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fallen-w1ngs · 1 month ago

Text

'' flower shop of feelings ,,

[ 03 : distractions ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : very VERY brief encounter with a gun , mission but barely talked abt

|| wc : 2.5k

The next couple of weeks went by like normal, or as normal as they coule. Both you and Bucky would text each other, sending small ‘good morning!’ texts as well as ‘goodnight’ ones. It made Bucky act as if he was a highschooler again, his heart all giddy every time a notification popped up on his phone- sure, he didn’t have a phone back when he was a teen but hush.

He really did enjoy texting you, it was definitely the highlight of his day.. But the more you texted, the more.. Attached, he's grown? Didn’t help that you’d both go out for coffee at least once a week. It was harder to hide himself from you, hide the fact he was living in the Avengers Tower, that he was.. Well, seen as the Winter Soldier.

You were just so sweet. Kind. He couldn’t tell you, his past was a literal nightmare. He’d done terrible things and-

“Hey, soldat, Steve, Sam and I are going to a museum, wanna join?”

“Why would I wanna go to a museum?”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re ancient,” Natasha snickered before shaking her head. “We’re going there ‘cause we got a tip that somethings going to go down. Might be big, wanna join?”

As much as Bucky wanted to say no and just lock himself in his room, he knew Steve would just try to drag him out. So, instead of fighting it, he nodded and sat up. Plus, maybe this could distract him from you.

–

In some “undercover” clothes, the four of them were walking around a museum, one that showed off arts and sculptures. Maybe in another life, Bucky would’ve found it interesting. But, they were just pretending to be enamored by the statuettes. No, they were on guard due to the fact they had gotten a warning from anonymous that some suspicious activity was going to go down. It could be some sort of drop-off of a weapon, magic shit, or maybe just stealing some art. Who knows?

Bucky stood besides Sam as they stared at some giant piece of art, it was a painting. A really well done one, actually. Oil painting of some sort of landscape with a bunch of people, the colors matched, the composition was wonderful, and the story behind it was deep.

“Think something’s actually gonna happen today, or just bad intel?” Sam kept his eyes ahead, as if analyzing the art in front of him.

“.. 10 bucks says something’s going to happen”

“10 bucks says it’s bad intel, I mean c’mon, it’s a Wednesday”

“What’s so not important about a Wednesday?”

“Why couldn’t it be on a Friday?”

“Maybe the bad guys were busy on Friday.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and just rolled his shoulder. “I’m gonna go over down the hall, check out the statues and make sure nothing’s going down.”

Bucky nodded and went back to looking up at the painting. Admiring the bumps and parts of the painting where the paint seemed to clump. Real pretty.

He turned from the painting and went the opposite direction of Sam. But the second he started to walk, he froze. Either this is a terrible coincidence or God wants to mess with him. Standing a few feet away from him was you. Shit shit shit! He can't be distracted by you. In a small panic, Bucky started to walk back, a few steps before he turned around and bumped into something.

Shit, all that ‘training’ went to shit, he bumped into a trashcan. Making a loud clatter noise, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. Now where was Sam in all this? That bitch was recording everything.

“James?”

Shit.

He turned slowly around, tugging at his hood and hiding his forehead. “Hey, [Name]..”

You just giggled at the strange coincidence that Bucky was here. In fact, you didn’t even mean to come to the museum today, a buddy of yours that worked there invited you to go, and since you didn’t have to open up shop today, you agreed! Funny how fate works! “What’re you doing here? You here with a friend?” You glanced around, it didn't seem anyone claimed to have gone along with Bucky.

“Admiring the art.” He let go of his hood before pushing his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t say that he was actually on some Avenger mission. You still didn’t know he was the Winter Soldier. And he wanted to keep it that way.. “What’re you doing here?”

“My friend just invited me, she works here, kinda just spur of the moment!” You scratched the back of your head as you looked up at the painting in front of you. “Plus, I didn’t have to open shop today.. Kinda a free day today.”

Bucky nodded and shifted in his spot. His eyes darted from you and back to the painting, just because the two of you have been texting for the last month didn’t mean he knew how to talk to you like a normal person. I mean, he was a good speaker back then right? He could.. He could try to act like that again, right?

“Hey! Since you’re alone.. And I’m alone, wanna.. Be alone together?” You shrugged, shifting your weight from your toes to your heels. Rocking front to back as you asked. “As cheesy as that is.”

The super soldier besides you looked over your face for a brief moment before looking around the hall. Looking for Sam, who was currently pretending to be interested in some sort of old statue. Bucky was sure he’s going to ask about who you were later, God, he’ll need to make up a lie.. That’s not even what he should be worried about, he should be worried about the damn mission they were on!

Your eyes softened as you looked up at his nervousness. Bucky was an.. Awkward person, but it was part of his charm, that’s why you like him. “Or, I could walk away, meet you back up later, and then pretend it’s a coincidence?” You cracked a small smile and kept your eyes on him.

Thankfully, the small joke you made seemed to make him visibly less like he’s about to explode on the spot. He gave a short nod before turning away and walked off. You didn’t mind, he was his own person, and you were yours, but man would it have been fun to be with him instead of alone.

–

The time passed by quickly, every other exhibit, you’d find yourself in the middle of a conversation with James. Though, he seemed to be on guard more and more each ‘coincident meeting.’ Again, you didn’t mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful people are trying to be more- communicative with their mistakes with their partners, but seriously, I’ve gotten like 15 customers this week who wanted to buy a basic rose bouquet as a sorry present!” You tugged at your hair as you complained about work. Bucky didn’t mind, though, he’d rather listen to your voice than his. “I swear, if I get one more customer ask what’s the best type of flowers for apologizing to their partners for sleeping with their best friend, I’m gonna lose it!”

“It’s that common?”

“Uh, yeah, people are such assholes nowadays, can’t find a decent person to date, y’get desperate, then yeesh! You’re stuck with some asshole!” You waved your hand in the air as you brushed what you said aside. Truth be told, you hadn’t gotten into a relationship in the past.. Maybe 2 years? Even then, it was always casual. “That’s why I–”

RING! RING! EMERGENCY! EVACUATE TO THE NEAREST EXITS!

The blaring alarms cut you off as red lights danced in your vision. There were people screaming and guns firing, it seemed something bad did happen, and Sam owed Bucky 10 bucks. Bucky’s eyes darted towards the sound of the gunshots and started to run towards it, only to be tugged by your hand. Your eyes wide with worry and confusion as to why the hell your friend James was running towards the danger!

“James! What’re you doing?! C’mon, we hafta go!”

“I can’t–”

“Bucky, there’re 6 armed men near Sam and your location, Nat and I are taking care of the other 6” Steve’s voice came through into Bucky’s earpiece. “They’re trying to do a drop-off, some sort of Hydra weapon! Get the briefcase!”

“On my way.” Bucky replied as you stared up at him, your brows furrowed in even more confusion. What the hell was he doing?? “You need to get out of here, it’s not safe.”

“No, we have to get out of here! James, c’mon, you’re not some super he–”

You cut yourself off as your friend shucked his jacket off and blocked a bullet that was flying both your ways.. With his arm. A sleek, black metal arm. That’s when it hit you, that’s why he seemed so familiar. That’s why he was so secretive on where he stayed or not. He wasn’t just James. He was James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier.

“Holy shit.”

“Get out of here, I’ll-” James grabbed a gun from his holestor (Oh my god???) and shot at the ones who were shooting at the both of you. “I’ll find you outside.”

“.. Be careful” You muttered before turning away and running out to the closest exit. You didn’t know how to react, what to do with the newfound information. You felt so.. So stupid, not realizing that James was an Avenger. He lived in the Avenger tower- Oh my god, he was a super soldier.

With shallow breaths you turned a corner and your eyes locked to the nearest exit. You took a breath of fresh air as you felt the cold breeze hit your face, as if the museum was stuffed with smoke. It wasn’t, thank god, the people who arranged the attack didn’t seem to think to use fire power. It’s probably for the best.

As you stepped farther away from the door, a paramedic looked over you, you weren’t hurt, not shot, not even grazed. Thank god for.. James. You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Whilst you sat on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the fight to die down, you pulled your phone out. You didn’t have many contacts, honestly you were.. Pretty alone. Parents? Only mom was left after dad passed. Siblings? An older, pretentious brother. Friends? You were pretty quiet in highschool, only the museum buddy of yours, who was Maria, she’s the one who gave you this death wish of an invite here. Then there was your other friend, who was in fact your neighbor, May and her nephew Peter. Nice bunch, you gave them flowers on their birthdays and they’d bring you some sort of baked good. Ah, but I digress.

Jeez. Maybe you’ll call up May, she’d probably know about this, plus, she told you Peter was an intern at Starks, right? Ah, but.. No, that wouldn’t do much good. He’s an intern, not some superhero. You kept scrolling through your phone for a few more minutes. You didn’t know how well of a promise James’ll keep, especially with him fighting people with.. Super weapons or something, but you stayed. Hoping he’ll keep to his word and try to find you.

After a long while, you heard claps and cheers from the citizens as the four of them brought all 12 of the villains out of the museum. They seemed hurt, but not to the brink of death, thankfully. The Cap was quick to hand them over to the police to take care of as the citizens slowly dispersed. People knew all about the hero's life, hearing it on the news and such, it was hard to be an Avenger. So, they needed space.

You waited as the crowds grew smaller before you took a few steps closer, holding your arms closely as you stood to the side. Watching as your friend's eyes darted around. It was amusing. Despite just saving a bunch of people, including yourself, he was still awkward.

“[Name].” He muttered, his voice light as a breath of fresh air as he spotted you. His shoulders seemed to sag in relief as he walked towards you. He should definitely be headed to the Avengers Tower, but right now he needed to make sure you were okay. “Are you hurt? They didn’t get you, right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, James, I-” You let out a small breath and placed your hands on your hips as you looked over at him. He had some blood on his jacket, some scratches on his face.. And that arm. Oh, wow, he.. Yup, he had a metal arm. “You.. Never told me you were an Avenger.” The corner of your lips tugged into a small smile as you chuckled.

He mirrored your smile, relieved at the fact you didn’t seem upset, or even the smallest bit scared. “You never asked.”

Your nose crinkled, “I asked what your job was, you said–”

“That I work as security.”

“Security for the whole world, James!” With that you started to laugh into your hand, this was unbelievable. This awkward man who’d stumbled into your flower shop looking for a gift for his friend was James “Bucky” Barnes.

“Sorry for keeping that from you, I just-” He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “I liked that you just knew.. Me.”

That made your heart melt. Everyone in the world knew James as “Bucky” or “The Winter Soldier.” The only people who knew him differently was Steve, only because he knew him back in the 40s and was his best friend and.. You. You knew him as James, and as much as the name felt weird, it felt right in your lips.

“Don’t apologize,” You hit your fist against his non-metal arm in a playful manner, an understanding smile on your face. “I get why you didn’t tell me. I’m not upset over it, if you’re worried.”

A small smile danced on Bucky’s lips and he nodded. “You’re too sweet.”

“Nah, I’m just a good friend.”

“Friend.” Bucky repeated to himself and nodded again. Oh he loved being your friend. He honestly thought the only friend he’d ever have would be from the Avenger Tower, and that’s only because they were Steve’s friends. “Ah, uh- I should probably-”

He pointed over to where Steve, Natasha and Sam were talking and you immediately understood.

“Oh! Yeah, no you go do that-”

“Thanks, uhm-” He stepped back and hesitated to turn away. “I’ll, uh, text you?”

“Yeah- Yeah!”

“Cool.” He nodded and turned away, the corners of his usually scowling lips quirked up as he repeated to himself. “Cool.”

He approached his team and just blended in nicely, no one seemed to notice him leaving and coming back. Perfect.

He spared you one last glance, as you walked away. Friend.

|| WOOO !! :3 FRIENDSHIP

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yumecel · 6 months ago

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Closer to God ❤️

yandere wriothesley / reader | 3k words

summary: the duke finds himself fascinated with you. to an almost unhealthy degree. scratch that, it is unhealthy. but in the underground world of vitamin D deficiencies, questionable mystery meats, and near-agoraphobia towards the overworld, does the “health” of one’s desires really matter so much?

character specifics: uhhh i think nothing but so heavily written from reader’s perspective that you may not feel his essence is fully Captured

reader specifics: female reader girl/she/wife terms

world specifics: i have no idea how fontaines legal system works and it will show. hinted matchmaker sigewinne but don’t hate her

tws: yandere, non con kissing, stalking

a/n: i could chew through fucking steel right now i am so full of lust and felt possessed to write something to this iconic song despite there being NO ACTUAL SMUT sorry.

i promise i’m 18+, i promise i’m okay with seeing dark content, i know this will haunt me in the world to come should i lie [yes⬇️] [no↩️]

——❤️——

You have been instructed to deliver his tea. The box feels like it’s more valuable than your entire existence, all gold-trimmed edges and swirling designs. That’s probably why it was entrusted into your hands when the usual runners are preoccupied.

Probably.

But it’s the third errand this week, and it seems so unnecessary for you personally to run it. And your sentence will be over in six weeks. And seeing the Duke now only makes your anxiety spike, lest you stumble straight into a crime you wouldn’t even know you were committing and somehow end up extending your sentence.

He’s not like that. Surely not. But you’ve been worrying.

Something in his bone-chilling gaze towards you betrays his casual demeanour. It’s the same something in the forced lingering, the excuses. The ways that he swindles you into staying in his office for an hour or two when you want to leave. Today is no different. One of the teas comes such a long way, you see, all the way from Inazuma, and you must indulge in a cup and let him know your opinion on it. Is it similar to the last one from Liyue? They have different methods of drying out the leaves. Did you drink any of it when you were in the overworld?

You always answer his questions the best you can. It’s easiest when they’re all small talk like this, and you’re not trying to play oblivious at his advances. There’s going to be a further advance soon, you can feel it.

It’s six weeks until the end of your sentence and Wriothesley’s interest in you seems foolish. With a little luck, you’ll never return to the Fortress of Meropide in your life. You did everything right, you deserve to leave, surely?

But you know that Wriothesley is no fool, and that he would not be playing these games so boldly if he was not certain to win.

——❤️——

Eleven months ago, you didn’t make much conversation with anyone in the prison. You did what you always thought you should do in a prison; kept your head down, worked hard, and didn’t associate too intimately with anyone.

Ten months ago, you had started to assume Sigewinne pitied you, or whatever the closest melusine approximation to “pity” was. Somehow designated to running errands for the infirmary, you talked to her more than any of the prisoners. Though you were grateful for her support, you kept displaying the autonomy and dignity that would let her know you were of the composition that didn’t desire company. It wouldn’t fool a melusine as observant as Sigewinne. You knew this. But you persisted, holding onto shreds of pride.

Nine months ago, Sigewinne had managed to get you to open up. You had believed at the time you were contributing to her understanding of human emotions, but now you suspect that she had motives of helping you.

“As for why I don’t really talk to anyone outside of working, well, I… I’m still processing everything. I feel like people won’t accept what I did, and get the same pushback I felt from people up there and I just… can’t relive that. People that I thought would understand didn’t, and it’s been difficult to recover trust in others.”

Sigewinne’s eyes examined you thoroughly. You maintained a perfectly still expression, under the impression that her observations of your face were for her research.

“Hmm… what if someone was guaranteed to understand you?

You took a little time to think before answering, “I think it would help. But I doubt I would personally pursue someone like that.”

“You wouldn’t?” Sigewinne queried.

“I wouldn’t. And I don’t know where I would find someone who understood.”

“Where indeed…” she whispered, more to herself than you, eyes flitting back to yours. A slight raise of the eyebrows indicated that she had come to a conclusion about something, and you weren’t sure about what. You were just happy to help, and it didn’t occur how deeply you had revealed your emotions until later.

Eight months ago, you had started running errands for Wriothesley. This followed a mixup with your records, where Sigewinne accepted blame for not filing your work hours accurately as your manager. The Duke himself had to personally review your entire record in prison to confirm that there were no inconsistencies. You were a little embarrassed by the whole thing, though Sigewinne insisted she was entirely at fault and deeply sorry. You didn’t blame her as it was an exceedingly rare mistake on her part. If anything, you were a little touched that Sigewinne cared so deeply about this. Also, the apology cake from the overworld certainly washed away any remaining feelings of irritation you held.

Eventually, you found yourself walking into the Duke’s office like Sigewinne had told you to, hands clasped in front of you. “Sigewinne sent me, Your Grace.”

“Oh, (Y/N). Thank you for coming along. I just need you to read some documents and sign them.” He said, motioning to three papers on his desk.

Hearing your name spill from his mouth so casually felt surreal. Nevertheless, you took timid steps forward and examined the documents.

“Sigewinne speaks highly of you, you know.”

Unsure how exactly to respond, you paused for a moment. “I’m glad she does, Your Grace.”

You continued examining the documents, quickly signing the first one off.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need someone trustworthy to help me hand some medical records to Sigewinne for me. Well, maybe “hand” is an understatement.”

In your peripheral vision, you catch the way he gestures towards some boxes, more than one person could reasonably move at a time.

Ink meets paper on the second document.

“Of course. I’d be more than willing to help.”

“Ah, great. Our head nurse is capable, but I’d just feel bad making her carry these on her own.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I knew you would.” The Duke says.

Silence hangs in the air. You pull the final document closer towards you to interrupt the unbearable quiet. Eventually, you make the final signature and turn around, moving towards the boxes.

The files look rather haphazardly thrown in, papers sticking out from their respective folders. That’s when the Duke approaches from behind, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. Not expecting the touch, you jump slightly, and then pretend to act like it never happened. He felt it though. He couldn’t have not felt it.

“Also, maybe you could do me another favour and help me sort these before we give them back to her?”

There is nothing else to do other than nod and say, “Of course, Your Grace.”

Eight months ago you learned that the Duke is exceptionally chatty around you. Eight months ago, your work became more divided between his office and Sigewinne’s infirmary.

Seven months ago, you had first divulged information about your crime to the Duke.

“What are you in for?” is a common enough question in the Fortress of Meropide. His Grace has never asked you it, and he wouldn’t need to either. And yet, his speech is peppered with implications about your crime that you can either refute or accept. You had dodged every hidden question artfully, and he would be very blatant about acknowledging this, saying you didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to. Comforted by this, you had started trusting him.

Seven months ago, you had started trusting Wriothesley, and that had been a mistake.

Of course he already knew your crime. How could he not? A murder in self defence is quite a notable trial in the overworld regardless, and nothing in the underworld slips past Wriothesley.

You may have been a free woman if it was simpler. If the man in that alleyway had been less beloved by his community, if you had not ran away from the crime in fear, if you submitted evidence at the time, if being dragged back to Fontaine was never part of the ordeal. If it hadn’t divided the people around you over whether you should’ve really did it.

If they just understood.

You accepted the sentence nonetheless. Evading the court is a crime in itself, and in that respect you could be considered a prolific criminal.

Sat in his office, you had retold the tale.

Wriothesley understood.

——❤️——

Six months ago, you had entertained the thought of Wriothesley as a fling.

Your heart wanted emotional connection, your brain knew it would be unreasonable to pursue a long term relationship. And your pussy really just liked the idea of him pinning you down and fucking you like an animal.

Some of his little gestures towards you supported this notion. A hand on the small of your back, maybe going a little low, the warmth of his presence behind you. The leering that’d stop when you picked your head up, but you still caught in reflections and out of the corner of your eye. The occasional innuendos. Wriothesley is fairly down-to-earth all the time, but with you, some more primal desires seep through.

But sometimes, it was different. The way he’d sweep hair away from your face. The possessiveness around you when other prisoners- now seemingly assuming you were a member of staff rather than an actual prisoner- talked to you. Always played off as professionalism. And the endless desire to know exactly what you were up to, inside and out.

Noting this, you were a little less reciprocative of his hints, afraid of feelings being hurt. He seemed to accept it. You were friends now. You knew about his crimes, which he had confided to you in private. He knew everything there was to know about yours. You would come to chat over tea. You continued working with Sigewinne, but saw her less. Wriothesley dominated most of your waking moments.

But the possessiveness didn’t stop, and the curiosity was starting to become intrusive.

——❤️——

Four months ago, you had learned that Wriothesley personally went through all of your mail.

All mail of yours was immediately forwarded to his office, where it would be opened and sent back to the mailroom. You had only found this out when you wandered into the mailroom and inquired about the mail, expecting a monthly letter from your family that was a little late.

“Oh, I take it she’s one of your patients? All of that mail gets forwarded to the Duke first. Guess there was a contraband incident or something. Anyway, don’t have it.”

It was information the attendant would have never divulged to you if he realised who you were. You blended in so well as a member of staff that people had started to see you as a nursing attendant before anything else. The clothes you now wore that treaded the line between prisoner and staff member were another layer of this disguise, courtesy of Wriothesley. Now, it was working against him.

Despite how perturbed you were, you managed a, “Oh, thank you for telling me.”, and immediately darted towards Wriothesley’s office, knocking with a shaking hand before you heard him telling you to come in.

“How nice it is to see you on your day off. Take it you missed me?” He said, closing his book and getting up to get another cup. It’s like a routine to him, and one he’s very comfortable doing.

“Well, I do have a reason to be here.”

“Cold. Well, let me pour you a cup, and you can tell me all about it. It’s Chenyu adeptea today.”

After getting seated and engaging in a few pleasantries with him, you pose your question, about if what you heard in the mailroom was really true.

He doesn’t deny it.

With a piercing gaze that doesn’t deviate from yours, he says, “Hm. I didn’t want to worry you at the time, but dangerous contraband came through in a parcel addressed to you a couple months back, and I’ve been going through it ever since.”

A reasonable explanation, you suppose. But why keep it from you this long? Surely he must understand this is a betrayal of your trust?

You remain quiet, still trying to process everything.

“My apologies if your feelings are hurt, but I acted in your best interests. I promise that.”

Your fingers glide along the edge of the teacup. “That’s alright. I shouldn’t have doubted your reasoning.”

You finish the cup of tea over lighter conversation, until just before leaving, you pose one last question.

“Ah, uh, you don’t go through my outgoing mail too, right?”

Wriothesley chuckles dryly with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s no reason to do that, is there?”

You’ve known him too long, been confined in his presence with nothing else to do but observe. His perceptiveness is second to none, but you’ve trained yourself. Dodging the question is suspicious. As you close the door to his office, there is no doubt in your mind that he reads every letter you send.

It didn’t surprise you that the mail attendant you first spoke to seemed to no longer work in the mailroom when you next approached it.

——❤️——

It was difficult to remain amicable after that, but you tried your best. Treading a thin line between not upsetting him (not that he’d ever show it) and not allowing him to encroach further on your personal life, you may as well have been walking on the edge of a knife.

The advances started again. He’s more demanding of your time. Sigewinne simply lets you off work to do whatever he demands. She seems to believe there’s something amusing in all of this, and you don’t dare confide in her about your discomfort around the Duke. You don’t think she’d be playing on your side.

Two months ago, he started getting far too touchy. He wants to be next to you, he finds any excuse to put a hand on you, rub your back, your shoulder, the top of your hand- all gestures of comfort that come across more like domination and marking territory. You don’t feel like you can tell him to stop. He has too much power, and you don’t wish to interfere with it. The reality of who he is seems more imposing than ever, and you steel yourself, trying to remain as professional and inoffensive as possible.

The clock ticks down. Less and less days to the end of your sentence.

——❤️——

Two weeks now remain of your time in the Fortress of Meropide.

“I think you might owe me something for that.” Wriothesley says.

You stare down at the cards scattered across the table, remnants of a finished game that Wriothesley had won. He looks slightly smug about it. It’s only been a few rounds, too. He’s often happy to play many more.

“Like what?”

“Something I’ve always wanted.”

You look up at him, seeing his hand beckon you closer. You get up slowly, carefully stepping around the table. He pats the sofa beside him and the world around you starts to feel dreamlike as you sit down.

His hand touches just under your chin, thumb stroking your jaw, before reaching up steadily to your lips. You know what comes next, and shut your eyes as his lips eventually meet yours. Obediently, you kiss back until he pulls away. When your eyes meet, you immediately look down, observing how his hand was now on your thigh, touching lightly.

You gasp as he squeezes, feeling his gaze remain on you. “I… I’m not sure if we should be doing this. I’m l-leaving soon, and I don’t want anyone’s feelings to get hurt.”

“Leaving to where?”

Your blood runs a little cold then, but you steady yourself. “The overworld.”

“You don’t have to.”

Making an earnest attempt to get him to sympathise with you, to understand like he always has, you place your own hand on top of his. “I think I do. I’ve served my sentence with the intention of getting out of this place. I need to go back up. Reintegrate before I forget how.”

Wriothesley doesn’t understand.

When you look up, he’s now looking right through you, into space, into nothingness. “I guess you’re not going to make this easy.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” You say, roughly swallowing. Against your will, you do understand. You always do.

“We’re made for each other. Circumstance is a powerful thing, (Y/N). If it wasn’t for circumstance, you wouldn’t be in jail. You wouldn’t be like me. I wouldn’t be here either. Two people, who can perfectly understand each other, in the same place. But I suppose you don’t think that’s something worth pursuing?”

“I can’t be here forever.” You reply definitively.

“Don’t exaggerate things, now. I do go up to Fontaine every now and then, you know.”

“You know what I mean.”

Wriothesley sighs.

“I guess I can have your sentence extended. I didn’t want to play that card, but…”

“I- I’ll report you to any authority that will listen!” You exclaim, retracting away from him in horror.

“And it’ll be your word against mine. Wonder how that would work out.” He states, as if he was simply pondering the results of the card game.

Tears have started falling from your eyes. A wave of nausea rolls over your entire body as a thumb gently swipes over your cheeks. You’re utterly stunned and lost for words, slowly collapsing into yourself. Wriothesley takes the opportunity to inch closer and wrap his arms around you, letting you freely sob into his shoulder. There is nothing else to do. His arms are like a prison, and his hot breath is tickling against your ear.

“You’ll understand in time. For now, let’s calm down and maybe we can start preparing for your permanent residence, huh?”

As another sob emerges, his hand rubs your back with overwhelming tenderness.

#yandere #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #yandere genshin impact

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freeuselandonorris · 5 months ago

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iyaaaa please may i suggest 22 + lando/older man of your choice in case that sparks anything? <3

fanks lima that did spark something and it was lando/andrea and the MTC bathroom gloryhole 😌

Nobody tells Lando about it directly. He’s doing resistance band stretches in the back of the garage with Jon while the engineers are fiddling about with the rear wing assembly, and they’re talking about it. Pretty loudly, pretty shamelessly. About how there’s a certain bathroom on floor three of MTC, the small one just off the Composites department that only has two stalls in it. About the hole someone’s drilled into the dividing wall at waist height, the perfect height and width for —

“Oi,” Jon says, snapping his fingers in front of Lando’s face. “You’re meant to be stretching, not earwigging.”

”Yeah, alright,” Lando grouses, trying to switch his attention back to the chest stretches he’s been half-assing for the last five minutes. “Maybe you should be more interesting if you don’t want me to get bored of you, ever thought of that?”

“Noted, boss,” Jon says, cheerful, and spins him round to start on his shoulder stretches.

Andrea’s standing behind them, leaning against the central console with his big earphones hooked around his neck. Listening to the same conversation, one eyebrow minutely raised.

He meets Lando’s gaze as he turns, just for a second. Lando feels himself flush and looks away.

It takes about a week for Lando’s curiosity to get the better of him.

He knows it’s a stupid idea, but then surely as long as he’s quiet, discreet, there’s no real risk. Nobody would imagine it’s him. Or even better — they might want to think it’s him, but how could they prove it?

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

The factory is quiet by the time Lando’s finished for the day. Quiet, but not empty.

Lando excuses himself from the last few stragglers in the meeting room, waving his goodbyes and heading off in the direction of the lifts.

Glancing over his shoulder to check he’s not being followed, he pulls his hood up and cuts back to the stairs, climbing to level three. The bathrooms they’d been talking about are at the far end of the same corridor, tucked away. Hardly anyone uses them; hardly anyone knows they’re there. Lando can’t remember ever going in there before, which is probably why he’s never noticed the hole. But once he lets himself into the right-hand stall and latches the door behind himself, there it is. A couple of feet off the ground, a few inches wide, carefully and neatly drilled.

Beneath it, in black marker pen, someone has helpfully added instructions. Suck here.

He’s sat there for ages before anyone comes in. Perched on the toilet with the lid down, elbows on his knees, scrolling TikTok with the volume off. When fifteen minutes have ticked past, he wonders if he should just give up.

On the verge of standing, he hears the bathroom door creak open and freezes in place.

Fuck, maybe it’s just someone coming in for a piss. Or worse. Someone who doesn’t know about the reputation this place has, or knows about it but has decided to ignore it, thinks it’s weird or silly or gross.

Lando breathes as quietly as possible, sliding his phone back into his jeans pocket and pressing his sweaty palms against his thighs.

Footsteps cross the floor. The door of the stall next to him shuts gently; the click of the latch echoes off the tiles. There’s some shuffling, the whirr of a zip.

Then silence. Waiting.

Lando swallows, digs his fingers into his knees. Fuck, he should’ve googled this beforehand or something. Checked the etiquette. Is the other guy meant to just stick his cock through and hope for the best?

On the other side of the partition, the man clears his throat. It’s probably as close as Lando’s going to get to a come-on.

He exhales and taps the wall with a knuckle, just beside the waiting hole, hoping he’s telegraphing his meaning. I’m here, if you want it.

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Nausea rises in Lando’s belly. He’s fucked it. He’s creeped out someone from the Composites team who just wanted to use the fucking toilet. Oh Jesus, he’s going to get reported to HR.

A scuffle close to his head makes him jump. Whoever’s on the other side, they’re standing very close to the wall. Lando darts a glance downwards; the tips of two McLaren-branded trainers, the same ones they all wear, are just visible beneath the partition.

Lando looks up. The tip of a cock is poking through the hole in the wall, pink and flushed and slightly ridiculous.

He slides to his knees, shuffles closer, parts his lips and sticks out his tongue. Before he can chicken out, he licks the tip of the cock. Just a quick swipe, like he’s licking the swirl of an ice cream.

The man on the other side inhales sharply. There’s something faintly familiar; something tickling at the edges of Lando’s memory. He chooses not to think about it. Licks again.

Another shuddering breath. A soft word spoken under the breath in a language Lando can’t quite get a handle on, except he knows it’s not English. Well, at least he knows it’s not Oscar. Or Zak.

He parts his lips, closing them around the tip of the cock. His nose is pressed up against the wall, there’s no room to move. He taps the wall again, and as if by magic, the cock pushes further into his mouth, a pleasant wait on his tongue.

It’s still a pretty shit angle, and he can’t do much more than suckle on it; whoever it is, they’re not massively hung. There’s a slight upward curve to his cock, grazing the roof of Lando’s mouth as he thrusts through the hole as best he can.

Whatever the shortcomings of Lando’s blowjob, they don’t seem to be much of an issue. It only takes a few minutes of gentle sucking, teasing the slit with his tongue, before he can taste precum leaking. He can hear the man breathing hard, the fastenings of his trousers scraping against the wall where he’s humping against it. There’s something obscene about it, the way he’s making this man fall apart in a bathroom that smells of antiseptic spray and air freshener, the way he exists only as a mouth to fuck. It’s making him hard too, aching in his jeans. He undoes them with trembling hands, trying not to let the rhythm of his mouth and tongue falter as he gets a hand on himself.

The man grunts, and recognition stabs at the back of Lando’s mind again. He ignores it, hollows his cheek and sucks hard, tongue rubbing eager circles just below the head where he knows it’s good. A sharp, bitten-off moan, and salt spreads across his tongue. Lando’s swallowed it down before he realises he could have spat it into the toilet next to him.

He sinks to his haunches, jacking himself off frantically. The cock withdraws from the hole and Lando whimpers, involuntary. He’s vaguely aware that he should be ashamed about this, on his knees in a public toilet with the taste of anonymous spunk coating his mouth, bundling toilet roll into one hand so he doesn’t get come all over his jeans. But if there’s nobody to see it, why should he feel shame?

The stall door next to him unlatches. Lando listens to the tap running, the splash of the man washing his hands. He comes as the man dries his hands beneath the air dryer, muffling his moans beneath the noise.

Afterwards, he has to splash his face with cold water. He’s pink across the cheeks, eyes reddened where they’d watered with the effort. His mouth looks soft and swollen. He tries to fix his hair, smooth his clothes back into place.

Before he leaves, he peers into the adjoining stall. On the other side of the hole, written in the same black marker, a different set of instructions. Fuck here.

He closes the door behind himself as quietly as possible as he leaves, trying not to draw attention to anyone who might be walking past, and walks towards the lift as quickly as he can.

Someone holds the doors for him as he turns the corner to the foyer. Lando steps inside the lift.

��Lando,” Andrea greets him, inclining his head.

Lando nods, swallowing hard and digging his phone out of his pocket so he has something to look at in the hope Andrea won’t notice his freshly fucked face.

As he looks down, something snags his attention. The zip to Andrea’s trousers is undone.

His eyes jerk up to Andrea’s face. Andrea’s staring right back at him, at his swollen mouth, his mussed-up hair.

He swallows. His brain feels awfully blank; he can’t remember a single normal thing they might have a conversation about.

Before his panic can spiral, the lift pings to signal the ground floor.

As the door opens, Andrea reaches out. Touches his arm, a gesture that could easily be read as friendly. “It is good to see you working late, Lando,” he says, and meets Lando’s eyes. “I think I will be here in the evening all week, too.”

#ln4 #andrea stella #kink generator prompt fics #prompt fill #answered

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mysteryanimator · 7 months ago

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Breaking down Castlevania Nocturne Season 01 - Episode 08 "Breakup Scene" shot by shot!

Previous shot analyses: S02E08 - The Devil is Easy to Cheat / S01E04 - Bedroom scene / S01E06 - Gulity Men to be Judged

I've been chipping at this for a while and now I can put this out to the world. While this will be a lot more 'clear' and more put together than a lot of my previous writings (I am so sorry, I have looked at those past writings and I look like a madman, I was trying to hold back all of them and therefore it ended up super messy) however, it is still going to be a very casual document—as if a conversation!

To preface, these are just my thoughts, and by no means is the actual indicative end-all-be-all for these shots! These are just observations based on my special interest (and also I did ATAR for this, which in short I suppose is a specialization study ? I'm not sure how to describe it LOL) in media production and analysis, with a heavy passion for visual storytelling in film! It has been a while since I have written something like this so you may have to bear with me here.

I consider myself still an amateur, but shot choices matter, especially when you have only 8 episodes, a deadline, a budget, asset restrictions and so on. It all has to count. Everything matters.

As a side thing, while we can and very much should criticize media for being poor in writing, composition and so, yet, I've noticed people do tend to forget everything is 99% considered. Everything has its place and everything has intention. Passionate creatives care and there is more than "the curtain is blue just because". Like I can and will talk about how every Mizrak and Olrox scene is placed in green/earthy-colored environments (not here though LOL, this is not the time for it). The times when things slip under the radar and are put there just because are mostly due to executive meddling, budget restrictions, and deadlines.

Now that the introduction part is out of the way, let's start!

The establishing shot!

I think you’ll notice this in many many shows in general, but this is often used to establish a new scene. While some may think there’s nothing too special about it symbolic wise, Olrox is seen literally dragging Mizrak up the hill. Begging the question of why does Olrox shift out to his shadow form?

For a writing/story perspective, for the breakup to hit with those emotional beats, it has to be done face to face, ‘human’ to human. It cannot be done in shadow form because the dialogue and facial expressions that need to happen, it has slap you in the face. Like the crying scene. It also means when you deliberately cut out any expressions from the shots due to the camera framing, you get a more emotional reaction from the viewer. This is because you cannot see the emotions that they are clearly having. It is like the characters do not want to show us it or let us in.

Character's perspective, Olrox is given the chance for Mizrak to fight back and probably somewhat hoping that Mizrak would break out of his arms easily so he can prove to Mizrak he isn’t powerful enough. It's much like how he lets Richter live in episode 01. He often gives chances to people and it's probably going to come up again.

Olrox drags Mizrak into this scene, and we’re getting a mid shotttt, (I think technically cowboy shot, since we do get like waist and hands, though its because their height differences but I might be getting too pedantic with this).

This may not seem too special, but it’s a very nice way to show Mizrak struggling and just set the baseline for the action occurring since from the establishing shot we can’t tell too much because it's so far out. It also now brings the audience into the scene, we are now privy to their most private conversation. We can also see Olrox is literally holding him super easily he’s literally not even trying LOL. We can see the dynamic being established and how that dynamic will shift at the end. So we have established the new setting/characters in the first shot, and now we've established what this side story will be about in the second shot.

THE LOW ANGLE 🫣

Low angled shots are used to make a character appear powerful because the camera is looking up, therefore making the presence in the shot seem like a massive force. Olrox is supposed to be powerful. Yet, even though he’s taller, right behind Mizrak holding him back AND directly mentioned- he’s not in shot scene except for his hands. They are SUPER prominent in this shot, they’re practically in the middle of it and stand out because his hand is lit super differently from Mizrak’s face.

Olrox’s power is being used to hold back Mizrak.

Side note, I think this is just me, but this shot feels suffocating WHICH IS A GOOD THING. While there is some empty space around Mizrak, it's still extremely dark like Mizrak's clothes so it kind of blends in and makes this scene suffocating. It is as if we're being held back too.

This camera angle also makes Mizrak look very powerless and powerful at the same time which is I think is just really neat. With each established 'rule' for camera shots/angles, you can break them to subvert audience expectations. Mizrak is yelling and using all his power to convince Olrox to fight. Convince him that he can do it and fight Ezerbet.

Long shottttt, slightly different from an establishing shot since it punches in more closely.

“She’ll kill them!” And we can directly see the Abbey from here, being loomed over by the eclipse, which is really super nice. It’s telling us he’s practically going to watch them die if he stays where he is.

Also visually the 'weights' on the left and right of the screen can be argued that they are even, almost as if both choices are heavy and hold the same power over each other. The choice to go back and fight, or the choice to run.

Close up shot! Close-up shots allow for the audience to read a character's face, or if not their face, their action, to put extreme importance. The small details matter in a close-up and are the main focus.

This is soooo intentional, but we don’t get Mizrak’s initial reaction. IMO we don’t ever get it, we only get his response to Olrox, and I see reaction and response as two separate things. This is a super hard side view of both of them. It's not 3/4, it's not front- it is side profile, used to amp up the dramatics of the scenes. It's a nice contrast to how it's only one side of his face yet he's revealing an inner thought. As if maybe perhaps, there is more to this truth then he lets on, it is perhaps, maybe only one side, of his guarded truth.

Also, people may call this a corn plate moment but his eyes are open for one frame, and then when he tilts his head down, they're closed. Its a very small detail, but it's being used to set up for his crying scene later because this acts to 'reset' his face before we see it again.

This is Mizrak's response. We don’t get to see his face, but he BACKS DOWN, and I don't believe he does it because he think Olrox will release him if he does (which Olrox does anyway), but its also kind of his reaction.

This is a forced perspective shot, I think this is now a high angle. So the camera is looking down on the characters, making them powerless and vulnerable. Opposite to a low angle shot.

THIS IS CALL BACK TO THE BED SCENE. Olrox holds Mizrak from behind

A rehash of this scene from episode 04 but with 10x the angst.

Y'all are free to call me out on this section because my storyboarding experiences are small BUT i am just throwing in additional context.

Storyboarding scenes and shots is a collaborative process (as is the whole animation industry itself). These boards go through multiple iterations, which you namely you have to get it passed off from your storyboard director but also your fellow storyboard artists, your background artists and so on. While you dedicate yourself to this specific scene, you let previous parts of the story influence your work and vice versa, allowing for things to feel more connected and visually tell a story. This is the last moment we see this 'couple' in this show, and with such heavy scene that breaks these two apart, you are going to want to call back other times where they were close so it makes the separation that much more painful. In this case, it was chosen to have Olrox holding Mizrak as a callback. This then means this will be a common thing they will go back to and it will somehow reappear in season 2 and every season after that (pleasepleasepleaseplease season 3, maybe season 4 guys please). When it does reappear, it's going to be an alternate version that builds upon the last, and who knows, it may be way more subtle. It may be flipped. The way they act around each other when standing behind each other is very important. The way Olrox holds Mizrak is very important (and he doesn't just hold him by just sitting or using his hands, but also I can discuss that on a different scene breakdown if you guys want!)

I need to point this out super clearly. We do not see their faces this time around for that shot and that is intentional because then it forces up to think of what it is like. We have to infer from their previous interactions and what should come to mind is episode 04.

I would love to break down this at some point later (and how episode 04 and episode 06 make callbacks to each other, I've mentioned it before in a tweet somewhere I digress though). I'll briefly go through this now- this image is a (extreme) top-down close-up of their expressions, the perspective is pushed here. In episode 08, we get a top-down view where the perspective is also extremely pushed. This has to be a callback, there's no way that wasn't intentional.

This is what I imagined their faces to be when Mizrak stops resisting and drops his arms.

Now we see Mizrak’s face. Trade off is that we don’t see Olrox’s face. Like a reaction to a reaction. It’s to set up for the next shot to make us go “oh my god.”

THIS SHOT IS SO GOOD Y'ALL😭 (Also a close-up)

Olrox is not known to show any extreme emotions, only time he does was when he forced himself to bow to Ezerbet. So to the audience, this is really shocking because THATS TEARS RIGHT THERE.

The forehead creases are telling me he’s holding back really hard. He’s dead still beside the wind flowing. He’s using his power to hold back.

This is a front view too. Olrox is baring himself out. No 3/4, no side angle, front view. Also, the backdrop has the trees beginning to clear out behind him, which subtly alludes to us as an audience to realize how we're getting a slightly clearer picture of Olrox's headspace, of his views, and so on!

Which… is this a call back to when Olrox said “I’m not in love with you” (?) It is a front having shot but its cut closer and his eyes aren't glowing.

Which, I still have no idea what the glowing eyes mean. Unless there are no rules the glowing eyes follow by it besides what suits each scene the best thematically. I will point out that whenever it glows, its supposed to be intimidating, he's supposed to feel supernatural. When he's vulnerable, take for insistence when he talks about his past and talks gently about it, his eyes don't glow, he feels a lot more human in that scenario.

First of all, choice of shot is to mirror Olrox’s shot. Ok that out of the way.

WE GET THIS LINE??? I remember first watching it my jaw dropped because I couldn’t believe he said this.

He gets called an animal. Wild. Insane.

That’s a set up. It has to be there’s NO WAY IY ISN’T. WE’RE GETTING A CALL BACK TO THIS IN SEASON 2. SEASON 3, pls I’d do anything for a s3. Idk when we're getting a call back to this because Mizrak just backhanded him so hard and that language is so specific, especially since we’ve already gotten Ezerbet going “Gods should know where her dragons are”, you know, treating Olrox like a pet. Like an ANIMAL.

I am going to go on the slightest of side tangents- Mizrak has parallels to Drolta, they're both "guard dogs" for their leader. The Abott simply has to put out his hand when Mizrak is growling (it is subtitled as him growling and barking its kinda crazy) for him to stop. The animal line seems so out of nowhere and it is supposed to feel like that but we've had this bread trail from the very start.

Ok going back to the scene at hand. Mizrak ??? Where’s your normal religious quips ??? Why did you use that line ??? What do you know about losing your soul and being animal-like??? Suspicious 🤨 because there are countless bible verses about, bravery, losing your soul, literally self-sacrifice.

Though I will bring up, the idea of having a soul has been brought up before.

Mizrak recognizes Olrox had a soul before. He recognized Olrox used to live. I think Olrox was a lot more... 'puncher' and 'fiery' beforehand, before his previous lover died. I mean, if he wasn't more 'alive' before, why would he turn his previous lover into a vampire. Mizrak said that so it would hurt and to call him out.

(Though I feel like, religion has been thrown out the window for Mizrak, cant wait to see how Mizrak deals with it s2 LOLOLOL)

Ok now talking abt these two long shots together (the irony writes itself)

The placement of the characters is so important to feel that void and it makes the scene feel so much more empty, which is why it also has to be a long shot. It’s like, they’re supposed to fill in that gap, but they’re not. A general note is that shuffling characters off-center makes the scene feel unbalanced. The center line, the abbey, and the eclipse are already established and Mizrak is running off center. For Olrox's shot, there's a clearing to his right.

To Mizrak, Olrox should’ve run alongside him. There’s space for him

To Olrox, Mizrak should’ve stayed back. There’s space for him.

Now I'm done. My final notes is that this whole breakup scene is a massive setup for something for the next season (if not this season, just for something big later on), and my red strings are tying it to that animal line and holding if that makes sense? Everything in episode 8 IS a setting up for bigger things for season 2. We will get callbacks. (I say will, that is a very strong conviction LOL).

Also to wrap up, shot choices matter heavily. You need to connect with the audience immediately. A picture says 1000 words. Something as simple as maybe someone in a diner eating a burger, and its a close up of them talking may seem not that special but it changes a lot just by having a character in the middle or the left of the screen, especially in the greater scheme of a full scene.

Think of that one quote from Prince of Egypt where the priest says "A single thread in a tapestry though its color brightly shines can never see its purpose in the pattern of the grand design." Basically that LOL.

If I have time, I may go and do their other scenes (or even scenes of other characters)! They all build upon each other really nicely and despite their scenes being about 1-3 minutes long. They really pack in a lot of details. Their lives before directly affect what's happening at that very moment on screen and you can see it heavily influences how they interact with the world and each other!

#mystery talks #castlevania nocturne #mizrak #olrox #olrox/mizrak

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skywalkr-nberrie · 13 days ago

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Some weirdos shippers on Twitter/X keep bringing up the “Episode 1: Insider Guide” CD-ROM which comes with annotations on knowledge from the early drafts of The Phantom Menace because of one specific annotation it provides which is heavily taken out of context as a way to argue their ship being real or “almost” real, so I thought I’d take the time to break it down and explain how absurd they really sound.

Insider guide reveals that Padmé was 12-13 in the early drafts of TPM, grew an admiration for OWK because he stood up to the queen (it literally states that she was “impressed” which is a word typically associated to the direct result of forming an admiration or respect for someone.) and that explains why she gave him adoring/admiring looks, and also quite literally states that she watches him with “interest and respect.” (Very indicative to the true nature on her affection.) Mind you, OWK was 30 in the early drafts and Padmé was the same age as Anakin (12-13) OWK was old enough to be considered Anakin’s “father figure”, so wouldn’t it be interesting to claim that this logic wouldn’t also apply to Padmé somehow??

It should be noted that OWK (whom is actually really Qui-Gon in the early drafts for TPM before they were switched out.) is only said to be nervous due to constantly being gawked at by someone and it makes him slightly uncomfortable as anyone would feel if they were being stared at. Not any indication of reciprocal affection or romantic attraction (should go without saying since he is a 30 yo man feeling uncomfortable with a 12-13 yo girl watching him with such admiration 🤡) Trying to amount something out of what’s clearly a childlike hero-worship of a 12-13 child over a 30 yo man is a wild ass assumption especially when the nature of Padmé’s fascination with OWK in the early drafts are quite clearly meant to be seen as kiddish admiration instead of romantic love.

Insider Guide annotation subtitled it “A crush?” (Which is funnily enough posed as a question rather than a straight fact.) is to engage the reader with a quirky composition. It’s not supposed to be taken seriously. Think of it equivalent to a click bait title on a YT video. Falling for it shows your lack of comprehension since the information provided in the annotation itself is very apparent about what it’s saying and implying. *All while Anakin and Padmé have a handful of tender and sweet moments together, obviously laying down the groundwork for a budding romance, and Padmé relationship with OWK remains strictly as an alliance with no tender or personal moments apart from professional and respectful ones with an undertone that would exist only between an authority figure and a child*

There's no verbal or direct acknowledgment in the early script on neither Padmé or any other character through the dialogue or anything else that her interest is even equivalent to a romantic crush, the only thing that's hinted at is that it's out of respect which is more so equal to an adolescent admiration for an authoritative personality, and only exists for about 2 scenes (see the footnote: pages 33, 43-44.) before fading into nothing as the story goes on. (Definitive of how irrelevant it’s supposed to be, so much that it was completely discarded in the end product as it wouldn’t contribute to the plot in any way.) And ironically, it fades into nothing after Padmé meets Anakin (lol, apart from the fact that her fascination with him wasn’t at all lasting and ended up being totally forgotten, the argument that this was supposed to be a setup for a future subplot to make Anakin jealous is a false interpretation as well.) plus the fact that not every crush is = to wanting a romance with someone. Platonic crushes aka admiration of someone is very much a thing as well, especially if you’re at the tender young age of 12, cause at that point crushes aren’t really romantic pursuits or interest, it’s always heavy on admiration and respectful affection, which is quite obviously what was being presented as the case in the Insider Guide.

Yeah, so in conclusion, I wanted to put this all out here cause some proshippers really be using the Insider Guide as proof that ob*d*la was supposed to be a thing without ever diving deep into the actual content it provided, and instead took at face value what misleading screenrant articles had to say then rolled with it, lmao.

#star wars #padmé amidala #anakin skywalker #anidala #pro anidala #anakin x padmé #anakin and padmé #skyberrie #pro anakin skywalker #star wars: ep 1; insider guide #anti proship #finally posting this lol #had in my drafts for months now #saw another proshipper on twt bring this up again and felt like it was time to break it down

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thepenandthepistol · 6 months ago

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Empty Page (Pearl x reader)

When hit with a creative block, you spend some time on the Hermitcraft server, Pearl's base being your last stop. An evening spent in her newly constructed ballroom changes your perspective, for better or for worse.

A/N: This was really fun to write, at first, it was going to be just some fluff but I can't help myself and I made it a bit sad- The next piece after this will probably be a bit longer, so here's something shorter and sweeter to keep us going in the meantime. Inspired by Empty Page from the Crane Wives. (1261 words)

Art by @/applestruda and dividers by @/cafekitsune

Summer has taken over the fields. Flapping in the wind, mills and turbines drone constantly into midday, as smaller, trilling bots harvest the countless crop circles dotted around a giant factory. Despite the sun’s place high atop the cloudless sky, your shadow casts long upon the walls of the workshop. With your easel in front of you, beside the vibrant green and blue of the land below, you are now more than ever terrified at the sight of the pure white canvas.

You’re a tourist, not a hermit, staying briefly to gather ideas for your work. Beautiful paintings lined your halls back home, scenery and portraits, all ten cent copies of better works. This excursion of yours is the longest you’ve been away from the house. Still, the fresh air that would usually jump start your creative muscles has done little to help get you out of your rut.

In your bag, you rifle through your sketch book. Assorted scenes line the pages, Gem’s antenna, Skizz’s pyramid, other smaller locations. None of them are interesting. Experimenting with composition has led to nowhere, which is how you know things have gotten dire.

After years of creating and creating, maybe you’ve just run out. Used up all your best ideas, some of them in the stupidest ways, and now you’re dry. The postcard you’d sketched when first arriving calls to you from out the other belongings. A nice sunset, easy. It looks decent, but something’s missing. This isn’t as good as it could be. It’s not yours.

“Hows the painting coming along?” Pearl pops out of her workroom and you almost send your bag rolling downhill.

“Uh, not smoothly?” You say, grimacing from the slight shame. You’ve been up here since dawn with nothing to show for it except a wad of folded paper in your pocket. “Here, thanks for letting me stay with you. I wanted to make you something better, but in the meantime, I hope this’ll suffice.”

She takes the sheet from you with a curious grin and gawks when she sees the charcoal image: her dogs in a variety of poses, one jumping at the camera, another snoozing under a tree, the others doing much of the same.

“This looks incredible.“ She points to one of the hounds, salivating on a piece of beef. “You got his face just right!” She grins and stares a little longer at the page, carefully folding it back up.

“It’s no use being a perfectionist.” She offers tentatively as you snicker and bring your knees to your chest.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You snort softly. “It’s not the issue, though.” The muscles around your throat close as you speak through gritted teeth.

“It’s alright if the juices aren’t flowing.” She wiggles her fingers at the word. “You’ll get them working, eventually.”

“You don’t get it Pearl. I’ve been at this for weeks now! It’s not a matter of inspiration or whatever.” You ball your fists into the grass with a sharp sigh.

“It’s like every brushstroke is a part of someone else’s vision. I can paint sure, but I can’t make the important stuff, the stuff that makes my art mine.” A second passes. You consider brushing her off, making a joke and pretending you aren’t as affected as you are.

You quietly yelp as Pearl pulls you into her soft embrace, a hand on your back and another in your hair. “You will eventually. Until then, there’s not much to do but try again.”

Her marred alabaster skin feels like a fever against your own, as if the sunburn scars dotting her shoulders could return the heat that caused them.

“If you weren’t hugging me right now, I would’ve called you a callous ass.”

“Hey!” She squeezes you and even in the face of that barren canvas, you laugh along with her.

The rest of the week goes by and once or twice you feel that maybe your spark will return, but it never does. Pearl is a constant, keeping you silent company as she works on a building just out of sight. It’s a massive construct of arches and polished stone, bricks placed one by one making up the roof.

On your last day, you ditch the oil paints, leaving the tubes scattered at your bedside, to watch the sunset. That scorching ball of light fades into the horizon as Pearl hops down from her project, finally finished, to watch it beside you.

“It looks really good, Pearl. The arches are so detailed.” You crane your head to look at the building, trying to see through the stained glass inside. Pearl grins beside you and turns to lean against the rock dividing the terrain into terraces.

“It’s gonna be a ballroom.” She states, crossing her arms and puffing her chest. Her eyes narrow, as if she can see the future through them, all the things that could be.

“I’m a bit sad I won’t be around to see it.” Your departure has been a topic avoided even in the days leading up to this one. Your things are packed, all that’s left is the mess of paints and pallets.

“You can take a look at it now! Come on, I want to show you something.” She grabs your hand, dashing up the steps two at a time. Her hat almost falls as she looks back to the darkening orange sky.

“You really outdid yourself.” Your voice echos as you take a hesitant step inside, guided tenderly by Pearl. Her hand is calloused from hauling materials and spending all her time building. They’re kind not in spite of the roughness.

There’s something about her. Even now, her steps are passionate as she brings you to the center of that empty room. Her back and shoulders are sculpted, with skin that has seen days of work spilling slightly over an inky undershirt.

“Here, let’s give you one happy memory before you go.” She untangles your hands, letting one fall to your waist and the other sit comfortably on your shoulder. A figure bolts just out of sight, high up in the rafters, and music pours from a jukebox. You can’t help but chuckle in disbelief.

“You’ve given me tons of good memories.” Trying to ignore the outline of her fingertips on you, they readjust their grip as she takes the first steps of a waltz. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know, but you didn’t get what you came here for. Pretty disappointing trip, if you ask me.” She moves slowly, looking to you as your footing mirrors hers.

“I think I need to find what sets me apart.” Your grip on Pearl’s own waist firms, taking a silent breath and moving along to the music at its normal pace.

“You’ve helped with that.” The words come out of your mouth in a whisper as the music crescendos and with a palm to her back, you dip her. Dangerously close to the floor, but still safe in your hold. “So no, not disappointing at all.”

Her earnings reflect the fading crimson of the sky outside, peaking through the windows and casting your joint shadow on the wooden floor. Her hand reaches back towards your hair, fingers finding their perch on the nape of your neck, thumb ghosting the curve beside your lip.

“Come back whenever you like. I’ll be here.” Her brows knit as you pull her back up, keeping her close.

“I will, I promise. When I do, I’ll paint you and it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever made.”

#hermitcraft x reader #pearl x reader #pearlescentmoon x reader #mcyt x reader #x reader

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theboytatu · 18 days ago

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overall, this is a mixed bag of a project that feels monotonous at times, with very few choices standing out. however, baekhyun still shows enough awareness to play up to his strengths - he gives his established fandom what they like but he clearly never steps out of his comfort zone at all. the safest/most predictable songs sadly come in the form of both the title track and the pre-release, so there's not a lot of motives for non fans to tune into this album.

there's an abysmal lack of vocal prowess moments, a clear sign that SM is no longer directing his albums. he still has a very good voice - but there's very few moments where he lets us hear it to any deeper extent. he mostly stays close to his low and mid range, with a lot of the songs leaning into fast talking/rapping instead of giving us high notes and belting moments.

colde can be felt throughout the entire production - sometimes it's a good thing and sometimes it's to the detriment of the music. the stand out tracks where his composition shines the best: love comes back, no problem. the weakest, boring tracks are lemonade and late night calls.

the album manages to stand on its own - but the days of fleshed out glorious albums like bambi and candy are long gone. it still manages to sound more cohesive than his previous mini - which was a pretty incoherent and rushed album. this one in turns sounds better and flows better.

7/10.

track by track thoughts under the cut

chocolate - very comfortable zone for baekhyun. nothing daring or bold but i can appreciate when an idol knows his strengths and plays into them... also very quintessential colde sound. overall it's very harmless while retaining some flair in the vocal performance. perfectly adequate pre release. i've seen people saying they wanted this to be the title track though and tbh i don't see it. it's a very good bside but no tt potential. 7/10

elevator - candy 2.0 and that's not necessarily a compliment. i do think he was trying too hard to capture a quirky happy vibe with this but then again this is exactly the type of sound kfans eat up every single time. can't blame him for doing what the public wants. the instrumental is very one note and im not a big fan of the way the vocals are mixed. imo this was missing more adlibs and vocal stacks. it's still catchy enough that i don't mind listening to it again, i can see myself humming along to it while working. 6/10. would be a 7 if it wasn't trying so hard to be candy

lemonade - hmm. i can see what he was going for but im not buying it. the verses are good enough - the chorus is childish. there's no other word for it. there's bits that elevate the song at times towards a more interesting soundscape but overall it remains very one dimensional. boring. 5/10

love comes back - this is it. colde was clearly inspired for this one and i thank him for giving the song to baekhyun. i am loving the fact that he returned to the tradition of having a song with 'love' in the title (love again, love scene) cause every single one has been amazing. the instrumental is sooo lush and sultry and simply inspired. i wish the song was longer we deserved a longer bridge and a second reprise tbh. this is exactly the type of song baekhyun shines the best in. and that guitar in the last stretch of the song ohhh bitch. i was ascending. my only critique is that it's not longer. 10/10.

no problem - straight away i was so happy to hear baekhyun have more vocal inflections and textures in this. so far the album has felt overall very monotonous - literally, he has stayed singing mostly in his lower register. the topline here is so good i really enjoy it. the adlibs, the backing vocals, the stackings, the arrangement... it all works. i was surprised by how much i liked this by the end of it. 9/10.

black dreams - pretty instrumental. i like the drums and the backing vocals give it a very dreamy and lush feeling. very in line with the title. i find it interesting that he's pretty much fast talking in all of these songs - i was expecting high notes and belting at least once but it looks like the sm vocal direction is truly gone for good. this is very nice either way, i enjoyed it a lot. 7/10.

late night calls - well. by now you probably know how i feel about slow ballad type songs in kpop. i am very particular about them and most just feel like snoozefests for me. this doesn't entirely fall into snoozefest territory but the vocal performance needs to be more dramatic for me to completely buy it. he really should have leaned more into showcasing his breath control and wide register - the vocal agility is on the floor. but it's not the worst ballad i've heard. 7/10.

#baekhyun #Spotify

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treasure-mimic · 7 months ago

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Psychopomp and What Things Mean When They Don't Mean Anything

So if you haven't noticed or you don't follow me, I recently became interested in a small, one-man dev team indie game by name of Psychopomp. As a brief synopsis and pitch, Psychopomp is a game about a woman who seemingly suffers from paranoid delusions, through the lens of this narrator she tells us that there's a labyrinth of catacombs hidden underneath every public building and sets out to explore them to uncover the world's secrets, armed with nothing but a store bought hammer.

youtube

The game's intro puts it in words better than I could and more influential than any pitch is just seeing the protagonist's design.

As one commentator states, she looks like a skateboard mascot from the mid-2000s. Like she should be on those posters with a snarky quip just fucked up enough to catch those pearl clutching puritans off guard. I love the style and I love the tone and I love the premise.

This might be the best time to note that if you're interested in playing this game, you should stop reading here, as this discussion will contain spoilers. It's a short game, took me about 3 hours on my first playthrough, and it's pretty cheap, even has a free demo in the form of the base version with Psychopomp Gold serving as the expanded, completed experience.

Anyways.

I've always found conspiracy theories fascinating but in the modern age it can be hard to immerse yourself in these reality-detached belief systems without acknowledging, you know, the racist dogwhistling and tangible physical harm it's causing to society at the present moment. Psychopomp is able to pretty gracefully sidestep this issue by setting its anarchic anti-government sentiments against its protagonist's paranoid delusions rather than adherence to a faith or belief system.

Indeed, the game seems to take systemic beliefs as its central enemy. The entities that are necessary to kill to progress through its levels are defined by the systems they interact in, historical figures of elevated status, keystone positions in industrial manufacturing, even abstract systems like urbanism and DNA composition are posed as societal and oppressive. I'm not saying that there's no way to interpret the game in bad faith and make it directed at marginalized social, political, or ethnic groups, but I also struggle to imagine the person who takes the game literally on its face value?

Which I guess leads me to the main topic I wanted to discuss. The game very obviously has an unreliable narrator (for the record, the protagonist remains nameless for the bulk of the game, I will be referring to her as Venus as it's the closest she has to a name that's explicitly stated within the text itself) with the flavor of one whose intake of reality may be different from what's actually occurring. The game uses a combination of conspiratorial rambling and dream logic to stage its unreal tone; for example, one level delves into the "biology" of buildings, stating that they use graffiti to communicate and that black mold is a pheromone used to evacuate its inhabitants to allow for mating. Loading screens come with "Gameplay Tips" and "Real World Tips", both of which are often dense and inscrutable; for example you might get a pair like "Not all enemies are friends" and "Viruses do not exist. Illness is simply your body punishing you for what you've done wrong."

Surrealism and unreality as stylistic choices can be a bit of a tightrope walk to get right. On the one hand, if you make it explicit that a story takes place in a state that did not happen even within the story's universe, a dream or a hallucination, it can rob the narrative of its stakes, regardless of how well executed the internal metaphors are. Psychopomp very explicitly does not do this, regardless of what it is that Venus is experiencing, the game makes it clear through scientific logs and communications (as well as a brief epilogue set outside of her perspective) that something abnormal is happening, the question is just where in between normality and Venus's experiences does the truth of the game's narrative actually lie.

The other side of the tight rope is literal interpretation, presenting a setting that's absurd to our sensibilities but tangibly explainable, where meaning is supplanted by lore and the cosmology begins to solidify into a set of Calvinball rules that don't make sense, but are still adhered to, and this is the side Psychopomp threatens to lose me on. There is a credible argument to be made that there is no difference, that what Venus is experiencing is her reality without warping and distortion, it's a more credible argument than saying she completely fabricated all of it, and it's an argument I was starting to wonder wasn't the intended interpretation. Until I got the game's second, secret ending.

Psychopomp has one collectible that doesn't serve a direct gameplay purpose, but each catacomb has a key hidden away, often behind false mimic walls that bleed and scream when you hit them with your hammer, and which unlock new rooms in the only permanent location "Home". Initially a gray, cubical, concrete room with a single mattress and a small table with a radio on it, collecting keys allows you to further explore outside(?)/within(?) the home with a unique camera perspective and limited interaction. In the first layer there's a blob man who cries out in torment, demanding to know why you specifically made the world like this, giving some credence to the deification of Venus implied by the game's ending. In the last layer, Venus traverses underneath and past her own brain to unlock a repressed memory.

I take this as confirmation that there's some level of abstraction at play here. Under scrutiny it feels as though there must be some level of abstraction at play here because when taken as a whole, the conspiracies start becoming outright contradictory, even if you try to take the cosmology at play as fact, which are the closest thing to objective facts that we have.

See, Venus's perspective takes place an alternate Earth, one that both seemingly was broken off from the planet and now orbits it like a new moon but also has always existed. One of the locations is a natural history museum which explains the history of sentience on this counter-earth, humans rose, went extinct, were supplanted by a species called the thrait, then humans returned in a mutated form and retook the surface and forced the thrait back underground (though the museum also refers to the thrait as extinct despite being the most common friendly NPC you will encounter). Another location seems to imply that the humans of this world, or maybe only some of them, are artificial clay creatures, reinforced by the arbiters of the DNA factory too being clay alleles. The Human Seedbed even has the game's most effective jumpscare in it, where Venus cannot leave the area without being confronted with a jittering clay facsimile of herself.

But with that in mind, what the hell is Venus then? By no account is she one of these artificial clay people but then how did she get here? The game's introduction implies that she used to be a normal person, or at least closer to, with lived experiences inclusive of complete ignorance to this underworld, the game's endings imply that she's an immortal god-being who has been intentionally working towards her own reawakening, and that is actually one of the least ambiguous plot points within the narrative. None of the pieces of this world lock together to form a cohesive vision of a setting that operates on even the barest of internal rules, and yet the game in the same step refuses to be a character study or subconscious examination, I mean the epilogue is a damn sequel hook that involves assembling the damn Avengers to combat the ramifications of the events of the game.

So, I come to realize, I'm the problem. I might, in fact, be thinking about this too hard.

One of the locations in the game is called "Daddy's Bad Place". It is a single, tiny room of a house or apartment, frozen in a moment of tearing itself apart, that only contains a dusty old TV set with a small, pointless ornament sitting on top. In any other surrealist game, this isolated circle of clarity, a compact orb of recognizable terrain, would be a moment to deliver one single jolt of reality into the metaphor of the protagonist's journey through their own subconscious.

In Psychopomp the TV turns on and delivers a distorted warning about a giant insect which is deadly, deceitful, and above all, not real.

In Daddy's Bad Place I come to realize something. The lore is fake, the characterization is fake, the dichotomy of truth and delusion is fake, the insect is not real. Let's think about what I'm doing here for a moment, right? I'm trying to discern the truth from within a work of fiction. None of its true, none of it happened, what difference does it actually make?

The thing about conspiracy theories is that they don't make logical sense. It's a known phenomenon that conspiracy theorists love to debate, but cannot be reasoned out of their beliefs by facts or logic. There is never a counter, but always a failsafe argument that can be retreated to for safety. What conspiracy theories do make is emotional sense, they make narrative sense. The line that initially sold me on Psychopomp was one of the aforementioned loading screen tips, "All the food you've ever eaten is rotten. You have never tasted fresh food."

Patently false statement, does not hold under scrutiny, but I, as someone who lives in America and lives in a city center and has to get all my food through corporations, can look at a statement like that and say yeah. Checks out. I believe you. We would know if children were being smelted into egg slicers underneath public schools, but it resonates with our emotions about the systems of education we enforce upon children, so it could be true. We would know if buildings were a living, reproducing organism, but it resonates with the feelings of being born into a world where urbanism exists, has existed as permanent fixtures of the world, and is continuously encroaching upon the face of the world, so it could be true.

Anyone who understands the fundamentals of incentives and human psychology does not need to believe that there is a coordinated group of ontologically evil individuals driving the world to ruin for ruin's sake, but that narrative still feels true, it becomes validating in the ways that it plays off of the emotions of believers until it becomes a foundational pillar of belief that cannot be destroyed by logical contradiction.

Psychopomp, in the same way, presents information about its internal systems that cannot be true logically but form self-justification anyways through emotional resonance. It doesn't matter if the lore works because its stated, it isn't wrong, so it must be a truth. This is the way that Psychopomp emulates the unreality of the conspiracy theory in a way that can avoid the disturbing implications of the real world practice. I've made comparison to surrealism by dream logic and surrealism by internal self-reflection, but this is a different mode entirely and the game simply refuses to operate by those tropes at its core. Conspiracy is itself contradiction, not the soft contradiction of two halves of a dream that don't lock together, but the hard contradiction of attempting to apply emotion and narrative to a waking world that rejects either premise. Psychopomp, then, is surrealism by way of conspiracy.

#Psychopomp #Psychopomp Gold #Psychopomp Game #Narrative Analysis #Long Post #Youtube

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a-d-nox · 1 year ago

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can you list any of the aspects in synastry or composite charts (if possible) where it indicates who breaks up with the other first ? for example, i just read a post saying more often than not, in venus conjuct pluto aspect- the pluto breaks up with venus first.

what causes break-up/rejection in synastry and composite

i wouldn't count on that always being the case, sounds like someone is justifying their specific situation because conjuncts are atypical in nature - they often don't have predictable results. some people say that they promote positivity (for example, venus person is enamored by pluto person and pluto person is obsessed with venus person like the twisted book series that went viral on tiktok) and some say that nothing good comes from them (like whichever post the example is from in the ask)...

i'm going to work off of what i already have posted (no asteroids discussed after this post will be included or added after the fact). finally, i would like to state that NO TWO CHARTS ARE THE SAME. what i am about to list out does not mean you will for sure need these exact things (or all of these things) to be shy, nervous, and/or anxious around one another. if you don't understand my thought process, feel free to comment with questions!

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

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8h/12h saturn

often the ending of this relationship is not pretty and involves a long-term coupling falling out of love with one another.

8h uranus

uranus person likely feels that the house person is too clingy for them and will be the first to pull away.

12h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or mars

tends to indicate an ugly split.

12h capricorn (10°, 22°)

tends to indicate a harsh breakup/rejection from the house person which causes the saturn person to fall into a despair. this connection is often of a long-term variety.

12h aquarius (11°, 23°)

this might end with one of the partners in the connection asking for an open relationship, cheating on their partner, and/or ghosting the other partner.

sun negatively aspecting mars

sun person denies mars person. sun person tends to not like the mars person's energy and how passionate they are - they tend to not feel as deeply as the mars person.

mars negatively aspecting saturn

saturn person rejects mars person. usually the saturn person doesn't see the mars person as a good fit for them long-term - it tend to have to do with how clingy/possessive the mars person is. often the saturn person doesn't think that the mars person is worth fighting with, while the mars person sees the saturn person as someone worth fighting for.

mars negatively aspecting uranus

uranus person rejects mars person. the mars person often doesn't see this coming as an uranus person in this connection is quick to ghost/disappear from the mars person's life. the mars person tend to lack closure in the connection.

1h salome (562)

in oscar wilde's play salome, she is enticed by jokanaan but still wants him dead, and the play ends up with them both dead but him by salome's order.

apollo (1862) negatively aspecting kassandra (114)

kassandra person may seem interested at first but ends up just using the apollo person only to get ahead then rejects the apollo person.

medusa (149) negatively aspecting poseidon (4341 / h47)

poseidon person aggressively pursues medusa person but medusa person wants nothing to do with poseidon person

narcissus (37117) negatively aspecting echo (60)

echo might adore narcissus person, but narcissus person may either just enjoy that echo person likes them or they might decide they are too good for echo person.

rhea (577) negatively aspecting kronos (h43)

rhea person tend to be unhappy in the connection and plots against the kronos person.

zeus (h42 / 5731) negatively aspecting hera (103) and/or juno (3) negatively aspecting jupiter

typically, the hera/juno is hurt by the zeus/jupiter person because hera/juno person learns that they are being cheated on. oftentimes, this leads to a breakup. however, if there is a hera/juno prominent person in the connection, the relationship tends to continue but at the expense of the loyal (and unhappy) hera/juno person.

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox's guide to metaphysics

return to the masterlist of relationships: composite & synastry

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archandshri · 11 months ago

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28th June ‘24 - [arch] One Page Limitation??? - My process for Traffic Zine #5

Hello All!

A couple months ago, I got accepted to @trafficzine, a digital anthology of pieces by a large group of artists and writers based on the most recent season of the Life Series. I made this piece back in April, but thankfully I kept some notes of my process.

Heads up - this contains spoilers for Secret Life :D

We were able to choose our own prompt from a list! For this project, I wanted to push my comic making - especially how to communicate a lot of information in a small space. I went through and watched a few clips from the series to see which prompt would fit a comic and settled on Scott’s death.

As usual, I began by getting some reference images and going ham on some big paper. This gets me excited about the project and helps generate ideas. I go for whatever interests me in terms of medium and subject matter, but I try to use a process that doesn’t let me control too much (in this case brush and ink)

initial sketches for fun and vibes :D

During this, I also took the time to transcribe the scene - I wanted to use the dialogue directly, and see how much I could fit into the single page that I was allowed for the zine.

In these early planning stages I make sure to do warm-up sketches to remind myself of the energy I want to communicate. This also keeps things fun and fresh so I'm not ONLY thinking about page composition and making things 'good'. (the expectation for it to be 'good' kills a project prove me wrong)

Dialogue from the clip + warm up sketches

Next up, I started to plan what panels I have on the page. At this stage, some panels might just be a box with some words, and some may have a sketch if I have a clear composition in mind. This stage is mostly for pacing and plot, so instead of focusing on what the panel and page will look like, I will think about:

what will happen in the panel

it's purpose and

what it will communicate

Sometimes I'll illustrate a string of panels that tell the story and fit them on a page after - but this depends on the project and my confidence with the size of it.

After messing around with these and coming up with a pretty clear direction, I draw a bunch of boxes to see how the panels could sit nicely together. At this stage I might realise I have too many panels, and need to cut a few or come up with a creative solution. Nothing is set in stone at this point.

sketching panel layouts

Now begins the fun! I decide on the layout I prefer and I can start putting planned compositions into the boxes. I often do this digitally, or a digital editing process will be involved.

Once planned, I print these out to do a more refined sketch over. I find that my traditional drawings have a lot more life and character to them than digital ones, so I try to keep the majority of the process traditional, with passes of scanning and digital editing.

I tried a version with her looking out at the distance - ready to face the oncoming battle. But it still felt off. So I turned to my slides to ask myself some questions!!

I tried to think of more things that were working - but I really felt like it was lacking a lot. I was going for this slower emotional feeling because that came more naturally to me, but it just wasn't working for this image. The original clip is quite rushed and chaotic - which would be harder to communicate in a comic format but the challenge interested me. Either way, I knew I wasn't happy with this direction so... i decided to start from scratch! Back to the drawing board!!!

In the previous version, I had cut out a lot of the dialogue, but I decided to go back to the original clip and use AS MUCH as possible. Since passing the bow was my favourite part of that first composition, I really wanted to lean into it as the emotional height and final goodbye before Scott's death. It's a moment to slow down and absorb the vibes :D

I made a list of panels along with their descriptions to refer to when trying to figure out the order of panels. there were SO MANY and it was VERY CONFUSING when they were too small to read.

These thumbnails were super small and would not have made sense without my list, I swear.

I printed this tiny thumbnail out at A4, so I could sketch over it and get a clearer sense of flow. Then began a loooong process of printing out tiny photocopies and rearranging the panels to be legible. It was a difficult balance of communicating busyness while making sure the hierarchy/reading order made sense.

After some tweaking, i printed out an A3 copy to draw my panel borders and text.

Doing this on a separate piece of paper means I don't have to worry so much about messing up the text or borders when drawing the characters. This allows me to be more free and expressive with my illustration.

Woah! Quick trip back in time!! During the thumbnailing process I drew these warm up sketches! I looooved the way the linework came out. I drew this on an A3 piece of paper - and the shocked Gem would, in theory, be one of the smallest panels. So I decided to do a crazy thing.

I touched up the sketch digitally, compiling some of my favourite warm up sketches, some traditional sketches made for the panels, and filling the rest in digitally. Then I printed this image out in QUATERS at A3!! This meant the final sketch layer, printed out was A1!! (aka very large, considering the final file would be at A4, about 8x smaller)

I did this so I could get fairly small detailed lines with my pencil while being quite expressive and firm with my mark-making. Slowly, I dlined all of the panels traditionally and scanned them in. Then I assembled the finished linework on Photoshop, along with the text and panel borders and got to colouring :D

final linework :D

For colouring, I played a little bit with halftone but I found the texture made it feel a bit too busy - the panels are already doing enough. Because of this, I also decided to use a limited colour palette. Here are some images of the colouring process, which I won't go into today.

I'm really happy with how this came out - I think it captures the chaos of the moment, while taking time to linger on the emotion of it. Keeping that bow moment really made it, I think.

I think the last panel is still quite weak. Earlier in the process there was a low-angle shot of Gem about to kill Scott which may have been more powerful, but I think I was struggling with my actual drawing skill when it comes to perspective. A lot of learning how to draw, and in particular with comics, is about knowing where your skills are at, how to utilise them best and how to test and push them.

I'm glad that I started again, instead of finishing that composition I wasn't happy with. It was a tough project but I learnt sooooo much from it, and it's been essential skill-building for.... the current comic I'm working on (stay tuned!!! :0) Thanks for reading this incredibly long post! Go check out @trafficzine and look at all the other cool art Cool vibes and silly men,

Archie :D

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short-for-melancholy · 2 days ago

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Welcome, welcome, class! Sorry about the sudden change of venue. We've got something interesting to learn today, but before we get into that, has anyone come up with anything for the extra credit? Still nothing? Well, today's lesson might help you out, so make sure you all pay close attention!

Now, Luther here [I lay my arm across a young man's shoulders] asked me after class for help with changing his visualisation of Fireball, and I thought it would be helpful for everyone else to get a feel for it, as well. Love the go-getter attitude, Luther, keep it up and you'll go places. So what was it you were trying to do with your spell?

"I wanted to, uh, make it green, Professor."

Ooh, splendid! For starters, you can go ahead and show us what you've been doing. Aim it right down towards that stone target down there, that's the one, yep.

[Luther takes a deep breath, clearly unsure of himself. He points his wand towards the target and speaks the incantation in a measured voice.]

"Come, burning flame, and strike mine enemy! Fireball!"

[An orange fireball streaks towards the stone pillar, bursting into a starburst of flares on impact with a heavy thwack.]

Thank you, Luther. So can you tell us how you've been trying to change your visualisation in your head?

"Well, I've been doing my best to just, uh, imagine it green, but since that didn't work, I remembered what you said about magnesium last class and looked up what might burn green, so I've been trying to imagine it as burning copper, Professor."

Not a bad idea! Certainly not an impossible one to get working, provided you've got the right knowledge. I don't imagine you're familiar with the chemical composition of copper, or the processes at play when it burns, are you?

"No, Professor."

That'll be the problem, then. The more complicated your visualisation is, the more precise it needs to be. The trick, then, is to keep it as simple as you can. What sort of green are you going for, here?

"I was just thinking green, Professor."

Nah, you should go for something more evocative than that. There's a hundred different greens. Pick one you like and we'll go from there.

"What about a kind of like, deep emerald green?"

Excellent choice! However, we need to keep in mind that the construction of the spell is working against us here. The spell wants to be cast as an orange fireball, and the process and word associations all reflect that. So let's try changing the incantation a bit. You'll want something that maintains the flow and feel of the original, but edited to invoke the shade of green you're going for. Go ahead and give it another shot when you're ready.

[Luther thinks for a moment, then raises his wand towards the stone pillar.]

"Come, emerald flame, and strike mine enemy! Fireball!"

[A whiff of smoke spurts from the end of his wand and drifts upward. Quiet laughter ripples through the students.]

Now, now, there's no need for that. Luther made an admirable attempt. If you were watching closely, you'd have seen that the smoke was indeed tinted green. It's just that his cadence was disrupted. When you're working with incanted spells, you don't want to change too much or you'll create a fail state. Try abbreviating "emerald" to "em'rald", to match the cadence of "burning."

[With a sigh, Luther raises his wand a third time.]

"Come, em'rald flame, and strike mine enemy! Fireball!"

[A beautiful, deep-green fireball streaks towards the target. Light reflects off it like a jewel, and as it finds its mark, it seems to shatter into sharp licks of flame. The students ooh in unison.]

Beautifully done! Excellent work, Luther. Thank you for letting me show the rest of the class how this works. The rest of you can use the remaining time to practice spells of your own, if you are so inclined. There's plenty of targets, and I'll be here if you have questions. Oh, and let me be clear: under no circumstances are you to cast customised spells outside of class. It is, technically speaking, not legal.

#postposting #mahou university

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project-sekai-facts · 2 years ago

Note

i recall some kind of theory or pointing out of the fact that tsukasa's focus sets have had him getting less and less authority each time, and with the role of a minor character, it seems to have been intentional

oh i remember a lot of players on JP and KR side pointing that out when Phoenix released! and yeah I think it's definitely true

he went from king -> commoner -> jester/circus performer (for the king) -> a shadow

actually i have a lot of thoughts about his new card and i doubt this set will get an official blog post so i might just ramble a bit. (ftr: haven't read the event yet, sekai.best isn't updating and i surprisingly haven't really found anything from looking through JP/KR side either). specifically, i have a few thoughts about tsukasa being a shadow in this card because it's actually way more than that. oh to be a media student

first off the costume name: phantasmagoria. according to wikipedia, this was an old form of horror theatre that involved projecting scary images. (it's quite interesting actually you can read the article here). the effects in phantasmagoria productions would be done using magic lanterns, the ones you slide a disc with a picture into so it projects it onto a wall. usually, they'd use rear projection, where the lantern is placed behind the surface it's being projected on (so the surface would usually be smoke or some sort of semi-transparent screen) to keep up the illusion (rear projection is how old movies did backgrounds for reference).

now here's where the light in the card comes into play. for starters, rear projection clearly isn't being used here because he's on the stage-thingy (that will be relevant later). also instead of the light shining at him as if he were the subject being projected, it's shining down on him. while partially this was definitely done in part for composition cool points (the composition on this card is so fucking good actually it has nothing to do with symbolism but like holy shit), it's very reminiscent of a spotlight. as i said, i haven't had the chance to read the event yet but i'm assuming this will connect with him having to play a minor role (or play the shadow as the gacha says) and still putting himself in the spotlight.

i like that idea actually because if you link the fact he's standing in the spotlight that means he is still casting a shadow. it may appear to the viewer as if he's the centre of attention - he's right in the light, literally hitting all the composition marks to make him the sole focus of the card - but he's still just a shadow in a larger phantasmagoria. and actually, the spotlight sort of goes around him, he's pretty much cast in darkness despite being in the light and i love how that reflects him being part of a smaller role or "shadow". he stands in the spotlight and puts on a great show no matter if he's truly the star.

lastly: the pose. now look at this 4koma where he does a bird pose:

familiar? while in this 4koma he's meant to be imitating an eagle, i can't help but notice some striking similarities in how he's posed.

also the gacha has a feather! specifically a black one. unfortunately since there are no actual birds on the cards, nor are there feathers, I can't tell you exactly what bird he is meant to be..,

although if you wanted to really grasp at straws then his last event was called Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge the play from that event was called Happy Phoenix and both the play and the lead role in it are incredibly significant to Tsukasa personally and he ended up cast as the lead role in that play and even though the lead role isn't the phoenix that bird is still significant to him in some way.

also going all the way back to the original point of his class decreasing with every set i think while yes in this set he has been reduced to nothing more than a prop, or even less so a mere shadow, but at the same time if you chose to go with that incredibly reachy phoenix idea, it's a comeback. the phoenix rises from the ashes, tsukasa can be reduced to nothing and still be the star owning the spotlight, the most powerful one in the room. hell, he's still on a stage despite everything. i think it's super neat actually that despite this being him at the lowest rank, he's actually in the place where he belongs.

i believe i've only briefly mentioned it in passing on this account before, but theatre is his life. above all else Tsukasa is an actor and the stage is where he thrives. i think it's so interesting how with each set he loses authority, but he also gets closer to being on the stage. the king is at (well, near) his castle where he leads (link to WMS), Torpe is at his piano where he performs (link to Dazzling Light), the Jester is at the circus where he performs, and then you get the one that's hardest to define as any set character. it's not a king or a pianist or jester, it's just some performer on a stage. this time there's no character, and it's not just "some performer" because this is tsukasa. it's still another role, but this time the role is, as the event synopsis states, more "real". this is tsukasa where he belongs, he never needed any sort of power or to play the role of another performer in order to shine because he himself is a performer at his core. Torpe is a performer, but Torpe is not Tsukasa. Tsukasa is Tsukasa, and Tsukasa is a performer. Something like that.

sekai.best please update

#oh to be a media student #asks #mod talks #“a bit”

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cambria-writes · 1 year ago

Text

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else.

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that.

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you. You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips.

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it.

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch.

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?”

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression.

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights.

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you.

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks.

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball.

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed.

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance.

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification.

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you.

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?”

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you.

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.”

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.”

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!”

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away.

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”.

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually.

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door.

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right?

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running.

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice.

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?”

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist.

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles.

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back.

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?”

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs.

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough.

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit.

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change.

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact.

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough.

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way.

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes.

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady.

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn.

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief.

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue.

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

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