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#spice scale
love-toxin · 2 years
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wicked -- isekai killer (alec)
warnings: noncon, blood, violence/murder, victim blaming, overstim, multiple orgasms, bruising, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, fem reader.
word count: 2.6k
spice level 4/5
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The wind between the buildings howls. Warm blood splatters in a spray across your face. It's all over by the time it starts dripping off your chin, but the shivers running through your body don't stop as the murderer kneels down in front of you, a hand on your bare thigh. 
Alec stares back at you, his youthful face out of place on an adult's body. The sick glee on his face is also misplaced, but he smiles despite the blood that paints his own skin. 
"There's my girl." 
He giggles, rubbing your thigh with a possessive touch that you're too afraid to shy away from. He's scary, he's a monster, but you don't know how he fits into this world you're unfamiliar with. Those men that gave chase after you were also monsters, calling out for you and cackling with twisted jeers as they grabbed for your skirt, and he saved you from them. So do you owe him for that, or would it be better just to run away from him also? 
Alec reaches beneath you and picks you up, his hands roaming and squeezing as he does so. He's lithe, but he's got the kind of strength that would rarely be found in your world–especially for a young man like him. He doesn't seem concerned about the catatonic state you're in after watching two men die horrifically in front of you, but he does try to keep away from crowds and any pairs of wandering eyes. He hurries on light feet towards what looks like a two-story inn, and instead of heading through the front door, he makes quick work of hopping up to a nearby roof and launching himself through an open window. He rolls to a stop with you clutched safely in his arms, but you're still so shocked you barely feel the impact–and it isn't until some time passes and you're lifted down into a hot bath that you finally seem to click back into reality. 
"Who are you?" 
The question flies from your lips without warning, and as you start to look around your surroundings and find yourself nude, you yank your arms up and hug yourself in a desperate bid to keep him from seeing anything else. If the water didn't feel so nice on your weary body, you would have gotten out at once–but you stay, partly because Alec is standing right next to you, and force yourself to look up into his eyes. He leans down, and grips the edge of the tub tightly with his half-gloved hands, and the intimidation that he gives off in that moment by itself is enough for you to believe that you never, ever want to get on this guy's bad side. 
"I'm your hero. I rescued you from those men. That deserves a reward, don't you think?" 
And then, he does something your mind wouldn't even consider in any normal situation. Alec reaches down into the water, and with a smug smile, he dips his fingers between your legs and touches you. 
"A-Ah-!"
The water sloshes around you as you jerk and bring your hands out to push him off–but he's one step ahead, and shoves his face into yours to claim your lips in a hot, heavy kiss. Alec's arm is too strong for you to make any headway as your hands pathetically grab at his bicep, and with his tongue halfway into your mouth, he slides his fingers inside you while you're too preoccupied to try and squeeze your legs together to stop him. He's moaning something into your lips, his tongue wet and slippery as he pushes it in and forces your own down in the process, all while he presses his long fingers so deep inside you that you can feel some kind of strange pressure in your lower abdomen, like you suddenly have to use the toilet. When he curls them the feeling only grows stronger, and it's only when you start shrieking against his mouth that he chuckles and draws them away, choosing instead to spread both digits out like he's stretching you in preparation for something. 
"Are you gonna cum?" 
Alec laughs in your face, his tongue flicking out to lick your lips even though you're turning your head away and squeezing your eyes shut to try and escape it. It wouldn't be a threat at this point if he hadn't started rubbing your clit with his thumb, the pressure scratching some kind of itch that you hadn't realized was there until it starts to become unbearable. 
"If you cum, that means you wanted to do this. I won't hold back then, okay?" 
Oh, god. You push even harder on his arm and even dig your nails into his skin, squirming and thrashing against his touches to the point that your bathwater is splashing out of the tub now. Alec's fingers are fast, thrusting inside of you so deep that they're only stopped by the wall of your womb, and no matter how much you try to break away he refuses to take his thumb off your clit. You're practically digging your own grave now, your hips bucking so much that you're moving your own body against it like you want it that badly. 
"Who am I kidding? I'm gonna fuck you no matter what. You're mine." 
You finally open your eyes then and find Alec's face barely an inch from yours, his expression nearing a crazed state as you get closer to cumming. Your fear only seems to turn him on more, and when you beg him not to do that you notice the bulge of his cock in his pants as he rubs it over the rim of the bathtub. A glance down and what looks like a cloud of blood in the water obscures your view–your nails have cut deep enough in his bicep for him to bleed, but when you pull your hands away, Alec buries his fingers even deeper inside you and watches as you slowly come unravelled. His encouraging whispers for you to give in against your ear are what really undoes you, and with your hips raised so high up you're barely even touching the bottom of the tub save for your feet, the orgasm that's been building hits you like a train and blows all sense from your mind as Alec fucks you on his fingers all the way to the end. You slump back against the tub the moment after, body draining itself of energy while the adrenaline works its way through your veins, and you're so weak you barely realize that his arms are around you until he's lifting you up. 
"N-No…no, wait…" 
You push against him, but it's a pathetic attempt. Alec plucks your body from the bathtub and holds you up over his shoulder, caring not for the way you drip water all over the floor and himself as he walks back through the open door to your bedroom. It's fairly lavish for an inn room, that much you can tell, but your focus moves back to Alec once he leans over and lays you down on the plush bed. You watch passively as he tugs his shirt up and off over his head, throwing it to the ground like he can't get it off fast enough. His pants come down next, falling around his ankles for him to step out of and kick away without him breaking eye contact once. His cock bobs with a surprising weight for someone so slim in the body, and it twitches as it's exposed to air and he climbs on top of you, letting it hang so close to you that you can feel the heat of it against your skin. 
"You're so pretty." 
It sounds genuine, but Alec has proved himself more than a sadist, so you're not sure what to believe. He takes a moment to stroke your cheek, seemingly taking enjoyment out of how limp you are and that you've stopped pushing him away. His kiss is much warmer this time, gentler, even, and he trails more of them down your neck and against the valley between your breasts, before taking one of them against his mouth and sucking deep enough to sting. He leaves a bruise on your left one before moving to the other, and this time plays with your nipple by circling his tongue around it before he starts to suck. You find yourself feeling grateful that he at least isn't using teeth, but then he bites down and apologizes for the pain with a myriad of kisses to soothe the mark. You can tell by the possessiveness in his eyes that he isn't remorseful about it though, his cock pulsing and spasming the more he surveys all the bruises that prove you're a part of him. 
Alec nudges your thighs apart, and finally settles his cock in to nestle between your folds, already slick and puffy from your orgasm. Something slips out when he pushes against them, teasing you with what's to come–but whatever it is, you don't catch it, and maybe you should be glad you didn't. He cages your body under his just in case there was any doubt left in your mind, his elbow resting just by your head, and moans softly against your lips as he lines himself up and presses the tip inside you. It's a stretch, a deep one, and you're trembling yet again as Alec spreads you out tightly on his cock like you're just barely able to fit him. And it must be a formality, because when your hands come up to grab his shoulders and he finally manages to hit the soft, fleshy womb that separates you, that's when his expression twists into something more wicked and he rears back just to sheathe himself completely inside in a violent thrust. 
"Haa! Hah, yes!" 
The tattoos down his arm flex with his muscle, his sweat creating a shine over his skin like he'd just gotten out of the bath with you. Even though he just barely fits, he thrusts against you like a jackhammer, ripping any shred of thought from your mind save for how shamefully good it all feels. He's so rough that you flinch every time his balls slap against your ass, the heaviness of them taking you by surprise as he pins you with his free hand against your chest. His palm rubs hard against your nipple and you would think it would hurt, but the sensation paired with the ache of Alec's cock bashing your cervix on repeat just sparks something hot within you. He wouldn't be able to move so easily without you being so aroused, after all, your slick adding a visible creaminess to his shaft as he pulls out and slams back in. Maybe you're lying to yourself when you think this was all on his end, but either way it doesn't seem to affect him as he moves his hand away from your chest, and uses his fingers to tweak at your clit. Wet and sensitive, it's an easy way to force your mouth open with a moan so he can slide his tongue in again, and he sucks on yours with a heated fervor when you clench hard around his cock. 
"Cum on me again," 
Alec breaks away and pants, moving back in for another open-mouthed kiss the moment he gets the chance. Air is not his main concern, evidently, and in fact it just seems to make him harder and hornier if his flushed face is anything to go by. 
"I'll cum for you, too. Just for you." 
He ends that sentence with a harsh groan, apparently surprising himself with how close he actually is. And you're not going to last either, not when Alec can't stop fingering your clit and drooling against your neck and your mouth, a string of "I'm gonna cum," and other warnings falling from his lips. He hits his stride the second he can't speak another word, gliding in and out of you twice as fast when he's chasing after that high he so desperately needs from you–and finally, with a hard thrust and his balls tightening up so stiffly against your cunt, Alec blasts your pussy with cum so hot that it burns the second it splatters against your womb. He doesn't let you crawl away even if you had the strength to do so, his arms moving to wrap around your neck as he collapses with his full weight on top of you and milks every drop into your cunt. The warmth is enough to push you over the edge as well, and a shudder wracks your body once more as you tighten up around where Alec is still buried inside you, his breathing morphing into a humiliating chuckle at how easily you cum because of him. With your legs hitched up around his waist, you can't move them down either, so you're forced to endure shot after shot of warm cum pumping inside you while you think of how likely it is that you might suffer even worse consequences after this. 
"You're twitching a lot….haa…" 
You can't see his face, but Alec's hand raises higher to pat your head and his fingers smooth over your hair as he slowly steadies his breathing. His own hair tickles your cheek as he rubs his face into your shoulder, and peppers your flushed skin with kisses as if it would erase all that he has done to you up until now. But he doesn't care about that. You know for a fact that he doesn't. 
He groans once more as he gets up, a deeper, grittier one this time, but he doesn't make a move to extract himself from you. Held up by his hands against the bed, he glances down to take a look at what he's done, and when his eyes meet yours again he snickers in a way that inadvertently makes you clench around him. 
"Ah, I made a mistake. I should've given you your contraception before we started–oh, well. I'll take care of it tomorrow." 
His attention is occupied by his hand running down your body, taking stock of what he's done and where he's pinched and grabbed you hard enough to leave a bruise. He cups your breast in his hand and jiggles it with a dark sneer, enjoying the weight of it as he tugs at your nipple one more time and watches as your back weakly arches off of the bed. 
"It's your fault, y'know. Your voice made me cum a lot faster, so maybe you should pay me back for it?" 
The second he lets go is the moment you collapse back down, tired, sweaty, your body thoroughly abused. You can barely log what he's saying in your head until he starts nuzzling his face between your tits with a gentle murmur. 
"Let me make you cum again, lady. How about 100 orgasms? That'll be fair repayment, right?" 
Alec cackles even louder than before at your shocked expression, and dips his head down to plant a kiss on your lips before you can say otherwise. Being with him is so exhausting and this whole day has drained you, so you don't even try to stave off your sleepiness even though you fear what might happen when you're asleep. As bad as it is, it's probably not any worse than what he's done while you've been awake, and it might even be preferable to not be privy to his sadism any more than you already have. 
"Have nice dreams, okay? Just think of me….me, me, me, me." 
Your eyes are already closed. You can feel his breath on your face, stuttered and heavy. You don't want to belong to him any more than you want to be in this world, rather than the one you know.
But he did save you, after all. So, really, what choice do you have? 
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itsmycherryforest · 1 year
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Cherryforest
Vintage HEMA letter scale, silver colored for weighing (0-100 g), made in GDR ..... in the shop !
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kagekitsuneoflight · 1 year
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It’s kinda funny that Jason is, in every sense of the word, the most normal Robin. Unironically, there wasn’t anything uniquely special about him before he was Robin. He was a street kid. His dad was a goon (which makes sense for Gotham. It’s a goon breeding ground) and his adoptive mom was a girl who fell in love with the bad boy, got disowned by her upper middle class parents and adopted her boyfriend’s infant son. Even his biological mother isn’t anything special! She was just a doctor who ended up becoming corrupt.
Jason Todd was no circus kid who could do an impossible signature trick. He wasn’t being scouted by some evil hidden organization.
He wasn’t the rich boy genius who lived next door.
He’s not the son of a supervillain (as lame as cluemaster is, he still *counts*).
He’s not the secret son of Bruce Wayne.
And he’s not a metahuman, nor did he led a whole organization of teens to fight when Batman couldn’t.
He’s the most regular boy to ever enter become a hero in Gotham. He wanted to do good things for the sake of doing good. He grew up poor with regular parents, where bad things happened to them. The kinds of things that could happen to *any* person living in Gotham.
There is nothing about him, pre-Robin and as Robin, that makes him Not Like Regular Kids.
His dad was a goon (who, depending on the run, was either killed by Two-Face OR. Just sent to prison and killed in prison! Which makes his backstory even PLAINER-) and his mother was a drug addict with cancer. Jason ends up homeless, and almost steals the bat mobile tires. The only thing that makes him stand out from any other tragedy befallen kid in Gotham is the fact he was bold enough to do that, get Batman’s attention, and continue to be bold enough to go against a crime lord (who was apparently his grandmother, the most interesting person in his family, but since she’s almost never brought up, she’s likely no more significant than a one-issue villain in the crime lord power hierarchy). Batman realized that Jason wasn’t going to really stop, and honestly he kinda grew on him, so he decided to adopt Jason, and eventually allow him to become Robin.
There just isn’t anything amazingly special about his backstory. The few moments where something could have been done to make it more interesting (like his biological mother) but ended up taking the most boring option. You can’t do much of anything now to enhance his past without upsetting much more well established canon, and not without making people wonder “well if his grandmother was such a big name in crime, why hasn’t she been brought up before?”
Jason Todd was a wonderful Robin (providing that he actually has a writer who likes him). He has a golden heart, he’s the voice of reason. He’s everything that a Robin needs to be for Batman. But compared to everyone else, he was nothing special. In a way, his lack of Not Like Regular Kids makes him stand out in a much more subtle way.
As if someone asked the question “Do I need to be someone special to be Robin?” And the answer was “You don’t need to be someone special, you just need to be brave, like Jason Todd was.”
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greenbergsays · 6 months
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I don’t know who needs to hear this, but
*lays hand gently over yours*
The word “anus” does not belong in a sex scene. I love you, but no.
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modelchili · 18 days
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Dune Spice Harvester model kit- full build video: https://youtu.be/iNiDAYOwQM4
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dailyfigures · 4 months
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Holo ; Spice and Wolf ☆ Kadokawa
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dirty-spiced-chai · 5 months
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VESSEL
SLEEP TOKEN
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thefigureresource · 6 months
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Holo : Plentiful Apple Harvest ver [Spice and Wolf] 1/7 scale from Kadokawa will be re-released March 2024.
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lavandula-ipsum · 1 month
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Those Wistful Asphodels
Asphodels ch. 1/2
Tags: dark!Luke x Fem!Reader, force sensitive reader, reader is injured, death of secondary characters mentioned, porn with plot, no really most of this is plot, angst, smut, cuffs, non penetrative sex, handjobs, edging, light degradation
Wordcount: 7.4k
Summary: Since Luke Skywalker fell to the dark side, the Rebellion has been facing a fast annihilation. In these dire times when lights go out in the galaxy one after another, a rebel captain with the mission of rescuing the survivors of a fallen base finds herself injured and alone. And, on top of that, the worst of her temptations appears out of the blue.
Asphodels is a sequel to Pomegranate, a short smut series that has kinda ended up growing a plot. I do think you can enjoy this part without the previous one, since you can infer enough of their dynamic from context. Feel free to check the previous chapters if you feel like it!
WARNING (or the opposite to it?) Even though this is a dark Luke fic, all that happens during the more intimate scenes is completely consensual. Still, Reader isn't in a good place mentally, hence the angst tag. I wanted to make it clear, there's nothing dubious here in that regard.
Enjoy!
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The Empire has a new face, one that has brought unprecedented darkness to the galaxy. All kinds of stories have popped up around the new royal core of the regime. From the old throne of the Emperor now rules he who was his loyal shadow, his most deadly hand. And at his side stands a son. Their combined strength has turned the war into a fixed hunt, a pitiful game in which the Rebel Alliance can't but wriggle like a doomed scurrier in a trap.
Some, those who were labeled as hopeless pessimists, would say it all ended the very same day of the betrayal. After all, the Rebellion could stand to lose a commander, no matter how invaluable the feats achieved by Luke Skywalker were. But it was a blow nonetheless. Right after the news came out countless rebels fled their posts trying to save their lives, but it was for nothing. Nowadays even deflectors get mercilessly hunted down by the Empire. Like marked by a curse, every single person who ever belonged to the Rebellion, or even just sympathized with it, gets found. No tiny spark of resistance escapes, lest it ignite new fires of rebellion in the future. Even those who were hopeful at first seriously doubt that prospect a little more every day with each new of lost squadrons and assassinated leaders. 
General Organa remains as one of the last remnants of light in these dark days, even though she’s faded into obscurity. Her whereabouts are kept a secret, much to her own distaste. But it isn’t the time for her to come out at the front of some suicidal attack, it’s the time for caution. To hide and prepare. Fate has taken down yet another path she didn’t want for herself, but also one she’s starting to dread to be unfit for this time.
And meanwhile, (Y/N) wonders how long will it take for the idea that the Rebellion has disappeared to settle. The rebel captain isn’t one to express out loud how hopeless she’s become, not in front of her dwindling companions. But there is not denying it. Rogue squadron is no more. It lasted longer than the others even when it became the most sought after by unrelenting TIE squadrons. (Y/N) knows who leads that imperial offensive, it’s written in the precise counter attacks that always surprise the rebel pilots  in all of their maneuvers, every evasion. There is only one person who knows them that well, just one pilot with that kind of talent. (Y/N) gets sick just thinking of his hand on the trigger, the aim set on another friend. No matter what the rebels try, they’re doomed to fail. Recently she got the news that the last one of the once acclaimed X-wings was shot down. Kriff, not even Wedge made it. She can just cross her fingers and hope that the Millennium Falcon, the most wanted starship in the galaxy, will remain hidden for a little longer.
Even Han has given up all hope. The captain of the Falcon was never a man of faith, but (Y/N) trusts his resolve to help keep alive those few of them who still survive, scattered across the stars. It’s all she has left now, especially when she’s starting to suspect that she won’t be coming back from this mission.
It was her who insisted on making the effort to come here with the mission to establish contact with the rebel cell hiding in the base of Jolah after it went silent. It was her assignment and it has failed even more spectacularly than anyone could have expected. The ambush hit them as soon as they came out of hyperspace to a system crawling with squadrons of TIE fighters and imperial patrols. In the unexpected dogfight, (Y/N)’s starfighter got hit and her pitiful role in the operation suddenly evaporated as she was reduced to managing the crashing of her craft in the middle of the sadistic fireworks around her, fighting the controls to make an emergency landing on the surface of Jolah. Each vertiginous spin separates further away from her companions while they fall to the imperial cannons.
Her damaged X-wing crashes in the middle of lush woodlands, up in the mountains. She hurries to leave the cockpit, fearful because of the black smoke coming out of the engines that the craft might explode. A sharp pain paralyzes her as she reaches for the edge to prop herself up. Even though she can’t move her leg, suddenly heavy and uncooperative, she still tries to get down the ship, slipping when her limbs clumsily let go of her commands. Hitting the ground brings her all the pain she’s been unable to feel until now. This is when she finally sees a piece of a durasteel lever buried deep in her thigh. 
The stranded captain huffs, turning her gaze up to the barely visible battle going on just over the atmosphere. She’s far from a military genius, but she can see that it’s over for her squadron. Even calling it a battle is generous when they were trapped so quickly, like helpless flies.
But she can’t just sit here and contemplate the butchery from afar, there’s no time to despair in the middle of nowhere. Even in this thick forest the Empire will find her vessel soon, so she better put some distance between it and herself. So she just grabs the end of the lever lodged in her leg and pulls, white pain burning through all of her senses while biting on the edge of her glove to try to drown her screams a little. A shriek escapes her when the durasteel finally flies out of her flesh. Thick blood gushes out until she puts pressure on the wound, bandaging it as best as she can with the sleeve she just tore from her shirt. 
Walking will be difficult, but she can’t do much else other than start dragging her aching limbs through the mud and the pain. The feeling that she might faint soon only grows, blood drenching through her poor attempt at a bandage and dripping down her thigh. The beauty around, threads of light cutting through the trees lighting up a forest floor splattered with little white flowers, all seem to be mocking her. At least she finds a fallen branch she can use as a walking stick. However, the sounds of the search party, the buzzing of speeders echoing through the trees, keep her awake and moving. 
Daylight fades along with the signs of imps in the area. It seems she’s safe for now, but she still doesn’t dare to stop for the rest she so direly needs, since she can’t trust herself to not fall asleep. At least her present predicament is easy enough to understand. Imperials running after her life while she bleeds alone in the cold with nothing but a blaster to protect herself. Those are circumstances that make her forgotten rebel resolve bloom again. The dream might be dead but, this way, at least she gets to die a rebel.
(Y/N) keeps avoiding the distant speeders, wondering how long before she’s found. Her fingers have lost sensitivity due to the biting cold, which she takes advantage of to keep dragging herself forward until she’s alone with the faint echoes of birds and the occasional critter running to hide. And, for the first time in months, she lets her sore mind loosen down a little to graze the currents of the Force she’s been fearfully avoiding. 
At least I get to die a rebel.
She expected the sensation of opening her mind to be uncomfortable, even painful, but the Force takes her right back, as if she never closed herself off from it. Even if she’s forgotten herself, the Force hasn’t. 
Who knows, maybe it’s because of all the blood she’s lost, but she’s never felt closer to its embrace. Ah, it’s all almost over.  
Mixed in with the cool currents filling the dried river beds of her mind another flow enters. Her eyes fly open at the realization of what she inadvertently has done. A single tear falls down her cheek as she scrambles to rebuild the barriers that she so irresponsibly let down. In hiding her signature, her brain complains of being denied from the full expanse of Force once again. The trance she was falling in insists on lingering inside of her as she fights to wake up from it. She was ready to let herself fall in the arms of the Force at that time when she’d close her eyes for good to let herself go in peace.
But it is too late now. He has seen her.
There’s no denying his intoxicating presence, a warmth dueling the cold of the forest and looming death inside of her, getting closer by the second. But how? He isn’t supposed to be in the system. His presence pokes at hers, impatience domineering over any intention at gentleness. Where are you? echoes in her brain, like pliers forcing her mind open. 
The rebel huffs and whimpers when she hears the TIE fighter over her head, its buzzing fading as the darkness throbbing at the corners of her vision expands. Desperation alone is keeping her standing, but she has stopped running now. This is as far as she was able to go.
She doesn’t need to turn around to feel the man wrapped in a black cloak right behind her, or his rushed breath as he quickly approaches, or the bursting heart in his chest. 
At least I get to die a rebel, she repeats.
In spite of his speed, his steps barely make a sound on the mud, but each of them is a jab inside of (Y/N). A shiver runs down her back thinking how all the times she’s tried to prepare herself for this have been useless. She isn’t ready to face him again and, most of all, she hates that he finds her like this, unarmed and defenseless, on the verge of passing out.
For a second, her mind gives out and everything turns dark. Cold climbs into her as she collapses forward, only for her fall to be stopped mid air. Her walking stick drops with a soft splash on the puddle before her, and suddenly she can hear the clatter of rain. For how long has it been raining? While she scolds herself for letting the panic wash over the awareness of her surroundings, her attention focuses on the arm holding her by the waist, then to the silhouette towering over her. Another reason to be disappointed with herself. She’d expected to be terrified by this encounter but, instead, under the hood, she finds a sad gaze she can’t bring herself to hate. 
Her blood drips over the little white flowers growing on the ground, defiling them with dark spots.
The longer she stares into the icy blue more memories flood her good conscience. The first time she saw him in that hangar so long ago, when she mistook him for a mechanic, it was him who looked helpless and alone.
I’m sorry it took so long to tell you, he said the last time they spoke.
Ashamed, she tries waving her childish longings away, afraid to know if they are still shared, and fights to stand up on her own. But her leg screams in pain and buckles, her body betraying her resolve by letting out a pained moan. His arms support her through it all. 
“Are you handcuffing me before I bleed to death or shall we wait some more?” she hisses.
She holds a red hand in front of her face and curses under her breath, which prompts a flare of alarm in his aura as he examines her. Judging by her darkened, drenched clothes, it’s a miracle that she hasn’t lost consciousness yet.
“Who did this to you?” It must be the blood loss, but Luke’s presence didn’t feel fully real before hearing his voice. She has always been afraid of his anger because of the choice that came with each one of those scarlet flares, even if they’ve never been directed at her. But that stopped mattering long ago.
Little raindrops run down his dark hood, dripping over the edge. She fights the urge to fix his hair with her fingers. She offers a bitter answer instead. “What do you think? One of your friends, like the ones waiting behind those bushes.”
“I’m alone.”
“I don’t believe you,” she spits. Lately, being lied to feels more comfortable than the alternative when it comes to him. Luke seems saddened by the comment.
“You need to have that looked at. Where is your lightsaber?”
She isn’t willing to answer either of those questions. Instead, his grip tightens around her. Ah, he’s so warm. She yearns to fall asleep in his arms.
She’s so submerged in his signature that she doesn’t notice the movements around them until a branch cracks not far from them. (Y/N) takes advantage of the split second of distraction to reach for his lightsaber. This is it, the moment she's been dreading. She didn't want to do this, she really didn't. But her desires are meaningless now. If she's to fall defending her companions, she will. Luke gazes at her with a mix of surprise and betrayal, but stays still. From the bushes emerges a group of rebels armed with blasters and fiery eyes sunken in their dirty faces. But there’s something wrong. They’re little more than children.
(Y/N) has found the rebel survivors of Jolah at the worst time possible. The act of tearing herself away from Luke’s arms cost her every drop of will she has left, but she manages to strike what must be a very unconvincing defensive stance. Even if she was ready to give up the fight a moment ago, now she owes it to these people. 
His first reaction is to extend a protective arm in front of her, a gesture that the rebels interpret as an attempt to leverage a prisoner to try and escape the situation. She feels the needle sink painfully into his mind as he realizes they want to protect her from him. 
“Release her, you imp. You're surrounded.”
She can feel the shadows leave her surroundings, leaving behind a pale reflection of the forest, of the kids’ angry and scared faces circling in around them. That darkness gathers into the young man's palms, dancing across his fingers with whispers of destruction. And (Y/N) fears, ready to jump into action down a path she’s been running from. 
After a moment to carefully consider the situation, Luke slowly raises his hands. “It seems I'm outnumbered,” he declares calmly.
The rebel captain is still processing what he just said when he offers up his wrists to his new captors. Soon they’re bound in a pair of stun cuffs. It seems it won’t be her wearing them for now.
****
(Y/N) doesn’t remember when she finally collapsed. Maybe the feeling of being surrounded by allies allowed her body to give out, or the vision of Luke being taken flooded her with that impotence she’s become so familiar with. But the first thought that bubbles up as she recovers consciousness is that she doesn’t think those kids ever let her hit the ground.
When she wakes a gentle fire fills the chamber with orange light. The cool sky of a darkening evening at the other side of the narrow crevice in the rock wall reveals that she’s been asleep for at least a whole day. The chamber around her belongs to a humble abode built under rock, rough but cozy. The smell of the herbs hanging from the ceiling fills the room made up of only crooked lines and handmade furniture. Over the fire, a pot simmers.
Her injuries have finally been stitched bandaged properly, and a strong, earthy smell comes out of them. She doesn’t know what kind of medicine they’ve used on her, but she doesn’t feel the need to distrust it. Her flight suit hangs close to the fire, left to dry, though it still has some faint stains of blood. She's been dressed with a comfortable tunic, long down to her ankles, which her injured thigh is thankful for.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” a raspy voice says. An old man just comes through the door, an axe resting on his shoulder. “You almost bled to death. Does it hurt? 
“Less than before.”
He hums approvingly and, leaving the axe resting against the irregular wall, sits by the fire on one of the mismatched chairs. “Calm down, lass. Anyone that still has the guts to face those pigs is welcome in my home.”
She realizes now that her whole body has tensed up. The thought crosses her mind that the old man, even if he seems fit for his age, wouldn’t probably mean a concerning threat to her now that he’s unarmed. It disgusts her. He saved her life and she can’t bring herself to trust even a little. Then again, she can’t sense any ill intention radiating from him. Trusting the Force has not been an easy task in recent times, but she’s too weak now not to listen to it. 
“I thank you for your help, sir.”
“Imoviah. None of that sir nonsense. Tell me, what happened to you? I’m dying for some good gossip. It’s been ages without news other than that bantha poodoo propaganda they feed the local stations around here. We didn’t know about the battle until it was raging over our heads”
“The base on the moon of Jolah was blown up three weeks ago,” she explains, pointing at the pale satellite hanging in the sky. “A small squad was sent to look for surviving rebels, but we had a trap waiting for us. We were following rumors that spoke about some of the survivors making it to the surface of the planet, but nothing sure.”
“So finally someone came looking for it.”
The face of a scruffy child, with tattered clothes and dirt on his face, pokes shyly through the entrance before coming in. He exchanges a few whispers with the old man and, now that she gets to look at him under the light of the flames, she recognizes him.
“Ab?” she asks. “You’re Elise’s kid, right? Your mom is a mechanic in the Rebellion.”
The kid just nods sheepishly just before the old man slaps his knees and gets up.
“I’m afraid that the ones that made it here are just those who couldn’t fight.  Those up there in the base got them out trying not to get the Empire’s attention.”
“And they didn’t run themselves?”
The old man gives her a knowing stare, “Things are not what they were. This isn’t a war anymore. Come, I’ll show you the rest.”
After finding a walking stick for her, Imoviah guides her through dark tunnels carved in the rock, little Ab holding his hand. As they get deeper, (Y/N) can feel more and more pairs of eyes fixed on her from the shadows. Their fear reaches her through the Force. This is the last shelter for the Rebellion left in the Jolah system, keeping those who were left behind safely hidden in these dark and humid passages. Here survive the children of her companions, most of them fallen now, and a few rebels that were too severely injured to flee or fight, all trapped and surrounded by the enemy, their lives depending on the secret of their existence.
And she’s brought the enemy right into their last refuge.
These old passageways have become their fortress. (Y/N) is received as a hero, the first good news in way too long. She’s warned not to venture far on her own, since they don’t know how far the tunnels go or what dangers might she fall into. The adults keep the living area clean and safe for a functioning community of around sixty people, but there are strict rules not to wander, since those who get lost don’t usually come back. The oldest among those who can still fight, mostly between thirteen and sixteen, have stepped up to lead the group. Roles are carefully distributed, since their survival depends on all of them doing their job right. They live off whatever the forest can provide and the help of some sympathizers living in the town half a day away. But Imoviah, a local who’s lived in these woods all his life brewing ardees, is the only one who knows exactly the location of their hiding spot, since he comes and goes on supply runs. 
The competence the kids display saddens her. The war of their parents has made soldiers out of them. 
(Y/N) is glad that the chance to rest her injuries for a bit came while she was unconscious, or she would’ve had trouble hiding from them like a moody teenager. She feels bad for wanting to be left alone, but each of their constant questions poke at her heart. What battles she’s fought, what heroes she knew. The rebel came to Jolah on a mission to evacuate them, but after the attack that took her companion’s lives she doesn’t have any resources to do so. If she doesn’t figure it out, they’re all lost. They can’t keep hiding forever, since it’s only a matter of time before the Empire finds them, and that’s just they haven’t been found already. 
Her senses timidly tread down the corridors, to where the prisoner is being kept. She doesn't feel strong enough to face him yet, so she can just wonder what kind of trick Luke is trying to pull by surrendering himself.
So she lets her allies show her around and feed her while she yearns for the moment she can finally be excused. Of course, after she goes to rest that night, nightmares don’t take long to wake her. She’s used to it by now so, knowing that she won’t be able to fall asleep for a few hours, she decides to walk the scare off and maybe relieve whomever happens to be on watch duty.
However, as soon as she steps out of the chamber she was sleeping in, a cool gust hits her face. The whisper of a voice follows right after, faintly calling. Can it really be her name? She chases after the exhalation through the passages in the dark, enthralled by a strange tingling sensation in the back of her head.
Then she wakes up in an unfamiliar place. Stars flicker above her head, and the cold air hits her face. She’s outside. The instinct to flee back to safety kicks in, but she can’t help notice the concentric circles carved on the floor, lighting up with a bluish glow that turns brighter with the vibrations in her aura getting stronger. As she tries to put a finger on where she has seen the carved patterns before, the lights continue to vibrate in tune with her own signature. She’s no doubt standing in a sanctuary.The symbols climb up to some sort of table, perhaps even an altar, made out of the same rock. She is known by this place, though she doesn’t remember ever being to somewhere so strong in the Force. It feels like she could reach with her hand and touch it.  The swaying of its currents invites her to stay, promising healing and peace. Oh, how dearly she has missed the light, unambiguous and true. She lets the nostalgia wash over her, one that doesn’t belong to her, a gaze turned to years past before this place was abandoned and forgotten. 
However, she isn’t a stranger to those feelings of loss that fill the carved terrace. Where she once held hope, now she grieves for the loss of her comrades and the future that should have been, one where Jedi would rediscover this place. Now that will never happen, and she can’t help the feeling that she has a hand in the erasure of their kind. Not long ago, she still dreamt of being knighted someday, but that path has disappeared forever. The Jedi are dead.
A dreadful realization creeps over her. She hasn’t just led the enemy into a rebel base, but also into a Jedi sanctuary. It seems to have been built on top of the rocky formation under which the tunnels hide, on a high spot unreachable from the outside. It has probably been thanks to its benevolent influence that the refugees have managed to remain hidden but now, because of her, this sacred place won’t be able to protect them anymore.
She runs down the stairs, back to the darkness, flooded by the guilty need to do something.
***
The guard she finds watching over the heavy door of the cell, a teenager holding a blaster awkwardly, insists that she should go back to rest, but she ignores the warning. She needs to talk to the prisoner, for unselfish reasons this time. 
“Go take a walk, will you?” she tells him.
On the way here she’s been forming the idea that maybe she’ll be able to exchange her precious hostage for safe passage out of the planet, at least for those hiding in the tunnels. Suddenly, these children might stand a chance. And maybe she won’t be responsible for their capture.
However, as soon as she steps into the dungeon she’s shaken by her own body’s betrayal, choosing now of all times to remind her of that embrace from earlier that afternoon. Luke’s warmth hasn’t left her yet, nor the memory of his cloak shielding her from the rain with the promise of more to be found under those layers of black robes. It brings a displeased sigh to her lips.
As the heavy door closes behind her, the rebel finds her prisoner standing next to the tiny opening in the wall that serves as a window, his expectant expression immediately turned to her. Those stubborn wildflowers have made their way down there, their pure white heads shyly poking through the opening in the rock. Instinctively, Luke steps towards her, but quickly reminds himself to stop in his tracks. Good. She finds a twisted pleasure in making him wait and wonder, reveling in the agitation of his contradicting thoughts. It makes her feel a little less alone in her uncertainty. After they’re finally alone behind a locked gate she takes her time to sit on a stool, to try and get comfortable in spite of her injured leg, all while avoiding his gaze. She doesn’t know where to start. 
“What are you trying?” At her question, Luke opens his mouth to talk, but interrupts himself. (Y/N) groans. “We both know it’s not a great military strategy to go after an enemy on your own and let yourself be captured by a bunch of children.”
“I had to see you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Again, doubt. She waves away the whispers of the Force, too angry to listen to his emotions reaching her.
“Actually, no, I don’t. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been a little busy trying not to get killed by your people. Forgive me if I haven’t been considering your feelings while I saw my friends die and starve in the mud. Tell me, how long before your hounds come for these children? Are you gonna kill them? Or do you prefer washing their brains to turn them into soldiers that would go murder their own parents and everything they fight for? The ones you haven't orphaned already, that is.”
In the middle of those accusations, he flinches. One of them makes him angry, then that initial jab turns to a deeper pain. She doesn’t even care which one did it.
“I came here on my own, I swear. No one else knows.”
“Save your promises. I’ve seen how you keep them.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” he insists, his exasperation growing.
“Oh, no, of course not. You’re a saint. I remember you said that, next time we crossed paths, I’d get the rebel treatment.”
Luke raises his bound wrists, like that’s enough of an answer. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Playing the rebel part?” She scoffs, but he’s not done. “Listen, I understand why you’re doing this. But I hoped you’d realize-” he interrupts himself again.
“What?”
Luke swallows thickly, fearing the storm he’s about to summon. “That this isn’t helping anyone. If you just took the help that’s being offered to you…”
“I can manage perfectly on my own, thank you,“ she spits.
“I see how well that’s working out for you.”
His petulant tone makes (Y/N) stand up from her seat with just the strength of her rage, ignoring the painful flare that runs down her leg. “Listen carefully. You’re free to come fight me, imprison me, even try to kill me and it would all be fair. That's what I get for getting into a war. But I won’t hear this talk about how much I need your protection or pity. You don’t get to disrespect me like that.”
Luke clenches his jaw and just stares at her, visibly holding his tongue. There it is again, the darkness congregating in his hands, making his blood pump with wrath. How far does she have to push before he gives in to it?
“And it tears me apart that you'd treat me as your pet,” she spits, more sincere than she’d like.
Because she would crumble down if she looked away, she bravely maintains contact with his unbearable gaze, seeing in it how he considers making her do what he wants. A rotten part of her wishes to see him try, shattering  in the process all remains of tenderness they might still harbor for each other. And even though it inspires genuine horror in her, her anger makes her swallow it up whole. It’s all because of this dark thread buried deep in her chest, pulling out towards him. Until now, she’s been able to drown that pull as background noise as she carried out her duties, but now that Luke is this close it’s brutal. Like a black hole, deep inside she wants to give into the attraction and disappear in his shadow.
And then she realizes she has stood up. She feels like a fool, standing confused and defensive in the middle of the room, her chest pounding furious as if she just climbed up a mountain. The rebel stares at him up and down as she sits again, breathless. 
“Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything. It’s all you.”
She stares at the floor, shaken by shame. After all the work of hardening her heart, of convincing herself that she hated him, she feels herself slip down again. Luke's voice is but a mere whisper, like he's talking to himself. 
“You can’t lie to me either, can you?”
“It’s just…” As her mental shields come down she can’t help feeling like a lost child. “I didn’t expect this to be so cold.” 
Instantly, Luke has come to kneel before her, eyes raised up to her with a question. It makes it so easy for her to reach for his left hand to softly rest the back against her cheek. Gently melting into each other’s space, she curses herself for letting him in her mind, for having let things go so far in the first place. 
“I bet you regret not killing me when you had the chance,” she says, unsure of why she expects him to laugh. Maybe because it would be easier to stomach than seeing him tilt his head, between horrified and exhausted, and answer earnestly.
“I’m not giving you up. I tried to deny it too at first, before I knew that you felt the same way.”
Luke’s signature wraps around her like a lover’s caress, welding itself with hers perfectly as he delves deeper into her open defenses. It is the warmth, the sweet warmth she has missed, that eases the many loads she’s been carrying on her own. The rebel presses a kiss on his knuckles.
“I hate you.”
Luke offers a soft grin in response, knowing she can pile that on top of all of the other messed up feelings she holds for him. He’s so willing to take them all. “I probably deserve it.”
The one that weighs more now, though, is the void of his absence finally filled again. Her tears for it dried so much suffering ago. His bound hands trace up the shapes of her neck, a reminder that this weakness is shared. She tastes this irresponsible consolation for her sins as her fingers delve into his hair. One defeat after another, loss after loss, (Y/N) has grown small and spent, too tainted with hatred to try and bring him back. She has filled all the time away from him with a half hearted search for hope, and she hasn’t found it.
His breath on her throat relieves her cold skin.
“What are we going to do?” 
“You talk as if there was an option we weren’t to regret.”
“Is that what you want? Something regrettable?” Luke offers, his closeness alluring as she grabs the collar of his tabard and brings him closer. However, they only dare allow their lips to brush lightly in passing. “We could escape from everything. Disappear to some remote place where no one knows who we are.”
“We both know we won’t do that,” she chuckles. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Seeing you consider it for a second was nice, though.”
What’s out there still finds the way to invade their intimacy, much to (Y/N)’s growing feelings of dread. “I can either be a good rebel and take you prisoner or fuck you and go on pretending nothing happened afterwards. Not both. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m in a bit of a predicament at the moment.”
Even now, she finds herself playing the twisted game of seeing how far she can take him, maybe in the hopes of finding something ugly to punish herself with. Instead, Luke opens up to her. 
"Alright. Use me then.” Luke lets out a brief laugh, though a certain bitterness can be felt through it, as if even he resents his own impulsive streak. “Ask for any ransom you want and you will have it."
"Like I'd trust the Empire."
"You wouldn't have to. You'll use my personal code to talk directly to the person you need.”
(Y/N) stands up from her seat, too exhausted to feign dismay, and takes clunky steps around the room. She really hadn’t woken up contemplating that she’d be ending her day with a chat with Vader. Luke stays down, next to the stool, as if he didn’t have the upper hand in this in spite of being captive.
“Same issue.”
“Whatever I promise to you, he will honor it. I swear.” Heavens, he’s a brat. “I get it, you loathe the idea. But I also might be getting a feeling that you have some urgent demands.”
“What do you want in exchange?”
“The Jedi sanctuary.”
Her jaw tightens. “Not really mine to give away, is it?”
“Then it won’t hurt, will it?” Her nostrils flare at the comment, but she keeps silent. Even if she doesn’t fully comprehend its importance, she’s not keen on the idea of letting this sacred place be potentially defiled. However, it’s true that she really doesn’t have much of a choice. 
“There’s something else I want,” he continues.
“Spit it out.”
“I just want you to answer some questions.” Her eyes narrow. That is too vague and she has too many secrets she’s not willing to give away. “Don’t worry, they won’t endanger anyone’s life.”
The rebel snaps her tongue and shifts in her seat. But nods. “Alright. You’ll have them answered.”
Well, as much as she hates the situation, maybe she has the chance to take this to good port. Do something good. Hell, she can’t remember the last time she thought of herself as a good person, back when she was so eager to struggle for reasons she can’t even remember anymore. Acting in hopes of making her dead master proud, like he could see her, feel foolish now. However, there’s one thing she misses from her past righteous little self, and that’s knowing how to fight. Yeah, perhaps she was too hard on herself back then. Maybe she was good. However, that illusion fades as she voices this one command.
"Put your hands against the wall.” This is far from wise and she hates herself for it. However, her common sense has been taken captive by the lovely confusion blooming on Luke’s face. “You can either do it or wait for me to change my mind."
That candid expression she’d missed so much in him dissolves into a bratty smirk. "Yes, ma'am."
She doesn’t appreciate the attitude, not when she’s this angry. There’s a second when he’s with his back turned to her, handcuffed wrists against the wall of the cell, that she considers listening to reason and leaving. Instead, the challenge becomes appetizing. Afraid to let her doubt be read, she steps closer. Luke inhales sharply as she reaches around and, carefully at first, palms over his trousers. She quickly finds what she’s come looking for. 
“Is this your usual reaction whenever you come chasing after me? No wonder you put so much effort in hunting me down.” 
Luke shudders when she presses on his erection more boldly this time, revealing the prolonged aching he’s been hiding. Exactly what she needs to hastily undo the fastenings, eager to make most of the little time they might have for this. The rebel lightly rakes down the soft, light brunette hairs of his happy trail, making him sigh. Satisfied with her first little incursion and desirous for another one, she gives a generous lick to her palm before sliding it into his pants, while her other hand tugs down on the waistband of his underwear before digging her fingers into his hip. She rubs wet circles around the sensitive head of his cock, already painfully swollen and pink, and takes delight in the soft whimper she gets in response to her slightly aggressive and sudden attentions. But she decides to be merciful and softens the touch with the first stroke down the full length. She intends for this to be quick but she still wants to enjoy it a little.
“Here I come to talk business while your thoughts drift somewhere else entirely,” she teases. Luke hums something that’s meant to sound like an apology. It succeeds at softening her tone. “Don’t worry about it, I got you. Next time, just ask.”
While he leans against the wall, he can get a good view of everything she’s doing. It’s only fair, since she loves to watch his enthralled face progressively let go of that put together facade he exhibited at first, the red deepening across his cheeks and his eyes brimming with filthy pleas, like he doesn’t believe this is happening to him.
Suddenly, a gloved hand grabs her collar and brings her up, her back hitting the wall. Before she can protest her lips are captured in his, needy and warm and sloppy, as his palms cup her cheeks, one burning hot and the other cool leather.
“Please, love. Faster,” Luke begs through the tiny gap he allows, making the grip between her legs tighten around nothing. The mere touch of her own clothes there has her already burning for more. The rebel melts at the sight of need painted in the glossy eyes of her enemy, at being held so sweetly after so long, and realizes that she can’t get angry at him. 
“That’s it. Ask me anything,” as she happily complies, her hand dancing with soft movements of his hips, a low moan forms from the back of his throat. “I can’t get enough of your pretty face when you do.” 
Whispering more praise, she covers Luke’s throat with open kisses. Her free hand climbs up his torso, hard fingers tracing the toned shapes under the black robes. Upon reaching his chest she pinches and twists slightly, stealing a surprised whimper that tells her that she's succeeded at finding a nipple 
Suddenly, rustling on the other side of the door freezes them both in place. Her hand suddenly stops, but she keeps it tightly wrapped around him.
“(Y/N),” Imoviah calls, “are you alright in there?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” (Y/N) answers, enjoying the sudden shame spreading all over her lover’s face. “Negotiations are going well.”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
Luke’s hips start rolling with short, irregular movements. He’s tried, but he can’t help himself any longer. She covers his mouth and gives his dick a light squeeze and twist that brings out a delicious, hot moan to be muffled against her palm.
“Not for now. The prisoner has proven to be quite cooperative.”
“Alright, then. Give me a holler if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Imoviah. I’ll be with you shortly” 
As the steps walk away, she slowly resumes her thrusts, slightly opening the fingers over Luke’s mouth to trace over his lips. Not before long, he’s sucking on them. 
“Suddenly worried about your reputation? That's cute.”
He just whines through her fingers, a glint of hurt pride in his teary eyes. Slowly, his hands descend from the wall to sweetly stroke down her face, down her throat. However, as soon as they reach her collar, a violent flare of fear blares inside her brain, bouncing through every corner that makes her abruptly grab his bound wrists and return them to their original position, over her head and against the wall.
Luke calls her name with visible concern, but before he can voice it she grabs the back of his hair and increases the pace until he’s out of breath and out of words. And she’s not done yet, because then she retreats her hand so she gets to watch him grow desperate, throbbing miserably, shameful pleas molten into incoherent whining.
“See? You know how to behave.” Finally, she decides it’s time to reward him with more stimulation, swirling the precum around his pink head with thorough fingers before resuming the long awaited strokes. “I’m so in love with your cock.”
The answer is little more than a sighed strain of clumsy thank yous. Pleased with how cute he’s become from just fucking her hand, she brings him closer now, and allows him to rest his head in the crook of her shoulder. No one knows, not a single soul, that the deadliest man alive becomes a squirming mess both when he’s touched and when he isn’t. Her hand answers to his desperate motions with the fast pace he’s begging for, set on bringing him over the edge this time. While words seem to be escaping Luke right now, the soft whimpers in her ear confess how close he is, how hopelessly he craves for his own undoing by her hand.
However, her attentions are suddenly interrupted by the sound of steps outside the cell again. They’re faster this time, with a sense of urgency to them.
“Miss,” the guard, again. “It’s the Imps! They’re scouting the area. They haven’t found any of the entrances yet, but there’s talk of running away.”
“No, that would be more dangerous. Round everyone inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Luke drowns a frustrated whine in her shoulder. The rebel turns her head back to the man panting against her neck, and gently runs a hand through his hair.
“You gotta go,” he groans.
“Luke…”
“It’s fine, really. Go,” he insists, gently pushing her hands away. The pain travels through their bond to her in the form of an unbearable thirst, as if it wasn’t perfectly visible to her already. She’d hate leaving him like this, so he distracts her with a hasty, breathless kiss. “There’s no time now, sweetheart. You gotta run or you’re gonna regret it. And be sure to bring my comlink, quick.”
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ainawgsd · 3 months
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I'm excited to give my coworkers their Christmas bags this week! In addition to the gingerbread pancake mix (complete with a tiny jar of molasses in case they don't have any at home) they're getting a mini fruitcake, a jar of applebutter made from the apples we harvested from our own trees, and some beef jerkey bites.
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starrcrossrose · 28 days
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I am actually shocked how much attention my recent Leo and Usagi sketch got Ahksjdjfjf I didn’t think yall could handle that 😂🙈
Shameless plug but I have a lot more art of them. Like. So much. It’s almost embarrassing. 🤣 I also write about them a ton, too, so if yall want to see or read some of that, it is over here for now.
Also I saw someone say they wished there was a fanfic for that sketch and LISTEN. THERE IS. THERE WILL BE. But we aren’t there yet👀
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nicnevans · 4 months
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I did make a start on bg1. I'm not like, done with my character's portrait (hoping I can just replace the file with an updated version later on lmao) but she's so pretty
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does it even matter that her portrait is a half-finished sketch when it gets scaled down so far lmaooo
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lunasilvis · 5 months
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Writing an application letter this weekend to Netherlands Institute for Human Rights. they're looking for a press officer / communications advisor for projects in the Dutch Caribbean for 32 hrs a week :)) wish me luck!
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birdmenmanga · 2 months
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the pacing of birdmen... -_-
#just thinking thoughts...#it's not bad but... it's not good??#I think there were too many pieces that she was trying to move around concurrently#so much so that when something 'goes off' so to speak#it doesn't feel well-timed or impactful#and things don't really tend to parallel each other either#I dunno I feel like the scale of plot was much more... digestible in kks??#where like you start off with what yoshimori's doing#and then you slowly add in the shadow org and then build masamori's nefarious plot on top of that#the shadow org stuff is what typically spices up yoshimori's life pushing what we perceive as plot progression in the story#in the immediate foreground#and meanwhile sumiko's existence (and though the readers don't know it at this time) and her nefarious plot with tokimori#are ALSO simmering in the back at this time#I think it feels less overwhelming becuase in kks you have this concept of 'shadow org' first#which gets further broken down into 'night troops' 'coucil of 12' (13? i forgor) 'the leader' 'actually that's a fake here's the REAL leade#and because it's sort of just fine-tuning the details of this big thing#it doesn't feel like multiple factions to keep track of the way 'american flock' 'the eves' 'the mutants' 'chinese flock' etc. feel#it's so frustrating... I think the pacing at the end of kks and at the beginning of bm was good#but I think bm's pacing was a compressed version of kks's#in the sense that the end is a lot denser than the beginning#but whereas kks was too loose and directionless in the beginning#bm was too woven and dense at the end#SAD#SO SAD#MISS TANABE YOU CAN DO IT. YOU CAN CREATE THE PERFECTLY PACED MANGA I BELIEVE IN YOU#stray bird thoughts
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apuff · 6 months
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:D
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dailyfigures · 9 months
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Holo ; Spice and Wolf ☆ Bell Fine
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