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kenwio · 27 days ago

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Joker's kid! reader: Zugzwang*

Route: black fog

Warnings: grammar mistakes, hurt/comfort

*Zugzwang - (from German «compulsion to move») is a situation in chess and other turn-based games where a player is forced to make a move, but any possible move will worsen their position

You wouldn’t call yourself a talented person, no, not in the right mind. But you had one talent, or rather skill, that was really helpful in both your previous and present lives. Maybe that was the one and only thig you learned with your biological father and was thankful for it. You were stealthy, really stealthy. Enough to be not seen when you wanted to. You see, in family of bats and birds, you were a little predator cat, but they weren't your pray, not yet. You didn't grow enough resentment and claws yet. And, you hope, never will…

Back to the topic, as much as you were prone to getting sidetracked as you wrote your thoughts down, you knew better than to forget something important, you never knew how much stealthy you were until you understood that even this high class vigilante family didn’t notice you when you tried to hide, and taking in consideration that you were master of hiding in plain sight, you used it to your advantage.

Your note-taking, more of a necessity than a hobby, wasn’t forgotten by you even for a day. It was essential. It was your own encyclopedia and thoughts tracker. And your database about batfamily whom you continue to study. You started to eavesdrop around the manor, in hopes to learn more here and there. More about family dynamics, more about world around you, more useful things. Sneaking around was easier than you thought it would be. Maybe because the habits of manor were tired of your sickening presence and went to ignoring you? You couldn’t tell, but you could and used this opportunity to the fullest.

Dick’s and Damian’s outings were the easiest to spy on. “Dikc and Damian talk a lot about school and Damians projects” you noted one day. To many, rants about school and classes were as dull as watching the paint dry, but not for you. Those conversations were your own “school lessons” about the world outside the manor, the normal way of life. And as much as you didn’t like arrogance in Damian’s voice you were thankful for his diligence in studying and passion in arts, and special thanks went to Richard, who could make almost anyone talk, …. “if only he tried to make me talk” that’s how most of your notes on this subject ended.

And the more you heard about school the more you were confused one particular subject. Why couldn’t you go there? It’s seemed so essential for any kid. You tried to talk to Alfred knowing he is most likely to answer, yet old butler had many tactics to not answer on questions he did knew answer to. He advised you to go to the library, and if Jason wasn’t currently staying in manor you would have go there or watch old documentaries on tv. Approaching Bruce wad not just hard but more like out of question. You didn’t want to feel his judgmental gaze on yourself. Was it luck, was it your presence in questioning Alfred, but one eavesdropping sessions ended with you finding out reason why you were locked in manor. “He called that I would be a danger to others” – you wrote in your notebook, your tears drip down on the page, smudging the ink. “why do they see him in me? Why can’t they see me?” you handwriting was getting more and more messy with every word.

After hearing that conversation, you even stopped going out in your little “expeditions”. Those words really discouraged you, made you feel so hopeless. You understood earlier that your attempts were near futile , but being called like that broke something in you. Why bother going out of the room, if you only anger them?

“No matter how much I study them they will hate me so why bother? Right?”

Well, there was a chance that you will anger someone even in staying in your room, the one you couldn’t predict. Your room was in the same corridor as Damian's and Tim's room, which only added to your unwillingness to go out. Yet, it didn’t matter that no one will go in your room. To your surprise your newly always closed door was the matter of attraction to one of Damian’s pets. Alfred the cat became your daily visitor, which you couldn’t really control because this one was really stubborn and always had opinion of it's own. So no matter if door was locked, this cat would sneak in. You knew that it wouldn’t end well, , butt you couldn’t deny comfort of living being near you. You felt accepted by this creature, and when it was around you didn’t feel like the walls would swallow you alive.

Your little happiness was short lived, and as you thought, Damian was furious when he found out that cat was near you. For you, it was just another day when Alfred the cat walked in. You were practicing reading out loud and the little creature elegantly walked in, and curled by your side. You continued reading, not bothering closing the door behind the cat. “Was the phrase grave mistake something that described situations like that? “ – you wrote soon after. Damian, was looking for his cat, and seeing your open door and saw you.

Reliving all the yelling wasn’t something you wanted to do. It was all a blur of insults and accusations, something about how you were horrible and also a pet stealer. You were sure you spaced out in between. That’s why you didn’t knew all this yelling attracted attention of another habitat of this corridor. You didn’t knew someone not only watched this scene but also stepped on

Damian, I think that’s enough on them – the tired voice broke off the yells of youngest bat

But they had the audacity to steal my cat! -Damian counter attacked the argument

Alfred the cat is the cat, and cats do what they want, Damian- the voice sighed, and his owner walked in your room - now, tale the cat and go, juts don’t bother yourself with yelling.

As you slowly went back into the right state of mind, you realized that it was Tim who stopped Damian form yelling at you. You looked at him, not knowing what to say or how to react, so you did what you could do aside from sneaking around, you stared at him. Tim on the other side lingered near the exit of your room, analyzing you and pushing the icky feeling he felt around you because of your background away.

Hey… you okay? – He asked, knowing full well you weren’t okay. You were a kid of the Joker crying out loud! But something about how Damian yelled at you didn’t sit right with him. Yeah, in many circumstances he was acting the same if not the worse, but he could ignore that seeing you getting yelled at wasn’t okay…

You simply nodded, not looking at him, looking down at the ground, fidgeting with book you tried to read, and your action did not went unnoticed.

You like reading? Or just this book? – Tim inquired before he could processed he did so. Gosh, what he was doing wasn’t logical, you were so so like that horrible man but you also was so so alone, so abandoned in the house he found his new home.

I’m practicing – you mumbled out the answer, knowing that you couldn’t ignore his questions longer without proper answer.

Oh… good luck I guess – Tim answered awkwardly, before taking his leave, but before he walked out and returned to his work he gave you a final look “you were a very sad kid huh… and you liked books…” he noted about you

You found Tim’s actions strange. Why would he protect you? Why would he stay? He was the one who ignored you so long, the one who gave you a constant cold shoulder and yet he stopped Damian form making things ugly? It didn’t made sense..

You decided to reread your notes, thinking that maybe you missed something on his previous actions that would explain it. And yet, there was nothing that would give it away.

They were cold

They were unwelcome

They never accepted you.

So why would he protect you?

You returned to your usual study routine in some time after, needing answered in things you couldn’t figure out on your own. Your note-taking continued.

“Bruce is always busy with something. Sometime I think I can’t really remain how he looks or how he sounds” - You noted, drawing a dark silhouette near

“Jason took up all library and living room, sometimes I can’t go out to rat because he Is in the kitchen”

“Damian is still angry, I don’t think he will let out kitty near my room”

“Alfred avoids my question again”

“Dick promised to visit me, but he had to leave to the batcave right at time he was about to walk in my room”

“Tim left book near my room. On the paper he left on the book he wrote that this book explains how to pronounce some words”

Maybe, everything wasn’t that lost?

-------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ◇ ♧ ---------------------

♡ Tag list ♡

if i forgot someone or anyone want to be added please let me know

@dearlawdimasimp , @shirp-collector-of-fixations , @socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla , @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @mel-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn @animadi888 @coldnightshark @anamiranda7383

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yourtypicalhuman09 · 5 months ago

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Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Chapter 1: In The Shadows

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Living in the Wayne manor isn't the sweet luxurious dream you'd think it'd be, reality is in fact much crueler. For as long as I could remember I had lived in this dreary mansion, but lived isn't the word I'd use. I was more trapped here if anything. My "family", if I could even call them that, are well respected people. They're highly skilled and talented people, someone like me could only dream to be like them. I tried so hard to get close to them, I really did try, but no matter what I did nothing worked. I did everything, gymnastics, martial arts, theater, art, music, coding, dance, volleyball, cheerleading, heck I was even in the honors society. Despite being an A+ student and a role model in high society they never once went to any of my recitals, games, or showcases. I went to galas all alone, I had to deal with the sneering faces and snide remarks of high class men and woman alone since I was 8. Not very safe for a child huh? I didn't think so either but my "father" doesn't seem to care.

Nevertheless, I have no choice in this matter and it's not like life here is unbearable. Sure I get beatings and tongue lashings every now and then, but for the most part everyone in the manor tends to forget me eventually and leave me alone. It's pretty isolating but I got used to it, after all I have duties to perform. I have my job as Student council president and I don't intend to slack off. I got that job with my own blood sweat and tears and I will not let all those sleepless nights go to waste. I don't have time to wallow in self pity I have countless of students looking up to me and counting on me to do my job.

"Young master, are you okay? You seem to be staring off into space."

I looked up to our old butler, his face jaded and littered with wrinkles that seemed to contort pathetically in worry. I knew better than to accept his pity. He seems to be a wise gentle man on the outside with his elegant wardrobe, worn old body, and soft spoken demeanor, but do not be fooled. In truth, Alfred Pennyworth was a foolish coward. This was the same man who abandoned his own daughter just like my idiot of a father. I gave him a chance, but nothing's been the same since the day he accidentally called me Julia. I was nothing but a stand in for him, someone to relieve his guilt with.

"I'm fine. Don't you have something better to do? I'm sure Bruce has some kind of task for you, no need to bother yourself with my problems"

"...Very well then...Take care of yourself young master."

He clearly had something more to say but he decided to do nothing and walk away. Like I said he's a coward. Still I'm not new to disappointment, whether it's the disappointment of missed birthdays or the way they all see me as the disappointment, it's nothing I haven't experienced before. I quickly packed up my things and headed to school. Sure riding to school on an old worn out bike isn't exactly ideal, but I have to deal with what I have. Although, I do have to take some back alleys to school since I don't want anyone seeing and starting a scandal. I can already see the blaring headlines, "Daughter of Gotham's richest man caught riding to school on a beat up bicycle!". What a bunch of nosy bastards.

"Good mornin' (Y/N)!"

I turned to face the sunny senior calling my name, his unadulterated joy making him stand out in the crowd of groggy gothamites.

"Good morning Cyrus."

My crisp responses never seems to deter the boy as he continues to walk beside me chattering endlessly.

"(Y/N) I got things you asked! It's super cool what you're doing for the school, I'm so happy I get to be apart of it! If you ever need help with anything please do ask me!"

I sighed, his joyful energy was contagious. I couldn't help but crack a smile. Though it quickly disappeared as I regained my composure, but obviously not fast enough since Cyrus' joy seems to only be growing.

"Ahhhhh (Y/N) just smiled! I made the student president smile! I'm so sigma"

Here he goes again with those weird words and that cocky grin. I sighed once again, I'm too tired for this.

"Yes thank you Cyrus get to class now, I'll pick up the things I asked for after school."

"Yes ma'am!"

I watched as he playfully saluted and ran to class almost bumping into several people along the way. I facepalmed, he was such a handful but strangely I don't really mind. It's probably the lack of sleep I'll make sure to go to bed early today, for now I have to get to class myself.

Author's note: Omg chapter one is finally out! This took me a lot longer than expected but I hope it's good I went through a tiny writer's block😅. I hope you guys like Cyrus I tried to make him a silly and sunny character but trust me he'll have lore and be a much deeper character. I also tried making (Y/N)'s backstory pretty vague since they're the narrator and I figured they wouldn't like talking about it, but their lore will be revealed more throughout future chapters. Anyways as always thank you all for reading and have a good day/night!

Credits to khaer for the dividers

@simpingpandas @rosalietodd013 @sirenetheblogger @cim0nnin @00hellohello00 @crazycaoticsimp @lovebug-apple @youdontknowshtaboutfk

#x reader #yandere batfam #batfam #neglected reader #yandere batboys #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere platonic #barbara gordon #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth #tim drake

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apoptoses · 11 days ago

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Forget blenders and the cuck chair, here's a bunch of other things Armand did with Daniel in QotD that we don't think about enough:

Mounted giant telescopes on the roof of the apartment building they lived in and then moved out a few days later only to do it all again in a new place

Did the same thing but filling the apartment with computers and video game machines

Went to boxing matches

Collected specimens and microscopes and went to biology classes

Hung out on the stoop like normal new yorkers except at like three o clock in the morning

Went out with video cameras and interviewed randos on the streets

Watched videos of Armand reciting latin poetry into a camera for hours

Watched videos of Armand's hair growing in his coffin until Daniel got the heebie jeebies

Took planes to random places all night just for the sake of flying for hours on end

Shaved Daniel 'as lovingly as an old fashioned barber'

Bathed Daniel and then re-dressed him in dirty clothes, because who needs clean laundry when Baryshnikov is gonna be on stage in twenty minutes

Went treasure hunting in the Caribbean and found entire shipwrecks

Bought a random piece of property in South America and found an emerald mine

Bought yachts, speedboats, and not just one but four private jets

'Supervised' the measurements for Daniel's custom clothes and his shoes

Bought Daniel sports coats, robes, silk scarves, mink lined raincoats, jeweled cuff links, and a black suede cloak (which probably didn't help with Daniel's demands to be an actual vampire and not just cosplay as one)

Picked not only the fabric for Daniel's clothes at a the tailor but also picked what he'd wear every night once the clothes were ready, and then had fits if Daniel wore different socks that didn't go with the outfit

(said socks being silk socks, which fall apart after minimal wear, and which Armand could afford a hundred pairs of anyways)

Went out on a speedboat and stole the boats, guns, and money off drug dealers

Stole multiple Maseratis, apparently

'Recovered' lost works of the old masters aka went into some guy's house like it's Ocean's 11, drained his blood, and then took his art collection so Daniel could flip it at Sotheby's

Bought cruise ships

Bought entire restaurant chains

Bought entire hotel chains

Hacked through the jungle and visited Mayan ruins

Somehow took Daniel up to the peak of Annapurna, which is more dangerous to climb than Mt. Everest

Visited not just places in Europe and the US but also Tokyo, Bangkok, Cairo, Damascus, Lima, Rio, and Kathmandu just to name a few

Changed out of the white suit he picked Daniel up in in Chicago and into a black one on the plane just for the drama of it

Turned Daniel on the bed of one of those four private jets, where he almost certainly evacuated all of his mortal fluids and probably left a cleaning crew very confused and concerned

Brought Daniel a whacked out orphan half asleep in an armchair to feed on for his first kill because Daniel was tripping too hard on his new vampire vision to function

Made Daniel wear matching couple's costumes to the Halloween concert all his exes would be at, and where Daniel followed him around hanging onto his belt loops

Sheltered Daniel and Louis with his body when Akasha tried to blow shit up

Swapped out the paintings in Night Island every night while Daniel grilled Khayman about the ancient world

...probably a million other things which didn't make it into the book because Lestat's publishers didn't give him enough pages to montage all this shit (but that you can explore in fic anyways because the world is your oyster and nothing is too outrageous for the two of them ♥)

#they're the worst they're the best they're my favorites!!!#armand/daniel #devil's minion #vc masterpost

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yuyusbabygirl · 1 month ago

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Mistletoes and Animosities

pairing: professor!Yunho x professor!reader

summary: Jeong Yunho had been a thorn in your side ever since you started Hogwarts. Of course that didn't change when you both became professors.

word count: 962

au: Hogwarts AU

genre: fluff, maybe smut in the future

warnings: teasing, kissing, alcohol use mentioned

nets: @newworldnet

A/N: I love the mistletoe trope. I might (don't hold me to this) write more for this

The halls were decorated with tinsel, christmas baubles and snow, the fires in the pillars making the castle feel cozy and warm. Christmas was your favourite season at Hogwarts. You loved the huge tree in the Great Hall, the stockings in the common room, the food at dinner. You were now in your third year as a professor for Charms at Hogwarts but Christmas was still your favourite season. Seeing the students chatter about presents, hearing the other professors talk about the upcoming feast. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside but maybe that was the mulled wine.

You were just walking through the corridors on your way back to your quarters. Headmistress McGonagall sure could hold her liquor. Maybe you should have stopped at the second butterbeer and not had those three goblets of mulled wine with her and the two firewhiskeys because those moving stairs are a bitch to climb when buzzed. finally you made it to the faculty tower when you bumped into a hard yet warm wall. Before you could fall to the ground, two large hands grabbed your hips and steadied you. You looked up and looked into the eyes of professor Jeong Yunho.

Oh fuck no.

He was the last person you wanted to see. Basically ever. You had known Yunho since you were a first year yourself and safe to say, you both disliked each other. Even then he was loud and obnoxious, always laughing in class, trying to distract you. Over the years your dislike of him had only deepened. He grew particularly annoying when he joined the Gryffindor quidditch team in fifth year. That summer he had grown to be about three heads taller than you, his shoulders had widened and his ego had doubled. A typical beater. You had hated going to quidditch games when he joined the team but it's not like you had had a choice. Gryffindor was your house too and you still wanted your house to win. But Merlin, he was a prick. Always flying his broom by your face, winking at you with that shiteating grin when he beat the bludger away. It was like he lived to make you irritated. When you graduated and went into the world to master your charms skills you had thought you were finally rid of Jeong Yunho. Only to be floored when you started your first day as a professor to see that he had become a professor too. So now he was professor Jeong, for Defence Against The Dark Arts.

You tried to take a step back from him only to realise you couldn't move your feet. It was like they were glued to the floor.

“Not very observant, are you, darling?” Yunho chuckled. Oh how you hated that nickname ever since he started using it in third year.

“What are you talking about, Jeong?” you glared up at him. He just snickered and pointed up above your heads.

A fucking mistletoe.

“I'm not kissing you,” you exclaimed and crossed your arms. He simply chuckled at your defiant stance.

“Well, then prepare to stand here the whole night,” he flicked a strand of your hair. You brushed his hand away with a huff.

“What?” you furrowed your brows. You hated that arrogant handsome smile of his. Shit, maybe you were more drunk than you thought. He leaned closer to you.

“It's an enchanted mistletoe, darling. You and I are stuck here until you pucker up those pretty lips of yours,” Yunho stated, giving you another shit-eating grin.

“Y-you can't be serious,” you sputtered, your cheeks flushing and this time you couldn't blame the alcohol.

“It's just a little kiss, darling. Or are you too scared?” he teased you, his face close to yours and you could smell his breath. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. You huffed and weighed your options. You could wait until professor Sprout found you and hopefully knew how to get you out of this. But you did not know when that would be and if she even could. Maybe you should have paid more attention in herbology. Your only other option was to kiss him. Kiss Jeong Yunho.

“Fine,” you gritted out. But Yunho just shook his head.

“Come on, darling. A bit more enthusiasm,” he quipped. You huffed and glared up at him.

“Yes, you may kiss me,” you managed to get out.

“Use my name,” he cupped your cheek. You rolled your eyes. Even now he was teasing. He was just infuriating.

“Kiss me, Yunho,” you said, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

“Gladly, darling,” he grinned and pulled your face to his.

You expected a quick peck, small but efficient to get you out of this predicament. But when his lips met yours he didn't pull away. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck and his lips moved against yours. You let out a small squeak and he immediately took advantage. His tongue pushed past your lips and started exploring your mouth. You could taste butterbeer on him and something that seemed to be just him, heavy, manly and oh so intoxicating. His other hand found your hip and he pulled you closer. You were so distracted, you didn't even notice your feet moving. After a few moments he broke the kiss. He looked down at you, his eyes flickering to your lips. His expression was unreadable for a moment until he went back to his usual smirk.

“That should do the trick. Good night. Professor,” he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip before pulling away and walking to his quarters.

You stood there, trying to catch your breath.

What was that?

#ateez #yunho #yunho fic #yunho x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #yunho fluff #yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho

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3dmojito · 6 months ago

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#3d game art #online game design master classes

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anim-ttrpgs · 4 months ago

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Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG

(thumbnail art by @chaospyromancy)

Drow: Intensely matriarchal, tunnel-dwelling, scantily-clad warriors obsessed with an evil spider goddess. Why would anyone with access to magic and resources live in tunnels and fight half-naked? Enter: Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG.

These dark elves have a long and sordid history, but now they live in a network of tightly constraining social rules, entangling them like a useless servant in the webs of a domesticated spider. Every Drow is the matriarch of a household of servants, and together (and apart), they must navigate the edicts of the Spider Goddess and keep up the Reputation that keeps them safe against other Drow.

Asymmetric Gameplay

Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG features two distinct player-character classes, and two distinct game master roles.

Players either take the role of a brutal mistress whom everything she says goes, whether she understands what she’s talking about or not, and whose position of dominance is maintained by the respect of her peers, respect that hinges on how brutal and controlling she is to her subordinates; or an array of pathetic servants who are helpless without their mistress’s “leadership,” (and maybe even be more so with it).

In addition to the standard game master role, the one who sets up the scenario and runs the NPCs, there is a secondary game master role, that of the Spider Goddess, representing the social scrutiny weighing down on every caste of this strict, ruthless society. Silk & Dagger encourages rotation of players in and out of these roles, rewarding them with points that can be spent to give their own PCs an edge next time they play a PC.

Satire and Deconstruction

Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG takes many of the established trappings of “dark elves” and asks “what kind of society and environment would actually produce individuals like this?” This question is the springboard off which the satire launches, and lands uncomfortably close to home.

Comedy

Taking inspiration from games like Paranoia, Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG presents a situation where survival often hinges on working together, but social pressures, class divides, and constant scrutiny encourage player-characters to do anything but, resulting in a sitcom-esque comedy-of-errors in a grimdark, lightless world.

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year ago

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Repost from @moyoafrika

•

#repost• @whatsculture History Class: Tracing the roots of Capoeira. The Afro-Brazilian martial art form incorporates acrobatics, dance, folklore, and music. Two opponents play each other inside a circle (Roda) formed by the other players, who create rhythm for the game by clapping, singing, and playing traditional instruments. It’s the second most popular sport in Brazil and is practiced in different parts of the world today. To understand the significance, we look at how it is a phenomenon born out of migration.

“Capoeira was conceived in Africa and born in Brazil,’’ Mestre Jelon Vieira once said. As a colony of the Portuguese Crown, millions of Africans were shipped and sold in Brazil. There, enslaved Africans shared their cultural traditions, including dances, rituals, and fighting techniques, which eventually evolved into capoeira. Many elements and traditions that would inform capoeira are said to have originated in Angola. At that time, 80% of all enslaved Africans in Rio de Janeiro came from Central West Africa from countries that are now known as Gabon, Angola and both Congos.

People from Angola were prominent among the enslaved Africans who played the game on the streets and squares of Rio de Janeiro, Salvador and other Brazilian port cities at the beginning of the nineteenth century. With many enslaved Africans revolting against slavery, they would soon form communities in villages called quilombos in which they could sustain different expressions of African culture. They used capoeira to defend themselves and resist capture, disguising its martial intent with music, song, and dance.

Capoeira became illegal after the abolition of slavery in 1888. Practitioners were socially ostracised for more 40 years, until the legendary capoeira master, Mestre Bimba, opened the first capoeira school in Bahia in 1932. From there, the martial art would reach all parts of the world. At its core, capoeira is born out of a mix of African and Brazilian indigenous cultures and it represents resistance and resilience 🇧🇷🌍

#moyoafrika #brazil #angola🇦🇴 #africanculture #africanculture #africandiaspora #african

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #brown skin #afrakans #african culture #afrakan spirituality #capoeira #Brazilian #kids #koda #breakdancing

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kalinazlatkova · 2 months ago

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“The Art and Making of Arcane: League of Legends” 🎨🎨🎨🎨 Book Review Under the Cut

⋆｡°✩*ੈ✶⋆.˚✩‧₊˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˙⟡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⊹.˚⟡ ݁₊˚⊹⋆☆˖°

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi 👛🫙✨🖤 Thank you! 🥰

Hi All! 😊 As I have amassed loads of Art Books throughout my degree and in my work as an illustrator, I thought I could do some reviews so those of you who are just now embarking on your art journeys and wondering whether something is worth spending money on, can make an informed decision about what part of your creative development you want to put your money towards. I’m thinking of structuring the reviews in five key areas, with books earning a palette for each area they score against, with a total of five palettes being the max, and a brush being awarded in areas where a book can only score half a point. As someone from a working-class background who is also neurodivergent, I’m especially mindful how these things can impact the way in which we access information and new knowledge. Of course, if you have any suggestions on what else should be included, please let me know and I’ll be happy to consider this in future too. 😊

Now! Off to the main bit...

Is the book Useful? 🎨

I think this would of interest not only to fans of the game and series alike, but also less experienced artists who want to learn about the motivation, inspirations, ideas, and thought processes behind the storytelling, characters and plotlines. Alex and Chris (the Creators) talk about the history and background of how it came to be, how the right group and studio of people were found to bring it together, and how the story and visuals were built from the smallest details to the major production hurdles. There are the back scenes of the storyboarding and character designs, with frameworks and the timeline between the layouts of the game vs the show. The book also goes down into details on the music, lyrics, color schemes, speeds of animation, backgrounds and the in-depth world building of Arcane. It pays attention to the visual and personal development of the central characters, their set bases and their props. Given all of this, I would say – Yes. It is a very useful source and guide on master adaptation, for those already interested in the game as well as those who have just come into its world now, brought in by the art of the show before they got caught in the story.

Is the book Engaging? 🎨

The book design has been planned thoroughly, and the content is very well paced. There is good overlay between photographs, illustrations, game graphics and show scenes alongside the text and other visuals. The design of the book is beautifully done, with phenomenal coloring, and good spacing between the texts and images. As someone who struggles with big chunks of text, and a very temperamental attention span, the way that the chapters and sub-sections of the book are broken up, helped me quite a lot in managing to keep my focus and my mind engaged at one page at a time, without feeling the need to put it down indefinitely or jump ahead and move on to the next bit before I was done. Therefore, I would say – Yes. It is manageable, digestible, and entertaining, which makes it a joy to engage with, and even more so because it can be done so easily.

Is the book Accessible? 🖌️

There might be some pages where people who are easily visually overstimulated might struggle to keep with the text, as the graphics fill the sheet and overlay each other quite strongly. However, if you are someone who prefers the strong visuals of a comic book or a graphic novel, then this might not be an issue for you at all. Overall, the blocks of text come in small chunks and are set in narrow columns with a max of 15 words to a line at its longest (on average up to 10), which makes the text easier to follow. Though the typesetting of the book is primarily in serif fonts, and on some pages the text blocks are slanted to fit the visuals’ layout better. I have an advantage that I have a digital copy and can easily zoom into the text, though if you had the physical copy of the book (judging by the format size of 23.5 x 3 x 32.4cm) there might be some pages where you struggle with the smaller lines. From what I have been able to find out, the standard hardcover edition weighs approx. 800gr, which isn’t very light to carry or hold up with one hand, especially considering a thick rectangle is less manageable than a single bag of sugar or bottle of water for example. In terms of language, it is written in plain English (in EN speaking countries) and even though I am not a native English speaker, there were no overcomplicated structures or words I was unfamiliar with at any time. So overall, I would say Yes and No. It is up to you to decide whether any of the above is a deal breaker regarding accessibility, but if it is in the physical aspects, I would advise in looking for a digital copy alike myself as well.

Is the book Affordable? 🖌️

Well. When I was looking for a copy, unfortunately there were no paperbacks available, and the only hardbacks were second hand varying in price point from £40 - £80 GBP. Which is about $50 – 110 USD, or €45 - 95 EUR. I also could not find any free digital copies, so my only option was to buy the book on Kindle for £14, or approx. $18 / €16. Given that when I was a student, I used to live on £1 a day (my family is poor), I think that up to £80 for a single art book is a high price to pay, especially for a young person who isn’t in full time employment. But even though I am a working adult now, I still wouldn’t pay this for the book given that the actual cost was £40 before it went out of stock, and the price has been inflated solely because the book isn’t physically available anymore. Due to this, and because it is the right thing to do, before making a purchase, I would adamantly encourage you to check with the library(ies) near you first. If they have it, you can borrow it for free and make copies, scans or take pics of it if you’d like to make your own digital copy. If this is not an option, look for it online and check if there are any torrents on the sites you have access to where you live. Only if you exhaust all other options, or if you are dead set in buying a physical copy for a memento / getting it signed by the artist type of keepsake, should you consider purchasing it at the inflated price. So even though the book might be affordable to those who have the money, that simply isn’t applicable to most people, meaning that – No. It isn’t affordable as it would not fall into most people’s budgets easily or without being looked at as a luxury.

Is the book Worth it? 🎨

Even though due to points 3 & 4 above, I cannot give the book a full 5 palettes, and must settle only on 4, I would say – Yes. It has been great to learn more about the backstory and history of Arcane and the people who made it possible. The work they’ve put in for years, each single step in their journey and the care and dedication that has been poured into the creation of this new world. It has been lovely to gain an insight into the visual development of the series, as well as the character building, and the considerations awarded to all the small things that make them the characters that they are and the characters that we love. I may have never played LoL but I absolutely loved the show. Though even if I hadn’t seen it, from the perspective of a graphic designer, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of Arcane and this book still. And if like me, you are new to this world, then I suspect the book will make you love it even more. It’s worth it.

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rhyrhy · 4 months ago

Text

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

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dolcejwnie · 5 months ago

Text

THE GAME OF DESIRE. Y.JUNGWON

synopsis: where you, a courtesan in the old china, meets a foreign man who could change your whole life forever.

warning: open ending .ᐟ.ᐟ

genre: historical au; courtesan! reader x a very rich man of power yang jungwon, platonic love, 4149 words.ᐟ

remember to reblog and like for more content!

you were born into a world where survival was a delicate dance, and beauty was a currency that could either condemn or elevate. the daughter of a minor merchant family in the bustling streets of suzhou, your early life was one of modest means, tinged with a sharp awareness of the class divide. your parents, struggling to make ends meet, were forced to make difficult choices to ensure you and your younger siblings ate. you remember the day your mother, her face pale and drawn, came to you with a proposition. a tháng—a renowned brothel in the heart of suzhou—was looking for young girls with talent, beauty, and grace, to be trained as courtesans. your mother, knowing your aptitude for music, your quick wit, and your striking looks, saw it as an opportunity for you to escape a life of poverty. though she had always hoped you would marry a respectable man and lead a life of honor, she also knew that life, as it had been for many women in your position, was often a closed door.

at the tender age of 14, you were sent to the tháng, where the sound of guqin and pipa could be heard in the halls and the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and incense. the brothel, like all others, was a place of both beauty and brutality. it was here that you learned the art of seduction, music, poetry, and tea—skills that would elevate you in the eyes of wealthy patrons and clients. but as the years passed, the harsh reality of your position became clearer. the courtesans who could capture the attention of powerful men would rise to the coveted title of huakui—a position of wealth, influence, and respect. and with that respect came a power that no amount of wealth could buy. huakui was the highest rank, but it wasn’t given; it had to be earned.

you, like many before you, were trained to entertain the rich merchants, the government officials, and the scholars who came and went like shadows. you were taught to be charming, to make men feel as though they were the center of your universe, while beneath it all, you maintained a careful detachment. at first, you believed in the idea of courtship, the slow, deliberate dance of seduction. but the years wore on, and you saw how many women, far more beautiful and talented than you, were cast aside by the men they gave their hearts to.

it was clear: huakui was not earned through beauty alone. it was a game of power, of influence, of timing—and above all, wealth. wealth, and the men who controlled it.

over the years, you made subtle shifts in your approach. you no longer relied purely on your beauty or music to capture the attention of a potential patron. you began to study their desires, their weaknesses. you became a master of conversation, learning to read a man’s true intentions long before he even spoke. you became adept at playing the game of jiu—of knowing when to give and when to withhold. you grew bolder, more confident, as you learned that to rise, you would have to sacrifice not just your time, but pieces of yourself.

by the time you reached 20, your beauty was still radiant, but it was your presence—your intelligence, your wit—that began to attract attention. still, despite your efforts, none of the men who visited the tháng seemed capable of taking you to the next level. they were all too ordinary, too distracted by their own desires. you could play the game, but you needed more than just a string of fleeting admirers. you needed someone who could offer you more than a few nights of extravagant dinners and trinkets.

one evening, as you rehearsed a new choreography in your room, your mind wandered again to huakui—the title that, it seemed, could only be earned by the wealthiest, most powerful of men. it was said that a woman who became huakui would be given a sum of wealth so vast, she would never need to work again. but more than that—she would gain respect, control, and an elevated place in society. she could even influence the city’s politics, if the right man found her. that’s when you first heard rumors of a foreigner, a mysterious man who had been frequenting the most prestigious brothels in the city. a man who had connections to the highest echelons of power in suzhou, someone capable of making a woman’s dreams come true. but there was a catch—he was notoriously difficult to please, and none of the courtesans seemed able to capture his attention for long.

your desperation deepened. if huakui was your only path to the life you dreamed of, you had to be ruthless. you would not wait for a man to fall in love with you, to be courted into submission. no, you would approach this differently. you needed someone who could take you to the next level—and you would have to impress him, no matter what.

you had heard whispers of his name: jungwon, a foreigner with a keen interest in strategy and intellect. it was said that he preferred a different kind of woman—one who was not simply beautiful, but sharp, calculating, a challenge in her own right. you knew your beauty alone would not be enough. you would have to prove yourself in ways that others could not, in ways no one had expected.

but even as you rehearsed your pieces and prepared your mind, there was one thing you could not deny: the desperation inside you, the hunger for power, for respect, for the life you had always dreamed of. you were willing to pay whatever price was demanded, to give up whatever was necessary, because you knew that without huakui, you would never be free.

the night of your performance arrived, heavy with anticipation. the tháng was alive with murmurs of your bold plan, courtesans and attendants alike buzzing with speculation. the air was thick with incense, clinging to your skin and filling your lungs with an almost intoxicating sense of destiny. You had spent weeks crafting the perfect strategy, knowing that Jungwon was not a man easily impressed.

The performance hall was lit with an array of glowing lanterns, their light casting soft shadows on the lacquered floors. The guests that evening were of the highest caliber, adorned in silk robes embroidered with gold and silver. And among them, seated near the center, was him—Jungwon.

jungwon entered the tháng with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t need to announce his presence. the room shifted around him, the air becoming charged with something indefinable. conversations slowed, laughter faded into whispers, and eyes turned in his direction, drawn as if by an unseen force. even the courtesans, practiced in their poise, faltered for a moment, their fans stilled mid-motion.

he was younger than you expected, barely in his late twenties, but his presence made him seem older, like someone who had seen and shaped more of the world than most men twice his age. his features were a study in contrasts—sharp cheekbones softened by the fullness of his lips, a strong jawline balanced by the slight curve of his nose. his skin carried a faint golden undertone, kissed by distant suns, and his hair, dark as a moonless night, was neatly combed back, exposing a broad forehead and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

his clothing marked him as both foreign and elite: robes of deep indigo silk, trimmed with intricate embroidery that seemed to shimmer in the lantern light. the subtle elegance of his attire spoke of immense wealth, but it was his demeanor that truly set him apart. his movements were deliberate, each step measured and soundless, as though he had long mastered the art of walking unnoticed yet unavoidable.

when his eyes swept the room, they moved with the precision of a hawk scanning the horizon. dark and piercing, they seemed to see not just what was in front of him, but beyond it, to some hidden layer of reality no one else could access. his gaze lingered nowhere for long—until it found you.

the moment his eyes met yours, it was like the room collapsed into silence. his stare wasn’t appreciative, nor was it dismissive; it was calculating, as if he were weighing something unseen. there was no warmth in his expression, no smile to soften the intensity of his focus, only a calm, quiet challenge that seemed to say: are you worth my time?

whispers began to ripple through the room, hushed and urgent. jungwon. the name moved like a secret passed between trembling hands. a foreigner, they said, but one with connections to the highest circles of power in suzhou. it was said he was a man of ruthless intelligence, one who favored strategy over brute force, intellect over emotion. those who underestimated him often found themselves ruined before they even realized they were playing his game.

yet it was not just his reputation that made people pause. it was the way he seemed to hold the room in the palm of his hand without a single spoken word. men envied him, some even feared him, but no one dared to challenge him. women watched him with a mixture of curiosity and longing, their gazes lingering on the way his robes clung to his broad shoulders or the faint, knowing curve of his mouth.

as he took his seat near the center of the room, his posture relaxed but commanding, it became clear that jungwon was a man who did not chase after things. he expected the world to come to him. and it did.

you stepped into the center of the room, the faint hum of whispers melting into silence as every gaze followed you. the air was thick with expectation, the light of the lanterns softening the edges of the polished floor. your silk robes clung to your form as you moved, a deliberate choice—you had spent weeks preparing not just a performance, but a strategy. tonight, your dance was your weapon.

the music began, a soft, hypnotic rhythm of guzheng and flute. at first, your movements were traditional, precise, flowing like water through the air. your arms extended in arcs of perfect symmetry, your steps delicate and measured, as though you were painting poetry with your body. you knew how to play this part—the elegant courtesan, demure and untouchable. it was what the audience expected of you.

but jungwon was not like the others.

you had studied him, listened to the whispers, the rumors of his sharp mind and colder heart. men like him did not fall for convention, for what they could predict. they craved something else, something unexpected. so, as the music swelled, you let your movements shift, the rhythm of your dance breaking free of its careful elegance.

your steps became bolder, your hips swayed with a daring curve that edged on the line of propriety. your arms, once delicate as willow branches, now moved with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone unafraid to be seen. you tilted your head, letting the dark curtain of your hair fall over one shoulder, a subtle invitation, a tease.

a ripple of murmurs spread through the room, a mixture of surprise and tension. no one had expected this—the playful tilt of your smile, the flirtation woven into the precise art of the dance. it was a risk, one that could easily be seen as too brazen, too improper.

but jungwon’s eyes never left you.

you could feel his gaze like a weight, sharp and assessing, but not disapproving. his expression was unreadable, a mask of calm, but there was a glint in his dark eyes, a flicker of something primal, something intrigued.

your pulse quickened. you had him now.

as the music swirled toward its climax, you moved closer to where he sat, your steps slow, deliberate, each one a challenge. your gaze locked with his, and you let a faint smile curve your lips, as if daring him to look away. he didn’t.

the room seemed to vanish. there were no murmurs now, no whispers. it was just you and him, the unspoken tension crackling in the air between you.

when the final note of the music faded, you ended your dance with a low, graceful bow, your arms extended, your head lowered. the silence that followed was deafening, every eye in the room waiting for his reaction.

jungwon sat back slightly in his chair, his expression unchanged except for the faintest curve of his lips. it wasn’t a smile, not fully—it was something deeper, sharper. he brought his hands together in a slow, deliberate clap, the sound breaking through the stillness like a drop of water into a calm pool.

“unexpected,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying just enough weight to send a ripple through the audience. “and bold.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, his fingers brushing his jaw as he studied you. “you dance like someone who doesn’t fear the consequences of being seen.”

there was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to draw a breath of uncertainty before he added, “and that is what makes you remarkable.”

his words were simple, but they carried a quiet power, a subtle acknowledgment that sent a thrill through you. the risk you had taken had paid off. for the first time that evening, jungwon was no longer merely observing. he was engaged, his focus entirely on you.

you straightened, your heart racing but your face composed. you met his gaze with calm defiance, as if to say, i know what i am doing, and so do you.

the tension between you hung heavy, charged with possibilities. but this was only the beginning of the game.

"i wonder—are you as skilled off the stage as you are on it?”

the challenge in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you met his gaze with unwavering calm. “that depends, sir,” you replied, your voice steady. “on the nature of the challenge.”

his smile deepened, sharp and knowing. “xiangqi,” he said simply. “join me, and let’s see if your mind is as sharp as your moves.”

the attendants quickly set up a xiangqi board, the red and black pieces gleaming like gemstones in the lantern light. as you took your place opposite him, the tension in the room grew thick, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on you.

the xiangqi board gleamed between you and jungwon, the lacquered wood reflecting the flicker of lantern light. the red and black pieces were meticulously arranged, the symbols etched on them seeming to hum with the promise of conflict.

jungwon sat across from you, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the room as if no one else existed. his fingers brushed the edge of a black piece—a general—his touch slow, deliberate. “the stakes are clear,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of challenge. “if you win, you become an huakui, your reputation elevated beyond question. financed by me.”

he paused, his dark eyes catching yours. “but if i win… you should be mine. no one else’s.” his words hung in the air like a knife’s edge, daring you to falter.

the room was utterly silent now. the courtesans and guests who had gathered lingered at a respectful distance, but you could feel the weight of their gazes. you met jungwon’s eyes, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “a generous offer,” you replied, your tone steady, teasing. “but are you sure you’re ready for the consequences of losing?”

his mouth quirked, a subtle hint of amusement. “i never lose.”

“then let’s see,” you said, your fingers lightly touching a red soldier piece as you made the opening move.

the game began.

at first, the moves were measured, careful. jungwon played like a tactician, each movement precise, calculated, as though he were testing you. but you didn’t falter. you knew his type—men who expected to dominate the board, who underestimated the nuance of your strategy.

he tilted his head slightly as he studied the board, the movement revealing the curve of his neck beneath the edge of his high-collared robe. the rich black fabric clung to his shoulders and chest, emphasizing his lean, athletic build, while the faintest trace of a smirk played at his lips, just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

“an aggressive start,” he noted, his voice low and smooth as he countered one of your moves, capturing a soldier with a cannon.

you leaned slightly forward, letting the motion bring you closer to him, your hand lingering on the board. “sometimes aggression is necessary,” you murmured. “but only when it serves a greater purpose.”

his lips curved faintly, his gaze flicking to yours. “you speak like someone who’s used to winning battles of her own.”

“perhaps,” you said, moving your horse to an unexpected position, a move that forced him to pause. “but sometimes, it’s more satisfying to win the war.”

when he spoke, his voice was low and smooth, like the first notes of a pipa—calm, controlled, and undeniably alluring. “are you hesitating?” he asked, his gaze lifting from the board to meet yours. the question wasn’t innocent; it carried a weight that made your pulse quicken, as though he could see the exact moment doubt flickered across your mind.

his eyes then sharpened, and for the first time, you saw it: surprise. he hadn’t expected that move, and the realization sent a ripple of satisfaction through you.

the game continued, the tension between you thickening with each passing moment. jungwon played with an almost predatory grace, his hands moving with purpose, each piece he captured a statement of dominance. there was something about the way he moved, deliberate and unhurried, that made the air feel heavier, warmer. the curl of his fingers around a game piece, the way his lips parted slightly as he calculated his next move—everything about him exuded confidence, a quiet, smoldering power that made it impossible to look away. but you weren’t merely playing defensively—you matched his intensity, meeting each calculated strike with one of your own.

your moves became bolder, riskier. you leaned into the game, your hand brushing his once as you reached for a piece. the touch was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a jolt through the air, an unspoken challenge that lingered in his gaze.

“you’re playing dangerously,” he said softly, his voice laced with both admiration and warning.

when he leaned forward to place a piece on the board, the subtle shift brought him closer, the faint scent of sandalwood and something darker—something unmistakably him—lingering in the space between you. the proximity was disarming, the brush of his sleeve against your hand almost enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“isn’t that what makes it fun?” you countered, your tone light, teasing. you moved your chariot forward, cutting off one of his major pathways.

jungwon’s gaze darkened, the flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. “perhaps you’re more dangerous than i thought.”

the tension between you was almost unbearable now, the air electric with the weight of every move, every glance. the onlookers held their breath, their eyes darting between the board and your faces.

and then came the final play.

jungwon’s general was cornered, his defenses crumbling. his jaw tightened slightly as he assessed the board, his mind racing to find an escape. you could see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, the realization that he was moments away from losing.

you hesitated, your hand hovering over the board as you prepared to make the winning move. for a heartbeat, you met his gaze, and the intensity there was enough to steal your breath.

“if you do this,” he said quietly, his voice low and intimate, “you’ll win everything you’ve ever wanted.”

you tilted your head, your smile soft but confident. “but at what cost?”

he leaned forward, his voice a whisper meant only for you, his yes locking you in like you could never escape, even if you ever wanted.

“because if you win, you’ll never see me again.”

the words hit you harder than you expected. the game wasn’t just about strategy anymore—it was about something deeper, something unspoken between you.

you had entered this game with clear intentions: to win, to claim the title of huakui, to secure a future of wealth, freedom, and power. it was what you had worked for, dreamed of, bled for. and yet, in that moment, as jungwon’s voice—low and unyielding—wrapped around you, the certainty of that victory began to waver.

was this the cost?

your fingers trembled slightly as they hovered above the board, your mind racing. you could feel every beat of your heart, loud and insistent, like it was trying to drown out the logical reasoning you clung to.

jungwon sat before you, his face calm, but his eyes—those dark, penetrating eyes—held a challenge that made your chest tighten. he wasn’t bluffing. you could see it in the set of his jaw, the faint curve of his lips that wasn’t quite a smile. if you placed that final piece, if you claimed victory, he would be gone.

there was a bitter irony to it. the very thing you had fought for—a place at the pinnacle, recognition, power—felt hollow now that it came with the loss of him. and yet, what was he to you? a stranger, a patron, a man who had challenged you, intrigued you, drawn you into a game that was about more than pieces on a board. he wasn’t part of the life you had imagined for yourself.

and yet… he had become central to it.

your gaze flickered to his hands, steady on the edge of the table, and you remembered how they moved—precise, deliberate, with an elegance that matched his words. you thought of the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to him, the way his voice had wrapped around you like silk, the quiet intensity in his eyes when he looked at you.

the thought of never seeing him again sent an ache through your chest, sharp and unexpected. it wasn’t love—it couldn’t be, not so soon, not with someone you barely knew. but it was something. an allure, a magnetism, a possibility. and now, that possibility hung in the balance, waiting for you to decide.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. every rational part of your mind screamed at you to finish the game, to take what was yours, to secure the life you had dreamed of since you first set foot in the tháng. you owed it to yourself, to your family, to every sacrifice you had made.

but as your fingers brushed the edge of the winning piece, the thought of jungwon walking away tightened around your heart like a vice.

was this truly winning?

your throat tightened as the weight of the choice bore down on you. the audience around you faded further, their whispers and expectations dissolving into the haze of your uncertainty. the only thing that remained was him, watching you, waiting.

the question wasn’t about the game anymore. it was about you.

what did you truly want?

your fingers moved with precision, placing the final piece. “checkmate,” you said softly, the word carrying the weight of victory.

the room erupted into whispers and applause, but you barely heard it. jungwon sat back, his expression unreadable, though the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips.

“well played,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something deeper—respect, admiration, and perhaps even regret.

you straightened, your heart pounding as you absorbed what had just happened. you had won. you were an huakui, your future secured. but as you looked at jungwon, at the quiet intensity in his gaze, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more significant had been at stake.

“congratulations,” he said, rising to his feet. he inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. “you’ve earned your victory.”

but as he turned to leave, you found yourself speaking before you could think. “wait.”

he paused, his back to you, his shoulders tense, as if saying that he didn’t expect that you could have something else to say to him.

“you said if i won, i’d never see you again,” you said, your voice steady but soft, almost a whisper. “what if i don’t want that?”

he turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settled into something softer, something warmer.

“then perhaps,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips,

“you’ve just made your boldest move yet.”

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