#I’ll do some sketches at some point. or dig some out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scottpetersen · 2 years ago

Text

Compare/Contrast of Princess Entrapta And Marcy Wu

Ok. Here I’ll be doing a compare/contrast between Princess Entrapta from the She Ra And The Princesses Of Power TV series and Marcy Wu from the Amphibia TV series. It occurred to me that these 2 have quite a bit in common but are also a bit different. Also, Spoiler Alert for the She Ra And The Princesses Of Power TV series, the Amphibia TV series and Marcy Wu’s Journal. With that out of the way, let’s dive right in.

Both of them are very smart people who are very enthusiastic when it comes to learning more. As shown in the episode ‘Light Hope’, Entrapta was very excited after seeing the readings she got from a First Ones Data Crystal and she was also just as if not even more excited to experiment on The Black Garnet since those readings on that First Ones Data Crystal allowed her to figure out that the Runestones, including The Black Garnet, are directly connected to each other and Etheria’s power grid in a delicate balance meaning that Runestones like The Black Garnet are the best access point to “hack the planet”. And as shown in Entry 38 of Marcy Wu’s Journal, Marcy was very curious about the architecture in the strange ruins she and her squad found and sketched an old inscription she found there in order to get some answers later since she really wanted to “dig into the lore of this world”. The difference between them here is how this effects their general focus. As shown in the episode ‘No Princess Left Behind’, Entrapta was pretty easily distracted by the Fright Zone’s machinery to the point that she had a really hard time focusing on the mission at hand which is a weakness she later overcame in the episode ‘Launch’ where Entrapta got herself to focus on the mission despite being briefly tempted by the technology that might be in the Galactic Horde’s spire. And as shown in Entry 38 of Marcy Wu’s Journal, while Marcy was very intrigued by the architecture of the strange ruins, she was still always able to stay focused on the mission and wait until the mission was complete before thinking any more about the architecture of those strange ruins.

Both of them met people who turned out to be evil tyrants who they went on to consider friends. As shown in the episode ‘Huntara’, Entrapta befriended Hordak, who was, at the time, an evil dictator who was out to conquer Etheria. And as shown in Entry 18 of Marcy Wu’s Journal, Marcy befriended King Andrias who was, as revealed in the episode ‘True Colors’, secretly planning Amphibia and then Earth. Furthermore, both of those evil tyrants did what they did because they wanted to win the approval of an even more malevolent person that they wanted to stand beside. As stated in the episode ‘Huntara’, Hordak wanted to win the approval of Horde Prime. And as shown in the episode ‘The Core & The King’, Andrias wanted to win the approval of his father. The difference between them there, though, is how much Entrapta and Marcy respectively knew about Hordak’s and Andrias’s plans. As also shown in the episode ‘Huntara’, Hordak actually told Entrapta about his plans to conquer in order to win the approval of Horde Prime. And as shown in Entry 83 as well as the prior entries Marcy Wu’s Journal, Marcy never seemed to know about Andrias’s to conquer Amphibia and Earth.

Both of them really wanted to open portals to other dimension(s) but their endeavors went horribly wrong thanks to being betrayed by someone they thought they could trust. As shown in the episode ‘Moment Of Truth’, Entrapta wanted to open back to the dimension Hordak came from and later realized that the portal would become far too dangerous if it were to be opened but was betrayed and stopped by Catra when she tried to go warn Hordak thus almost resulting in all of Etheria getting destroyed by the portal in the episode ‘The Portal’. And as shown in Entry 63 of Marcy Wu’s Journal, Marcy wanted to use the Calamity Box’s power to open portals to other dimensions but, as shown in the episode ‘True Colors’, Andrias both literally and figuratively stabbed her in the back and took the Calamity Box for himself as part of his plans to conquer Amphibia and Earth. The difference between them here, though, is why they wanted to open a portal in the first place. As shown in the episode ‘Signals’, Entrapta wanted to help Hordak make a portal because she had never seen an actual portal before and was thus very excited to help make one. And as also shown in Entry 63 of Marcy Wu’s Journal, Marcy wanted to use the Calamity Box’s power to open portals to other dimensions in order to have more and more adventures with her friends Anne and Sasha and also because, as shown in the episode ‘All In’, Marcy wanted Anne and Sasha to listen to her and follow her lead and also because, as shown in the episode ‘True Colors’, Marcy was being forced by her father to move across the country away from Anne and Sasha but Marcy didn’t want to go through with it.

Both of them had a difficult relationship with people around them due to the fact that they didn’t consider how their actions affect other people at first. As shown in the episode ‘Launch’, Entrapta had a difficult relationship with most of the other princesses in the Princess Alliance because they believed that Entrapta only cared about tech since she almost botching their mission to get to the Galactic Horde’s spire to pinpoint the location of Horde Prime’s flagship due to being too distracted by the tech around her and also because they were still mad at her for helping the Horde almost destroy entire kingdoms. And as shown in the episode ‘True Colors’, Marcy began to have a difficult relationship with Anne and Sasha because of the fact that she got them stranded in Amphibia in the first place. The difference between them there is why they made these mistakes that caused their relationships with the people around them to take a turn for the worse. As stated in the episode ‘Launch’, the reason why Entrapta made these mistakes is because, as Entrapta herself put it: “I’m not good at people. But I am good at tech. I thought maybe if I could use tech to help you, you’d like me. But I messed that up too.” And as shown in the episode ‘All In’, one of the reasons why Marcy made these mistakes is because she wanted Anne and Sasha to listen to her and follow her lead. Another similarity between them here, though, is that both Entrapta and Marcy made amends for the damage their mistakes caused. As also shown in the episode ‘Launch’, Entrapta learned to stay focused in order to help other people which allowed to focus enough to triangulate the location of Horde Prime’s flagship and, as shown in the episode ‘Heart Part 2’, Entrapta went on to create a device that sabotaged Horde Prime’s mind control chips. And as also shown in the episode ‘All In’, Marcy learned that it’s wrong to try to control her friends and, as shown in the episode ‘The Hardest Thing’, she went on to help Anne and Sasha defeat The Core.

Well, that’s all for this post.

See you all next time.

#she ra and the princesses of power #princess entrapta #entrapta #disney #amphibia #marcy wu’s journal #marcy wu #spoilers

4 notes · View notes

unforgivable-thatswhatiam · 2 months ago

Text

Thank you for your really interesting reply! 🤓

I took some time to read, understand and think about it. So, I sincerely hope I’m not being too confusing in this too long post, and that I’ll manage to make myself understood, since English is not my first language and the subject matter (a little joke there) is quite complex! I apologize in advance if I don’t succeed, and for the inevitable long-windedness. Hope you don’t hate me for my hyperfixation 🙈

Let me begin with this: my work is deeply rooted in the subtleties of language and content, often focusing on what might be dismissed as hair-splitting. That’s also the approach I bring to the world around me — and, by extension, to my perception of TV series. If I don’t dig into even the smallest detail, I feel like I have no complete picture, and ultimately no understanding at all. That’s one of the reasons I adore GO! What makes my heart sing, beyond the beautiful story of love and humanity, are the astonishing expressive powers of the two protagonists together and all the tiny unanswered details. With every rewatch, I’m thrilled to spot something I hadn’t noticed before — something I’ve never experienced with any other series. 💕

So, in my response, I’ll start with what is simplest for me: I believe “celestial wages” are the miracles that angels are allowed to perform. Think of Aziraphale in the cell: true, he hadn’t run out entirely—as his miraculous tailoring shows, and he clearly wanted Crowley to notice him—but he really had to scrimp on his miracles (and is always scolded for being frivolous with them).

And I find that idea poetic and symbolic: the currency of angels is their magic...

That’s why Aziraphale loves human magic: it has no price, it’s earned through one’s own effort, and it’s free to express itself without limits—except those imposed by one’s own ability and willingness to take risks. To him, all of humanity is magic: humans have so little time, yet they manage to achieve so much. They can create wonders like Shakespeare and Leonardo, and be remembered centuries later even if they weren’t famous or brilliant (like Mr. Dalrymple). Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley, who don’t fully share in this magic and only partially understand it, walk the Earth beside humans but are only remembered deeply by those they directly help, like Elspeth and Maggie’s family. I see indeed our beloved pair a bit like fans at a comic con: they have to make do with autographs, sketches, and fleeting memories of people they admire — and nothing more — because otherwise, it would hurt too much to let them go, in the too fast pace of human life.

But their magic is real, too. They love and live out incredible adventures together, and feel emotions that other angels and demons aren’t allowed to experience. While I agree that in the past there may have been a form of respectful cooperation between them, Gabriel and Beez are newcomers to this game. True love can only be experienced by spending time on Earth, by savoring the real joys and small comforts of human life — a life that becomes like a jukebox, where you can choose whether to play the same song “everyday” or not, like Crowley and Aziraphale do.

And on this, I completely agree with you: life is freedom, freedom is coffee, and life begins after coffee. “The gross matter”... The key point to me lies not so much in the noun matter, but in the adjective gross.

The human body, coffee, chocolate, Muriel’s matchbox — these are all “gross matter.” And Gabriel, in the pre-Jim era, does not sully the temple of his “celestial body with gross matter.”

To explain myself better, I’ll turn to classical philosophy: the Greek philosopher Anaxagoras believed the world was made of elementary particles of reality, the “seeds,” which Aristotle later called homeomeries (i.e., parts that are alike). These were elemental, indestructible particles, each similar to the substances they composed and qualitatively different from one another.

So when I speak of “angelic form” and human body, I’m thinking in those terms: homeomeries of “gross matter” — the human body and all it can perceive through touch and taste —alongside homeomeries of a celestial nature — the angelic form.

The elements, in fact, are four: the lighter ones, air and fire, and the heavier ones, water and earth. As Genesis reminds us, man comes from mud, from the earth, and God makes him in His own image and likeness. But before creating man, what is created? Night and Day, Sky and Sea, Trees and Plants, Sun and Moon, Fish and Birds. The craziest story in the world, then, tells us that on the first day Night and Day come into being (the “homoeomeries” of air, but also, symbolically, good and evil, yin and yang), and on the second day, the Sky, while at the very end, between the fifth and sixth days, “the gross matter” — from the first amoeboid organisms to humankind.

But now, what is the sky and the celestial matter made of? This is where aether comes into play (and ethereal was the word Aziraphale used to define himself after “the Wall”). Aether is the fifth element proposed by Aristotle; it’s a light element and, more importantly, a celestial one, incorruptible, and eternal substance, forming the heavenly spheres and celestial bodies.

In Aristotle, however, there are no angels or deities — only the Prime mover, who, through his presence and the desire to be, is the principle responsible and the first cause of all motion and order in the universe, without being himself subject to change.

All this to say what?

That perhaps the world of GO is fictional, yes — but also Christian, that is, somewhat Aristotelian and not purely Platonic. As in Plato, the immortality of the soul is assumed, but an aristotelian God is thought thinking itself, non-corporeal and pure will, who does not intervene directly in human lives. In this context, angels and demons are “people” indeed, but in relation to humans, they are made of a different quality (by convention, I would say of the “homoeomeries” of aether).

This could explain how angel!Crowley and Saraqael were able to bring entire constellations into existence with just a crank (perhaps a symbol for setting the mechanism of the Prime mover in motion?): they are composed of the same ethereal quality, though different in form and, in the case of angels, endowed with something very human — a mind/essence/soul which, like the human one, in some way partakes in the Anima Mundi (if we look at it through a Platonic lens).

Gabriel’s body, however — when stripped of its essence — had not become soulless. It was Jim: an empathetic, naïve, and highly sensitive human. Does that mean there were two souls in Gabriel, then? That doesn’t seem possible to me.

The Furfur episode you referenced strikes me as particularly useful in decrypting this issue: for humans, a person’s essence and memories reside in the brain — but an angel does not require a human brain. What if the point is that Aziraphale had “gone native” (i.e., become human), and so his essence had become rooted in a human brain rather than in his angelic form? And what if, because of that, his angelic form could no longer reconstruct Aziraphale’s body, since his own soul no longer recognized that form?

If you think about it, the only ones who really worry about discorporation are Crowley and Aziraphale — especially after 1827. Eric discorporates every five minutes, but even Hastur gets discorporated and is up and active again ten minutes later.

But Aziraphale and Crowley are “people”: they consider themselves human and fear the loss of their bodies, which they identify with what they have experienced within them and with their own essences — just like we do. And if they’re discorporated without preparation, like Aziraphale, or under circumstances like the Bullet Catch (Aziraphale again, always in trouble... 😱), then their angelic/demonic essence might not allow their bodies to be reconstructed exactly as they were.

This leads to the issue of the Quartermaster, who would have to find another human body to assign to Aziraphale — where would it come from? Would it need to be shaped from earth? As you pointed out, should we go ask Adam? 🤔

A possible confirmation of this theory is the fact that when Jim regains Gabriel’s essence, Gabriel doesn’t seem to have forgotten the time he spent with the Ineffable Husbands = Gabriel has returned to being a combination of human body + angelic essence + soul. And from this, the human body is conceived as a mere shell.

To make the idea clearer: for anyone familiar with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the mechanism isn’t all that different from what happens with Angel: he was once a human boy and, when he was about to die, the essence of a demon (impure, since it’s not a pure demon that doesn’t walk the Earth) took possession of him through his blood; when he is cursed, his soul returns to him from the ether; and when Angel loses his soul again, he becomes a completely different person, because only the demonic essence remains.

Well, with Gabriel the process is reversed: once he loses his angelic essence, what remains is a human body with a soul.

But in BtVS demons are both essence and matter — they can be injured, even though some have an almost gaseous consistency, and in the case of vampires, the essence is tied to blood.

In the case of angels, I would argue that their matter is simply far lighter than that of humans — gaseous on Earth, like the image of Aziraphale that appears to Crowley — but still entirely capable of entering a human body that already contains a soul.

Mutatis mutandis, see BtVS episode 2x08, where the demon Eyghon, made of plasma-like substance, enters the bodies of unconscious or dead people and fights with Angel — in a not too different way from when Aziraphale possesses (and even performs miracles within) Madame Tracy’s body, which was receptive to that kind of transfer, as you pointed out some time ago.

The point is that on Earth this substance is nearly gaseous, while in the aether it is the norm. This is why, when Aziraphale is discorporated, he doesn’t appear different from other angels, even though he’s lost his human body. In effect, then, angelic essence is physical, in my view, but in a way completely different from human corporeality.

And, apparently, the higher the rank of the angel, the more “immaterial” this aetherial matter becomes (pardon the wordplay): Muriel, for instance, can’t open Gabriel’s file simply because it is too immaterial for angels below the rank of Thrones — and her hand passes straight through the folder.

It was probably never imagined — or at least it doesn’t matter and we’ll never know — whether the bodies were assigned to angels before or after the Great War. However, if the reasoning about the different kind of materiality of angelic essence holds, then what I said about the wound is coherent: as Aziraphale himself says, he has had his human body for more than 6000 years, so once he lost his human body and experienced the trauma of that physical absence, his essence became more sensitive — just like how a broken ankle aches after years, when the weather changes.

I was thinking of a heroic act by the angel in exchange for a promotion, because that’s what tends to happen in regimes based on military power. And Metatron, to me, seems like the eminence grise of Heaven — I don’t believe Gabriel ever had true veto power, even if he was commander of the army. And I agree with you that his apparent frustration with Aziraphale was often just a mask — he enjoyed playing the “asshole” boss, because that’s what was required of him to keep doing whatever he pleased under Metatron’s dictatorship.

I don’t really care about Crowley’s name, but I’ll tell you this — if there were a flashback to the moment of the Fall, full — as I imagine it — of references to beautiful paintings, I would be absolutely thrilled, especially if it were seasoned with a heartbreaking or surprising moment involving Aziraphale (something like the last 15: for instance, the two of them on opposite sides, forced to hurt each other — or worse).

And I fully agree with you on many other things. The idea that this isn’t really the point, and that the story actually began afterwards; the series being a celebration of humanity, represented with all its flaws by two beings who are more human than actual humans, and on how it provides a pretext to explore life, mental health, and the hunger that the angels had (without knowing they had it) because of Heaven’s fascist regime. I really appreciated your idea of the Quartermaster as a kind of subconscious projection of Aziraphale — spot on, especially because it’s so him to imagine that part of himself still tethered (even unconsciously) to such a rigid, warmongering, emotionless regime in the form of a shouting Austro-Hungarian officer.

I’ll refrain from discussing the personalities and motivations that drive Aziraphale and Crowley toward freedom. I’d go overboard… To my eyes, which see through the lens of classic literature, they are moving and complex figures: a great biblical hero and a knightly poem’s protagonist, engaged in an epic love with his romantic and tragic hero — a modern-day Prometheus bound. I add only that Before the Beginning I don’t believe they had human bodies yet, since they were in space, with an enormous stature, and it seems too soon to interpret their as genuine sexual desire. I’d rather see it as a kind of magnetism — like two natures that, when they meet, immediately cling to each other, mutually defining one another, drawn together by affinity, as Goethe puts it in Elective Affinities.

In any case, your concept of “gross matter” as what truly matters is quite interesting, and it would be entirely compatible even with an ethereal nature for angels and demons. As I said, that kind of matter is light, incorruptible, and eternal — so it never evolves, never experiences sensation, and in itself could never die. And if angels are made of it, they certainly couldn’t, through their essence alone, enjoy “gross matter.” It is, as Crowley might say, an existence —not a life — carried out day after day with the sole purpose of fulfilling a preordained plan, perhaps culminating in a fine victory in battle against an enemy made of the same stuff but wearing different colors — as in all human wars.

Phantom Pain

In the moments before Aziraphale realizes that he's been discorporated in S1, he is seen clutching the thigh of his right leg and limping forward. He's having trouble walking as he tells The Quartermaster that he didn't mean to be there and was still sorting things out back on Earth.

As we know, the entire point of what's going on is that Aziraphale, in this moment, no longer has a body, which means that the pain that he is experiencing in what he perceives as his leg in this ghostly moment is actually a very real human experience-- phantom pain.

For anyone who doesn't know, phantom pain is when a person experiences a perception of pain in a part of their body that is not present. It can be someone experiencing pain that feels like it is occurring in a limb or organ that they no longer have. It can also be pain experienced in a part of their body that they were not born with but which their mind experiences as being part of their corporation.

But why is Aziraphale experiencing phantom pain in his right leg when he gets to Heaven?

Why is the first thing he's feeling Up there without his body a sensation of pain in his leg so severe that has him clutching his thigh and struggling to walk before his mind begins to process that he no longer has a body? Why is it that Aziraphale is processing the shock of the sudden loss of his body in this particular way?

It is interesting when you consider that, while we've never seen Aziraphale have any injury to his right leg in the story before or any other particular significance to it, we have now had more than one scene showing us that Crowley does with his.

In 1827, Satan turns up unseen to drag Crowley to Hell. Crowley loses control of his speech, experiences nausea, and steps backwards with his left leg in an effort to try to balance himself after starting to lose control of his right leg on account of Satan grabbing him. He's dragged to Hell by his legs seconds later, separated from Aziraphale.

Back in S1's present, there's another scene like this when Satan arrives at Tadfield Air Force Base. Crowley grabs his right thigh in pain as he loses control again over his right leg and is dragged to the ground by it by Satan in an effort to make Crowley prostrate himself.

The suggestion of these scenes seems to be that Crowley's right leg, especially his right thigh, is a source of chronic episodic pain for him related to Satan's abuse. The show choosing his leg for this also goes along with its theme of living as the metaphorical walking the Earth-- a physical injury that flares up to impact living for Crowley representing how the psychological trauma related to it does the same.

Crowley's chronic episodic pain is what Aziraphale experienced as phantom pain in his leg when he discorporated because his mind immediately processed the loss of his own body in relation to how it also meant that he has lost the ability to share it with Crowley.

Without having his own body intact, Aziraphale couldn't touch Crowley. He lost the ability to bring him pleasure and comfort and that's how the loss of Aziraphale's own body manifested in his mind to him. Physical death meant the inability to experience not just his own body for himself but the loss of the safe one that Crowley consents to experiencing and enjoys to Crowley.

Aziraphale's physical death wasn't purely his own in his view because Aziraphale doesn't view his body as purely his own. Technically, it it's Aziraphale's bookshop, just as it's Crowley car, but it's really always been their car and their bookshop.

They've been so intertwined for so long that Aziraphale experienced the physical death of his own body as the trauma of being separated from Crowley's. Pretty romantic stuff. 💘

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens meta #good omens theory #aziracrow #before the beginning #the fall #good omens thoughts

83 notes · View notes

erroramended-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s a (partial) process pic for that last piece. It was a heck of a time to make, so that gives me a great opportunity to talk about the process in depth down below!

So the initial idea was that I wanted to explore color and emotion. I wanted to try to depict a panic attack with big bright colors and shapes. So of course I picked Hunter as my victim.

At point one I just did a very quick initial sketch, and at point two I threw some color behind it. Just getting the idea down. Sort of like thumbnailing. Just getting a visual I can reference to see where I wanted to go with this.

At point three I went back to the show and looked at how the character acts and what he does when upset, then used that to explore posing and expressions in point four. (I’ve got shots from one ep up there, but I looked at multiple.)

Clenched teeth, wide eyes, raised shoulders, curled fingers. He digs his hands in his hair. His breathing gets loud and uncontrolled. He shakes sometimes, curls up, and hides his face. I was initially attached to an open mouthed expression because I wanted to try to get a sense of that uncontrolled breathing, but I couldn't make it work. So I went with clenched teeth and later decided that I might be able to indicate trouble breathing with his hand positioning. I have him reaching for his throat in the final sketch. (Side note. These aren’t all the sketches / versions. These are what I thought to save while sketching. I do like looking back on the process so I end up saving a lot of it, but by nature of the work, a lot of it gets drawn over, erased, or otherwise destroyed.) Looking back, if I were to change anything, I maybe would have gone for a more claw like finger positioning on that hand. I did have one sketch where he was grabbing at his chest, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to deal with the fabric folds on that one. I also think it maybe would have visually distracted from his face, which is where I wanted the main focal point to be.

I also wanted to try and get a sense of him shaking. I tried to indicate that with the wiggly lines off his shoulders in some of the sketches and with the yellow spikes, but that also was another point I just couldn't make work and had to let go. Though I did try to capture a little of that in the eyes.

I tried a few different eye positions. Looking up, looking down, looking away, looking at the audience. Ultimately I wanted him looking at nothing to give the sense that in that moment he’s not seeing, his in his head, he’s freaking out. So his eyes are pointed off into the unspecified distance.

I liked the scratchy lines for his eyes. It added to that idea of him not really seeing in that moment, and those tightly spaced, heavy contrast vertical lines can kind of have, like a vibrating visual effect. Opinions may vary, but I think that helps give off the idea that he’s shaking.

Anyway, moving on to point five, I took the sketch and started thinking about over all colors and composition again. I was a big fan of the orange and yellow, so I moved on to line art.

Back to the image from the top. Pretty straight forward, just line art, flat colors, then I used overlay and multiply layers to mess with the lighting and colors.

With line art, before I gained more confidence with it, I used to do really detailed sketches and get everything figured out in that phase, then try to copy it exactly. These days I’m more comfortable with it, and I do some of the detailed work and creative decision making during the line art process.

One such decision was the little displaced chunks of hair on the side of his head. I really liked that. I feel like it adds to the story, implying that he was already pulling at his hair on that side. I also like putting little lines near his scar, to suggest that there is like a skin texture difference there, like a raised edge. It gets a bit covered up by the tears later, but I still think it adds to the overall effect.

I also did the tears completely separately from the initial line art so I could have full freedom to mess with style, positioning, color, and everything. I tried a few different combinations of color, transparency, and style, but ultimately liked the bright yellow from the sketch phase and ended up going back to it.

Moving on to coloring. I find it much easier to just start with the normal flat colors, and mess around in filters (sai) / tonal correction settings (clip studio) / layer modes, after or on another layer. I knew going into it I was going to want reds and oranges and yellows, but I need those initial value differences as a foundation to work from.

Easy tip for getting that lighting, fill a layer with a color, set it to multiply (or your layer mode of choice), clip it over top, mess around in filters till you get the shadow look that you want, then erase out the parts light hits.

Now this next bit is where crap started to fall apart.

Initially this was just going to be a bust with a background of expressive shapes and bright colors with the goal of supporting and putting the focus on his emotions and facial expression. But my god, no matter how much I messed with it, I hated it. It looked awful. I saved very little from that process. None of it was worth saving.

So I took a nap.

Then I came back to it with fresh eyes and decided to take it into another direction. I shrunk Hunter down, and decided to give the piece a real background showing the things that were going on inside his head.

I really liked that red, pinkish orange gradient from the previous phase, so I wanted to keep that as a prominent part of the final piece. So I put a dark shape behind Hunter, and I was going to have everything happening inside his head, be inside that shape, and in a different color palette to add to that separation.

These were some of those shapes. This also gave me a really hard time. I tried something organic and loose, something breaking apart, tried looking up references of broken mirrors, nothing was working for me. I thought about maybe scrubbing the episodes to look for a meaningful shape there,( like maybe that wiggly shape the collector made when implying that he thought Belos was going to go off on Hunter. ) But at that point I was getting fed up with it.

So I went and made dinner.

During this process up to this point I was trying to do as much as I could in Clip Studio, because I’ve owned it for over a year now, and barely touched it, and god damn it, it was time to buckle down and learn to use it. But that extra level of frustration in getting used to a new program was completely messing me up. So I went back home to my good pal Paint Tool Sai.

(Sometimes art is a bitch, and you just need to eliminate the other factors that are getting in the way in order to move forward. Take naps, eat, switch mediums, go for a walk. It's productive. It’s part of the process. Don’t fight it.)

After switching back into my comfy program, I busted out a thumbnail sketch of where I wanted to take this. I spent time thinking about what he’s worried about and decided to have everyone being angry with him, and turning their backs on him, and then I had Belos looming tall over it all.

Something I also really liked here is that in establishing a rule that everything within the shape is in Hunter's head, it gave me the opportunity to break that rule in a meaningful way. I did that by having the mask horn break out of the shape, and later had Belos’s coloring transition from the cool palette of his mind to the warm palette of his present panic. I feel like it gave off this really menacing “He’s coming to get you” vibe. And it implies that of all the things he’s worrying about, Belos is a very real very immediate threat.

From there it was just more of the same. I filled in my big dark shape, then I went and found shots of each character in profile, did my sketch, did my lines. Took a while.

Each character sketch was on its own layer so I could have the freedom to move them around in the composition. The bg shape also changed a bunch in order to accommodate everyone's positioning. I didn’t want to put a character under Hunters elbow, and I didn’t want to have Amity be the only one with a full body, so I threw some spikes down there, that pointed back up to the focal point, and threw some shards on the other side of him to try and balance that.

I also wanted to include Luz in the piece, and the upper corners were looking a little empty, so I made space for her. In doing that though I had to balance it out on the other side with something, so that's how broken Flapjack ended up in the piece.

I also ended up with a sort of happy accident with Luz’s placement. One of the points on the shape she’s in ended up overlapping with her cheek in a way that somewhat mimics Hunter's scar. Unintentional, but I just think it’s neat.

Next up it’s more of the process. I briefly considered leaving it just as yellow line art, I liked the look it had. I liked how it furthered the idea that everything in yellow was just in his head, and I liked how it tied back in the yellow tears, but in the end it just looked too unfinished. So I moved forward with putting in everyone's flat colors, then desaturated the heck out of them, and messed with colors and lighting again. Fading the characters into shadow also proved itself to be a major pain in the ass. I had liked that purple gradient, but with it at the bottom it just made the characters look muddy, so I flipped the gradient to put the dark end at the bottom, then ditched it entirely, and just put some blue behind Belos.

I also learned something new in Sai. I didn’t know you could layer mask a whole ass folder! So that's what I did to fade the characters back, while still keeping everything on separate layers to allow for further editing. (Hooray for non-destructive workflow!)

After that it was just finishing touches. I realized the whole thing had been kinda dark, so I messed with the brightness, contrast and color balance. I also felt like the edges of the piece felt too open, so I threw on a gradient to bring the focus back into the center a little bit. Over all, it was a fun piece and I’m really happy with the results. If you got to the end of this and liked reading about this process, please tell me. I am shouting into the void and I have no idea if anyone’s hearing it. So comment, reblog, reply, say something if you want more of this kind of thing.

#toh spoilers #toh hunter #luz noceda #emporer belos #the owl house #toh darius #eda clawthorne #raine whispers #toh gus #toh willow #amity blight

351 notes · View notes

pinchhitsfromthevoid · 3 years ago

Text

General Info

This is an ongoing event called “Pinch Hits from the Void,” where members of a discord server can claim MCYT-related prompts, or “pinch hits”, that come out once a week at random times on a specified day.

These pinch hits can be filled either as fic (minimum 500 words, for poetry it is more flexible), art (minimum is sketch-level), playlists (minimum 5 songs), or web weaves (minimum 5 images/components). Submissions will be assigned points based on a variety of factors, and there will be a seasonal leaderboard. There will also be an AO3 collection for fic submissions, because we are nerds and we want to make one.

Join the discord server Here.

Submit a prompt Here.

Peruse the Ao3 collection Here.

We would prefer no NSFW works or prompt requests, and nothing boundary-breaking for any cc’s. Additionally, we encourage people submitting pinch hits to get creative with their requests if they want— imagine you’re a different person asking for a prompt, for instance, and request something oddly specific or for a more obscure MCYT fandom, just to spice things up.

RULES FOR SUBMITTING:

Respect Creator Boundaries

You must request at least three characters.

Be as broad or as specific as you like! If you submit something broad the opportunity for a pinch hitter to get things done fast (and get more points) is there, but if you submit something very specific (few number of characters, new or obscure smp), the chance that a pinch hitter gets points for going above and beyond goes up. So either way you’re helping people get points. (Really specific is slightly more fun though.)

There will be no NSFW, but boundary-respecting shipping is allowed, given the broad number of SMPs where creators are fine with that.

RULES FOR CREATING:

Respect Creator Boundaries

Your gift doesn’t have to contain only requested characters, but it does have to centre on at least one requested character.

Any creator-respecting shipping must be kept to PG-13 or below, no NSFW

Dark or Violent themes must be tagged appropriately

MINIMUM REQUIREMENTS:

fic (minimum 500 words, for poetry it is more flexible),

art (minimum is sketch-level),

playlists (minimum 5 songs),

web weaves (minimum 5 images/components)

mood boards (minimum 9 images/components)

FAQ

When does this start? Prompts start releasing at random times on the 13th of July, calculated in EST (which may mean the 12th for you depending on time zones). More prompts will release every two weeks ongoing, until an unspecified end to Season One.

How do I get my gift to someone? Some prompts are Anon, in which case just tag us and we’ll reblog it for the edification of the crowd. Otherwise people should have left either a twitter or a tumblr URL, tag them in a post. (If you do not have a twitter and need to post on the bird app, contact a mod at @antimony-medusa and I’ll tweet for you.) Still tag us if you’d like to, and we’ll reblog it here too! We want to show off the pinch hits!

I didn’t save my assignment message and now I’ve forgotten my assignment, what now? It should still be accessible via the discord, but if it is impossible to find, contact a mod at @antimony-medusa or @droidofmay and we can dig it up for you.

There’s leaderboards? How do I get points? Join the discord for more details, but there will be points for every finished pinch hit, for finishing a pinch hit in under a week, for delivering an especially obscure request, and for going above and beyond with a gift.

#mcytblr

56 notes · View notes

summerlovingbaby · 3 years ago

Text

Hostage

“ Thanks again Y/N, you’re a lifesaver!” Kirishima thanked as he left her workshop. Dragging Bakugou behind him who mumbled a quick thankyou, before the door shut behind her. “ See ya later, babe.” he added before the door closed alll of the way.

“ Bye.” she muttered plastering a smile on her face.

As soon as she heard the door shut and the footsteps fade her smile dropped and her head fell to the floor. The lights were dim, so all you could see were shadows, it was nearly silent, and all you could hear was Y/N’s nervous breathing.

“ You can come out now.” she muttered. She got no response. “ I know you’re there, stop hiding.”

A human figure stepped out of the shadows. It had a small frame and walked like a toddler who just learned to stand. He leaned against a piece of equipment, and stood with his arms crossed slightly.

“ I’m not doing this anymore.” Y/N spoke, she was gripping the screwdriver tightly. Her knuckles were white, and she was shaking slightly.

“ It’s not like you have much of a choice.” the shadow spoke, it was inching closer and closer with every breath. “ I need some new gear.” it spoke calmly.

“ No, Shigaraki.” she spoke, nearly breathless , almosit a whisper.

“ What was that, I couldn’t quite hear you?” he spoke, it was almost like he laughed.

“ I can’t do this anymore, I won’t.” she repeated, like she was to afraid to look for anything else to say.

“ You don’t have much of a choice do you?” Shigaraki repeated.

“ I-” she started to say but was cut off, by Shigaraki who had little time for bickering and was growing annoyed.

“ Unless you want your sister to die, which you don’t, right?”

“ I wanna see her.” she stated, she fiddled with the screwdriver between her fingers.

“ I’ll let the two of you talk, after I get what I ask for, how about that?”

“ Not gonna work.”

Shigaraki finally stepped into the light. His skin was so dry it was nearly flaking off and raw. He looked nothing less like a overgrown teenager, but he had a body count in the thirties.

“ You’re in no place to make demands. “ he stated. “ I need this fixed.” he spoke throwing a piece of tech that was in shambles on the ground and kicked it towards her. “ And I need some new tech.” he said. “ I took the liberty of sketching it out for you.” he dug around in his pockets then pulled out a few pieces of crumbled paper and threw it at her. “ Sorry, I got piss poor aim.”

“ Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“ Then you’ll be of little use to me. Leverage is a powerful thing.”

“ I’m well aware of that fact.”

“ Do it, or I’ll kill her.”

“ She’s no use to you dead.”

“ Then I’ll find someone els-”

“ I urge you to try, my mother is dead, and my father is as good as dead to me.”

“ Ahh yes-” he was cut off by Y/N, who took off in a sprint across the room and lunging at Shigaraki, screw driver in hand. But before she could get very far, a burst a blue fire cut her off.

“ Good effort.” Dabi spoke, finally revealing himself. “ Now stop screwing around, we don’t have time to be here.”

“ You brought a guard dog.” Y/N spoke, who had fallen on the floor. This was a fight that she wouldn’t win, even if she tried.

“ Yeah. I need everything by Wednesday, yeah?”

“ Yeah.” Y/N replied. She had her head hung in shame, she felt so sorry for herself and didn’t no how to un dig the grave that she found herself in.

“ Good girl, do this, and I’ll see to it that you will see your sister.” Dabi spoke. “ I promise.”

Y/N who had was now standing and dusting herself off just pointed to the window that she assumed that they crawled through. Dabi smirked at her sudden rage, he knew that rage, he respected it.

“ Get out.” she spoke. “ Get out, so I can work.” she repeated louder this time. They still didn’t move, just looked at her with devilish eyes. She gripped the screwdriver tightly, and threw it at them. “ GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KILL YOU.”

If looks could kill., the pair would be dead. But as if they were trying to show their power, the pair strolled through the front door. She maintained herself until she heard the door shut then she fell to her knees. She made a effort to pick up the broken parts that Shigaraki dropped on the ground, but she was crying too much to do much of anything.

She felt weak and powerless and broken, and desperately needed help, even though she couldn’t ask. The moment she asked, she would be locked up under the guides of being a traitor, and her sister would be as good as dead. The moment that they found out that she was making the League’s tech she would be shipped off to the nearest prision and they would throw out the key. She would never see her sister again, even if she would still be alive, even though she probably wouldn’t be.

Her lip quivered as she tried to stop the tears flowing down her puffy cheeks. She quickly wiped her tears from her face, and pushed herself off the ground. She stood up and nodded her head defiantly. She couldn’t sit there and cry over nothing, she wouldn’t allow herself to. Not today, all she had to do where a few simple tasks and she would see her sister. All she had to do was think of a plan and her sister would be safe.

Shigaraki and Dabi had just stepped throuh a portal.

“ You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. Her sister is dead you, you know that.”

“ She knows that too, she’s trying to convince herself that she isn’t, but she knows that she is.” he spoke calmly. “ Give a pig a taste of the carrot before you snatch it away completely, and it’ll do what ever you want.”

TAGLIST INFO

@kiribakuslilpebble @un-limit-edd @ultrahugakitten @ jmook423 @ anonymousbabygirl13-blog @ power-house-fan12 @imunderurbed @fandomfreak1000000 @dylan-kai2008 @cheesecakeva @lovemegood @madsttx @whatdidshesayyy

@ great-goddess-of-sin @bitchyzombienacho @polpoe

@lovemegood @eijiandkatspebble @luna670 @nealearts @bittersw33t-lotus @therapy-arts-blog @thenerdygirl111 @sil-ver-shadow @chscklvr

@itshemlock @5sos-wdw @stupidfool69

94 notes · View notes

goatyoat · 3 years ago

Text

I posted 983 times in 2022

That's 869 more posts than 2021!

91 posts created (9%)

892 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@clockworkcheetah

@doccywhomst

@generalized-incompetence

@arcangelof

@goatyoat

I tagged 566 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#dghda - 200 posts

#other people's awesome art - 133 posts

#textpost - 101 posts

#dirk gently - 37 posts

#artn't - 33 posts

#todd brotzman - 20 posts

#brotzly - 17 posts

#dghda fanart - 16 posts

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency - 15 posts

#self reblog - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#so stop acting like the dog is the problem when you couldnt be asked to google if whatever trendy dog breed was actually a good fit for you

My Top Posts in 2022:

When one has art block, one draws blorbo(s)

104 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

it is in fact, time for more brotzly

I kept these to sketches so i could get them all done, but I really like them all so I might do individual renders in the future. Y’all interested?

125 notes - Posted March 24, 2022

as promised, more of the Boys™ to get me out of my art block (+ a little bit of futzing w/ different Krita brushes)

176 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

Did i lose motivation to finish this halfway through? yes. Am I still insanely happy with how Dirk’s face in particular came out and want to share anyway? also yes.

I may come back and finish at some point, but i’m just not feelin it rn

177 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so i was trying out a new shading style... and voila! The boys™ taking a break from digging.

(do i know that Todd was the one digging? yes. Did the shovel cover Dirk’s shoe that i didn’t want to draw? also yes. I’ll say nothing more.)

305 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #everything here is entirely unsurprising #except i guess my rowdy 3 art was from 2021 #cause that would absolutely be on here if it was from '22

14 notes · View notes

roger-that-cap · 4 years ago

Text

wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park.

yet another au by me...

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened.

“S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand.

“What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.”

“Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

“Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see.

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife.

Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms.

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them.

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it.

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings.

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea.

You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream.

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch.

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you.

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom.

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose.

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.”

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world.

But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt.

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut.

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime.

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?”

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once. He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.”

His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?”

“Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.”

Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand.

“‘I’m Bucky.”

For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.”

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back?

“She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her.

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.”

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.”

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.”

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-”

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see.

“She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.”

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.”

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth.

“I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention.

“Wanda.”

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face.

“You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.”

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic, and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock.

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.”

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand.

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.”

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie?

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power.

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.”

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?”

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.”

Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.”

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different.

It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather.

It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand.

Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

“That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.”

“I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look.

“Are you into herbal healing?”

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?”

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.”

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm.

“Can I ask you something?”

With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”

You frowned. “What girl?”

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.”

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup.

There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes.

If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you.

You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck.

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger.

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was.

She was silent.

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?”

That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-”

“Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember.

“I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-”

She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin.

For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours.

You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it.

You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all.

Wanda.

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace.

“I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.”

The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you.

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.”

Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.”

“Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

“A new life will do that to you.”

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were.

She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves.

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.”

#wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #my fics #witch!wanda #marvel au #witch!au #scarlet witch #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #no idea what to tag this-#wanda x you #lgbt marvel #lgbt

492 notes · View notes

astaroth1357 · 5 years ago

Text

Demon Brothers Getting Possessive at the Club

… I can explain. Or, well, no I can't. But this exists now anyway so enjoy?

Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Yandere-ish, Violence

Intro: The MC and their favorite demon were just trying to have a fun night out at The Fall. The lights were going, the music was blaring, and the two of them were by the bar but there was a problem. Their demon noticed a sketchy creep who'd been eyeing their human all night long… and that simply won't do. So when their human left to use the bathroom…

It was time to take care of the problem.

Lucifer

Though Lucifer was usually less than into the club scene, the MC wanted a change of pace from their usual dates and he did so want to make them happy… At first, he thought he'd just be dealing with the loud noise and crowded atmosphere but then he noticed something else…

A demon had been following them through most of the night, always keeping his distance but staring at the MC far too much for his liking…

This put Lucifer in a bit of an odd position. He didn't exactly want to leave the club because the MC didn't look tired yet, but he also didn't like seeing that cretin following them around…

Yet, of course, it also rubbed his pride the wrong way to go tell him to stop directly. Lucifer would never admit to feeling bothered by some pitiful lesser demon… Never.

But by the time the MC left him to use the restroom, he was at his wit's end. He could see the man had taken a seat at the other end of the bar just to watch them and he was growing irritated… So he had to devise a new strategy.

It's unusual for demons to walk around in their true forms. It's not that it's frowned upon or anything, it's just that it's normally something reserved for big events… or for displays of dominance and control.

So when Lucifer slipped into his demon form in the middle of The Fall, it turned quite a few heads. Truthfully, there was only one head in particular that he wanted his way, and once he got it, he stared the guy down…

It was a taste of the lowlife's own medicine, but so much worse coming from him… The feel of Lucifer's bloody-onyx eyes and chillingly cold smile from across the bar could have made even the strongest men run for the hills…

Needless to say, the demon didn't last very long under the eldest brother's gaze. In fact, he wilted almost immediately before slinking away as quickly as he could…

A guy not even able to stomach the firstborn's stare? Truly a pathetic coward if Lucifer ever saw one.

He was totally back to normal by the time the MC returned and went back to dancing with them like nothing ever happened… Though his human couldn't help but notice the crowd kept their distance from them for the rest of the night...

Eh, Hell is just weird sometimes isn't it?

Mammon

Look, Mammon had been trying to have some fun the whole night and for the most part he'd been succeeding except for one thing…

He could sense that asshole still hadn't left them alone. He'd just hover near him and his MC like a hellhound stalking prey… It was annoying. It was creepy…

And it was reeeaaallly getting on his nerves.

When the MC left for the restroom, he was leaning back against the bar scanning the room for their abhorrent admirer while using the tint of his sunglasses to hide his eyes.

It didn't take him long to see the gross fuck sitting alone at a table. Who knew what he was planning... following them home? Taking candid shots of MC? Either way, he wanted to sock him in the jaw…

But, of course, Mammon knew he had to play it just a little smoother than that to stay in the club.

Mammon sauntered over to the man's table and invited himself to sit, kicking his feet up to look casual but knocking his boots against the surface so roughly it made the guy jump... Pathetic.

"Oi, so I've seen ya lookin at my human… Real work of art, eh?" He flashed the guy a fanged grin and watched him sweat for a second before cutting off any answer.

"-'course they are. Don't need to tell me. But I gotta say, you're really ticking me off, bud… We're just tryin to enjoy ourselves but I keep seeing your ugly mug wherever we're at."

He pulled his legs back from the table and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a deck of playing cards.

"Tell ya what, I'm feelin oddly generous so let's play a game. You and me. If ya win, I'll let ya have a night with'em…" He fought the urge to punch the guy when he saw his eyes light up, "but if I win…"

Mammon put the deck on the table then leaned in real close, "I'll flay your skin off and gild ya skeleton in the 4th circle myself… Gold skulls are selling like hotcakes right now." He put every bit of malice he could into the threat, even barring his increasingly sharpening fangs.

The guy must of had a good head on him because he paled immediately before getting up and running from the table. If there's one thing everybody knows about Mammon, it's never play cards with him if he can make even a single Grimm… Chances are, you're gonna lose.

When the MC came back, Mammon flagged them down to their new table and pulled them onto his lap for a little chat before getting more drinks. They're his human. His.

Leviathan

Of course Levi noticed this creep the second that they walked in. He's Envy. He had been hyper-vigilant of all the attention the MC had been receiving since their first step inside. But this guy was… persistent.

He'd been tailing them all night, always finding spots with good vantage points, which of course was sketch as hell but...

Honestly? Levi just didn't like him looking at them. Not at all. In fact, he'd hazard to say he truly hated this complete stranger for how much real estate his eyes were taking up of his precious MC… What gave him the right??

By the time the MC had to use the restroom, he was sitting at the bar seriously contemplating whether or not to just carry them home… He didn't like night clubs anyway, but they seemed to be having fun and they always looked so cute while dancing…

No. He couldn't just take them home. But once they left, he had a much better idea.

It was easy for Levi to slip away from the bar. The asshole was leaned back against a nearby wall and pretty much pulled his phone out the second the MC was out of sight. From there, Levi only had to do what he did best, blend into the background, until he was right next to the guy...

He didn't say anything. He didn't give him any warning or threat. No, no he was far too ticked to be that charitable…

The only indication the man got of how royally he fucked up was the searing pain of Levi's fangs digging into his shoulder, the thirdborn's gloved hand muffling his screams until the venom took hold of his prey.

The last thing that man ever saw, propped up and paralyzed against the wall, was the MC coming back to their docile otaku, who now pulled them into his arms… still shooting the occasional smirk in his victim's direction.

And the last thing he ever heard was the same word his killer whispered to him after his throat became too tight to scream… "Mine."

Satan

This always seemed to happen whenever he took the MC places… They could be walking together in the park and he'd still see lesser demon eyes following them around...

Frankly, it did piss him off to a degree. He knew they never asked to be stared at like a piece of meat, but if he'd go on a rampage every time it happened then they'd never have a quiet date again. So he learned to put up with it… to an extent.

The demon that had been following them that night was really testing his notoriously short patience...

He had tried several tactics to shake the guy as they were dancing but he'd always come right back. He even got more handsy than normal to show, "Hey, this one is mine!" but that had gotten him equally dismal results… It was bordering the line of disrespect now.

He did his best to keep up a friendly face while the MC was with him, but they must have noticed he'd gotten tense. They told him to try and relax a bit before they left for the bathroom…

Oh, he was going to relax alright.

The second they were out of sight, Satan's smile broke into a glare he leveled right at the offending scumbag's table. Of course, seeing the MC had left put the guy's attention elsewhere, but that was his funeral.

Satan knew his time was limited, so he skipped the pleasantries and marched right over to him, slamming his foot down onto the edge of the table with such force it threatened to tip it over then grabbed him by the neck.

"Back. OFF."

It really didn't take much, his reputation preceded him. He felt the guy's pulse skyrocket between his fingers before he let him go.

It was hard not to get a little satisfaction when watching the worthless creep scramble away from him like his life depended on it (as it very much did). He almost considered giving chase just to amp up the fun, but the MC returned sooner than he expected…

A pair of arms around his waist and lips against his cheek were enough to evaporate his anger right then… but it didn't settle his sudden need to mark them in the slightest.

Ultimately, the real question was whether he could wait until they got home to show the world that they were his or if they needed to find somewhere… quieter. No promises, MC.

Asmodeus

Asmo had dealt with his fair share of admirers, the stalking kind included. Fortunately, dealing with them had always been relatively easy for him (he is a ruler of Hell after all) but one targeting his beloved human…? That was far less acceptable in his eyes.

He caught sight of the beady eyes of the creep while he was dancing with the MC. At first, he thought the guy was looking at him (who wouldn't?) but then he followed his eyeline right to his lovely human companion…

Though he couldn't exactly blame him for staring, he and MC made a fantastic looking pair, he definitely couldn't sit idly by either. People like this are usually bad news and he refused to let any harm come to his MC…!

He was as tactful as ever, though. He liked The Fall and would rather not be banned from returning… He waited patiently for the MC to go to the bathroom before making his way over to the creep, his perfect smile still sitting on his face.

"Excuse me, cutie." He waited for the stalker's eyes to leave his phone and settle on Asmo's own. "Ah, there you are! Good. I had a question for you, I think… oh no, I must have forgotten it! Silly me."

Though he could see the demon was growing annoyed, Asmo stalled for just a few moments longer… just long enough for his bewitching charm to set into his victim's mind.

"Ah! Now I remember. Do you like dogs?" He smiled in satisfaction to see the creeper's head nod slowly. "Oh good! Because I know a very hungry dog right now… Cerberus is his name and I don't think he's had a meal today. Would you be a doll and go feed him for me? He lives in the cave behind the House of Lamentation. You can't miss him."

The demon's head nodded slowly yet again as he rose from his chair and walked out of the club quietly. Quick, painless, and with no messy cleanup!

Well… none that Cerberus wouldn't clean up for him anyway. Asmo returned to the bar with a newly giddy grin on his face... His MC wouldn't be seeing that man ever again~!

Beelzebub

Beel is very patient. Beel is very kind. Beel is very forgiving. Beel is… really not about this right now...

Unlike his brothers, Beel's easygoing nature made him less quick to pick up on the lingering glances that the MC gets from others. Even when he does notice, he can usually let it slide if looking is all they do (he's the only one who can touch after all).

But even he couldn't miss how wolfishly that demon was staring at them… It made him uncomfortable and the guy just refused to leave them alone…

By the time the MC left Beel at the bar to use the restroom, he was on a level of irritated usually only reserved for when someone denied him food… It was like that jerk had taken a cheese grater to his patience and it was wearing thin…

As much as he knew he could deck him, he didn't want to get them kicked out… The MC was having such a good time, despite the creep's ogling, so he used a different approach…

Being so high up in Hell had its perks and one was that anywhere in town that offered food also had a secret menu… A Beelzebub Only menu (as a precaution so that he wouldn't wreck the place whenever he stopped by). Anything on his menu always had huge portions and The Fall was no exception.

The bartender didn't seem too surprised when he ordered a Drakon Leg, but he was very surprised when he asked to get the full bone too… Not with the meat on it. Just the bone.

Fun Fact: the bones of Drakons are supremely thick and strong enough to be used as clubs.

Even More Fun Fact: it takes an incredible amount of force to snap these bones…

...which Beel did without breaking a sweat… and maintaining eye contact with the creep The. Entire. Time. The sound of the bone snapping in two was almost as deafening as a gunshot and he didn't even flinch.

The demon went running out of the club with his tail between his legs and quickly got swapped out for the MC running back, worried about what made such a loud noise…

Of course, by that time Beel had the bone thrown away and was chowing down on the meat like nothing ever happened so they dropped the subject soon enough...

He may not be as open about when he claims someone as the rest of his family but that's because when push comes to shove, who in their right mind would want to challenge Beel anyway...?

Belphegor

Nope. Nope. Nope nope nope, he's not having this. Not one bit.

Belphie lacks a lot of the good-natured patience of his twin... Chances are if there's something happening and he's not stopping it, it's just because putting up with it is the path of least resistance…

But there are always exceptions and those are usually reserved for the MC.

Strangers trying to get close or even imagining themselves being with MC really makes his blood boil… He knew them the most. He loved them the most. On just what grounds did some random moron think he could take his place?? Wishful thinking? Keep dreaming, buddy.

So, of course, he wasn't happy when he noticed some asshole staring at the MC like Beel does when he sees a havoc roast...

He kept his poker face up while he was with the MC, but he was devising a plan to take care of him the entire time… One he finally got the chance to enact once the MC went to the bathroom.

He's even better at going unnoticed than Levi, so sneaking his way over to the asshole was a piece of cake. He didn't notice until Belphie casually draped his arm around the guy's neck, hanging his clawed hand dangerously close to the scumbag's heart...

"Having a good time…?"

He could feel a shallow swallow against his arm as he began to slowly apply pressure to his trachea.

"I bet you were… and I was too until I saw you following us… Care to explain yourself?"

"I-I uh-Gah!"

The guy's voice gets cut off by Belphie's arm getting even tighter, the sharp tips of his claws drumming directly over the man's thundering heart.

"Ugh, that's what you actually sound like? Never mind, it's not worth knowing…" His fingers stopped drumming and slowly began to dig into his skin...

"I'm only going to say this once… If I ever see you tailing my human again, you won't be needing this-" his claws drilled a little deeper into his chest, "-anymore. Am I clear?"

The demon's head nodded as much as his strangled throat would allow and Belphie finally retracted his claws, wiping the blood off on the guy's shirt before letting him go. He fell forward onto all fours before attempting to scramble away as fast as he could...

Belphie watched him go with disinterest on his face, but satisfaction in his heart. Yet another threat to his human dealt with… And they could go back to enjoying their evening together. Alone. Just where his human belonged...

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #tw: yandere #tw: possessive behavior #tw: paralysis #tw: violence #tw: mentions of death

3K notes · View notes

bestiesenpai · 4 years ago

Text

tattoo artist sukuna

I am way overdo to get my sleeve finished and I’m already itching to get a full back piece, so this is right up my alley. Gender neutral reader, and if you’d like to see the tattoo style i reference please go to @/novchild.jpg on instagram :)

It was a spur of the moment decision that led you to drive downtown with your friends at nearly midnight, drunk off each other's energy and eager to do something reckless. Speeding down the motorway, you scrolled through Instagram in search of a tattoo artist.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Your nerves had finally caught up to you as the car was parked in front of the studio you all chose. It was a typical brick and mortar building with a large skull painted on the only window to the outside world. There were a few bald men smoking cigarettes right outside the door, scrawling ink covering their exposed hands and faces.

“Yeah, c’mon!” No one waited for you, everyone climbing out of the car in excitement. Slowly, you got out of the car as well, head down as you walked past the men and into the shop.

Loud, blaring metal music met your ears, jarring you upright and tense. There wasn’t anyone you could see at the front desk, the only workers were huddled in a back corner leaning over something and laughing.

“Which one should I get?” Your attention was drawn away from the men in the corner and to the art hanging on the wall, all different flash sheets from various artists. Some were more gory, clearly drawing inspiration from horror movies while other pieces were bright and colorful, like bubblegum pop come to life.

“Hey.” A gruff voice cut through the loud music, and a man was now leaning against the front desk, spiky black hair in a ponytail with a bored look on his face and several piercings in both ears. He was clearly sizing you up, the black bar going across his nose moving as he did.

Unprepared to speak to him, you were happy when someone else stepped in and started chatting about prices. The man at the counter had on a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, exposing one full arm and hand that was completely blacked out.

“Choso, any customers?” Another shouted, a man wide in stature with long hair. He sauntered up to the counter, tight black t-shirt showing off the traditional Japanese work covering every inch of skin.

“Getou, can’t you see?” Choso rolled his eyes and gestured to your little group.

“I can’t make conversation?” Pulling a face at Choso, Getou leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed a wide grin at all of you. “So, who’s the first to get some ink?” His narrowed eyes looked over your bare skin and you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“I am! I want that one!” One of your friends pointed at the wall, making Getou hum and nod.

“That’s Gojo’s work, he loves to draw the cute shit. I’ll call him over.” As a white haired man walked over at Geto’s call, one by one your friends made their decisions and were paired with artists.

“What did you choose, (Y/N)?” A friend asked, seeing you still stuck staring at the wall.

“I don’t know!” Throwing your head back, you were beginning to regret even tagging along. There were simply too many options and the task of picking something was daunting.

“Having a hard time choosing?” A flash of white crosses your vision and soon Gojo is leaning down into your field of vision, piercing blue eyes staring at you curiously.

“U-uh yeah.” Stumbling back from how close his face is, you realize how tall he is when he stands up straight, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Me and another guy just got done making a new flash sheet, lemme show you.” It takes him only a couple seconds to go back to his station and come back with a piece of thick paper with drawings on it.

Taking the paper, the drawings were unexpectedly cute. A lot of them looked like rough sketches or crayon drawings, simple in concept but intricate in detail.

“I’ll take this one.” Pointing at a mid-sized crayon drawing, your mouth ticked up in a smile as Gojo took the paper from you with sparkling eyes.

“That one is so cute, good choice! One sec!” Tossing the paper down, he dashes away shouting nonsensical words towards the back of the shop where they’d all been huddled up. “Sukuna! Someones here for ya!”

Rising straight up from a chair with a loud groan, a shirtless pink haired man glared sharply at Gojo. Even from a distance you can see the sharp black lines tattooed across his face and down his body, circles on each shoulder, dashed lines across his chest down his stomach and around his wrists as well.

“Geez you can really yell, you know that?” Running a hand through his hair roughly, Sukuna stands up, flexing his muscles and unknowingly giving the whole shop a show of his chiseled physique.

“There’s a client here to get a piece we made together earlier.” Shoving the paper in his face, Gojo points to the piece you selected. Sukuna mumbles a few words and sets his eyes on you, walking over with a swagger that makes you nervous.

“Alright, where do you want it?” Leaning close to you, Sukuna quirks a brow.

“I don’t know.” You sigh softly, looking down at your arms and legs. “I don’t-”

“Your arm, right here.” Grabbing onto your arm, Sukuna turns it outward to expose the flesh of your inner arm. “It would look good right here, about the size of my palm.”

“O-oh okay.” Nodding quickly, your face is burning when he lets go. His touch still lingered on your skin, the edge of his black painted fingernails digging in briefly as they squeezed you.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, go sign the paperwork.” Sukuna speaks with his back to you, already walking to the station he had been sleeping at and setting up. Rushing to fill in the proper papers, you wait nervously at the front of the shop for your turn.

The rest of your friends are already getting started, the whir of the tattoo machines adding to the ambience of the shop. With a wave Sukuna calls you over to his corner, still shirtless with a pair of gloves on.

“Hold out your arm.” Grabbing you once again, Sukuna angles your arm in front of a mirror by the table. Rubbing ointment on your skin, he sticks the stencil on and rubs firmly, making you squirm from the tickle of his hand getting close to your armpit.

“What do you think?” Stepping to the side, he looks at you in the mirror. “Little to the left? Right?”

“No, it’s perfect.” The longer you look at it, the longer you love it. Giving you a pat on the shoulder, Sukuna led you to the table, having you lay down and stick your arm out.

“This your first one, I can tell.” He said, adjusting your body how he seemed fit and rubbing more ointment on you.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah, only a first timer would get something like this from me.” A cocky grin spread across his face and he gestured to the wall behind your head, covered in realistic black and white portraits. “This is normally my speciality.”

“You drew yourself?” Pointing up at one of the pictures that looked exactly like him minus the face tattoos, you chuckled.

“Nah, that’s my twin.” Your brows rose in surprise and you looked between Sukuna and the picture.

“Does he have-?” You waved over your face and body.

“He’s too scared to get a tattoo, says he’ll get ink poisoning and die.” Sukuna laughed, pouring out the various colored ink into little cups. “Won’t even let me do a tiny dot on him!”

“Safe to say you two are pretty different then.” You found yourself laughing a little as well, eased at Sukunas laid back nature.

“Mhmm, he’s busy going on the straight and narrow while I’m here ‘ruining my body’ as our grandpa likes to say.” Flashing quick air quotes, Sukuna revs up the machine and fiddles with the buttons. “Alright, you ready for this? Won’t have virgin skin anymore after this.”

“Yes!” Clenching and unclenching your fist, you pushed a deep breath through your mouth.

“If you start to cry, I won’t stop. And if you pass out, I’ll just wake you up.” That was his final warning before he leaned forward, using one large gloved hand to spread the skin of your arm taut.

The first prick of the needle against your skin made you jolt, sucking in a sharp breath and making your eyes fly open. Sukuna snorted, wiped your arm with a towel and kept going. Honing in on the marks and exposed pipes in the ceiling, you tried not to twitch from the needle anymore.

“You’re doing pretty well.” Sukuna mumbled, briefly sitting up and dipping in for more ink.

“Really?” Taking a look at the tattoo, you were surprised to see only one line had been done. It felt like at least three were placed into you.

“Yeah, don’t screw it up.” Sticking his tongue out at you, Sukuna went back to work. Transfixed on watching him, you saw the lines go into your skin, overflowing with ink and being wiped away repeatedly. You were also watching the way Sukuna’s arms flexed, the muscles in his body all on display right in front of you.

“Tell me about yourself while you stare at me.” Sukuna said, not looking up from your arm. Immediately, your head whipped away from him and a deep burn ran over your face. Sukuna laughed at your embarrassment, patting your arm with the paper towel a few times.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not the first one to do it.” That didn’t make it any better. Slapping a hand over your face, you let out an unintelligible noise from the back of your throat.

“Just great.”

“It’s okay to say you have a crush on me, a lot of people that come to the shop do.”

“Sukuna!” Laughing through the shame, you glanced over at him.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well can you blame them when you’re built like that?” Feeling emboldened by the late night hour, you took a rather obvious look at Sukuna’s body. With only a pair of sweatpants on, you could see nearly all the tattoos he had.

“Aw thanks doll, I work out.” Sukuna shot a wink at you, briefly flexing both arms and making you blush again. “But enough about me, what about you? What made you come here so late at night?”

“My friends and I wanted to do something spontaneous.” Returning your gaze to the ceiling, the ache from the tattoo gun was beginning to settle into your skin. “And what better way to be spontaneous than to get a tattoo?”

“Ha, I hear that.”

“Why’d you get the ones on your face and stuff?”

“Thought they’d make me look cool, and I was right.” Giggling at his honesty, you quickly nodded in agreement.

“The ones on your face, did they hurt really bad?”

“The ones near my eyes yeah, those hurt the most. But thankfully Choso has a steady hand, so it didn’t last too long.”

Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers over your own face, drawing along the edge of your jaw and eye socket. There was no way you could get your face tattooed as heavily as Sukuna had, if at all ever. You had only just now gotten used to the pain of the needle on your arm and you were still twitching every so often.

“How’re you holding up so far?” Sukuna whispers close to your ear ten quiet minutes later. He’s completely focused on tattooing you yet his face is close enough that if you leaned up a little, you could graze his hair with your nose.

“Fine.” You whisper back, suddenly feeling awkward with the low tone of his voice.

“That’s good doll, real good.” His voice dropped even lower, overcompensating for the song ending over the stereo speakers. Trying not to stare at his serious expression, you look over at the other stations. Gojo is chatting up your friend excitedly, and there’s a number of colorful inks laid out before him. Choso and Geto are hard at work as well, with Choso pointedly not speaking, and a blonde man you’d noticed drinking a large mug of black coffee earlier with his button up sleeve rolled up to reveal two dragons on his forearms.

Just as the pain in your arm was starting to truly burn, the tattoo was over. Sukuna washed it down gently, patting your arm and humming to the song playing. Sitting up with a short grunt, he flicked his head to the mirror.

“Go ahead and take a look.”

Sliding slowly off the table, you held your arm out awkwardly and stood in front of the mirror. Your arm was slightly swollen and stinging, shoulder stiff from being in the same position for so long, but a smile spread on your cheeks.

“I love it.” It looked exactly like the picture: a crayon style drawing of a brown haired girl in a giant green frog, a big pout on her lips while the frog sat on a lily pad.

“Lemme snap a couple quick photos before I wrap you up.” Already with his phone out, Sukuna was quick at taking pictures, posing you like when he’d put the stencil on. “I’ll run down the aftercare stuff with you, also give you a card in case you forget any of it.”

You didn’t hear a thing he said about aftercare. Standing nearly chest to chest with Sukuna while he rubbed ointment on your skin and wrapped your tattoo up, the way his arms nearly wrapped around you to put the cover on, the gentle touch of his fingers pressing medical tape to your skin, even the way he was breathing softly and looking at you - it all had you distracted.

“Alright, you’re all done.” Sukuna patted your arm, breaking you from your trance.

“Thank you so much!” Looking down at your tightly bandaged arm, you could feel the intense heat radiating out of it. You quickly snapped your own picture of the bandage as Sukuna dug around in a drawer.

“And since I could tell you were zoning the fuck out just now, I wrote my number down on the aftercare sheet, so text me if you have any questions.” Holding the paper out to you, Sukuna had indeed scribbled his phone number on the paper in thick black marker.

“Can I really just text you?” Taking the paper hesitantly, you fiddled with it in your hands.

“Of course! I want your tattoo to heal well!” Sukuna nodded, throwing his arms out dramatically. Waiting for you to gather your stuff, he walked you to the front of the shop. “Text me anytime doll, I stay up late.” He whispered right before you got to the front counter, making your jaw drop and ears burn.

“(Y/N), you really got a girl in a frog?” A friend laughed, a bandage wrapped around their thigh.

“It’s cute!” You defended it, holding your arm close to your body.

“The cutest fucking one.” Sukuna added on, slapping the counter and pointing at everyone.

“Aren’t you cold without a shirt on?” Choso mumbled, typing away on his phone in the corner.

“No ‘cause I’m not anemic like you are.”

“It’s still cold outside.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s cold in here!” The two of them quickly devolved into petty squabble, giving each other light hearted shoves in the shoulder while Geto collected the money from everyone.

“Bye, thank you so much!” You all called out as you left, waving goodbye and shrugging your jackets back on.

“I’ll be waiting for that text, doll!” Sukuna shouted right as you stepped out, blowing you a kiss when you whipped your head over your shoulder in shock.

“Text? Were you flirting with him?” A slew of curious looks were thrown your way, making your shock even worse.

“N-no!” You stuttered and immediately grimaced at it, face getting warmer as you climbed into the car. “We were just talking while he tattooed me, he just wants to make sure it heals right.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Let’s go to the drive through now, Geto told me to eat something after getting tattooed!”

“Hey check Sukuna’s Instagram story, he already posted your tattoo (Y/N)!”

“Really?” Rushing to pull out your phone, it was indeed true. Sukuna had posted one of the pictures he took of your arm, a few silly frog gifs surrounding it, with the caption ‘painted a pretty doll with a pretty frog, hope they come back for more xx’.

“You two were definitely flirting!” Shouts resounded in the car, everyone giggling wildly at the caption. Giggling along with them, you quickly typed a message to Sukuna.

(Y/N): hey Sukuna this is (Y/N). Thanks again for the frog! And the picture you posted on your story looks really good :)

(Sukuna): no problem doll

(Sukuna): next time you want a tattoo, text me and i’ll draw up whatever you want

“Sukuna said he wanted to tattoo me again!” You announced to your friends, all of them oohing and crowding around your phone. “What should I say?”

“I’ll do it!” Someone snatched your phone before you could say anything, rapidly shooting off a message and tossing the device back to you.

(Y/N): are you free tomorrow?

“He’s not gonna-” Right as you were beginning to shake your head and type another message, he replied.

(Sukuna): for you? of course

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

571 notes · View notes