#visual studies mmm

[dogsrot]

( 001 : A STUDY IN . . . FENRIR MICHAELSEN — who are you ? )

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Omg can I please get husband!bangchan x fem!reader plsplspls. My scenario is basically reader is stressed and can’t stop studying (uni) and bangchan sees that and helps her relax. (Daddy kink and praise plsplspls)

let me help you relax

pairing: daddy!husband!chan x fem reader

genre: smut with feelings

word count: ~1.3k

warnings: daddy kink, praise kink, tiny bit of size kink, unprotected sex, implied subspace, i think that’s all.

an: i’m finishing this and posting it while im half asleep so im sorry for any mistakes or if it’s absolute trash. but i’ve been feeling particularly feral about him today and he’s been on my mind. so here’s some daddy!chan for you. ♡ love ya.

masterlist • consider leaving me a tip

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

your eyes were betraying you. they burned, closing of their own accord, begging for rest. you reached for your coffee, an empty energy drink can falling to the floor. you needed to study more. it’s finals time and you’re stressed. the exam you have tomorrow could make or break your degree. you stomach churned at the thought.

“baby, why don’t you take a break?” your husbands voice approached from behind, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. you were on edge and he wasn’t helping.

“oh that’s rich, coming from you.” you snapped. and you realized your mistake immediately. his grip on your shoulders tightened ever so slightly. it would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know your dynamic. but his voice is what gave you chills. it changed from sweet and doting, to serious. “oh really?” he said. you weren’t looking at him, but you could visualize his expression in your mind. he had at least one eyebrow raised, maybe both. it was the type of look that said: is this really how you want this to go?

and it wasn’t. you didn’t like being a brat. you were just stressed. “i’m sorry, daddy.” your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “i didn’t mean to snap at you. i’m just under a lot of pressure.”

“i know you are, baby.” he said, his hands on your shoulders starting to massage the knots out. “you’ve been studying so hard.” his hands felt amazing and you started to relax in his hold. he hummed a sweet sound and then placed a kiss on the top of your head. one of his hands started to snake around your shoulder and down under the neckline of your pajama top. “i think it’s time for a break.” he said, his fingertips finding your bare nipple. “don’t you?”

your breath caught in your throat and you nodded, all thoughts of exams lost. he was pulling you deeper and deeper into that soft, fuzzy space that you loved so much. he knew exactly what to do to get your mind off of things.

his other hand tilted your chin up, so you were looking at him. he was upside down, but that didn’t matter. he kissed you gently anyway, before pulling away and helping you stand. he led you from the desk, to your shared bed, pulling your top over your head along the way. your legs hit the bed frame and you let your body fall back onto the mattress. you pulled him down with you, your hands wrapped around his neck. he chuckled against your lips as he kissed you, his hands wandering.

“baby’s been working so hard.” he said, kissing down your jaw to your neck. he nibbled at the sensitive skin there, mumbling his words. “let daddy take care of you. let me help you relax.”

his fingertips found the top of your shorts and began dancing in and out of the material, teasing you. his lips travelled further down, his breath warm against your skin, as he took your nipple into his mouth.

“yes daddy.” you panted.

his tongue swirled around your hard nipple, his teeth grazing it ever so slightly. his hand finally went under your shorts and started playing with your most sensitive area. he tugged gently on the small amount of hair you kept. “mmm..” he hummed. “daddy’s gonna make you forget all about school baby..” his kisses were wet against your nipple. “gonna fuck you till your heads empty.. yeah?”

little did he know, your head was already empty. your mind was cloudy with nothing but him. his smell, his taste, the feel of his hard body against your soft one. he rutted his clothed erection against your thigh, groaning deeply.

he moved his tongue across your chest to your other nipple as he slipped a finger inside your wet hole. your hands balled in the sheets. you wanted to beg him for more, please more, but you couldn’t find the words.

“pussy’s so wet baby..” he mumbled around your nipple. “perfect little pussy.. wants daddy’s cock so bad, huh?”

your answering moan told him he was right, and he slipped another finger inside. he needed to prep you at least a little bit. he kissed his way back up to your lips, letting his tongue play with yours. you started to grab for his curls, to pull him closer, but he pulled away. you whimpered at the loss, pouting.

“don’t pout baby.” he said, poking your jutting bottom lip. “i’m just going to give you what you want.” he pulled his fingers out of you, and removed his shorts. that was the only thing he was wearing, a courtesy to you, as you told him you can’t focus on studying when he walks around naked everywhere. but now, you basked in his nakedness. stared at him and admired him. he truly was beautiful. and so incredibly sexy. he kicked his shorts to the floor and pumped himself in his hand a few times before kneeling between your legs.

he slid the head of his cock up and down between your folds, teasing your entrance and bumping your clit with every pass. “gonna let daddy stretch you out baby?” he asked. he smiled warmly down at you when you didn’t answer him. you just stared up at him with big, glassy eyes, silently begging him to fill you. “can’t talk, baby girl?” he cooed.

the tip of his cock slowly entered you, and he brought one of his hands up to cup your face. you turned your face toward his hand, finding comfort there. “here we go, baby. deep breath, okay?” you nodded and inhaled deeply through your nose. and as you slowly let it out through your mouth, he pushed until he bottomed out. it kicked the breath out of you at first and he knew to give you a moment before he started moving. “good girl baby. there you go. taking me so well.” he rubbed your cheek with his thumb, before slowly bringing that thumb to rub against your clit.

you whined under him, your body unable to hold still, it just felt so good. he started to move. started to thrust in and out of you, his length hitting that perfect spot over and over. “you’re so perfect, baby. daddy’s perfect girl.” his thrusts were getting faster now, your high quickly building. “that’s.. fuck.. that’s why i married you baby.” he grunted in between thrusts. “nobody takes daddy’s cock like you do, princess.”

you reached for him, trying to hold onto anything to help ground yourself. he gave you his hand. you gripped his smallest finger as he fucked you, his muscled chest and abdomen gleaming with sweat. “good girl, baby. hold onto daddy’s pinky.” your walls fluttered around him, your orgasm was right there.

“cmon baby.” his thrusts were harsh now, his skin slapping against yours as your arousal slipped down onto the sheets. “let go for me. squeeze my cock.”

you held onto his hand for dear life as your orgasm rocked through you, your body quivering with pleasure. “thank— thank you daddy.” you blabbered.

“fuck-“ he was starting to get sloppy, unable to control his hips when you felt so good cumming around him. “fuck- i love you baby. im gonna- fuck.. gonna cum.”

he stilled as he released inside of you, his cock twitching as he filled you up. your body fell limp against the mattress, and he reclined back on his heels. he pushed the damp hair out his face before looking down at you. you looked so fucked out, so happy. he smiled.

he leaned down and kissed you gently on the lips. your sleepy eyes fluttered open to look at him. he brushed your own hair out of your eyes and kissed the tip of your nose. “are you coming back to me now, baby?” he chuckled. “come back to earth, sweetheart.”

you smiled a dreamy smile at him. “love you.” you mumbled.

he said something else that sounded like “love you more.” before he climbed off the bed in search of something to clean you up with, but you were already drifting off to a very much needed sleep, dreaming of him.

your daddy.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[navybrat817]

Muse

Pairing: Artist!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky is thankful to have you as his muse. Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Fluff, kissing, light insecurities if you squint, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's in love (and he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Nix was kind enough to send me an old edit she made and I ran with it for @the-slumberparty 's Across the Universe challenge. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky Barnes hadn't expected to find solace in art when he was younger. It seemed more like a path that his best friend Steve would take, though both of them appreciated expressing themselves creatively. Life also taught him that his road came with unexpected bumps and turns. Trading guns for brushes and pencils after he left the army, art helped him process some of his emotions he long kept at bay. It showed him how to look at life from a different perspective. In some ways, it saved him.

Like you did.

"Mmm."

The moan you let out drew Bucky's gaze up from his sketchpad, smiling softly as you stretched your legs out under the sheets. As tempted as he was to rouse you with his tongue, he decided to let you sleep since he already woke you once in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be the first time he sketched you while you slept.

The pad in his hand was already filled with drawings of you, but one more wouldn't hurt. Over the hours and days spent with you, he studied and learned your body well. He had other sketches and paintings of you in various angles and lightning. Those would never be sold.

Some art that existed was for the artist alone.

The pencil began to move across the paper once more when you didn't stir. If you woke up and caught him drawing you again, you'd shake your head and tell him he had more than enough. He disagreed.

There was beauty in his surroundings, but they paled in comparison to you.

"Bucky," you whispered, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine. Like the color red, you speaking his name invoked deep, intense passion within him. He saw hues in brighter shades thanks to you. "Come back to bed."

"I'm almost finished," he promised.

"You drawing me again?" you mumbled, bringing your hand up to cover your yawn as he kept sketching. "You have enough and I'm a mess."

"Maybe. Maybe not," he teased with a tender smile when your eyes opened halfway. "And you're not a mess. You're beautiful."

And it’ll never be enough.

"Careful, James," you teased back, arching your back as you stretched. "Keep smiling and sweet talking and they'll take away your brooder card."

"We can't have that," he winked.

When Bucky decided to pursue art outside of a hobby, he hadn't meant to become a brooding recluse on purpose. He simply preferred solitude while he worked and he valued his privacy. While he was encouraged to promote his work on social media to help build more clientele, he never showed his face. He let his art speak for itself. It worked.

It was how he came to meet you.

Before he met you in person, you were his favorite customer. You bought multiple pieces and left the kindest comments on his page. He often went back to reread them when he got lost in his own head.

"While there are many beautiful pieces of art in the world, Bucky Barnes gives us work that defines, and defies, beauty. His art can move you to tears or give you hope of brighter days ahead. We're privileged that he chooses to share his vision with us and one can only hope to see the world as he sees it."

He may have moved you with his visuals, but you moved him with your words.

"I have to meet her," he told Steve when you commissioned a custom piece.

Steve couldn't believe it since Bucky hardly ever let anyone into his studio. He said it was the least he could do for someone who consistently showed him support. He wouldn't admit at the time how nervous he was to meet you. Or why he felt so compelled to see the person behind the name since he refused to look for you on social media.

He realized that day it was destiny to meet you.

The artist and the muse.

"Back to bed," you ordered, moving the sheets back as he set his pencil and pad down. He used the opportunity to gaze along your naked frame bathed in the soft light, lingering between your thighs. "Please, Bucky?

"Who am I to deny my muse?" he smirked, slowly standing from his stool to stretch. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had thrown his dark hair up in a bun to keep it out of his eyes. "Especially when you look at me like that."

I'm littered with scars and you gaze at me like I have no imperfections.

"Have you seen you? You're gorgeous," you said, patting the mattress for him to sit.

“Not as gorgeous as you.”

“Take the compliment, brooder,” you said with a sleepy grin.

When he took a seat with a chuckle, you stopped him before he could lay over you. Instead, you took his right hand and had him stay in place as began to gently massage it. You commented more than once about how long and thick his fingers were and how warm to the touch they were against your skin. Working at his hand in tiny circles, you carefully rubbed out any tension you sensed. While you focused on the task at hand, he took another minute to gaze at you in wonder.

My beautiful muse.

"There," you said, kissing his palm once you finished.

"Thank you," he said, resting the same hand over your heart.

He watched and felt your chest rise as you inhaled. The steady beat grounded him. He was lucky enough for you to let him paint you with his love.

Inside and out.

"Do you ever regret it?" he asked as he traced a small heart on your chest.

Your forehead scrunched as you looked at him. "Regret what?"

"Choosing me," he whispered.

You had a chance to live a life of luxury and you walked away from it for me. Do you regret following your heart when you could've had so much more with him?

You exhaled as you pushed yourself up to face him and placed your hands on both cheeks, making sure he was looking into your eyes. "I will never regret choosing you or being yours," you whispered back.

Bucky's eyes softened as he smoothed his left hand down your back and dropped a kiss to your mouth. He lost himself in the feel of your lips and tongue, an exchange of desire he only got to experience with you. He didn't live a life of glamor, but he would forever give you a life of love.

"Now use me as your canvas," you said as the kiss ended.

Like Bucky said, who was he to deny his muse?

I love Bucky in love. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[necromelli]

checkmate [chapter one]

tw: none that I can think of? this is more setup for the rest of the story than anything else. if you think I should add something let me know <3

wc: 1.5k [semi-proofread]

a/n: one more chapter of set up before we get to see reader/finnick interacting on a more personal level.

[ prologue | next part ]

a fellow victor offers you advice, but you're weary to take it, especially after he steals your spotlight.

President Snow’s parties were a step above Capitol parties. More thought out, more intricate, more securely protected. You knew the moment you stepped foot onto the estate you were being watched. Audibly and visually. To ensure your loyalty — which you were ashamed to admit was dwindling — was as pristine as the other district two winners. 

The entire thing left a sour taste in your mouth, akin to a poisoned lemon pastry; sweet, tart, and bloody. You hadn't escaped the taste of blood since the arena. You had come to rely on it as a constant, a daily occurring problem in the whirlwind of problems you had no control over. Enobaria had long abandoned you in search of a fellow victor, leaving you alone. 

Watching the Capitolites had the potential to be amusing, if not for their murmurs of the most recent games. Of the bloodthirsty hound who was just so pretty. The pointed looks only added to your charm, the threats to hurt someone if you were touched. They liked it. It was nothing short of a game to all the nepo babies surrounding you. But, then, you, too, were no better. 

The only reason you won the games was because of the training you received from an early age. In all sorts of weapons, how to survive on nothing. Rigorous training that ensured and earned you the title of victor.

“Hello, darling.” The hand on your shoulder made you flip the glass of champagne in your hand, the bottom of the glass against the stranger's chin. His only response was a low chuckle, a smirk twitching his lips. “You are an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature, aren't you?” 

Your eyes flickered across his features. Perfectly styled blonde hair, that even with the buildup of product looked soft to the touch. Sea green eyes that were as bright as his smile, twinkling in the ambient lights of the party. Tanned skin with dark freckles that accentuated his features. You recognized him after a few moments. Finnick Odair — you studied his games at the academy. He looked older now, more mature than the boy who won at fourteen. He’d be eighteen, now, if you remembered correctly.

You swallowed thickly and removed the champagne glass from under his chin. You sat it on the tray of a passing avox. Shrugging, you respond. “Mmm… What is it they all call you?” 

You hold your hand to silence whatever arrogant answer he was conjuring. “Capitol Darling, correct? The golden boy?” 

A grin tugs at Finnick's lips, but he bites it back for a similar shrug. “Finnick Odair, actually. But, the flattery is nice.” You feel him step closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Have you heard what they call you?”

You started to frown until a passing Capitol citizen stopped to talk to Finnick. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy bubble in your chest. This was your party, and the blonde haired boy was stealing your spotlight. You frowned, then put on a far too pretty smile as you took the soft hand of the citizen.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked sweetly, causing Finnick next to you to snort. 

The capitolite’s face brightened upon seeing you, and she nodded quickly. She enveloped your hands between your’s, leaning in close as if you were best friends sharing a secret. “Now that I've seen you, absolutely. You did amazing. I thought district two lacked this year in their volunteers, but you proved to be nothing short of excellence.” 

The fingers of the woman’s left hand trailed up your arm — icy hot against your bare skin, burning — and to your cheek. She cupped your cheek and then squeezed the corner of your cheek. “And such a pretty face. That boy from twelve just looked dirty. Too skinny. Weird round eyes—”

“That's enough.” You sneered, pushing the woman’s hand off your cheek. A part of you wished that you’d have let Finnick have her attention.

You could excuse her praises, but you couldn't excuse the fact she bad mouthed Jeb Sirpa. He did nothing wrong — he took care of his district partner. He took care of the young tributes, the girl from six and seven. He should've won instead of you. You firmly believed that. 

“Stop! Stop talking so bad about them!” You shoved the woman on the shoulders, pushing her back. A frustrated groan rose from your throat when Finnick reached out to catch the woman. You stared at him, hands shaking mid-air. “They were kids! They didn't- They-” 

Finnick was pulling the woman back, quick to try and comfort her. She was shocked, sure, spooked, but the capitol woman’s eyes dazzled with amusement. 

She was looking at you like a starved animal.

You felt embarrassment flood your chest — red and hot and ugly. Finnick seemed more concerned about some Capitol vulture than a fellow district, a fellow victor. Someone who went through similar things. Your vision went blurry as you watched Finnick Odair and the woman. You pushed through the crowd blind. Your hands bent at the elbow and poked out, keeping people from touching you. You didn't care if you hit anyone, nothing mattered except the exit to the gardens.

You hit the door so hard that you knew your shoulder would be bruised from hitting the door open. The cold air caused goosebumps to rise on your arms, but that didn't stop you. You didn't stop until you were panting, near the rushing sound of the fountain.

You collapsed into the grass, letting your knees hit the soft greenery. The cold was grounding, as was the dirt beneath your knees. 

Your outburst was stupid — at least in your opinion. You shouldn't care about those tributes you killed. They didn't make it. They weren't good enough. You won. Fair and square.

But their faces haunted you. Dark red stained the back of your eyelids. You didn't know their names, but you killed them. Them, who were kids. You, who was an eighteen year old killer. You who, despite knowing you shouldn't be, was still loyal to President Snow.

“Interacting gets easier if you pretend it's a game.” You turned your head behind you, taking in the sight of Finnick. You didn't hear him come up, silent on his feet despite the heeled boots. “Who are you?” 

Finnick left the question open, but you didn't answer. You turned your back to the fountain, taking in his appearance once more. Finnick looked more relaxed now that he was away from the Capitolites. His shoulders slumped slightly, inwards as his hands rested in his pockets. 

“Y/N: Capitol Pawn or Y/N: Capitol Queen?”

Your arms slid across your chest, tips of your fingers wrapping around your bicep. You tried to figure out the difference in his words, thinking about the game you watched Enobaria and Brutus play on the train. 

The smallest piece on the board, a whole row of soldier pieces fighting loyally for the royal pieces. They had no say, no right to an opinion. They did what they were told, no questions asked.

But, the queen was the most powerful piece on the board — only being outranked by the king due to his positional power. Most deadly chess piece who appeared loyal. But, really, the king needed the queen to win. When all else fails, the queen saves the day.

The Capitol needed its victors. For entertainment, for keeping the districts submissive, extra large knights, rooks, bishops, pawns for the Capitol to extort. It was your choice to choose what you wanted to be: unwavering in your loyalty or self preserving? 

“Funny.” You mused, looking away from Finnick. Your eyes stared into the fountain, watching the crystal clear water filter through the top. “What are you?”

Finnick was quiet for a long while, thinking best how to answer. He stepped closer to you, closer to the fountain. His words seemed to mix with the loud rush of the fountain. “I only play the part of a pawn.”

You hummed softly, soaking in his answer. When you said nothing, Finnick continued. “The Capitol isn't what everyone thinks — especially those of us from the more spoiled districts. We all think winning comes with glory and power. It doesn't.”

Your head tilted to the left slightly, eyes falling onto Finnick's face. He didn't look like a cheerful flirt anymore. You couldn't quite place a finger on the feeling, but, whatever it was, you didn't like it. It reminded you of the indecisiveness plaguing you, of the way you felt guilty for secretly hating the Capitol. It made you sick.

“Glory and gore, Queenie, be careful who you trust.” 

Finnick locked eyes with you. His sea green eyes looked sympathetic — you couldn't see an ounce of pity. That shocked you. Even the older victors looked down at you with pity. Gloss did. Brutus did. 

“If it gets too much to handle by yourself, come find me.” You scoffed in response, looking away. He wanted you to trust him? over the people who’ve kept you alive for years? “Otherwise, the queen falls and the king wins. Nobody wants that.”

Finnick let the words hang for another minute, watching the fountain. Then, without another word, he started back towards the mansion, leaving you outside in the autumn night all by yourself.

taglist: @randomgurl2326 | @thehairington86 | @minisodelover | @animeluvr99 | @just-levyy | @zucchinimalfoy | @dreamsfyre | @mystargirl-interlude

[to be added / taken off just lmk <3]

[periwinkla]

1-4 ending JP -> ENG comparison

Keep in mind: -Notes are in small text -The / is meant to separate paragraphs (I'll use it when it gets too visually messy) Disclaimer : I only studied Japanese for a little while. AA dialogue is pretty simple though. Also English isn't my native language either. Feel free to correct me on anything wrong here. Also note that I'm not trying to make the translations sound natural, I'm mostly trying to explain what the words are saying, sometimes I'll be more literal than others. Translation =/= localization.

Phoenix 終わったな、御剣‥‥。 Owatta na, Mitsurugi... So, it's finally over, Edgeworth.

Edgeworth ‥‥‥‥‥‥ … 成歩堂。 Naruhodou. Wright.

Phoenix ん？ N? Yeah?

Edgeworth: ‥‥‥‥‥‥ … ‥‥その‥‥、 なんと言えばいいのか‥‥。 ...Sono... nan to ieba ii no ka... I… I'm not sure how to say this.

Maya そういうときはね。 “ありがとう”って言うんだよ！ Sou iu toki wa ne. "Arigatou" tte iun da yo! I know! I know! Try "thank you."

Edgeworth そ、そうなのか。 So, Sou na no ka. I… I see.

‥‥‥‥‥‥ …

あ、ありがとう、成歩堂。 A, Arigatou, Naruhodou. Th-thank you, Wright.

Phoenix ど、どういたしまして。 Do, douitashimashite. Y-you're welcome. They sound fairly stiff here. Phoenix's response isn't exactly formal by Japanese standards... I'd say it's casual/formal, but the stuttering makes it stiffer, I feel. Also compared to how they behave in 3-5, I think it's very different. Will elaborate in a future post when I get to analyze that dialogue.

Maya うーん‥‥イマイチ、 ハリアイがないなあ‥‥。 Uun... imaichi, hariai ga nai naa.. I think you could have done better than that!

Edgeworth ム‥‥スマン。 こういうの、ニガテで‥‥。 Mu... Suman. Kouiu no, nigate de... Oof! S-sorry… I'm not good at this sort of thing.

Maya もう！　ダメだなあ、御剣検事は。 Mou! Dame da naa, Mitsurugi Kenji wa. You got a lot to learn, Edgeworth!

Phoenix （‥‥やれやれ‥‥） (...Yareyare...) (Dear, dear…) (this is not at all important but I noticed it's an expression Phoenix uses a lot: yare yare...)

Gumshoe うおおおおおおおおおおおおおっ！ Uoooooooooooooh! Whoooooooooooooop!

さすがッス！　自分が見込んだ だけのコトはあったッス！ Sasuga ssu! Jibun ga mikonda dake no koto wa atta ssu! Amazing, pal! You pulled through just like I thought you would!

糸鋸　圭介。この恩は一生、 わすれないッス！ Itonoko Keisuke. Kono on wa isshou, wasurenai ssu! I'll never forget this! I owe you one, pal.

今夜は、パーッとやるッス！ 自分がゴチソウするッス！ Kon'ya wa, paa tto yaru ssu! Jibun ga gochisou suru ssu! And tonight, let's party! Dinner's on me!

今月から給料がちょっぴり 下がったッスが、気にしねッス！ Kongetsu kara kyuuryou ga choppiri sagatta ssu ga, ki ni shine ssu! Yeah, my salary went down a bit this month… But who cares!

Maya ほらほらほら、御剣検事。 イトノコ刑事を見ならうの！ Hora hora hora, Mitsurugi Kenji. Itonoko Keiji wo minarau no! See, Mr. Edgeworth? You should take a lesson from Detective Gumshoe!

あんな感じにやると、カンシャの キモチが伝わるんだよ！ Anna kanji ni yaru to, kansha no kimochi ga tsutawarun da yo! That's how you say "thank you"!

Edgeworth ‥‥ム。 な‥‥なるほど。 ...Mu. Na.... Naruhodo. Mmm. I… I see. Note how he basically says Wright's butchered JP name, which is a pun for the game (it means 'I see' / 'I understand') but it also means that the gap between them is somewhat getting narrower. It could just be for comic relief, but...note that when he attempts to thank him the first time, he calls out to him with 'Naruhodou', but now on his second attempt he says 'Naruhodo' before trying to thank him. Unfortunately the subtletly and ambiguity of this cannot be localized. By the way, he also uses 'Naruhodo' before the final trial in T&T, will elaborate on in at a later date. (I don't know whether there are other times other than these two, I haven't analyzed enough transcripts yet)

コホン。 Gohon. ahem

う、うおおおおおおおおおっ！ U, Uooooooooh! Whooooooooooooop! This is, and I'm completely serious here, one of my most favourite scenes. Note the difference between Edgeworth's and Gumshoe's shouts: in the JP, 4 'O's are missing in Edgeworth's shout, while in ENG, 1 'O' is missing - the localization was careful enough to add that tiny difference, and although I am not sure why they reduced it to one single 'O', it's still interesting they differentiated them all the same.

‥‥‥‥‥‥ …

ダメだ。‥‥ヤッパリ、 私なんか‥‥。 Dame da. ...Yappari, Watashi nanka... I… I feel foolish. literal translation: No, that's not right. As I thought, / someone like me... *'someone like me...' : the underlying message seems to be: 'As I thought, something like this/acting like this wouldn't fit someone like me'

Maya まあまあ、少しずつ 慣れていきましょうよ。 Maa maa, sukoshi zutsu narete ikimashou yo. Don't worry. Take it a little at a time. You'll get used to it.

more literal translation: Come on, come on, little by little / let's get used to it! It seems to me Maya says it in a way to mean something like they'll do it together, so he shouldn't worry - implying he's not alone (anymore), again Japanese can be subtle so I'm not sure, but considering Maya's empathic character, I'd say that's what she meant. In any case, she's trying to encourage him. Very sweet! Phoenix （こんなスナオな御剣を 　見るの、１５年ぶりだな‥‥） (Konna sunao na Mitsurugi o miru no, juugo-nen buri da na...) (It's been fifteen years since I've seen Edgeworth this… unguarded.)

more literal translation: It's been 15 years... since I've seen Edgeworth (act) this honest (with his feelings)... Phoenix is saying that it's been a long time since he's seen Edgeworth be honest/sincere with his feelings/upfront with his feelings. The localization gets the meaning across very nicely. Lotta おっ、いたいた！ O, ita ita! Hey, y'all!

Maya あ、ナツミさん！ A, Natsumi-san! Lotta!

Lotta いやー、アンタら。 カッコよかったでー。 Iya, antara. Kakkoyokatta de. Y'all were great in there!

Phoenix ありがとうございます。 Arigatou gozaimasu. Thank you!

Lotta おッ。ニイちゃん。 無罪、おめでと！ Oo, Niichan. Muzai, omedetou! Yo, Edgeworth! Congrats!

Edgeworth ム‥‥お、おおきに。 Mu... o, ookini. Er… thank y'all very much. ookini = 'thank you a lot' in Kansai dialect (which is the dialect Lotta uses) I find it adorably funny that first he tries to imitate Gumshoe to thank people and now he's trying Lotta's ways...

Lotta ウチには、最初から わかってたんやで！ Uchi ni wa, saisho kara wakattetan ya de! I knew you were innocent from the start, of course.

あんたが無罪だ、ってなあ！ Anta ga muzai da, tte naa! Just look at you! You wouldn't stick your hand in the cookie jar even if no one was there! The ENG adds a lot here which wasn't in the original. in the JP, she basically only says: 'From the start, / I knew! / That you were innocent!!' (I think this is mostly done to convey Lotta's character, since the dialect wouldn't have been enough here to convey that I believe)

Edgeworth ‥‥たしか、初日の 検察側の証人だったような‥‥。 ...Tashika, shonichi no kensatsu-gawa no shounin datta you na... You… were the witness on the first day of the trial, weren't you.

Lotta まま。まあまあ。 細かいこと、気にしなさんな！ Ma ma. Maa maa. Komakai koto, ki ni shinasan na! Yeah, well, let bygones be bygones, eh?

Phoenix そういえば、ナツミさん‥‥、 今は、何を‥‥？ Sou ieba, Natsumi-san..., Ima wa, nani o...? Speaking of which, what are you doing now, Lotta?

Lotta おー、今か？ 大学にもどったで。 Oo, ima ka? Daigaku ni modotta de. Who, me? Aww, I went back to college.

スクープカメラマンになる夢は、 もうオシマイや。 Sukūpu kameraman ni naru yume wa, mō oshimai ya. I gave up trying to be an investigative photographer pretty quick.

Phoenix そうなんですか‥‥。 Sou nan desu ka... Really? That's too bad.

Lotta あれ？ Are? Huh?

Phoenix ？ ?

Lotta あそこにいるの、公園の マンジュウ屋、ちゃうか？ Asoko ni iru no, kōen no manjū-ya, chau ka? Isn't that the hotdog guy from the park?

Phoenix ‥‥え？ ...E? Huh?

Larry ‥‥死ぬんだぁ‥‥。 ...Shinun daa... It's over, Nick! My life is over!

Phoenix な、なんでおまえが そんなカオしてるんだよ！ Na, nande omae ga sonna kao shiteru nda yo! Wh-why the sad face, Larry!? What happened now!?

Larry 成歩堂ぉ‥‥。 オレ、そろそろ死ぬからさぁ。 Naruhodouo... Ore, sorosoro shinu kara saa. Oh, Nick… I'm not long for this world. (Just funny how he drags Naruhodou's name out in a wail here.)

Phoenix い、いやいやいや。 I, iya iya iya. Uh… you don't look sick… literally like 'n, nonono' but meaning something more like 'wa, wait wait wait' - it sounds like he's about done with Larry's histrionics and possibly shaking his head in denial...

Larry カズミがよお‥‥パリ 暮らすって言い出して‥‥、 Kazumi ga yoo...Pari kurasu tte iidashite... It's Kiyance! Sh-she's goin' to live in Paris! Paris, Nick!

置いていかれちまったんだよぉぉ！ Oiteikarechimattan da yooo! She's leaving me behind!!!

Phoenix （‥‥やれやれ‥‥） (...Yare yare...) (Larry, Larry…) I noticed Phoenix uses this expression a lot. It's quite funny to me, reminds me of an old man that is about done with his youngings' shenanigans.

Larry お。御剣。いたのか。 O. Mitsurugi. Ita no ka. Yo, Edgey! There you are!

Edgeworth ム。そりゃまあ、いる。 Mu. Sorya maa, iru. Um, yes, here I am.

Larry おめでとうな、御剣。 ‥‥コレ、オレからのお祝い！ Omedetou na, Mitsurugi. ...Kore, ore kara no oiwai! Congrats, Edgey! Here… a little gift from me in celebration!

Edgeworth “お祝い”？　‥‥めずらしいな。 "Oiwai"? ...Mezurashii na. Celebration? That's unusual for you.

Gumshoe お。アンタも後で来るッス！ ゴチソウするッス！ O. Anta mo ato de kuru ssu! Gochisou suru ssu! Harry Butz! You come along tonight too! My treat, pal!

Larry は、はあ。 楽しみにしてます。 Ha, haa. Tanoshiminishitemasu. Huh? Uh… thanks! Looking forward to it! （オイ、成歩堂） (Oi, Naruhodou) (Yo, yo, Nick!)

（アイツ、オレを取り調べした 　刑事だぜ‥‥） (Aitsu, ore o toriirabeshita keiji da ze...) (That's the suit that questioned me!)

（ゴチソウって、まさか 　カツ丼じゃねえだろうな‥‥） (Gochisōtte, masaka katsudon ja nee darou na...) (When he says treat… that's not police-talk for prison food, right? Right?)

Phoenix そ、それはないと思うぞ。 So, sore wa nai to omou zo. Uh, I think you'll be fine, Larry.

Edgeworth ‥‥成歩堂。 ...Naruhodou. Wright…

Phoenix ん？　どうした？ N? Doushita? Yeah? What's up?

Edgeworth ‥‥金が入っているぞ。 矢張がくれた封筒。 ...Kane ga haitte iru zo. Yahari ga kureta fūtō. That envelope that Larry gave me. It's got money in it.

Phoenix そりゃそうだろ。 “お祝い”だからな。 Sorya sou daro. "Oiwai" dakara na. Well, yeah. That's not that strange. People give money away to celebrate sometimes.

Edgeworth ３８００円だ。 3800 en da. It's $38.00, Wright.

Phoenix ‥‥また、ずいぶんハンパな 金額だな‥‥。 ...Mata, zuibun hanpa na kingaku da na... Huh. What a weird amount. I mean, it's not a little, but it's not a lot either.

‥‥‥‥‥‥ …

３８００円？ 3800 en? $38.00 exactly?

Maya ‥‥ななな、なるほどくん！ ...Na na na, Naruhodo-kun! N-N-Nick!

小学校のころ、御剣検事が盗まれた 給食費って、たしか‥‥！ Shōgakkō no koro, Mitsurugi-Kenji ga nusumareta kyūshoku-hi tte, tashika...! Wasn't that exactly the amount of lunch money that was stolen from Mr. Edgeworth in school!?

Phoenix さ‥‥３８００円‥‥？ Sa... 3800 en...? $38…!

ままま、まさか‥‥ Ma ma ma, masaka.... No… (I think the shock-induced stuttering in this line might be meant to parallel Maya's previous one. Cute!)

‥‥‥‥まさかああああッ！ 矢張、お前ェェェェッ！ ...Masakaaaaa! Yahari, omaeeee! No!!! Larry, it was you!!! There is a fun pun lost in translation here. Larry's JP name, Yahari, means 'after all/as expected/as I thought' - so Larry's name can be intended both as a vocative and a figure of speech here. "After all, it was you!" = "Larry, it was you!" The phrases basically overlap in JP, as if he were saying them at the same time.

Edgeworth 何をイロめきたっている？ 成歩堂。 Nani o iromekitatte iru? Naruhodou. What are you so surprised about, Wright?

Phoenix え？ E? Huh?

Edgeworth たしかに矢張は、あの日 カゼで学校を休んでいた。 Tashika ni Yahari wa, ano hi Kaze de gakkou wo yasunde ita. Larry was absent that day from school, right?

だが、だからといって 犯人でないという理由にはならん。 Daga, dakara to itte hannin de nai to iu riyuu ni wa naran. But that doesn't automatically rule him out as a suspect.

Phoenix え！ What?

Edgeworth １５年前の、あの日。 15 nen mae no, ano hi. Think back to that day, fifteen years ago.

休んだはいいが、タイクツだった 矢張は、学校に来てみたのだろう。 Yasunda hai ga, taikutsu datta Yahari wa, gakkou ni kite mita no darou. Larry took the day off, but he was bored, he came in to school anyway.

そして、まあ‥‥、ちょっと 手が伸びてしまったんだろうな。 Soshite, maa..., chotto te ga nobite shimatta ndarou na. Then he saw the money lying there… and the rest is history.

Larry 伸びちまったんだろうねえ、 イヤハヤ、これが‥‥。 Nobichimattan darou nee, iyahaya, kore ga... I never was good at History! Heh… The joke is a bit different here, Edgeworth jokes that Larry's hand must have 'stretched out' , but I suppose 'slipped' is more apt. And Larry is like 'Yeah, guess it must have slipped!' The translation would be something like: Edgeworth: And, well, / his hand must have ended up slipping (must have slipped). Larry: Yeah, guess it must have slipped, / eheh, well...

Phoenix ‥‥‥‥‥‥ …

御剣‥‥まさかお前、 ‥‥知ってたのか？ Mitsurugi... Masaka omae, ...Shitteta no ka? Edgeworth… you didn't know, did you?

Edgeworth ‥‥アヤシイとは思っていた。 ...Ayashii to wa omotteita. I suspected.

literal translation: I thought it was suspicious. (I find it endearing that he suspected but didn't say anything - despite how he acts, Edgeworth is really a softie most times, even towards Larry who he has the rightful urge to murder more often than not) いつもの矢張なら、 お前をかばうのはオカシイ。 Itsumo no Yahari nara, Omae o kabau no wa okashii. I just couldn't picture Larry protecting you like he did that day.

みんなといっしょになって、 ここぞとばかり責めたてただろう。 Minna to issho ni natte, Kokozo to bakari semetate daro. Everyone else was saying you did it. The whole class was against you, remember?

Phoenix ‥‥うむむむむ。 ... Umumumumu. Yeah… too well. Phoenix's blabbering is hilarious here. He's in utter denial. Like he's nodding at what he's saying but he's refusing the knowledge to enter his brain.

Edgeworth 成歩堂。もしかしたら お前は知らないかもしれないが、 Naruhodou. Moshikashitara Omae wa shiranai kamoshirenai ga, Wright, you may not know this, but we used to have a saying back in school.

この男は、こう言われていたんだ。 “事件のカゲにヤッパリ矢張”と。 Kono otoko wa, kou iwarete ita nda. "Jiken no kage ni yappari Yabari" to. "When something smells, it's usually the Butz." The saying actually means : 'In the shadow of an incident/trouble, after all, there is Larry' There is the usual pun 'yappari Yahari' so I think the localization of the saying and his name was done very well to render the original meaning.

Phoenix そのコトバなら、イヤというほど 思い知らされてるよ！ Sono kotoba nara, iya to iu hodo omoishirasa reteru yo! I know, I know. I would translate this more to: 'If you're saying that, why didn't you tell me!'

Edgeworth ‥‥いやあ、成歩堂。まさか、 キミが気づいていなかったとは。 ...Iyaa, Naruhodou. Masaka, Kimi ga kizuite inakatta to wa. Really, Wright. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out! '...Why, Wright. It can't be, / you hadn't realized.' This is so funny to me, in both versions. In JP it sounds a bit more teasing and cocky, but still. It sounds like to Edgeworth, shouting objection and reprimanding his classmates and teacher as a 9 year old was no big deal. So he didn't care to mention, thought Phoenix would figure it out. If not, no big deal. To Phoenix, it was life-changing. Phoenix is having a (mid) life crisis.

Larry 意外だねこりゃあ。 Igai da ne koryaa. Well, this is sure an unexpected turn of events, eh?

Phoenix ‥‥御剣。 ... Mitsurugi. Edgeworth…

Edgeworth ん？ N? Hmm?

Phoenix 言えよ！ Ieyo! You should have told me! Here it may look like a whole different thing but it's mostly that there is no other natural way to translate this. 'Ieyo' is just the imperative of the verb 'ieru', 'to tell'. It kinda gives the feeling of 'But (then) tell me, dammit!'

Maya まあまあ、なるほどくん。 もう１５年前のコトでしょ？ Maa maa, Naruhodo-kun. Mou juugo-nen mae no koto desho? Now, now, Nick. It was fifteen years ago!

これって“じこう”ってヤツ だよね？　御剣検事。 Kore tte "jikou" tte yatsu da yo ne? Mitsurugi Kenji. Don't you think the "statute of limitations" has run out, Mr. Edgeworth?

Edgeworth そういうこと、だな。 Souiu koto, da na. I'd say so, yes.

Larry そういうことだよ。 Souiu koto da yo. There you have it! In JP version, I found it funny how Larry parrots Edgeworth's words. 'Souiu koto' means 'it's like that'.

Phoenix ‥‥まったく‥‥。 ...Mattaku,,, Grr…

お前らにカンシャして弁護士に なったぼくの立場はどうなるんだ？ Omaera ni kansha shite bengoshi ni natta boku no tachiba wa dou narun da? Where does that leave me!? I became a defense attorney because of what you two did!

Edgeworth 感動的なまでのお人よし、 といったところだろうか。 Kandō-teki na made no o-hito yoshi, to itta tokoro darou ka. Well, I'd call you a goody-two-shoes to the extreme.

Larry とんだお調子モノ、とも 言えるよナ！ Tonda o-chōshimono, tomo ieru yo na! Yeah! And you get worked up too easily, too!

Phoenix し、死刑だ！ コイツを死刑にしてくれェッ！ Shi, shikei da! Koitsu o shikei ni shite kuree! D-death! The death sentence for both of you!

‥‥こんなことなら、 検事になりゃよかったあ！ ...Konna koto nara, kenji ni narya yokattaa! Man, if I only had known, I'd have become a prosecutor!

Edgeworth ‥‥それは私も同じだ。 ...Sore wa watashi mo onaji da. The same goes for me, only the other way around…

“もしかしたら、自分は父親を 撃ってしまったのかもしれない” "Moshikashitara, jibun wa chichioya o utte shimatta no kamoshirenai" For the longest time, I thought that I might have killed my own father. These are provided as literal phrases he thought: 'Could it be, I myself was the one that ended up shooting my father.'

“自分は罪人かもしれない” "Jibun wa zainin kamoshirenai" I thought I might be a criminal. "What if I'm a criminal, myself.'

‥‥私は、そういう自分を 罰する意味もあって検事になった。 …Watashi wa, sou iu jibun o batsu suru imi mo atte kenji ni natta. I became a prosecutor in part to punish myself.

Basically the same, but instead of saying 'in part' he says that was one of the reasons. He says he became a prosecutor for that reason as well (among others), the reason being that of punishing himself. ‥‥こんなことなら、 弁護士になりたかったよ。 ...Konna koto nara, bengoshi ni naritakatta yo. If I had known the truth, I might have become a defense attorney after all. 'If it were like this (if I had known), I would have wished to become a defense attorney.' The way he says it seems way more heartbreaking in Japanese. Naritakatta = wanted to become, which here becomes 'I would have wanted to become' because of context. I translated it as 'would have wished' because it seems more apt here. Naritakatta expresses a desire for something you had wanted in the past. 'I would have gone for being a defense attorney'... It indicates that someone wanted to become or achieve something at some point in the past, but for some reason, they were not able to fulfill that desire.

Phoenix ‥‥御剣。 ... Mitsurugi. Edgeworth…

Edgeworth かわるか、成歩堂。 Kawaru ka, Naruhodou. Want to switch, Wright? Says the same thing... and it sounds so resigned in both versions. It's curt, and their conversation ends just like that. Breaks my heart.

[pin-k-ink]

BENEATH HUMAN SKIN ⋆✦⋆ ulquiorra schiffer

synopsis ➸ after ulquiorra is resurrected by orihime, you’re tasked with taking him in—a bitter twist of fate given the memories of your time as his prisoner. stripped of his power and bound to a fragile human body, he’s now completely dependent on you for survival. at first, you’re repulsed by the idea of caring for the very man who once held you captive, but as days pass, you find yourself drawn to the complexities of his new existence. with each lesson in humanity you’re forced to teach him, the lines between resentment and compassion begin to blur in ways you never expected.

chapter two —beyond human horror

pairing ➸ ulquiorra schiffer x reader

word count ➸ 6.5k

masterlist

*a couple months later*

The apartment door swung open with a squeak of protest as you stumbled through, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of another long day at the office. "Honey, I'm home!" you called out in a half-hearted rasp of sarcasm as you toed off your shoes.

An odd, muted clattering echoed from the direction of the kitchen, prompting you to pry open gritty eyes and finally take stock of your surroundings. You frowned faintly at the rich, savory aroma permeating the small living space - an incongruous accompaniment to the domesticity your teasing words implied.

With a lurch of sudden alertness, you straightened and pivoted towards the kitchen's entryway, half-dreading what visual awaited you. Sure enough, there stood Ulquiorra in all his human-shaped glory, sleeves of his white button-down rolled up past taut forearms as he worked with an array of simmering pots on the ancient stovetop.

And there, tied in a decidedly cheerful pink around that whipcord musculature, was the single most out-of-place garment you could have imagined adorning the former Espada's lean, battle-hewn frame - a ruffled, lacy apron that might have looked more at home on a 50's housewife than the one-time scourge of Las Noches.

Ulquiorra seemed so utterly absorbed in his culinary undertaking that he didn't immediately register your gawking study of his...unorthodox state of dress. You watched, lips parting helplessly, as he stirred something thick and fragrant in the central pot before dipping his stained wooden spoon to taste an experimental swipe. Sharp emerald eyes flickered over the viscous amber liquid clinging to the utensil in clear assessment.

Only when Ulquiorra's gaze shifted towards you, utterly impassive save for the faint crinkle between those striking brows, did any trace of self-consciousness seem to register.

"You have returned," he observed in a flat, inflectionless rasp that nevertheless had the hair prickling along the back of your nape in strange, visceral recognition. "I was under the impression you would not be home until the human dinner hour concluded."

Words continued to fail you as Ulquiorra seemed to take your gaping silence as...well, not permission per se, but certainly no deterrent from extending the spoon towards you in clear invitation. You eyed the viscous offering with mild trepidation as it hovered impatiently in the negligible space separating you.

"Well?" Ulquiorra's unique baritone took on the barest edge of gruffness that made your heart jolt inexplicably. "You have not yet sampled the fruits of today's recipe trials. I require your feedback to determine if any further seasoning adjustments are needed."

Finally snapping out of your stupor, you shook your head with a rueful chuckle and allowed your bag to slip from your shoulder, already crossing to accept the proffered spoonful of whatever Ulquiorra had concocted this time.

"Any excuse to get me to eat your weird cooking experiments, right?" you muttered under your breath, leaning in to part your lips and accept the warm, velvety mouthful with a hesitant sweep of your tongue.

As the rich, aromatic flavors bloomed across your tastebuds, you made an approving sound in spite of yourself, eyelids fluttering with epicurean relish. "Mmm, not bad!" You praised around the lingering notes of spice clinging to your palate. "What is...goddamn, Ulquiorra!"

The former Espada made a sound suspiciously close to an irritable click of his tongue as you cast your eyes around the kitchen in exaggerated dismay. Every available surface seemed to be littered with measuring spoons, dirty mixing bowls, and stray seasonings that spoke of a downright calamitous approach to whatever recipe he was following to the letter this time.

"I followed the instructions precisely as outlined in your human culinary tome," Ulquiorra groused, a subtle rebuke undercutting his usual flat affect. "And yet somehow the end result still pales in comparison to the illustrations or your version."

His words carried the barest hint of challenge, as if issuing you to contradict his claims of attempted adherence to proper technique. You simply arched an eyebrow in response and crossed your arms over your chest to lean your hip against the battered kitchen counter.

"Not sure there's enough paprika and saffron combined in this dilapidated apartment to recreate that level of aromatic perfection," you drawled with a mixture of sass and teasing that had Ulquiorra's striking eyes narrowing infinitesimally.

You held his stare evenly until a telltale twitch at the corner of those lush lips signaled you'd successfully gotten under the former hollow's skin. Sure enough, when Ulquiorra replied, his tones were flat enough to sap moisture from the very air between your bodies.

"I did not ask for mockery, woman. I was merely seeking your expertise and guidance through this endeavor...or is such open instruction also beyond your admittedly limited skillset?"

The subtle edge to his words, the uncompromising haughty tilt of that sharply defined jawline - it cut straight through the lingering mirth bubbling through your veins to spark a brief surge of defiant ire. Before you could stop yourself, your own prickly pride was rearing its obstinate head in answer.

"Hey now, don't get snippy with me just because you're frustrated, Ulqui-poo," you crooned, slathering his impromptu pet name in dripping condescension that had those vivid green eyes going incandescent. "If you wanted me to walk you through every step from the start, all you had to do was ask nicely."

You let the syrupy drawl linger in challenge until Ulquiorra set aside the sauce-stained spoon with a pointed, metallic clink. He pivoted towards you with exaggerated unhurried ease, stance and expression so coolly neutral it somehow raised the hackles along your nape all the more potently.

"Woman..." he murmured at last, syllables laced with gravel and banked threats as he closed the distance until your overheated awareness fixated on the fine beading of perspiration dotting his brow. "Retrieve the human recreation device from your belongings and operate it immediately."

You stared up at the former hollow hovering over your smaller frame - drinking in the subtle, hypnotic play of firelight gilding his severe features into warm, striking planes. The open-ended threat of his growled ultimatum sparked an answering flare of heated adrenaline deep in your core, challenge meeting challenge through the weighted stretches of silence descending upon you.

At last, you let slip the barest of disbelieving snorts and turned your back on Ulquiorra with an indolent roll of your shoulders.

"Whatever you say, Espada-sama," you tossed over your shoulder with a blatant hint of mocking derision lacing your tones. "I was just waiting on your usual passive-aggressive huffing to run its course anyway."

With studious unhurried movements, you retrieved your discarded satchel from its heap beside the door and began rummaging through the cluttered contents with exaggerated unconcern - all too aware of the intensity of that emerald regard burning into your back with each passing second.

Finally, your questing fingers closed around the distinctive plastic casing of the DVD you'd purchased earlier that week. You couldn't quite prevent the small, triumphant smile playing over your lips as you withdrew the movie and brandished it with a flourish in Ulquiorra's direction.

"Corpse Bride it is!" You announced with deliberately bright, almost sing-song overtones belying the weight of your nonverbal standoff. "I know how much you enjoy Tim Burton's...aesthetic. So get that dish of yours plated up while I get our spooky date night all set for us!"

In the wake of your grating exuberance, Ulquiorra simply stood utterly frozen for several weighted heartbeats - hawkish features giving away none of the calculations visibly churning behind that piercing stare. Then, with a huff of what could have been dismissal or equal disdain, the former Espada turned on his heel to attend to plating his small culinary masterpiece as you requested.

You tracked the controlled, eerily graceful movements of Ulquiorra's body as he navigated the cramped quarters like a lethal specter made flesh. Each flex and pull of that lean, corded musculature beneath his standard issue sleeves seemed to hold some inscrutable meaning - a silent unraveling of the paradigms ceaselessly shifting between your bonded existences.

As Ulquiorra dished out steaming portions of the rich, aromatic dish onto two modest ceramic plates, you felt a prickling shiver of anticipation creep up your spine you made no effort to repress. Somehow, effortlessly, this creature of cataclysm and inhumanity had slipped fully beneath your skin until moments like these represented something more visceral and indefinable than simple coexistence.

You swallowed hard against the sudden thickness cloying your airway closed. With the DVD clutched like a talisman in one sweaty palm, you turned your back on the display of mundane domesticity and made your way towards the worn loveseat that would host your evening's cinematic ambiance.

Behind you, Ulquiorra's rough baritone rasped one final salvo before silence descended around you like gathering stormheads:

"I expect full illumination and guidance..."

The words hung in the thickening air, heated and laced with promise. You refused to meet Ulquiorra's beckoning stare directly - didn't dare shatter the delicate tension cloaking your forms. Instead, you simply exhaled a breathy murmur of acknowledgment that drifted behind you in Ulquiorra's wake as he approached with your shared meal in tow.

"Don't worry...I'll walk you through every last twisted second of it."

From the moment the Corpse Bride's opening credits began to unspool across the battered television screen, you found yourself stealing frequent sidelong glances at Ulquiorra's profile. Some primal fascination simmered within you, desperate to catalog every minute shift of his striking features as he absorbed the darkly whimsical imagery.

The former Espada remained utterly motionless and inscrutable beside you on the sagging loveseat, seemingly carved from impervious stone. His long-fingered hands rested loosely atop his thighs, calloused knuckles brushing the faded denim in a counterpoint of textures that held your fixation for several suspended moments. You drank in the flexing tendons shifting beneath the sun-darkened tan of his wrists, the veins tracing hypnotic pathways leading back up beneath the casually rolled sleeves of his dress shirt.

As the titular bride rose from the grave in a swirl of ethereal blue mist, Ulquiorra's shoulders twitched incrementally - the barest betrayal of a reaction bleeding through his statuesque poise. You couldn't resist allowing your stare to trace over the sharp jut of his collarbone, aimlessly tracing the deep 'v' visible through the open collar of his shirt as you wondered what secrets might lie just beneath...

When Victor's tremulous tenor joined the Corpse Bride's haunting lament, you flinched infinitesimally, jarred from your idle inward musings in a heartsick rush. Ulquiorra shifted again beside you as if registering the same startled frisson from the anguished vocals mingling so hauntingly. Your gaze darted instinctively towards the hollow— man's face, seeking any flicker of micro-expression or involuntarily leaked emotion.

But Ulquiorra's jawline remained carved in that same aristocratic, unyielding line - eyes hooded yet glittering with banked, indecipherable intensity as he absorbed the unfolding narrative. There one moment and gone the next, a subliminal twinge somewhere between captivation and consternation seemed to flit across his noble brow before dissipating entirely.

You held your breath unknowingly, leaning infinitesimally closer in hopes of catching whatever ghostly impulse had disrupted the former Espada's eerie serenity and giving it conscious form between your joined frames. But Ulquiorra continued regarding the darkly whimsical tale with stony inscrutability, eyes glued to the chaotic blossoming of Victor's supernatural entanglements with implacable focus.

As the next stretch of melodramatic plot points and grandiose musical numbers unspooled across the flickering screen, you could all but sense the inexorable build of bewilderment shadowing the former hollow's consciousness. The tiniest wrinkle forming between those slashing insomniac brows and the almost imperceptible tightening around his impassive mouth hinted at dawning dissatisfaction Ulquiorra made no overt move to voice.

But when the final act brought the film's climactic clash of ethereal realms and calamity to its circular, strangely melancholic resolution...that's when you felt the subterranean tremors of Ulquiorra's quietly churning bafflement finally take irrevocable root.

As the credits rolled with all the hushed finality of a crypt door closing, you held your breath in anticipation of the former Espada's judgment - be it disdain for the frivolous romanticism or flat disregard for such trifling human theatrics entirely. You braced yourself for biting critique, the dismissive barbs sure to further slice those exposed nerves you'd laid open for scrutiny alongside each successive scene.

Which is why you were taken completely aback when Ulquiorra broke the weighted silence between you with a low murmur as hushed and inscrutable as the ending itself.

“I’m… not sure I understand why the conclusion follows human societal norms and customs,” he stated carefully, each syllable calibrated with surgical precision. “Considering the supernatural disaster and the roles of each character, the resolution doesn’t match the stakes and dynamics that were set up.”

You blinked owlishly at Ulquiorra's backhanded critique, momentarily too thrown to collect your thoughts into an adequately reasoned response. The former Espada's striking gaze remained fixed upon the television's blank screen, sharp features etched in a portrait of ponderous consideration.

"Emily was clearly the more dominant personality, her existence grounded within the physical realm despite her undead nature," Ulquiorra mused onward in those same arid, meticulous tones. "And yet she willingly ceded her desires and the advantage of an unliving existence in order to adhere to the whims and fickleness of the living Victor character..."

The former Espada finally tore his heavy-lidded emerald stare from the empty screen to fix you with an unmistakable air of consternation weighing behind the words. "I found such a conclusion to defy all forms of logic and pragmatism, based on what the story's parameters had established as reasonable."

You gaped back at Ulquiorra in mild stupefaction, utterly thrown by the complexity of his thought process and the unexpected amount of dissection he'd evidently devoted to Tim Burton's admittedly chaotic and whimsical narrative flow. Somehow, you'd anticipated dismissive disregard or barbed mockery of the romanticism's more maudlin themes and adherence to gothic flair over cold logic.

But instead, the former Arrancar seemed almost...disappointed? Confounded, certainly, as if the resolution undermined his ability to rationalize the story's carefully curated dramatic stakes into some codified worldview that made sense. Gone was the stony indifference or disdain, replaced by the low churnings of dissatisfaction and baffled consternation.

Realizing Ulquiorra was watching you expectantly - no doubt already recalibrating to your inevitable failure at providing a satisfactory counterpoint to his observations - you sucked in a steadying breath and quickly marshalled your thoughts.

"Well...I mean, part of the Corpse Bride's entire premise and examination of love is deconstructing those traditional notions surrounding lifelong commitments and societal expectations," you began in what hoped was a reasonable tone. "The central conflict of having two passionate connections in this wildly different state of existence sort of serves to challenge everything we assume about devotion's boundaries."

Ulquiorra's gaze remained unblinkingly intense upon you, seeming to study each cant of your body language and nuanced inflection. You could practically feel the weight of his scrutiny ratcheting upwards as you continued haltingly onwards.

"S-So for Emily to ultimately submit to humanity's arbitrary limitations about marriage and partnering despite her unusual state and obvious advantages over the living realm...it symbolizes how love itself often defies cold logic in these cases," you concluded, unable to resist the hopeful lilt coloring your tone towards the end.

When several pregnant moments stretched by without the hollow-turned-human deigning to reply or offer a reaction, you felt your cheeks beginning to burn hotly. Suddenly acutely self-conscious under the weight of Ulquiorra's uncompromising scrutiny, you bristled defensively.

"What? Not up to your lofty standards of narrative quality control, Mr. Perfect Analysis?" The barb left your lips before conscious thought could rein it in.

Rather than react overtly to your provocation, Ulquiorra simply continued studying you with that measured, implacable intensity that sent delicious tingles of discomfort sparking down your spine.

"And yet," he rasped at last in a considering drawl that reverberated straight through your core. "The narrative had by this point established Emily as a creature of raw, undiluted passion and ambition - willing to cast aside social conventions and challenge authority to seize what she craved."

The former Espada leaned forward incrementally, eyes boring into you with disquieting intensity despite his otherwise inscrutably relaxed posture. "To have her submit to society's fickle whims and relinquish her obvious advantages over her rival in the end...it feels abrupt and contrary to that core characterization, does it not?"

Unable to withstand the hypnotic weight of Ulquiorra's scrutiny any longer, you broke his stare with a shaky exhale and turned to retrieve the television's remote control. "Look, if you're going to completely miss the entire point of the commentary, then Corpse Bride is clearly the wrong viewing choice for someone in your state of...intellectual constipation."

With a few defiant jabs at the remote’s buttons, you switched to scrolling through different channels, trying to distract yourself from Ulquiorra’s utterly focused presence beside you. No longer was the former hollow simply absorbing the content with detached curiosity - now he seemed intent on applying some impossibly stringent analytical rigor to every plot point and thematic undertone.

A tiny, perverse part of you couldn't resist lobbing this particular brand of kindling into the proverbial flames of the former Espada's indignity.

"Here," you announced decisively, hitting select on the brightly colored thumbnail displayed in garish HD splendor. "This should be far more your speed when it comes to examining themes and narrative substructures."

The opening splash screen and tinkering overture of the Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus movie lit up the cramped living room in a blinding garish display of overwhelming pink and digitally sculpted innocence. You smirked faintly at the twitch rolling through the tendons in Ulquiorra's wrist and forearm as the initial snippets of dialogue began to play out on-screen.

"Woman..." The terse rebuke rumbled from deep in the former hollow's chest in a delicious wave of disapproval. "If this is some misguided effort at mockery—"

"Not at all, Ulquiorra," you couldn't resist crooning with dripping sweetness, finally meeting his scathing stare once more over the low coffee table. "I just figured, given your highly refined palette for nuanced storytelling and character deconstruction...something like this would prove ripe material for analysis."

You watched in unveiled relish as the former Espada's posture went incrementally more rigid with each chirpy line of animated dialogue painting itself across the television's glare. Emerald eyes flashed from beneath hooded lids and that same pensive furrow reappeared between slashing brows as he struggled to process the narrative unfolding for him.

Before you could so much as slide another taunting barb past your teeth, Ulquiorra's rigid hand shot out with preternatural swiftness to seize the discarded remote from beside your thigh with bruising force. You inhaled a startled breath as the former hollow overrode the movie's obnoxious chimes with another electronic command, plunging the two of you into a stillness rent only by labored exhalations and the thundering of your shared heartbeats.

"Enough," Ulquiorra growled in that fathomless baritone that sparked liquid electricity along your suddenly oversensitized nerve endings. "This form of...cinematic torture will not be endured further without repercussions."

You blinked rapidly, pulse racing rabbit-quick under the weight of the former Espada's banked viridity and the undeniably heated charge now building between your close proximities. Somehow, in the span of mere minutes, the atmosphere had shifted somehow - now charged and nebulous with untapped potential humming like a livewire.

As if sensing the shift in undercurrents, Ulquiorra repositioned himself ever-so-slightly until your folded knees brushed in the most fleeting of contact. You fought the shuddering urge to squirm away from that brand of forbidden intimacy.

"If you require my insights and dissections so acutely, woman," Ulquiorra murmured with shivery deliberateness, "then prepare me something more...worthy of my full and unbridled scrutiny."

The weighted implication behind his words kindled a tiny spark of annoyance that rapidly bloomed into full defensive bristle. You narrowed your eyes at Ulquiorra's retreating back, the arch challenge in his tone grating against your instinctive desire to have the final word.

"Oh yeah?" You tossed the words out toward his lean silhouette haloed in the shadows of the hallway entrance. "Well why don't you pick something for a change, Mr. High and Mighty Critic? Put your money where your mouth is for once."

Ulquiorra's steps stilled mid-stride, the minute cocking of his head over one corded shoulder your only signal that he'd registered your flippant retort. For one heartbeat, then two, suspended stillness saturated the space between you in thickening portent.

Just as your defiant bravado began to wan under the strain of such stifling muteness, Ulquiorra pivoted with an eerie, reptilian fluidity. You found yourself pinned beneath the full smoldering weight of his penetrating jade regard as he stalked back toward the living area with that same predatory unhurriedness.

"Very well," he intoned, each softly spoken syllable shivering with banked promise. "I shall endeavor to select something more...evocative for our cinematic indulgences this evening."

There was no concealing the shiver of anticipatory trepidation lancing down your spine at his darkly confident cadence. You swallowed hard against the instinctive flutter of unease manifesting low in your belly, determined not to show any outward faltering.

Ulquiorra brushed past you without breaking that weighted stare, letting the scorching brand of his body heat ghost along your arm in a subliminal caress dripping with heady provocation. Only when the former Espada crouched with predatory grace before the small entertainment center did you allow yourself to exhale shakily.

Your palms prickled with the first fine sheen of nervous sweat as Ulquiorra's stare raked over the modest collection of DVDs, seeming to appraise and reject each one with fastidious contemplation. Something about the crisp, decisively minute adjustments of his head and the intermittent creasing of his brow made you abruptly, viscerally certain this was no idle browsing or flippant selection.

No, Ulquiorra was clearly endeavoring to curate the absolute most...effective viewing experience possible. One pitched specifically towards rattling whatever composure and bravado you still clung to after your earlier taunts and provocations.

You licked your lips nervously, the first frisson of genuine concern trickling up your spine as Ulquiorra seemed to freeze before one specific title, eerie eyes narrowing intently at the garish cover art. That tiny muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched almost imperceptibly, the barest betrayal of contemplation.

All at once, Ulquiorra snapped upright with enough preternatural suddenness to startle a tiny involuntary gasp past your lips. You tensed as his piercing stare tracked back towards you, features arranged into an inscrutable mask of stony evaluation.

"This one," he declared in that toneless, inflectionless rasp that managed to drip with malicious promise.

You regarded the DVD case clutched in Ulquiorra's long fingers apprehensively, unable to resist darting your gaze back to his features to discern what sinister revelation might lie behind those hooded, predatory eyes. But the former Espada was utterly implacable and unrevealing as ever, posture radiating an almost blithe indifference at direct odds with your steadily mounting sense of dread.

At last, you dragged your reluctant focus fully toward the offending title in Ulquiorra's grasp, feeling an ugly prickle of gooseflesh stipple over every exposed inch of flesh as your eyes traced the familiarly ghastly movie poster emblazoned there.

The Exorcist's iconic artwork – the twisted, hellishly contorted features of the possessed Regan leering over a faded crucifix backdrop – stared back at you from the weathered plastic casing with all the voracious, corruptive malice you remembered from childhood nights being kept awake by sheer visceral terror.

"No..." The hushed rasp of denial slipped from between your lips before rational control could intervene. "N-No way, Ulquiorra. Fuck that film and the devil horse it galloped in on."

You took an instinctive backward step as the former Hollow took one slow, inexorable stride forward – movements fluid and hypnotic in their unhurried menace. There was no mistaking the tiny, razor curve quirking one corner of Ulquiorra's lush mouth – a glimmer of sadistic satisfaction gleaming in the depths of his unblinking jade stare.

"Oh?" He rasped out with deliberate breathiness, voice pitched low enough to lick tingles down your spine like the seductive rasp of the serpent itself. "And here I was under the impression you craved a more...stimulating cinematic dissection from me tonight?"

Your jaw worked silently in protest, every semblance of composure withering beneath the scorching brand of Ulquiorra's steady approach and calculated words. This demon, this supreme harbinger of past destruction, held your every phobia and childish terror cradled in his grasp like a vengeful succubus preparing to strike at your deepest vulnerabilities.

"I..." The stammering protestation lodged like a stone in your throat, steeling your spine with the first true flickerings of blind panic. "Th-That's not...I didn't mean anything this...this fucking evil!"

The mildly hysterical warble lacing your breathless words seemed only to inflame Ulquiorra's sadistic relish further. Within moments, his lean, imposing frame loomed over yours – near enough that you could drink in the deliciously masculine notes of clean musk and scorched cedar clinging to his heated skin.

"I see I've succeeded in...rattling your resolve then," Ulquiorra practically purred with heady, leonine menace. His stare never wavered from yours, utterly unblinking and implacable as he drank in your burgeoning terror and dismantling bravado with clear rapture. "So this will prove suitable for my...observations after all."

A flicker of wild panic lanced through you at the sinister promise laced through Ulquiorra's rasping tones. With a surge of desperation, you launched yourself off the couch, hands outstretched to claw the accursed DVD from the former Espada's grasp.

"Give it!" you growled with as much bravado as you could muster, scrambling forward. "I'm not letting you torture me with that satanic mind-screw of a movie!"

Rather than relinquish his prize, Ulquiorra simply reacted with eerie, preternatural calm. One large hand snapped up to seize your wrist in an unbreakable manacle, halting your momentum cold. You hissed through clenched teeth, straining against the immovable restraint with all your waning strength.

The former hollow regarded your frantic struggles with politely dispassionate interest, not a hair out of place as he weathered your pitiful offensive. With a deft twirl of his captured wrist, Ulquiorra reversed your momentum entirely - seizing your other arm and hauling you flush against the solid wall of his chest with negligent ease.

You squirmed futilely in his snaring embrace, glaring bloody defiance even as your heart trip-hammered beneath your ribs. But Ulquiorra only studied you with that same banked, unblinking intensity.

"Really now, woman," he tutted with mild, infuriating condescension. "Is this how one ought to behave in polite company?"

Despite your furious wriggling, Ulquiorra somehow managed to tuck The Exorcist's case securely into his pocket - then set about extracting the disc itself with one-handed, hypnotic efficiency. You huffed a sound of pure disgust against his chest, determined not to show any outward flickers of the dread curling icy tendrils through your veins.

With a chilling finality, you heard the disc slide home and the DVD player hum to sputtering life. Then Ulquiorra's focus shifted back to you entirely, emerald eyes narrowing to predatory slits as he took in your defiant struggle.

"It seems we've reached an impasse," he murmured with maddening tranquility. "You've made your... distaste for this particular film abundantly clear. And yet it appears no amount of resistance will dissuade me from pursuing our cinematic enlightenment further."

He allowed a single beat of quiet, then squeezed his arms around your torso in an inescapable vise of flexing muscle and smoky cedar. You couldn't bite back a startled gasp as the former hollow swept you up into his arm like a petulant child, striding over to deposit you firmly on the worn loveseat cushions with zero care for ceremony.

Before you could so much as lever yourself upright from the awkward sprawl, Ulquiorra casually swept your ankles into his lap in one smooth motion - pinning your legs while simultaneously commandeering the nearby remote. His look of distant, detached focus would have been comical in any other scenario as his thumb engaged play and the lurid strains of demonic ambiance thundered to howling life around you.

You sat frozen for one heartbeat, then two, before a distant creak in the floorboards sent you rocketing upright with an ungainly squawk of shock. Against your will, you reflexively scrabbled backward into the corner of the loveseat, arms cinching around your drawn-up knees in a desperate bid to ground yourself.

On screen, the cheerfully domestic scenes of Regan's normal life unspooled in stark contrast to the sonic descent into dissonant mania. At your side, Ulquiorra reclined against the opposite arm, brow furrowed in contemplative scrutiny. It was all undeniably, disconcertingly...banal.

Then a jarring violin shriek rent the air, and familiar horror exploded in a flurry of cut-sequences and terrified screaming. Your entire body jolted as if electrified, a strangled cry of panic shredding its way free from your convulsing throat before you could throttle it back down.

In that same instant, you found yourself plastered against Ulquiorra's side with wanton desperation, nails gouging lines down his powerful bicep hard enough to dimple flesh. The former Espada barely reacted to your instinctive glomming onto him for purchase - merely shifting his gaze to run an assessing sweep over your features.

"Distressing," he murmured without inflection, though you could have sworn those striking emerald eyes glinted with unholy amusement. "But hardly unexpected given your visceral reaction thus far."

You gulped a mouthful of stale oxygen, fighting back the childish impulse to bury your face against the solid security of Ulquiorra's shoulder. The rapid staccato pounding of your heart drowned out the awful audio assault continuing to shred the atmosphere around you.

Just as you began mentally rallying to unwind your death-grip on the former Espada's captive limb, another unnatural howl of anguish issued from the television speakers. This time, you managed to bite back your startled whimper...but could do nothing to quell the full-body flinch that had your fingers spasming in renewed desperation.

"Hmm," Ulquiorra sighed with maddening dispassion. His free hand drifted up, the backs of his knuckles dragging a scorching trail along the sensitive column of your nape in a mockery of reassurance. Rather than providing comfort, his feather-light caress sparked a wholly different kind of shiver ricocheting down your arched spine.

"Try not to expire from panic just yet," the former hollow murmured, dipping his noble chin to bring his lips perilously close to your temple as he spoke. "I would so hate for your mental disintegration to cut short this...enlightening experience."

The sardonic lilt of Ulquiorra's words should have sparked defiance and rebuke. But you could only shudder against his solid frame, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline as another inhuman snarl of abject torment ripped through the living room.

On screen, the blood-curdling theatrics continued to escalate in tandem with the pounding bass line of demonic ambiance. You flinched despite yourself with each slamming crescendo, torn between ducking away from the hellish imagery and instinctively pressing impossibly closer against Ulquiorra's implacable bulk.

Through it all, the former Espada remained as stoic and unruffled as a statue weathering a night of calamitous storms. His emerald gaze remained transfixed upon the flickering screen, not so much as twitching as each new grotesque abomination unfurled before your horrified eyes.

"Tell me, woman," Ulquiorra's low rasp sliced through the vicious cacophony from over your bowed head, surprisingly close to your ear. "Do your kind find any sense of relief or meaning in this weak human imitation of the supernatural? Or does it just disgust you on a primal level, like a cornered animal’s instinct?"

You didn't dare acknowledge the taunting lilt of his question, too fixated on not allowing each new jarring screech or belch of gore to jolt your heart straight up into your larynx. But Ulquiorra appeared unruffled by your continued shuddering silence, seemingly more than content to spectate your decompensating sanity one faltering nerve ending at a time.

Summoning your deepest reserves of stubborn defiance, you pried one eye open to shoot the former Espada a withering glare. But the taunting rejoinder curdled half-formed in your throat as you finally drank in Ulquiorra's expression in full.

Or rather, startling lack thereof.

The hollow's pallid features were set in an eerie mask of neutrality even more bloodlessly remote than usual. His jaw seemed to have grown even more chiseled and leonine, lips compressed into an unyielding line of...what? Contempt? Affected ambivalence in the face of Hell's visceral representations?

You squinted through the murky shadows clinging to his profile, a frisson of unease prickling along your nape. It took several suspended heartbeats for true realization to dawn amongst the fog of lingering panic.

Ulquiorra was...afraid.

Not in the wild-eyed, histrionic way mortal terror resonated through your battered psyche. No, the former hollow's reaction was far more unsettling. Dissonant. You watched in bewildered trepidation as his nostrils flared with each measured inhale, eerie green eyes locked upon horrors no living entity should ever be exposed to with an utterly eviscerating vacancy.

As if sensing your scrutiny, Ulquiorra's lashes swept downward to obscure those hauntingly hollow apertures in moth-wing caresses of shadow and ash. An infinitesimal flicker of tension tightened the flexors beneath your clinging grip, the only minute fracture betraying some existential void being unravelled within his timeless being.

When next he spoke, the former Espada's words seemed gilded in permafrost – hushed, haunted, and somehow less...anchored.

"Perhaps we should divert our attentions elsewhere for the evening," he murmured, and you shuddered at the brittle fragility lurking behind those syllables like a gathering tempest consuming the horizon. "This film was clearly ill-conceived from the start."

Blinking rapidly to counter the adrenaline spike jolting through your arteries, you fought to regroup your scattered wits. Ulquiorra seemed incapable of following through on his own admission, remaining paralyzed in that unnatural pose of transfixed stasis.

Before conscious thought could intervene and restore your sense of self-preservation, you found your free hand skating upwards. Calloused fingertips dusted Ulquiorra's taut jawline, the brand of your touch wrenching a full-body flinch from the former Espada so startling, you nearly recoiled entirely.

But then his eyelids fluttered at the infinitesimal contact, revealing virescent slits still shrouded by trembling ash-swept fans. And you saw the first hairline fractures spiderwebbing behind those haunting depths – fine gossamer seams radiating out from the hollow's tormented soul in spirals of raw, visceral revelation the likes of which he was clearly unprepared to grapple with or rationalize away.

So you held your newly precarious position steady, heart rabbiting madly beneath your breast as Ulquiorra stared straight through you to some other desolate plane of communion. And slowly, with painstaking increments of unhurried force, you smoothed your trembling touch lower to caress the rigid musculature of his throat.

"It's alright," you husked without conscious volition to shape the soothing syllables. "It's just a silly human idea of terror. Nothing...nothing as unspeakably ancient or calamitous as what you've known in your existence."

Ulquiorra's lashes fluttered again at the grating warmth of your hoarse reassurances, throat bobbing convulsively. The harsh pant of his next exhale dusted over your parted lips, igniting tingles along every upraised patch of skin.

"...I do not understand this," he ultimately grated with the slow, leaden gravitas of spoken bedrock shifting beneath your joined forms. "Some truth bleeds through these pitiful mortal machinations...and into the core of what I am."

The despairing note threaded behind those syllables stole your next breath entirely. You found yourself transfixed anew, rooted to the precipice of Ulquiorra's revelation as his lids cleaved open fully – ancient, haunted depths now blazing with naked vulnerability.

"I cannot..." Another shard of bedrock splintered free, leaving the former Espada's mouth agape on words that rattled the cosmic dust of his inhuman esseence. "I cannot un-see, un-feel...I have been unmade."

In the heavy wake of Ulquiorra's deliverance, a protracted hush seemed to descend around your entangled frames – as if the entire material world ground to a standstill in the face of such raw, seismic truth. You could taste the charge thickening the air, a living miasma of exposed nerve endings and agonized catharsis.

Slowly, with infinite care, you cupped the curve of Ulquiorra's jaw and smoothed the pad of your thumb along the bow of his lower lip in abject reverence. It felt sacrosanct to offer penance, to soothe the ruptures shuddering from the vacant rents rent through his undying essence.

But the former Espada remained frozen against you, body coiled with unnamed dread as his wounded mind clung to familiar emptiness rather than risk splintering further under existential revelation's corruptive weight.

So you drew Ulquiorra down to you, guiding his ashen brow to rest against the damp, thudding cradle of your pulse in wordless invitation. He exhaled a fractured rasp against your slick skin, all of his immense power and metaphysical dominion concentrating into the trembling conduit of your twinned bodies as you smoothed soothing patterns along every straining tendon and steel-carved muscle.

Eventually, the screaming and rattling liturgies of terror ceased their litany upon the heaving altar of your beings. Silence crept in, cocooning and viscous, until only the paired tattoo of twin heartbeats marked time's inexorable continuation.

When Ulquiorra finally stirred with a full-bodied shudder, you expected him to recoil and restore that implacable distance between your souls through sheer force of preternatural will. But instead, the former hollow merely gathered you closer with a hush of displaced air – molding your forms together until no crevice remained for uncertainty or reproach to wedge itself.

"Sleep, woman," his command ghosted against your hairline, syllables cradled in the graveled resonance of eternity's full-throated acceptance. “There will be no more human displays of fear for us tonight… only rest in whatever brief comfort these fragile bodies offer before true horror tears them apart again tomorrow.”

You didn't dare acknowledge the shivering finality of Ulquiorra's edict out loud. Simply pressed your lips to the elegant architecture of his collarbone and surrendered utterly to the warm, grounding truth of his implacable form around you.

Outside, the mortal world continued turning with utterly oblivion to the tempest of profane truths and primal deconstructions unfolding between you. But within this hallowed world of tangled limbs and joined pulsebeats, the only dread that mattered for now lay in daring to look beyond humanity's pitiable veils and revel in the existential wonder of whatever abyssal, unknowable forces first birthed one such as Ulquiorra into waking revelation.

In the end, sleep's oblivion claimed you at last – though not without the faint susurration of unspeakable awe trailing in his wake as some fragment of the unfathomable was at last unshackled deep in your bones, irrevocably changing you just as Ulquiorra's essence had been rended unto its bleakest marrows this waking.

And tomorrow, when the din of daily struggles resumed and your world realigned into grounding shapes of indifference, you knew that same unnamable force would still linger – hungering, waiting, to be unravelled anew for both your salved souls...

[freakingholland]

"Law of attraction" – Asher Millstone x gn!reader

A/N: There aren’t enough HTGAWM fics here on tumblr so here I am with this little something for Asher! If you want to talk about the show or if you have ideas for some imagines feel free to slide into my asks 😊

Warnings: swearing, mentions of exam-related stress

Summary: The Keating 5 and reader are preparing for exams. Who would have thought that exam anxiety could give somebody enough courage to express their romantic feelings?

Set around season 3, post vacation but pre-jail era.

Word count: 1K +

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist (needs a proper update)

my wattpad archive is here

my AO3 archive is here

-

September meant no more partying, but more preparations for the fall exams. You were stuck in the evening-lit library alongside Laurel, Asher, Michaela, and Connor. Wes did not take part in the study session since he was stolen by Annalise. They were preparing for a particular case with the help of Bonnie at Annalise’s place.

You could feel your eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. It was an nth hour of staring at your books, scrolling through documents and researching papers. The palms of your hands were stained with yellow and pink highlighters. You were sat between Laurel and Asher.

You glanced up from your notes to visually check on your friends, not wanting to disrupt them. Laurel’s eyes met yours and she smiled slightly. Tiredness was visible on her face as smudged mascara created a shadow underneath her eyes.

You looked to your right, heart skipping a beat as you caught sight of Asher, hunched over his notes, his posture sagged from exhaustion. The gentle blue light from his laptop’s screen reflected in his pretty brown eyes, giving them a shimmering hue that accentuated his warmth. His usually well-groomed hair was tousled and slightly disheveled.

His presence had a soothing effect on you, managing to lift your spirits even though he looked visibly tired. You couldn’t help but wish you could retreat to the comfort of your apartment with him. Yet, despite the butterflies in your stomach, you couldn’t muster the courage to admit your true feelings for Asher, leaving you trapped in longing for something more.

What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if saying something changes everything between you two? The thought of losing the closeness you have—of turning something so natural and easy into something complicated—keeps you quiet, even as your feelings for him grow stronger.

“So… I’m trying to remember this definition of Res Ipsa Loquitur and I keep messing it up. It’s so fucking long. Mind if I recite it to you and see if it sounds right?” Ash asked whispering, leaning into your ear.

“Go ahead.” you responded.

“Okay, here it goes: the thing speaks for itself, it refers to situations where the nature of an accident-- implies negligence due to the mere occurrence of the event.” he paused for a second.

“The doctrine—umm… allows a plaintiff to establish a presumption of negligence without direct evidence… provided the event is of a type that does not normally happen without negligence, and the instrumentality causing harm was under the-- defendant's control.”

You nodded with a grin.

“That sounds pretty solid.”

“Thanks.”

He exhaled heavily and leaned back in his chair crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

He shook his head no.

“Dude I’m so tired.” He murmured.

“I can tell. Me too. I could really use a nap.” You also leaned back in your chair.

“Mmm… a nap.” Asher reached out to grab his cup of now cold coffee. After taking a sip or two he turned back to you.

He laughed at his own thought.

“Remember that damned Civ Pro final?” He said.

“Oh yeah, you came out looking pale as fuck.”

“Seriously, I thought I was about to pass out right there in the exam room…”

“I’m starting to freak the fuck out if I’m being honest.” He exclaimed.

Michaela overheard the conversation and chuckled slightly.

“And what is that supposed to mean!”

“I told you to start reading that a week ago. But you guys were too busy with Annalise’s cases.”

“Aaaas alwaaays.” She added mockingly.

Ash only rolled his eyes in response to her remark.

“You’re not the only one who’s stressed out, but we got this.” You tried to reassure him.

He spaced out for a couple of seconds.

“You are right angel. We got this.”

He stood up abruptly and reached out to grab both your mugs.

“Anyone else wants some more coffee?”

You could feel your cheeks burning up. You eyed Ash up and down as he was making his way out of the room when your eyes met with Michaela’s. She gave you a wink and smiled.

*

The hours ticked by, and the evening grew darker.

The silence was suddenly interrupted when Oliver burst into the library, a cheerful grin spreading across his face as he carried a plastic container full of freshly baked cookies.

“There is absolutely nooooo way in hell that you made those!” Laurel said jumping up from her seat and walking towards Oli.

Oliver tilted his head pretending to be offended and smiled at her.

“It’s good to see you too! I did. You all look like you could use some glucose.”  he said with sympathy in his tone.

She quickly took one of the cookies and bit into it.

Everyone stopped in their tracks and locked their gazes on Laurel to see her reaction.

“Okaaay these are… not too bad actually.”

“Gimme one I got to try!”

Michaela reluctantly bit into a cookie. She started nodding after taking two more bites.

“Not too bad huh?”

“Okay alright… pretty good Oli. Good job hun.”

He walked towards her and embraced her in a hug, making sure not to spill the cookies.

*

As the study session wrapped up and everyone started packing their bags, Asher turned to you, his eyes a mix of exhaustion and excitement.

"You know," he began, his voice softer now.

"Once we get through these exams, I think we deserve a break." You looked up, curious, as Asher continued.

"How about we celebrate with dinner? Just the two of us?"

The sudden invitation made your tiredness fade slightly as you quickly considered the offer.

"Dinner sounds nice. "

Asher's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response.

"Great, it’s a date then” he said, his tone playful yet sincere.

The others exchanged quick glances but pretended not to hear, letting the moment pass without interruption. With that, you headed out of the library, finally chatting about other, less boring matters.

You delicately poked Ash’s side. He looked down at you and hummed.

“Sooo do we have a plan for the dinner or-?”

“Mmm… I was thinking of something low-key, maybe just some good food at my place and no textbooks in sight?”

“That would be perfect.”

-

A/N 2: Part 2 soon? Yes? No? :)

[theendofmina]

OQJAHWHWU so I’m making an Yandere Bisexual Visual novel bases on 2010s (more details on pinned post ;)) so I said that I would show the characters so here there are xoxo

︶꒦꒷︶

Mina ♀ (18 years old) (Main character):

You know her! Our little darling protagonist! And as you may know, she has a really shitty luck. Things as simple like walking with new shoes and step on dogs shit, or things like her boyfriend breaking up with her while she passing by her worst depression.

She can be disrespectful sometimes but she it’s really sweet :))

She works part-time as babysitter of a sweet girl called Jeannette and also she doesn’t miss any section with her total normal therapist!

Erina ♀ (18 years old):

Mina’s boyfriend’s best girl friend.

“I’m kinda one of the boys,” you know what I mean. But still, she’s cute, kind, and so sweet… At least that’s what everyone says. At this point, Mina honestly thinks everyone is crazy for that. It’s hard to openly hate someone everyone likes, but now that Mina’s boyfriend is dead, she’s starting to show her true colors…

Just another obstacle on the way. <333

Kitty ♂ (19 years old):

Everything about him is a Spoiler.

But let me think…If that’s what you thinking, he it’s androgynous and very pretty tho. Looks like a woman and a man had a child (lol).

He it’s kinda…weird, Mina doesn’t know how to describe it but she feels a strange vibe coming from him. But don’t worry! He it’s a softy, not for everyone ofc. Mina doesn’t know why but she feels like kitty has always an eye on her, even in their first meet. Maybe he knows something we don’t (T_T).

Rochelle ♀ (20 years old):

You know that ur trauma is going to hit hard when u spot a goth girl (jk). Ex-Mina’s friend from church, they used to be bible study buddies! :D

But Rochelle disprove Mina decisions on that time so their relationship..didn’t ended very well…Even if many years passed, the relationship it’s still pretty tense. She it’s rude, loves baking and cats! Like kitty, when she tolerates you she start being more likeable. Doesn’t become a softie but aleast you don’t feel like she wants to kill ya.

Somethings look like they hate each other, sometimes like an average lesbian couple. Who knows? Maybe that hate isn’t hate after all ;)

Jane ♀ (22 years old):

Rochelle’s older sister! She it’s more likable than her sister, Aleast she doesn’t insult at random people when she gets mad. 

Reasonable but sometimes dry, she loves her little sister and hers other 6 siblings :3

“Female Supremacy” aaah vines 😭

She meet Mina by Rochelle, at first she didn’t care of her but after Mina’s boyfriend dead…she has her suspicions.

BUT she isn’t in Mina hating club (yet) and MAYBE Mina can convince her that she isn’t that bad. 

Leonard ♂ (23 years old):

I love him, mina love him, you gonna love him and everyone loves him. He it’s Mina’s brother-in-law, and GOSH he it’s such sweetheart. Everyone’s friend, loves coffee like he REALLY LOVES COFFEE also has little crush on Mina..but that doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t have his left eye bc [REDACTED] but anyways, being friends with him will make others hate you a little less so be nice to him! He it’s only little silly guy :3

Even if he wants to be more than friends…and now with his brother out of the way, that can be a dream come true! Go white boy! Go!

Julian ♂ (??? years old):

Well…it’s kinda complicated..

Julian it’s Mina’s therapist and nurse on the local hospital, overworked and underpaid. He knows Mina better than anyone! Even more than her now ex-boyfriend…

He it’s so caring and kind with Mina, everyone respects him…everyone except Kitty..mmm…weird.

[coquelicoq]

@loreofcardigan tagged me to list 5 topics i can talk on for an hour without preparing any material ! thank you nym 🧡

umm i guess my first question is whether i need to say accurate things about the topic for an hour or if i can just sort of bullshit it. lol. so how about i list five things and then say how much of the hour would be bullshit?

crossword construction. this would be 0% bullshit. many a person has rued getting me going on this topic.

french phonotactics. this talk might be hard to get started without a specific prompt, but once i found an in, i could keep it up for an hour. >50% would have to be bullshit (or be qualified with a lot of "my guess is..."es) because i haven't formally studied this and hell i can't even distinguish all the french phonemes. but i could sound very convincing to people who don't know anything about french or phonotactics!

i bet i could talk about murderbot for an hour. 15% bullshit of the "mmm...that's a reach" variety, but most of my theories are i think pretty well supported.

that poem about the ocean i wrote a few years ago. i recite poetry to myself sometimes when i'm upset or have insomnia or just for funsies, and one time i couldn't fall asleep so i tried reciting this poem but got distracted analyzing it and stayed up an hour explaining it to myself. but i wouldn't have been sleeping anyway so it was fine. generally i should be able to talk for an hour about any poem i've written, as a poem is a dense and intricate system for communicating something, and to communicate that something in another way, or to break down the way in which the poem is communicating it, would be pretty involved. but that one in particular i know i could talk about for an hour because i've done it before. this would be 0% bullshit because i wrote the fuckin thing lol.

paintings of light reflecting off water. one of my favorite topics, however it would be nigh on 80% bullshit because i know nothing about visual art except how it makes me Feel. how does it do what it does, and what techniques are at the artist's disposal to make it do that, and what context is any one painting (or style of painting, or artistic technique, or motif, etc.) in dialogue with? fuck if i know. but boy could i make stuff up about it.

tagging @joelletwo, @qserasera, @uovoc, @grammarpedant, @dangerliesbeforeyou, @opalescent-potato, @treecakes, and @ctl-yuejie but as always no pressure <3

[duckapus]

[a few days after the CCC Avatars and their games are taken, most of the characters relevant to the situation (notably all the Avatars except for the missing ones (obviously) and all the SMGs except 7 and 10 (for spoiler reasons)) are called to a meeting at 4's Meme Factory (since it's one of the few places that many people can meet comfortably) by Susie]

SMG3: Alright, why'd you call us all here?

Susie: I'm glad you asked *starts rummaging through a storage device* As you know, I've been studying code samples from the missing Avatars in the hopes of finding out the reason behind their memory suppression-and hopefully a cure for it-since before they were taken. And as it happens, a bit before I was informed of their capture I managed to synthesize this! *pulls out a large beaker of faintly glowing green liquid with lines of binary occasionally scrolling through it*

Several audience members: Oooooooooooo...

Mario: ...What is it?

Susie: This is a replica of the trojan program used to lock their memories, written is such a way that it can be represented as a liquid for ease of analysis. *she sets it on a table behind her* Most likely a similar method was used to administer their doses in the first place, possibly as some form of penetrating projectile designed to dissolve into their bloodstreams upon entry. AND, it just so happens to be completely identical to the code that made up the energy field generated by Lawyer Kong's so-called "firewall." Thus, the cure is obvious; Memes.

SMG6: But...we tried that already. It only worked for a few minutes, and only once.

Susie: That would be because of the one way the two afflictions differ; the firewall was an external source that people could be shielded from, while the trojan program is internal and needs to be overwhelmed and purged, and the latter will require a far more potent Meme than the former.

Which, unfortunately, is my current roadblock. See, if we make the memes too potent, they'll trigger a Meme Overload. That wouldn't have been a problem before they were captured-well, apart from Juliano given his condition, but still- but now they have to be administered while we're rescuing them from wherever they ended up, and we most likely won't have the time to bring them back down to manageable levels of insanity in the middle of that. So, we need to figure out the exact right dosage of Meme Energy that will cure them without making them go crazy.

Bob: ...Which means you need a test subject.

Susie: *nods* Now, in the interest of fairness I've put the names of everyone here who isn't an OC into a random number generator so-

???: *minecraft potion drinking sound* Mmm, kiwi flavor.

*everyone slowly turns with a comical creaking sound effect to see Franky holding the now-empty beaker*

Lily: We probably should've seen that coming.

Franky: *after a second or so there's the same audio and visual effect as when Mario got firewalled in the Lawsuit Arc, causing Franky to fall to his hands and lack-of-knees as the energy takes hold. His model slowly reverts to his old look as a generic Toad with glasses, and when the transformation is over he falls onto his face*

Desmond: FRANKY! *runs up to him and picks him up so he can see his face* Are you okay?

Franky: ...Who's Franky?

Everyone: *stares very intensely at Susie*

Susie: *weakly* ...Well...that's one way to choose I guess. *feels Peach, Toadsworth, Sage and Desmond suddenly looming ominously behind her* Right, let's go see about cooking up that cure, shall we? *grabs all the SMGs, Franky and Luigi and Books It deeper into the factory* Alright team, to the Meme Kitchen on the double!

[jinkookspencil]

bts reactions - you experiencing sensory overload - hyung line

disclaimer/explanation:  (maknae line version here!) this isn't meant to be specifically related to any disorder or any other specific neurobehavioral phenomenon - anyone that relates to it is free to do so, basically. i myself struggle with this and often experience sensory overload, so this is based on my experience (one of the ones below is based on someone i know) and i wrote this yesterday after experiencing it in real life. so, yeah, i just wanted to put that out there. every experience or relation to this is valid. (and just for clarification in case anyone needs it: sensory overload is when one or more of your senses experiences over-stimulation from your surroundings - it can be through sounds and noise, visuals and what you see, crowding, touch, smell, etc. anyone who experiences it and is sensitive to it can feel overwhelmed, can "shut down" and be unfocused, become irritable, cover their ears/nose/etc, and more - people have different reactions.)

separated hyung line and maknae line since the word count for each member is quite long. (namjoon: 1.1k / seokjin: 730 / yoongi: 1.4k / hoseok: 670)

🌻 namjoon 🌻

“Just look at me. Ignore everything else.”

Namjoon said the words as an order - yet his voice was gentle, more soothing than ever before. You wanted to obey. It was easy to. Just seconds ago, ‘ignoring everything else’ would’ve been one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. Your childhood best friend’s wedding couldn’t have been more chaotic, but here, standing merely ten feet away from the chaos with one of the closest people in your life, it suddenly became bearable. You couldn't tell if it was the short distance, the man in front of you, or his firm hands on your shoulders - you’d always wondered if he could be as gentle as he was clumsy. Turns out he could.

“Is it anxiety?”

“Not really,” you say, staring into his eyes. “Well, maybe? It’s hard to tell, Joon. It’s just… a lot. The lights. The fact that the spotlight will be on me when I give my maid of honor speech - oh, and all the eyeballs of the attendees too. And I’d have to block out the sound of the kids playing around in the corner. Oh, and probably the sound of that old man who insists on slurping every last drop of his drink through his straw instead of just getting a refill. I think - I think - if I try hard enough, I could make out the sound of him doing so right now, even though I did last see him on his way to the bathroom. He probably took his drink in there with him. And I might be able to hear one of the kids asking the other to be his girlfriend, oh and-“

“Can you actually hear all that now? Right now?” Namjoon interrupts, resisting a smile.

“Mmm, not when you talk to me. Not when I talk to you. Your face…. Your voice…. You have a calming effect, Kim Namjoon.” The corners of his lips turn upwards into a smile, so you go on hurriedly. “It’s weird. Like…. A boyfriend." Fuck. You were just friends, dammit. . "Or a self-help guru. A therapist - you basically are my therapist, so.”

“Makes sense then, doesn’t it? Tell you what - when you give your speech, just stare directly at me. Like you’re talking to me. Maybe it’ll drown out everything then too - the awwwwws, the giggles, the adoring stares….”

“Stares are never adoring.”

“I disagree,” he says, and suddenly it's hard to look into his eyes, laser-focused on yours.

“I’ll have to ignore my high school friends, judging my body. The old ladies - thinking the same and wondering if I’m single or not, probably matchmaking me with a man here out of boredom. Oh, men - I have to worry about them too. I can handle judgmental scans but ogling-“

“If anyone ogles you and makes you feel uncomfortable I’ll deal with them myself. Old ladies included - I’ll… charm them or get Hoseok to do it. Old ladies adore him and his wife.”

You study Namjoon’s features, serious as ever.

“Look at me. If you want to. If it’s such a bad idea, I’m sure Yeri will understand if you bolt, but….” He pauses, looking somewhere behind you. “It seems like they need you, and I’ll be at table 7 - whether you want to be a runaway bridesmaid and need to hold someone's hand or if you need some calming focal point who is always in your corner.”

You take a deep breath, and Namjoon squeezes your shoulders, pulling you into his chest for a hug that lasts a few seconds too long… just long enough for your heartbeat to slow and match his. “You got this,” he whispers against your neck before pulling away and gesturing behind you, giving you that calm, cool, and collected smile that always puts you at ease before each of you departs to your different tables.

Jaehyun, the best man, told you it was time for you to end the night as he guided you back to your seat besides Yeri. Standing right beside her, a joyous vision in off-white lace and flowers - you knew you could never bolt. A focal point might turn out to be a good hack.

“Alright, everyone. As your emcee, it's my pleasure to introduce the final portion this evening, brought to you by the beautiful maid of honor,” Jaehyun begins, handing you his microphone. 

The applause didn’t help. Neither did Yeri’s hopeful and grateful stare beside you.

But a face at table 7 was already starting to work its magic.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Yeri’s maid of honor tonight, and well, every night, huh, Yeri? I guess you knew I was the woman for the job when we were in the sixth grade, and I waited on you hand and foot after feeling guilty for intentionally giving you chicken pox so we’d miss school together. I was your happy maid then…. Well, minus the honor.” You couldn’t tell if everyone in the room laughed as hard as Namjoon did, but you hoped that was the case - so you went on. As though you’d been detailing your entire history with Yeri to Namjoon only, for four whole minutes, playing off of his reactions alone. If they were anything to go off of, you were a hit.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that Yeri is not just one of my best friends - she's family. And right now, I’m filled with so much… joy, peace, laughter, good food, too many drinks, but most of all… love.”

For the first time, Namjoon glances another way. A probably unintentional reminder that you’d gotten to the end of your speech and that the words were meant for the woman sitting beside you. “I love you, Yeri,” you say, turning to your friend only for her to jump on you with a hug the moment your eyes meet, muttering ineligible praises through her joyful tears until you finally pry her arms away.

Sneaking your way out of the main table as the party resumes with everyone out of their seats, you find your way to Table 7 in seconds. If anyone had tried to stop you on your way there, you hadn’t noticed.

“I knew you’d kill it,” Namjoon says, wrapping his arms around you the moment you get to him. His embrace was just as warm as it’d been earlier, but when he started to pull away, you got on your tiptoes to place a quick peck on his cheek. Squishy. 

“Thank you, Joon,” you whisper against him, unsure if he’d even hear it through all the noise - but you were sure the kiss said enough. 

He bends down to kiss your cheek in response, and, as though you’d been in an empty room, hear him whisper a soft promise just for you.

“Always... Always.” 

👾 seokjin 👾

It had to have been an hour since Jin had walked into the living room. 

He usually played in his game room, a soundproofed man-cave full of Nintendo figures and his multiple consoles, televisions, and PC setups (including your pink one that he built himself). But minutes after returning from a weird work schedule, he began to set up camp right in front of you.

“I just miss you when I game,” he’d said sweetly, kissing your forehead before booting up the console and plopping onto the couch, cross-legged beside you. It was too sweet to say no to, and the first few minutes took you back to the very beginning of your relationship. 

Just the first few minutes. 

The battle game got too intense too fast, and of course, so did Jin. His screams and cheers could be endearing.

But not when you had work to do.

And not when you could hear them through your noise-canceling headphones.

And especially not when they sounded like his moans half the time.

“YA! SHI - what the?!”

A hand tapping your arm jerks you from your position and your blank stare into your laptop screen and the half-written document before you. Jin crawled up to you on the couch, gently rubbing your shoulder and taking off your headphones for you. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding onto them tightly, trying to block out the noise as much as possible. “Honey, you’re breathing so heavily… you’re shaking, honey. You look… angry? Are you okay?”

His voice is just above a whisper. The television is now muted - merely displaying the words ‘Replay Level?’ In big, bold letters.

“Honey….”

You take a deep breath and finally muster up the courage to look at your fiancé. It’d be even harder to tell him the truth looking into his wide, concerned eyes, almost covered by his fluffy, unkempt hair…. but since you’d be spending the rest of your life with your true love…

“Seokjin…" you start, before taking in another deep breath. A tear almost escapes you as you go on, your voice shaky. "You know I like seeing you game - you can get really adorable sometimes, even when you’re angry and lose but…. I think I needed some quiet today - to get my work done. I just didn’t want to turn you away.”

A deep exhale escapes his lips, which he places at your temple. “My love… I'm so sorry." Another kiss. "Shit. I'm an asshole. I didn't even ask you. I’m glad you told me. I know you can get overstimulated like this sometimes and... I should’ve known. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, honey. And don't say all that stuff about yourself. I like it, just... not today?” you say, ruffling his unruly locks. “But, if I’m working…. Maybe just Animal Crossing? Any other slow game? Sidequests instead of the actual storyline?”

“Of course,” he smiles, kissing you on your forehead. “And for the record, kick me out anytime, okay?”

“Okay,” you say before you pull him in for a kiss on your lips. “Now get out, honey.”

Jin can’t help but break into laughter at your command, sticking his arms up in resignation. “I’m lucky to get commanded so cutely,” he remarks as he saves and ends the game and moves to go to his game room, suddenly stopping at the doorway, to turn back to you, fiddling with his the strings on his hoodie. “Hey…. If it won't be too much then tonight, well, any time really it doesn't have to be today, but.... Maybe you can continue to command me around in the bedroom too… cutely or not-so-cutely…. Maybe I can too….”

“Get OUT, Kim Seokjin,” you say, barely holding back your chuckle. “Let me work. You’ll make me fantasize.”

“No need to fantasize, honey. It’s reality. Or it will be, if you want it to be. Let me know,” he winks, stepping into his cave. 

It was hard to stay focused after that, but back in your silence, you had a productive hour or two before finally resigning to your basic human instincts and whipping open the door to Jin's game room. You were ready to do something somebody other than work today.

🎹 yoongi 🎹

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For the slightest moment, you believed in the possibility of random alternate universes briefly colliding with your existing one to produce a random, freak occurrence, as the conspiracy theorists say.

Because for the first time, your boyfriend had asked you for advice on his music. 

A demo. 

You’d listen to Yoongi’s demo. And give advice.

Sure, you’d heard some variations and almost-demos in the past, you had to have, considering you were in a serious relationship with the man. You’d catch him humming a melody and some lyrics that suddenly came to him, anywhere and everywhere, and he’d always try to figure out where it led on his own. He’d scurry to the studio or, as he did on your trips, whip out his phone or whatever gadget he had on him to quickly remember it - but that was the extent of it, your exposure to his behind-the-scenes music-making process. It was the way he worked his genius, so you never complained.

But now you were sitting in his studio with him, rather than popping in for a quick visit, and you couldn’t help but take in his space as he searched through his computers and softwares. The name of his studio - GENIUS LAB - in the form of turned-off neon light hung on the wall behind him, with some cat plushies adorning the couch below it. Endearing, as he’d always been - his sheer confidence came through when selecting a name for his studio because he was, well, a genius, and the adorableness surrounding it (Yoongi included) only added to that. The other wall was decorated in memorabilia related to his career, the members, his solo tour, and basketball, as expected, along with a shelf of many different types of alcohol, the faint smell of which definitely remained in the air, even through the orange blossom fragrance of his desk-side diffuser. In front of both of you and Yoongi were about a hundred different types of computers, gadgets, machines, and physical instruments all within reach. Besides the ones you recognized - the guitars, keyboards, and others - you couldn’t make sense of anything you were looking at.

“Ah, here it is,” he murmured. “Thanks, by the way.”

“I should be thanking you for letting me get a peak at all this. It’s the first time you asked me for advice, and you know I’m not musically inclined, so… I’m also a bit confused, Yoongi.”

“That’s why I wanted to ask you. I listened to this so many times that I can’t really make sense of it anymore. I showed it to the team, and they think it’s good, but I can’t help but feel that it’s…. wrong. Something’s missing. So I need someone who doesn’t know the technicalities of music as well as we do. I don’t want someone detailing all the tiny little note changes like they do - it only confused me more and now I don't even know how to release it. Plus, you know, you’re the love of my life and all that, so you're my go-to. Okay, here it is.”

Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to respond and tell him that you love anything and everything he does, not just because he was your true love as well, but because you both know he knows it already.

The tune plays, echoing through his studio and it sounded great. Something right between the familiar work he’d done under his Agust D persona but verging on the work he’d done as a part of BTS - it was new, true to himself, and overall, very good. But you understood where Yoongi was coming from. Agust D and BTS were distinctly different… at times.

As the song faded out, you and Yoongi looked at each other for the first time in five minutes. 

“Well?” he murmured. “And I do want the truth, darling. Even if you think it’s shit - that’ll help me.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to find a way to put your thoughts into words. Yoongi knew Agust D and BTS were different - that wasn’t the advice he was looking for. “It is very good, Yoongi darling. Amazing, even.”

“Please tell me there’s a ‘but’ or a ‘however’ in your next sentence,” he winces, unfazed by your brief compliment.

“Don’t want to use those words, but I’ll say this: did you think about trying it out but….softer?”

“Softer?”

“Yeah….” It was the one comment that came to mind. Softening the song, in any way, would definitely help him figure out where the song would go - to SUGA or to Agust D. “Softer…. Like…. People Pt 2? And…. Never Mind? I think something like that could work. I can’t really explain it further because - you know I don’t know music - but…. soft vibes, maybe? Is that bad advice?”

“No, no - first of all, there’s no such thing as bad advice from you - but wait…. softer….” Your boyfriend stares into an abyss, and you can practically see the cogs in his brain working to figure out how to incorporate your advice. “That could work. Holy shit, hold on.” 

Yoongi quickly turns to his screen, playing the backing track on its own before messing around with many different audio files. It was like seeing a kid playing around in a ball pit. He zoomed across his desk, pulling out different instruments, frantically going on YouTube to pull up inspiration, adjusting metrics you’d never make sense of, all while whispering to himself gentle praises and curses. “Yes, Yoongi - this is the file you’re looking for. No, you stupid - no, this isn’t going to work. Let me try that other file.” In all your time together, it was the first time you’d seen Yoongi this way, and it was adorable.

Until he started playing a number of audio files and instruments all at once. 

Piano keys, a number of wooden instruments from a box unearthed from beneath his desk, and the strumming of a guitar, layered on top of the backing track, with Yoongi’s vocals and lyrics and the differing smells still in the air with his body spray added to it now that he was whizzing around his desk… It. was overwhelming. In that brief moment, you completely understood why music never was and never would be your ‘thing,' thankful your job allowed you to work in silence.  

“Yoongi!” you say loudly, with your boyfriend jumping and nearly falling back onto the couch behind him when you shake his shoulder. As you suspected, he forgot you were even there.

“Yoongi, this is too much for me,” you say, covering your ears. He was making the song softer, but it still flooded your senses. He quickly muted everything that was playing, allowing you to continue. “Was my advice okay? No offense, but…. Can I leave? I can’t think anymore. I can’t take any of it in... Should I call someone? One of your producers?”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, I didn’t realize,” he says, rubbing his eyes before placing his hand on your shoulder. “It was amazing advice, my darling. Just the suggestion I needed - I got lost trying to follow the path, and I just kept going on a roll. Of course, you can leave. Actually, please leave - I think I need to be alone for the rest of this.”

That was the Yoongi you knew. Smiling as he kicked you out so he could work.

“Of course. Sure you don’t need anyone or anything?”

“I have everything I need. Actually, if you have his number or his fiance’s number - can you tell either of them I’d love to see Jin-hyung here in like four hours if he can make it? I think I need his vocals. I never did a song with just him before, and…. this… this one could work.” He stares at the screen, resisting the urge to play around with more switches and buttons.

“Jin, huh? Wow, I guess my advice really did help. Sure, Yoongi,” you say, moving towards the door. 

“Darling?”

“Hmm?” you say, turning around at your boyfriend’s call.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Work. Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

☀️hoseok☀️

“We need tangerines, too, Hoseok-ah!“ you cheer in the empty aisle, reaching for a bag of fresh tangerines, the supermarket’s too-florescent lighting perfectly pointing out which ones seemed most fresh.

“Good thinking, baby,” he says, taking the bag and placing it in the cart, “Yoongi has been coming around more often these days. This is perfect. Let’s look at what else we have to get.”

Grocery shopping with Hoseok wasn’t just a regular, everyday activity - you made a day out of it, going to the largest mart with the widest variety of items imaginable so you’d be well-stocked for a month or maybe even two. Hoseok was always a joy to shop with, and it was that extraordinary joy in the mundane that made you sure you'd spend the rest of your life with him. He insisted on making every trip with you despite his busy schedule - he was adorably specific about his routines and preferences, and today was another extraordinarily ordinary day in your schedule: a day at the mart during (what should be) its quietest day of the week.

But sometime after your start at the fruit aisle, the mart got busier than you’d ever seen it, with people weaving in and out of the aisles surrounding you. Looking at your grocery list, you thanked the heavens that it didn’t seem like you had that much left to do.

Even so, the hoards of people only made it harder to navigate the store and soon you had had enough. You could hear the screeching noise of every cart that whizzed past, you could swear the supermarket had been hosting a secret “bring your crying baby” convention every other aisle, and the bulbs shone hotter than the summer sun outdoors - unfixable even by the cool air in the ice cream aisle.

Your boyfriend had been picking out a tub, a new flavor of the month as per your tradition, with two different types in each hand…. suddenly turning to four…. And two Hoseoks standing before you.

“Hoseokie, I feel,” you sigh, holding your forehead, letting go of the cart’s handle to grab onto the hard plastic border containing the endless tubs of ice creams. 

“Wha- Are you okay?” he panics, but doesn’t await an answer, dropping the tubs in his hands, which he places on your shoulders. Seeing you panic, he takes your hand in his and rushes you out of the vast mart until you’re both safe in his car. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Are you okay, baby?” he says, outstretching his hand in the space between you. It’s only then, when your breathing starts to return to normal that you realize that, in the rush, you’d both gotten into the backseat. 

“I’m okay, Hoseok. It was…. too much all at once. It got too busy too fast.” 

“I know, baby. It’s weird isn’t it? We always go during the quiet hours. Guess today was just a freakishly busy day… Are you okay?” He smiles when you answer with a nod and a hold of his hand, while he brings his other one to sandwich yours. 

“Stay here, baby. I’ll go back in and fetch everything. I’ll be out in 10 minutes, hopefully. I'll get you a cold bottle of water. Need me to get anything else? A heat pack? An ice pack? Will that help?”

“Just the water and an energy drink, maybe?” 

“You got it,” he nods with a smile. “I’ll be back, okay?” Hoseok places a soft kiss on your cheeks before getting out of the car and dashing to the market. 

Three minutes later, your meditation guide gets interrupted by a text.

[from: hoseokie] paying now. got superhuman speed and got everything already. got you 7 bottles of water and 7 energy drinks, all in your favorite flavor, a heat and cold pack just in case AND your favorite chocolate bar. i’ll be there asap xoxoxo :) love you

[kissofthemis]

lifting the shorter one up so they can be seen in photos w/ highschool lukerosa!

This photographer really needed to work on visualization skills.

"I understand the reasoning putting us in alphabetical order," Rosa murmured, "but is it really necessary for a group this small?"

The school's ordinary photographer, who had been serving the school for ages, had finally retired. However, he did so at the worst possible time-- right before the yearbook committee needed to send in all their final photos to have the yearbook bound! The school had been scrambling to find a replacement on short notice, and only by a stroke of luck had they managed to book someone before the deadline. Now, all of the clubs and organizations in school had to get their photos taken in a single day, which had caused utter chaos on campus.

And perhaps because everyone, including the photographer, was struggling with the time crunch, some decisions had been made that were...

Well, in Rosa's blunt opinion, inadequate. Bad, even. (She would never say that aloud, however. She always strove to be polite, and she would choose words such as "curious," "interesting," "not quite optimal," or even "rough around the edges.")

Luke whistled softly as he surveyed the group. "I mean, there are enough of us that we can't all fit in one line, so..."

"That's exactly the problem!"

Rosa had always prided herself on her academic prowess and her intellect. When she was nominated to join the school's academic team, she glowed with joy for a solid week. Even in the modern era, many academics could be snobby about women who aspired to great heights. They would dismiss women as merely being good at maybe one or two subjects, but never worthy of being a scholar.

As if every famed male scientist could write compelling essays, or every prestigious male historian could do mental math.

So Rosa had been the only girl selected for the academic team, as she in fact was well-rounded in all subjects. She studied a wide breadth of topics in order to represent not only her school or herself, but all the girls whose brilliant minds were overlooked solely because stuck-up, conservative old farts couldn't look past their manicures or their makeup.

Her hard work had paid off; she had been the second highest point scorer in competitions for the entire season! Second to none other than Luke Pearce, her dearest companion and constant thorn in her side.

"But my name puts me in the back," Rosa went on, urging Luke (who did not seem worthy of that first place accolade right now) to see the issue. "I'm the only girl, and I am also--"

"Oh, no! Rosa, you're short!"

That was a bit too direct. Rosa clutched her chest and tried to ignore the blow to her self-esteem. "N-not short! Just... shorter than most of the team!"

Luke was not listening to her indignant mumbling. He waved towards the photographer, but unfortunately the photographer and staff were too absorbed in their work. They hardly had time to waste, after all. "Mmm... that's no good."

Rosa sighed and leaned onto Luke's shoulder in defeat. "Maybe I'll raise my hand so some part of me shows. Oh, but I'll probably get yelled at. I would have packed heels if I had expected th--"

All at once, Rosa shot up in height.

She suppressed a startled screech as her feet left the ground and she dangled loosely in midair.

No, not loosely. In fact, she almost felt... secure, as she felt two large, warm, comforting hands gripping onto her waist.

"L-Luke?"

"Problem solved! Ta-dah!"

"P-problem not solved! How long can you hold me?!"

"As long as it takes!"

"This isn't sustainable!"

"Should you get on my shoulders instead?"

"Luke Pearce!!!"

[mirisss]

My Bad-boy

Park Hanbin x afab!reader

Wordcount ≈ 900

Warnings: Mentions of food, mentions stereotypical bad-boy hobbies (smoking, fighting, etc), actually really fluffy, 

Please reblog! Requests are open!

Third person POV

(Y/n) sat with one of her close friends, Lee Jeonghyeon, as they ate lunch in the school cafeteria. The two were having an argument over which one of them was most likely to pass a test without studying for it, a somewhat normal argument between the two as they often tried to compete against one another. All friendly though. Outsiders watching them would probably assume that they were dating because of the way they acted, those outsiders would be very wrong though. (Y/n) and Jeonghyeon were good friends, best friends even, but they weren’t dating and probably never would. Nope. (Y/n) was dating someone else. 

Suddenly, the doors to the cafeteria flew open, and in walked Park Hanbin. A boy that most girls and some boys had a crush on. Most people assumed that Hanbin was a bad boy, the kind of bad boy who smokes, drives a motorcycle, skips class, fights, and whatnot. It was the way he dressed and the way he walked that created these rumors. Hanbin often showed up with bruises on his arms and sometimes even on his face, and thus the rumors of him fighting people were born. 

As Hanbin walked into the cafeteria, he was pouting, his eyes scrunched into a glare as he scanned the room, looking for a certain person. Everyone in the cafeteria froze, wondering who the bad boy was looking for. Just who had made Hanbin so angry? Once he had found his victim he walked over with hasty steps. His biceps clearly showed in his black tank top, making the people around him swoon. The violet bruises on his arms add to his charm, his black and red dyed hair really played into the bad boy visual. 

The onlookers in the cafeteria gasped as they saw who Hanbin had stopped by. (Y/n) and Jeonghyeon both turned to Hanbin with smiles on their faces. “Hi, Binnie,” (Y/n) said with a cheery tone. “What’s up, Hanbin?” Jeonghyeon said as he stood up and moved to the other side of the table so that Hanbin could sit down beside (Y/n). Hanbin sat down the second Jeonghyeon had moved from (Y/n)’s side. “Mmm, I wanna go home,” Hanbin whispered as he leaned against (Y/n). 

“Bin, we still have two more classes to go through before we can leave,” “Mmm, I’m tired, and I just wanna cuddle,” “Can you hold on for one more class? I can work on my project for History at home so I don’t mind missing that class for today,” “I love you, you’re the best,” 

Only Jeonghyeon could hear the couple’s interaction leaving the audience in the cafeteria wondering what the so-called bad boy was doing leaning on and talking with (Y/n) and Jeonghyeon in such an intimate way. 

“Why are people staring at us?” Hanbin asked as he stopped leaning on his girlfriend, looking towards his friend on the other side of the table. Even though pretty much the entire school knew of the rumors concerning Hanbin, Hanbin himself, did not. “They’re staring because they can’t wrap their heads around why the notorious bad boy is being lovey-dovey with Miss Sunshine (Y/n) over here,” “Huh? Bad boy? Is that you or?” “Hanbin, you are so oblivious, the so-called bad boy is you. And, right, people might also be confused cause most people assume (Y/n) and I are dating,” “WHAT?” At Hanbin’s outburst, the attention of everyone in the cafeteria was brought back to him and the table he was sitting at. 

“People think I am a bad boy? Why?” “Because of the way you dress, the fact that you show up with bruises almost every single day, you’re often seen skipping class, you dye your hair often, this to them all equals to you being a bad boy,” (Y/n) explained to her boyfriend. “Oohh, I get that. Don’t they know I am an idol trainee? Wouldn’t that be more reasonable?” “Probably, but how should they know that the bruises are from dancing? And that the constant skipping class is for your other schedules,” Hanbin laughed it off until he remembered another detail that Jeonghyeon mentioned. 

“Wait, why do people think the two of you are dating?” “Probably because we spend a lot of time together and people assume boys and girls can’t be just friends,” Jeonghyeon said as he shrugged his shoulders. Hanbin nodded his head to show his understanding of the situation. Hanbin turned his head toward (Y/n), as their eyes met, he gave her a mischievous smile. He leaned in closer to her and kissed her on the lips, to prove that (Y/n) was dating him and not Jeonghyeon. After the kiss was over, Hanbin had a cocky smirk on his face as he glanced around the room, making all others feel slightly intimidated, resulting in them removing their attention from him and his girlfriend. 

“Oohh, my bad-boy, what would I do without you?” (Y/n) said in a teasing tone as she, Hanbin, and Jeonghyeon all laughed. Hanbin might look like the stereotypical bad boy all dressed up in his idol persona, but really he is the embodiment of a golden retriever boyfriend. 

[celestemona]

Bea just a question, does the kaedehara kids would wear something of a western clothing? Or is it just Kiyomi and her brothers prefer the traditional kimono/hakama. Usually in Japan, Meiji era they wear something European now and Ayato tends to wear a suit compared to a trad kimono IIRC

I’ve a feeling Kaedeharas are more leaned to traditional Japanese clothing such as yukatas, kimonos, haoris and etc—though their fashion sense can be pretty much flexible as well.

You see. . . As pre teenager, Haruki moved to Sumeru to study at Akademiya so of course, as every scholar there, he has to wear the school’s uniform. But as time passed by, he chose to adapt himself to the nation’s culture and weather by wearing tunics instead of haoris for example—the fabric and fluid style would be much favorable for him there <3

However, as an adult... Mmm… I think a more serious clothing such as military attire would be his everyday outfit since he works with political matters. I visualize it like a dark/grayish/red suit with his hometown and clan elements :))

Now. Kazumi certainly finds comfort wearing the same style as his father: haoris, short-kimonos and such. He’d try western clothes if the chances comes but only in this situation. It is because it isn’t his preference, y’know? You won’t see him going out to buy it or ordering it from neighboring nations, for example.

As an adult he’d “change” his fashion sense for something similar to Ayato’s attire but only if he’s working. Otherwise: a kimono’ boy <3

And last but not least our dear Kiyomi.

I think she’s the perfect example of culture appreciation. So, even though you’re gonna mostly see her on yukatas and kimonos, she’ll definitely have a western collection in her wardrobe too! I don’t think she’d wear it on a daily basis tho. Only if she’s inspired to or if she has an important event to attend. But even on important occasions such as diplomatic or the Tri-Commission meetings she’d favor her kimonos.

Certainly as she get older she’d adapt her style just like Chiori does with hers!!

[lilrobinbird]

Maybe some better questions would be: what visual artists inspire you the most? Are there any artists whose style or use of color you like to emulate? (I know nothing about visual arts, so I hope these are not dumb questions lol)

I really need to read more high fantasy. Should I start with The Witcher?

Long response by me (!!!) under cut, I'll not be held accountable for any typos as my autocorrect is currently not present

Letsgooo

Not to emulate a whole artstyle but I it's good to take little parts from different ones and translate it into your own (which honestly I should start doing again bc I'm getting stuck lately)

@/manny.oe (insta) is probably my favourite artists, he changes artsyles whenewher he feels like it but he is a professional and does visual dev work, he does so mych aauuh so much to kearn from him, I used to get inspired by the way he shades and picks colors, he also posts a lot of figure drawing sketches on stories that I try to just copy lolol (but these are the kind of studies you copy and never post)

@/ahmedaldoori_art (insta) when you look up his profile you see a lot of sketches and unfinished stuff but when you find his fully rendered pieces RAHHH THATSS how I want to render, very soft(?) rendering that I like

There is also someone from tumblr aaand from avatar fandom @/allgremlinart and they're my lineart goals (the line weight! yes!)....ok and rendering goals too..... They also have a side blog where they post their original art and yeeea good stuff good stuff

@/jamjoob (tumblr and insta) LINEART GOALS waaauuhhh such a nice light smooth lines, their colors are also tasty cozy..

So there's four digital artists I thought about first, there's WAY more but I'm not writing a book pointing out every artist I like (sadly. Hm ok I'd be too lazy)

(bonus five person a girl I had csush on fhgvjh legit best artist man give me your style. hand it over)

But I can get inspired with others all I want I still should learn color theory my biggest hater and enemy

I told you before you sent a fun good ask but I didn't notice a witcher part then shsjs

So hmmmm mmm m I'm not sure? It really depends on the person but the writing isn't that good, I was personally drawn by the characters and concepts (and the whole idea how witchers work is fun to me) (also I've read them in highschool so)

Some scenes can be kinda weird, it was after all written by a silly old polish guy

First two books- The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny are more of short stories and they're probably the best, after them the tone changes a little and the main plot begins (if I remeber it correctly)

I've read them in polish but I've heard some opinions that the writing in translations can be worse than original

But you already know I loooove legend of Korra, that is an art of taking good characters and concepts form stuff with questionable writing (but legend of korra is justified and forgiven by circumstances the writers struggled with (((and by me)))))))

But honestly that's up to you, I'd say you should try something else for your first time, you can look for other opinions too

[digitaldoeslmk]

I know this might be a little out of topic but what do you think about 'stealing' someone's palette colour? Is it a bad thing for artists? I mean, you do a complete different drawing but putting the same colours from another artwork, sorry I'm recently starting to draw and I wanted to know this so I don't do this kind of mistake

that's quite alright, nonnie!

mmm in my opinion, as with most things with art, it's complicated.

in the broad strokes, nobody can own colors or a palette. you can specify for copyright reasons that certain colors are part of a brand's visual language, but you can't sue people for using these exact colors on a piece of art just on it's own. yes there's the whole Anish Kapoor pink and vantablack bullshit, but we're talking about dyes here, which imply production specifics and chemical compounds etc etc, and THAT you can patent, legally speaking. and there's pantone, which again involves printing and dyes, but i'm firmly against their paywall shtick of late; it's surreal and abominable to me.

now, if you're doing studies or trying to replicate an artist's creative choices, i think you should naturally mention it and credit them as possible; there's nothing wrong with that, and in my own experience, most artists will be appreciative that they inspired you, and it's a credit to you for being open about it.

but if we're talking about say, character designs and copying their palettes, it's a bit more delicate. the adoptables online scene is pretty strict with stuff like palette "stealing", for example, and i'd not do it if i were you.

all that said though, i don't think there's anything wrong about using other's palettes, and unless you're doing a proper inspired piece, i'd go about it another way. study their art and what it is about their coloring choices that appeals to you, and try to implement in your own artistic process. and as a fun challenge, try to eyeball the colors rather than eyedropping them right from their piece! it will sharpen your eye for color-picking on your own, as well as make you learn palette making. color theory is always good to know, but it will only go so far, especially when we take abstraction and exaggeration into consideration.