autumn, wondering if it would have been so much easier to succumb to the spores.

Sinking to your knees at the foot of the double bed, its threadbare sheets crumpled and pushed to one side, you duck your head beneath the wooden frame to search for an old cardboard box. So worn now, the seams were practically disintegrating. You take care as you pull it across the floorboards and dig around inside for something in particular.

It's a box of mementoes shared by you and Joel to protect the items that matter most to you. There were little pictures in frames of loved ones, items of great significance. If Joel worried he might lose his precious watch on a mission, he would often leave it here.

Gently fishing around, you finally find what you're looking for. With a delicate touch, you pull out a black cassette tape. It's dusty and unplayed for years. Across its surface lay small, holographic stickers that glint rainbow under the warm light of the bedroom. Their shapes consist of unicorns, clouds and tiny hearts, all strewn haphazardly across the black plastic surface.

The ink on the centre label is written in scratchy child's writing, the lettering large and bold until the opposite end, the letters trailing and squished to fit: To Daddy. Lots of love, Sarah and uncle Tommy xoxoxox.

Rising to your feet, you make your way into the living room. Joel has settled into the couch; his skull set back against the headrest with his whiskey resting in his lap. He opens one squinty eye when he hears your footfalls, watching you cross the living room floor to the window.

“What’re you doin’?” He mumbles, voice gruff and hoarse.

“It’s too quiet in here,” you admit, avoiding his question as you open the cassette player that lay beside the radio that Joel spent all day listening out for. You’d found the little player on a smuggling run in the city and had nearly been chomped on the arm by a runner for it. You were gonna damn well use it!

Joel's eyes burn into your shoulder blades as you swap the cassette tape inside the machine. You can hear whispers of his thoughts in the stagnant air. What is she doing? Why can't she leave me alone? Do I want her to leave me alone?

The tape feeds into the player and settles into its lot with a click. It rings out in the silent room, and it sounds like the safety catch of a gun switching off. You can almost feel how Joel tenses, his muscles primed for war.

Instead of a bullet ripping through the air, a light drumbeat trickles from the player's speakers. You carefully twist the sound dial, raising the volume so Joel can hear the percussion bleed into the guitar.

When you turn to face him, there’s this crack in the carefully cultivated mask your partner wears. A devastating pain flashes across Joel’s features and almost has you backpedalling, reaching across to the button that would cease the agonising sound of his past.

“No-“ Joel speaks up, his voice uncharacteristically emotional. You swear you hear a tremor in it, freezing your body in place when he clears his throat awkwardly as if to hide the ruin that the earthquake of emotions had surfaced. “No… I wanna hear it.”

You swallow thickly, making your way over to the slumped body of your partner as the honey-sweet voice of Elvin Bishop floats across the room. Joel’s emotions had rid him of what little energy he had left, his muscles slumped and body almost curling inwards to suppress whatever reaction threatened to spill out of him.

Taking a leap, a terrifying guess, you slowly pry the whiskey tumbler from his hand, the bronze-syrup liquid appearing as a thin film of gold in the bottom of the crystal glass. Gently, you set it aside, the quiet ‘tnk’ of the cup causing Joel’s body to jolt slightly. Always on red alert, even amid grief.

Your fingertips press into his pulse as your hands wrap around Joel’s sinewy wrists. He’s ageing, his hair greying and the skin above his veins lightly leathery to the touch, but his heartbeat is strong. It pulses heavily against your prints, screaming out just how alive he is when you drag him off the sofa.

Joel defies expectations. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t even groan in protest at the ache in his bones at having to stand again. Instead, he settles his head against your shoulder, wrapping his strong arms around you. He holds you so tight that your lungs wheeze in objection- but you don’t have it in you to complain because Joel sighs against your jugular, and it’s like the relief unwinds every rigid muscle in his body.

It can hardly be called dancing, but your body sways to the beat of the music like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. Joel seems to lose himself in the hypnotic oscillation, pressing delicate kisses across the skin of your throat and inhaling the gritty cologne of apocalyptic life that you wear. You can almost hear the infomercial; “Top notes of sweat-musk and smoke from burnt corpses, base notes containing earthy soil and the metallic tang of blood. Heart notes contain devastating grief and an underlying desire to curl in a ball and die to escape this hellscape.”

Slowly, you slide your fingers into the roots of Joel’s silvering hair. He leans into your touch, groaning softly at the comfort he finds in the swirl of your fingerprints, massaging his scalp. He’s so at peace that you barely even notice him whisper the lyrics into your skin, enchanting it with the baritone of his husky voice.

“Free on my own; that's the way I used to be. But since I met you, baby, love's got a hold on me,” he murmurs, barely following the tune with how quietly he hums each syllable. You cling to him, casting your eyes to the mossy ceiling and revelling in a moment of vulnerability that Joel hadn’t afforded you in months.

“That how it happened?” You ask him with a slight teasing lilt to your voice. You may imagine the feeling of a smile against your throat, the smooth enamel of his teeth brushing the thin flesh.

“Somethin’ like that,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your pulse point. You’re sure he feels it flutter. Joel was never a man of many words, and knowing him as long as you have, you could be certain he would rather blow his own brains out than admit to a fairytale ‘love at first sight’ moment. His answer was the closest thing you would get to a confirmation of guilt.

You can’t help but giggle at his refusal to expose the inside of his heart to you, yet simultaneously unable to conceal his obvious adoration. His breath tickles your cheek as he exhales the carbon dioxide from his lungs. You’d breathe it in, if you could, even if you suffocated on it. A piece of you wanted every part of Joel in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in your heart left behind by your losses. By your Sarah.

Perhaps he could feel that in you because Joel pulled away from your neck for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours in the closest thing to ‘affection’ that the brutal smuggler could muster. The tip of his aquiline nose brushes up the sloping bridge of your own before pressing a kiss to your lips. Tender at first, an inevitable hunger quickly surpasses Joel’s desire to ease you with delicate kisses and sweet nothings as Elvin Bishop croons the confession that you cannot pry from your partner.

“I fooled around and fell in love….”

-✩-

It’s miserable at first. Joel’s kissing you like he needs to swallow you down to numb the pain, like those little white pills he knocks back with a shot of whiskey when he thinks you’re not looking. You find him sprawled on the sofa some days, mumbling Sarah’s name in his sleep as tears stream down his cheekbones and into the sparse hair of his beard.

It takes you both a moment, but when your back hits the mattress, something sparks up inside Joel. He abandons his distress in the bedroom doorway, planting kisses up the length of your stomach and sternum as he slots his hips between your thighs.

“Fuck, Joel-!”

“I know,” he mumbles, licking a stripe across your bare chest and swirling the tip of his tongue around your hardening nipple. “I ain’t been as attentive to my Darlin as I shoulda been.”

You attempt to ease him down from his deprecation, to remind him he’s been suffering, but he grinds the length of his clothed cock against your weeping cunt, and it’s as though your mind stalls, your protests overridden by a sigh of relief.

“Mhmm, that’s it,” he whispers, feverish with a kind of emotional need that you rarely see in your usually animalistic sexual encounters. “That’s it.”

Joel yanks your cargo pants off your hips, hooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of the dirtied beige material to slip down your underwear too. He groans at the sight of your glistening pussy in the candlelight, sweeping his thumb through the slick mess between your folds and listening to the wet noise you make for him.

“Fuck,” he rasps, dragging the pad of his thumb over your clit and listening to you meek, watching your toes curl, “Christ, I’ve been neglectin’ you, Darlin’. How could I neglect such a pretty thing?”

“Joel, you’re hurti- Aghh-!”

You let out a strangled moan because Joel dips his face down and licks a hot stripe across the length of your cunt. It’s sloppy and desperate, and you feel the warmth of his exhale waft across your clit and spark hot embers deep in your abdomen.

Locks of Joel’s hair are wrapped tight around your trembling fingers, but Joel doesn’t relent. He drags his tongue against your throbbing clit, relishing how you taste and enjoying how the meat of your thighs muffle the music when they squeeze against his ears.

“Joel,” you beg him, voice needy and back arching against his ministrations. You want to touch him too, want to ease his own frustrations, but Joel approaches this like a punishment. He is serving time for abusing you like this, leaving you wanting beside him in bed due to what he believes is his own selfish actions in wallowing in his grief.

He lazily sinks his tongue into your entrance for a moment, lapping up more of the mess you leak across his face and groaning in delight at how your taste smothers him. He’d drown in it if you’d let him.

It takes you a moment, given he’s working you up into a frenzy, to note that Joel’s rutting his hips into the mattress in a feeble attempt to pleasure himself. He groans softly against your cunt, the vibrations stimulating you and tightening the coil settled deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Fu-uuuck, Joel-!” You keen his name, thighs thrown over his shoulders. The tip of his tongue dances slowly around the circumference of your clit once, twice, three times before swiping back and forth over it. Tears well in your eyes as he repeats the process, and you watch as the wetness on your lashes causes the image of his head between your thighs to reflect back at you like a kaleidoscope, fractured and duplicated and oh-so-beautiful.

“Mhmm,” Joel hums, his hands sliding up your ribs and squeezing at your breasts with his paws. His thumbs trace your nipples, and again your back is arching, your hips rutting against his chin and pushing your abused clit against his nose.

“Oh God, Oh God, that’s it-“ you’re telling him it feels good, but it sounds like you’re begging him to keep going, heels pushing into his back and dragging him impossibly closer to you. The aged, rotten, wooden frame of the bed creaks at your sloppy attempts to thrust against his mouth. You’re so tight, all wound up with the threat of an orgasm, and Joel is whispering against your cunt.

“Baby, come on,” he murmurs, using his thumb to swipe back and forth a little more rapidly against your clit as he eats you out, smearing your wetness over his lips and beard, “That’s it, Darlin’, that’s it.”

You wheeze out a version of his name that sounds foreign to your ears, slurring the single syllable as your orgasm blooms through you. It’s slow at first, creeping, but then it burns through you. It detonates like the bombs they dropped on Outbreak Day, devastating your nerve endings and crushing your body inwards. Joel continues to coax you through it with his tongue, and you’re feebly pushing his head away as it grows and grows, the peak seemingly nowhere in sight.

Finally, it subsides, Joel groaning loudly as he settles his head on your lower abdomen, still grinding his hips into the mattress like a schoolboy. You’re giggling through your heaving breaths, delirious thanks to the liquid warmth that settles in your bones.

“Oh fuck-“ you whisper, voice hoarse and broken from yelling out Joel’s name. He offers no vocal response, instead kissing at the junction where your thighs meet your pelvis.

The action means just as much as those three unspoken words.

END

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soundlesswind · 27 days ago

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Mononoke: Karakasa Review

Mononoke - Phantom in the Rain

Now that it's officially out globally, I can finally offer some thoughts and reflections on the long-awaited continuation of the cult-beloved Ayakashi/Mononoke series. My main tagline for this review can be summarized thusly:

I liked it...but it could have been better.

(~ not spoiler free, read at your own discretion ~)

Karakasa: Visually, it's a bang---structurally, it's a bomb. That about sums up how I feel about the movie overall. It's vibrant, beautiful, and full of intricate patterning and details, and is in a way: both a step up and a step down from the original.

...But what do I mean by that really? Well, I think we need to first highlight what makes Karakasa and Mononoke rather different.

Ayakashi/Mononoke has a much slower pacing, with slightly more muted, and washed-aesthetic tone despite its colourful designs. It shifts from being more colourful or more sombre depending on the type of scene it wants to depict. But even at its most saturated, it never gets quite as vibrant in contrast compared to Karakasa. ...However, you could say that may be in part due to the sheer difference in animation techniques developed over the course of nearly a decade between the two (2006/2007 vs 2024).

That isn't to say Karakasa doesn't have moments of dark imagery, but that even at its darkest, it remains distinctly vibrant and high-in-contrast. You could argue for it as a conscientious choice...but personally, at its root: Mononoke is a horror-ghost story; and the gritter, muddled palettes rather add to that charm.

(2007 Mononoke - Noppera-bou, and Nue)

(2024 Karakasa)

To match its mood, Mononoke also has a much slower cadence and story tempo, despite any singular arc being overall shorter than Karakasa. That cadence adds to another difference: which is spookiness. I find Mononoke to be far spookier and more effortlessly imposing than Karakasa. There's a bit of tension and suspense in the way it's presented: both visually and vocally* (a point I'll bring up later). Mononoke is sometimes boldly laid out in seemingly disjointed flashes, but still somehow ends up cohesive and immersive with its themes and motifs; feeding you just enough information to wet your appetite as to where and just how far it wants to take you. And this is of course, done in parts over the span of 2-3 episodes.

Karakasa on the other hand, has a pacing that feels like a marathon. It seems almost lightning fast, despite the first half of the movie being entirely sociopolitical intrigue without much in the way of anything overtly youkai-esque. In fact, our Medicine Seller doesn't even step foot into the Ooku (women's court) until around 40 minutes in...which is nearly half the movie! ...But naturally, since it's a movie, it will be movie-formatted. Everything is going to run as if it were one singular episode long. --- Still, what does that mean for the pacing?

If you don't know what "tea house tales" "is.....it's basically a format of short stories told over several sessions. It's one of the ways people in the historic East used to tell stories. They'd gather around somewhere, drink tea, eat snacks and share a bit of light entertainment. In the same way the episodic nature of Mononoke is somewhat reminiscent of that. Each part feeds you a bit of information, a bit of mystery, a bit of suspense, and a bit of action. It keeps you sufficiently entertained one way or another without stringing you on far too long before any sort of climactic reveal. In this way, Mononoke feels more balanced and evened out than Karakasa. But even the format aside, I found Karakasa a lot less clear and concise with what it's trying to portray. There were parts of the movie I had to re-watch a few times or sit down and think about afterwards just to fully understand what I think it was alluding to, which wasn't an issue with Mononoke whatsoever. The plot, both visually and thematically was always clear as day for the original series, where as Karakasa sort of muddles on and off between mystery and court drama over the course of an hour and a half.

Personally...I think one of the detriments to Karakasa is the sheer size of its cast. There were simply way too many characters (27+), and some of them even have overlapping roles. There were also quite a few without clear rhyme or reason. For example, we get introduced to Tenshi, Mizoragi and the moon twins, and an assortment of other characters who don't really have much of a presence in the movie (other than to to be positional seat warmers) and are shown for a collective total of a few minutes. Karakasa IS a trilogy however, so it's possible that their roles may be elaborated in future movies, but in regards to the current film, they feel like a distraction. I guess they're going grand and all out, but the benefits of a smaller cast is that you get more intimate with each character and their already very limited screentime. It just wasn't possible for me to feel any intimacy or investment into the large cast of Karakasa---Asa and Kame included.

Comparatively; I always felt truly, fully immersed in all the story arcs of the original Ayakashi/Mononoke. I cared about the characters, or was so invested in their sorrowful tale. But I didn't particularly feel that way about Karakasa because whatever message it was trying to convey kind of got lost in-between all the court drama...which, I'm not sure some viewers may even understand or empathize with unless they already have some knowledge of what women in the imperial harem go through or how it functions. (Speaking of which, Asa practically speed ran the exposition towards the end regarding Kitagawa and her own motives.) Just to name a few: there's the rank struggles of Asa and Kame versus the leaders of the Ooku; the political positions of Fuki, Botan and the other consorts, the political household ties of Saburomaru, the grip of Mizoragi's strange cult, and the (lack of) political power that Tenshi (the emperor) holds versus the Shogunate in the Capital (---I'm not entirely sure what timeline we're in right now, but the fact that there IS a Shogunate implies a lot.)

...Anyway, you can see why there are too many distractions in this movie for me to fully feel immersed in whatever it's trying to tell. It's supposed to be a movie of women's suffering (under the weight of men and the social sphere I suppose), but most of the time it felt more like I was just simply suffering watching women cat fight each other until they quickly got picked off by the Karakasa mononoke.

Speaking of the titular "Karakasa", though... it certainly was an interesting choice of youkai. I wonder if it was because traditionally, karakasa aren't violent youkai, they're merely scary tricksters; and it wasn't as if Kitagawa was really out for revenge (though she did pick off a few people).....actually, now that I've written it out that way, Kitagawa's motives are a little unclear. Or maybe it didn't matter anymore as karakasa grew to the point it became uncontrollable. Either way, I think if they had refocused the movie on Kitagawa and actually visually show the parallels between her, her "friend" and Asa/Kame...instead of giving us a verbal speedrun exposition dump towards the end...I might have felt a little more sympathy (...or just simply anything worth feeling towards the story). But alas.

It certainly didn't help that I was a little unsatisfied with some of the voice cast. For the most part, I was okay with the side cast (particularly the males, since the females hardly had lines); but felt it was a waste that Tsuda Kenjiro (Mizoragi) also hardly had any lines (...though I have a feeling he'll play a bigger role in the next movie). He was actually even one of my 3 ideal choices for Kusuriuri's recast (next to Ishida Akira and Toriumi Kousuke). I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love Kamiya Hiroshi, he is one of my favourites...but I think his role as Kusuriuri was a bit lackluster since his vocal range is medium-high and therefore does not go deep or husky enough to carry the same spook factor that Sakurai Takahiro's voice has. Karakasa also lacks the unique staccato often used in the original Mononoke which gave it an overall interesting sound and pace. I loved the odd vocal nuances and pauses in the previous work and was very sad that it's more or less nonexistent in Karakasa.

My second complaint would be with Asa and Kame's cast, which I felt might've benefited more from actresses with more interesting inflections. Kurosawa Tomoyo is an okay actress. She gets the job done but generally does better on long-running series since she takes a long time to fully have a grip on her role. Honestly, she was on auto-pilot and was quite boring throughout Karakasa. Aoi Yuuki on the other hand has a lot of vocal range, but generally suffers from inconsistency and just sounding like nails on a chalkboard. (I won't even mince it; my housemate walked in on me watching Karakasa on the telly and literally flinched at her voice because it severely hurt her eardrums---my condolences).

Generally speaking, I do prefer older seiyuus, they just have qualities I enjoy more, but I do also think the movie would've benefitted more from either a liveaction casting or a Showa casting. Most of the characters (in both Mononoke and Karakasa) kind of...oddly use modern speech instead of feudal Japanese (minus Utayama), and given that the Ooku IS a court drama, doesn't use court language or any regional dialects whatsoever (granted I'm not even sure if this is Kyoto, Edo, or wherever). Awashima and Mugitani do use formal language, but only Utayama uses slightly older diction. With the exception of a few notable names, most of the cast for Karakasa are from a generation of newer/younger voice actors, whereas Mononoke consists of an older one. You probably won't care unless you're a seiyuu buff, but there is actually a clear vocal distinction between those of different acting generations. For example: Sakurai, Kamiya, Ishida, Tsuda, Ogata, Hayashibara, etc...all have particular qualities to their voice that give it a layer of interest (ie. whispiness, huskiness, nasalness, etc). I don't know if it's caused by the difference in learned language or some other factor, but newer generations of voice actors tend to have more clear-toned voices with more modern inflections. Kurosawa and Aoi both have notably modern inflections when they act. You could say it's a battle of old versus new if we're going by story theme...but in which case, the rest of the cast could've been of an older generation to portray that. (But well, I'm glad they chose an older actress for Utayama, at least). The few exceptions to this are a small handful of modern actresses that are so astoundingly skilled they break that barrier. I kind of wished they had casted Hanazawa for Kame instead but she's already Kitagawa...but in which case, toss Sawashiro Miyuki in that role, I think she would've been a bit spookier. Hanazawa as Kame might've made her more endearing to me, but maybe they were going for the double-double: irritable voice and character combo, since Kame wasn't particularly written to be likeable. --- Kame does somewhat feel like a second generation Kayo (MAO), but I think MAO was still more serviceable to my ears. Anyway. I don't think I should hold up this review post any longer with my derailed rant on voice acting. It is what it is, and at the very least: we found out some lore bombshell that there are possibly at most 64 medicine sellers, and that Sakurai (Ri) Kusuriuri and Kamiya (Kon) Kusuriuri are different characters altogether (---a lot of fans rejoiced about that), making the possibility of two or more existing at one time. Wouldn't that be exciting to see?

Moving on to the music. In contrast to the trailers, the soundtrack in the movie sometimes feel like background white noise. It almost seems like a trend with newer anime, but nowadays, I hardly hear the tracks compared to older shows. Well, in Karakasa in particular, the movie is moving at such a jilted pace: most of the sounds you will hear is either dialogue or the occasional clinks and clangs. They don't really blast OSTs like they used to (...unlike Hollywood movies where I hear too much BGM). --- But following the odd quirks of Ayakashi: some of the vocal themes for Karakasa still are that weird mash of modern and traditional sounds with the occasional rapping. Particularly during the fight scene, there were some hardcore bass rap on cue. I'm not sure if I like or dislike it, but it is different. My favourite track is the Okami-esque flute theme used during the Birth Celebration Ceremony towards the end. But whether it's Mononoke or Karakasa, what stands out in both is not the score, but the sound effects which have always been the distinctive noise of the series.

The teased title for the next installment is "Ashes of Rage". I wonder what that could mean? We're left on a bunch of cliffhangers, such as why did Kusuriuri smile while looking at the clouds, what's the deal with the seal in the well, and what was Mizoragi doing in the cellar pouring water over what looked like an enclosed basin? Moreover, why on earth did they lore drop so much on the background of the medicine sellers...not in the movie but during the side interviews! The fact that they have a home base, or that the Shingi (alters) are different people... So do you mean to tell me, I still can dream of an Ishida Akira Kusuriuri!? There are at most 8 trigram Taima swords, and 2 of which are Sakurai and Kamiya's. Does that mean there's still room for another 6 Kusuriuris? That's so fruity!

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. I also I hope you watched the movie before perusing this given that it's so spoiler heavy. While it does seem like I had a lot of complaints, make no mistake: the movie was gorgeous. It was made with painstaking visual efforts and intricate architecture. Every stroke and splash is a work of art, making it one of the most visually interesting movie in a long time.

While it doesn't replace the old Mononoke in my heart, the Karakasa trilogy is a nice addition; something different and its own thing. A lot more action and a lot more abstract if you dig that sort of presentation.

Given that the trilogy isn't over, I have no doubt the rest of it will continue on with Kamiya's (Kon) Kusuriuri...but I do hope the series continues to keep receiving love so I can eventually have a whole Sentai Kamen rider group of Kusuriuris.

Until next time...~!

#review #mononoke #mononoke karakasa #mononoke phantom in the rain #blog post

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escapismsworld · 5 hours ago

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The Vibrant Doors of Lisbon Part 2

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pedroscowgirl · 3 months ago

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sfw or nsfw ask >:) ( headcanons OR a little drabble )

LOGAN WITH YOUNGER GF (19-23 ish young) WHO HAS LIKE FACE PIERCINGS AND IS LIKE A MEGA GOTH/EMO GIRL BUT HAS THE PERSONALITY OF A GOLDEN RETRIEVER!! like she wears leather jackets, fishnets, corsets, looks like she could kill you but is just a little baby 😭😭🩷

a/n: hey anon srry it took so long but i hope u like it! there is a nsfw part under the sfw <3

wc: 0.8k

sfw

Logan never expected to fall for her. She’s in her begin twenties, wild, and radiates an aura of defiance with her dark, intricate tattoos snaking up her arms, her multiple face piercings glinting in the light. Her hair is dyed raven black, with streaks of vibrant colour that change with her mood, sometimes purple, other times blood-red.

She dresses in leather jackets adorned with pins and patches, fishnets ripped just enough to show the tough edges of her style, and corsets that cinch tight against her waist, adding to her fierce and rebellious look.

From the outside, she screams danger, rebellion, and attitude. Strangers often assume she’s either trouble or heartache waiting to happen, their eyes lingering on her heavily lined eyes and dark lips. She looks like she could tear someone apart just with a single glare.

Logan, with his own imposing presence, only adds to that image. But only Logan knows the truth.

Beneath this dark gothgirl exterior is the softest, sweetest soul he’s ever encountered. She may look like she could kill you but shes more of a golden retrevier.

The first time they went out for coffee together, Logan had steeled himself for someone brooding and unapproachable. Instead, she was the one nervously tapping her rings against her coffee cup, cheeks flushed when he complimented her piercings. When she laughed at one of his jokes, an unexpected, unrestrained sound that caught him off guard, he realized that behind the fierce exterior was someone who wasn’t just kind, but warm and endlessly affectionate.

At home, when the makeup comes off and the leather jacket is tossed aside, she’s practically bouncing off the walls with excitement every time Logan walks in after a long day. “Logan!” she’ll exclaim, eyes lighting up, as she rushes over to greet him like an overexcited puppy, throwing her arms around his neck. He might grunt a little at the sudden impact, but secretly, he adores it—adores her. The way she kisses him all over his face in rapid succession, muttering how much she missed him, even if he was only gone for a few hours.

She’s a walking contradiction, and he finds it endlessly amusing.

Sometimes, she’ll have dinner ready for him. Nothing fancy, usually something simple like boxed mac and cheese or frozen pizza, but the effort is what matters. She loves to surprise him, even if it’s just with small things. Once, he came home to find her wearing an apron, her fishnets and boots still on underneath, and flour all over her face. She’d attempted to bake cookies but forgot a crucial ingredient, and they ended up flat as pancakes. She looked so mortified, pouting as she held up a cookie, that Logan had to fight not to laugh.

“You don’t have to eat them,” she muttered, her lips forming an akward and cute smile.

But Logan, ever the stoic one, took a bite anyway, chewing slowly, savoring the way her expression brightened like she’d just won an award.

She’s full of surprises like that. For someone who looks like she could ruin your life, she has the biggest heart. Every time they’re out in public, Logan has to endure the stares, the way people react when they see them.

nsfw

What people don’t see is how she practically melts when he hugs her, or how she’s the one who keeps pushing him to take breaks, reminding him to care for himself. They don’t see the way she clings to his arm, babbling excitedly about her latest obsessions—whether it’s a new song she found or a cute animal she saw online. She’s a whirlwind of energy and love, constantly pulling Logan into her world of enthusiasm, pulling him out of his head and into the present.

When you first got together, he thought you were the embodiment of the wild, adventurous lover in bed he'd always fantasized about—bold, daring, and unpredictable in the most thrilling ways. And to be fair, there were moments when that side of you appeared, teasing him with flashes of your spontaneous, uninhibited desires. But as he got to know you better, the dynamic in the bedroom shifted in the most beautiful way.

What started as heated, passionate encounters soon transformed into something deeper, more intimate. It wasn't just about physical pleasure anymore, it was about connection. When the two of you made love, it became a tender, slow dance of affection and trust. He whispered soft, endearing words in your ear, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. His hands caressed you gently, lingering as if savoring every moment of closeness.

He would murmur sweet nothings, telling you how incredible you made him feel, how every touch and every breath was like magic. In those moments, it wasn’t just about the excitement of physical pleasure. It was about the emotional closeness, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you. He would continuously reassure you, his voice soft and steady, making sure you knew how much he cherished being with you, how deeply he felt every shared moment.

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