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esamastation · 6 months

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Part forty-eight of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven

His Qi is beginning to spin.

It feels incredible. The flow is sluggish, the mass of energy is still so solid that it feels like he's working with a slurry of concrete - but there's a current. With each session, it gets easier.

With each session, it spins longer on its own.

He's never felt an achievement like it. Like, sure, he knows cultivation, he'd even advanced in cultivation. He'd worked really hard! He'd taken Shen Qingqiu's core almost to a new level before the Without a Cure Poison! He knows how it's done and has been doing it for years.

But the thing is, he'd never actually earned Shen Qingqiu's cultivation prowess. It came ready-made for the most part, with the majority of the hard work completed decades ago. He'd inherited an Immortal Master's Core, and he'd just brushed it off and carried on, and even though he'd made it work, it… wasn't really his.

And true enough, neither is this, not entirely. He's skipping at a minimum a decade of Qi-condensation work here thanks to Mako and MP and EXP and all that. He got one hell of a head start here! But then, everyone in SOLDIER did, and the current inside him, this development in that near solid mass of energy - that's all him.

He's cultivating a Golden Core! And it's all him. And goddamn, it feels so good. Like a giddy adrenaline burst with serotonin and dopamine and I kinda wanna jump around and dance and spin good. Happiness very literally incarnates in a beautiful glowing core.

He's not quite there yet, it's still like trying to spin a boulder the size of a house, but he's getting there, he's almost gotten it to shape, it's almost spinning under its own weight, it's so close that he can almost taste it.

Just a little bit more…

Sephiroth moves from form to form, feeling the flow of energy circulate in his meridians, smoother by the moment. His spiritual veins are still scarred all the way to hell, but he's gotten them to yield, and the snags have opened up - the flow is easier now. With time and with careful cultivation, he'd be able to slowly heal them. With Sephiroth's natural healing aided by the magic of cultivation… and actual magic to boot…!

Ah, he's really making something incredible here!

It's pretty much inevitable that something comes along to put a spanner into the works.

It's Rude, coming to stand next to the training field. Sephiroth can't feel Angeal anywhere near. Reno is out of his reach too. And Rude feels… anxious.

Sephiroth searches the surroundings with his slowly sharpening spiritual senses and then begins pulling his cultivation in, as fast as he can without causing issues. He compresses his core, constricts the flow to safer levels and finishes his set by pulling it all inward. His core carries on with the momentum he's given it and keeps spinning.

Rude is standing at the very edge of the training field, not even trying to hide for once.

"What's wrong?" Sephiroth asks, pulling his sword into a brief salute before sheathing it. "Where are the others?"

Rude is quiet for a moment, taking him in carefully. Then he relaxes. "There is a Wutai troop movement in the forest. Reno confirmed they're heading this way," he explains and then, "Hewley has gone to meet them head on."

… Ah, shit. There it is! Plot, coming to get him! Guess things had been a bit too easy and nice. Okay, he probably should've expected this, what with it being warfront and everything, but still! Fuuck.

Sephiroth draws a breath and braces himself. "Which way?"

Rude hesitates. "It's unlikely that your intervention is necessary. SOLDIER of Hewley's level can handle Wutai troops."

Most likely, yes! But Sephiroth isn't sure he could handle the idea of Angeal just… killing people?! Even if it is the way it is and even if it is what they usually do. Who knows how many people they've already killed in Shinra's name! Going by his mission listings, the Shinra standard mode of operation is kill first, ask questions never… probably very often! If that's how Angeal handles things too, then…

"I didn't ask whether it was necessary," Sephiroth points out sharply. "I asked which way?"

"... North," Rude finally admits, and Sephiroth detects no lies in his tone or body language. The guy seems a bit resigned.

Nodding, Sephiroth searches the area north with his senses, and then - then he takes off.

He really takes off.

It might not be sword flight, but man, SOLDIER are really something else when it comes up to speed! Even with Sephiroth's stupid long legs and their ridiculous muscles, the way he just eats the distance is incredible! From the outside it must look like he just vanished, anime style. Just blink, and Sephiroth's gone!

Ah, pity he can't see it from outside.

Not the time, though. Superhuman speed or not, it's really awkward, navigating the forest - there's no handy-dandy road to follow northward, just bushes and trees and uneven ground. And smacking into a tree at this speed really doesn't appeal to him!

Hmm. Actually. Didn't Sephiroth fly around, like, a lot in the original game? He remembers it because, one, seeing the low poly model fly seriously towards the camera had made him laugh his ass off, and two, because seeing it sent him down a rabbit hole of trying to figure out whether there were Qigong aspects in Final Fantasy VII. He never got a definite answer to that, but… Sephiroth definitely flew around. And so did Genesis and Angeal, on wings that should've never been able to support their weight!

And he's already proven that cultivation works here… so, maybe…?

Sephiroth flexes his still imperfect core and pulses his still sluggish QI and spreads out his arms, Masamune in one hand, and jumps. His momentum sends him forward a bit more than intended, but he gets into the air. He gets up high indeed - and almost smacks right into a tree for his efforts.

With one foot he pushes off it, and he keeps going up, near weightless, carried on by his Qi. And it's.

Woah.

PIDW was, despite all its Xianxia themes of Demons and different Realms and Immortal Cultivators, more Wuxia when it came to combat. Sure there were spells and Qi attacks - and really, really elaborate sword formations for a story that didn't really do teamwork all that much! But while there was sword flight, there wasn't your usual weightlessness and gliding and jumping around from wire-thin branches, light as a feather.

Shen Yuan had been convinced it was just because Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky wanted to write a million scenes of sword flight make out, and that didn't work so well if everyone could fly around willy-nilly, now did it? No, just take away the heroine's sword and make Bingge fly them around, and boom, perfect excuse for mid air PDA! He didn't mind reading it - sword flight was pretty cool and lack of weightlessness made fights more grounded overall.

Heh, grounded.

Living in PIDW with a disability that made sword flight kinda risky though, ah. A bit of weightlessness in the way of most Wuxia heroes everywhere would've made it much easier, just getting around in Cang Qiong Mountain! Alas, he had to walk instead. What a waste of time.

Well, apparently there are no such limitations here! And of course Qigong flight comes easily for Sephiroth. Of course it does!

Sephiroth flies his way to the highest tree tops and over them, jumping from the highest branches as the distance simply disappears beneath him. He's weightless and strong, and not even gravity can touch him!

Ahh, there's really nothing like cultivating a Golden Core!

One Wingless Angel, coming through!

Wheee~~ :D

#Fanfiction #svsss #ff7 #ffvii #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #rude of the turks

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juuuulez · 3 months

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📰 | part twelve: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, no pronouns used for reader, slow burn, teenagers in love, cute Judith moments, dialogue heavy chapter, kinda just pure fluff, reader is an artist.

summary: You, Carl and Judith share a picnic away from all the troubles of war. Alternatively: the calm before the storm.

okay this was so so so so so cute!!! a very dialogue heavy chapter, but juicy so hopefully you all enjoy!!

next chapter will be…a LOT (pretty angsty) because guys it is our LAST CHAPTER!!! then there will be an epilogue to package everything up nicely

don’t worry, there will be waaayyy more xSaviour!Reader one shots to come because it’s my favourite trope, and i can work through tones of cute requests to keep us all with our required dose of carl grimes ;P

-> masterlist <-

You watched as Judith scribbled with her crayons, drawing nonsensical shapes and patterns onto her page. She seemed at peace with your presence, which made you a little bitter, knowing nobody else from Alexandria could ever see you in this light. After catching your staring, a chubby hand reached out, offering you a crayon.

“What’re we drawing?” You asked, leaning down to hover next to Judith. She didn’t answer, giving you that shy little smile, but nonetheless pushed a piece of paper towards you.

“It’s easier to find crayons than pens now,” Carl remarks, seated next to you on the blanket, “Do you guys have pens? At the Sanctuary, I mean.”

“Yeah. We’ve got pens.” You entertain the small talk, drawing a tree onto the page in waxy blue crayon. It starts out as a vague shape, though you slowly give it more and more detail, hatching in shading and even patches of grass at its base.

The silence resumes, though you’re content with that. Carl is, too. He’s just happy to have your attention, in a scenario without Alexandria or the Saviours or a war.

Despite this, you find yourself talking again, unable to keep these thoughts bottled up. Sometime, when you’re nervous, you run your mouth. Maybe Carl is making you nervous.

“Judith is lucky to have you.” You tell him, still colouring on the page. The admission catches Carl’s attention, and though he isn’t shocked with its contents, he’s a little surprised by the blatant display of.. vulnerability? He isn’t used to you being so personal.

“I know,” He agrees, “My dad says that family is the most important thing nowadays. He’s right.”

The idea leaves you thinking for a moment, and Carl can practically see the gears turning in your head. He liked digging deeper, seeing what made you tick, what was going on underneath those walls.

“Yeah,” You end up nodding, “I think I agree.”

“Y’know, that’s why we won’t punish you. When this war ends.”

It garners your attention, finally looking up from the paper. Carl is sitting next to you, whilst you’re lying on the blanket with Judith. He looks serious, but maybe a little solemn, not intending to steer the conversation down this dark path, yet viewing it necessary to discuss. He wants to be on the same page.

“My dad won’t kill Negan,” Carl continues, sounding quite sure of himself. “He thinks he will, but he won’t. I’ll convince him. I know I can.”

You look back down at the page, but don’t continue colouring. It’s a weird idea, that Rick would spare Negan. You couldn’t see how that would happen. But knowing Carl wanted to advocate for peace was nice. Comforting.

“Negan’s gonna kill Rick.” You eventually tell him, though it doesn’t hold the same certainty. It’s a bitter reality, loosing faith in your own people, yet with each day, this war is seeming more difficult to win.

Yet you know one thing. If given the chance, Negan would kill Rick. You knew he would. Carl knew it, too.

“That’s why you guys can’t win.” He tells you, not sounding too proud of the fact. Months ago, and he would’ve happily rubbed this in your face. But now, it made him feel a little nauseous.

You let the silence sit for a moment, and Carl worries he’s upset you. He hasn’t, but the whole situation is upsetting. Not that it’s his fault, which you keep reminding yourself.

So, you speak quietly, trying to be nice. “Can we not talk about this?” You suggest, throwing another glance up at Carl.

He takes pity on you, understanding that this was supposed to be a break from everything, though he feels a little better knowing the idea doesn’t make you outright hostile.

Carl lies down on the blanket, next to you, on his back whilst you lay on your stomach. He tilts his head towards you and Judith, brown hair pooling on the blanket and falling over his shoulders, bangs sweeping over his eyepatch.

You get an idea, shifting a little, focusing a tad harder on the drawing. One arm holds the crayon, and your other creates a barrier between Carl and the paper. Though, he doesn’t seem very focused, instead watching you.

“Does your head hurt?” He asks, eyes unconsciously drawn to the bandage wrapped around your head. It was almost silly, the way you matched, but Carl struggled to find any joy in that fact.

“Kinda. Just a headache,” You tell him, still drawing. At one point, Judith reaches out, trading you a yellow crayon in exchange for the blue one. “Did you find the bastard who shot me?”

Carl scoffs, a smile spreading onto his face. “Yeah. Someone from the Kingdom. Nobody you’ve gotta worry about, though.”

You roll your eyes, unbeknownst to how Carl inspects every inch of your face. “Who names their community the ‘Kingdom’? Pretentious assholes.”

“Like the ‘Sanctuary’ is any better.” He points out, which forces a smile onto your face, knowing that he has a point. It is a little silly.

Judith reaches out again, handing you a red crayon. You take it, giving her the yellow one you’d been working with, to which she happily continues scribbling on her side of the paper.

“Do you ever wish that things were normal?” Carl asks, once again prompting conversation. “Like.. would we have been friends, otherwise?”

“We aren’t even friends now,” You point out, sparing him a glance and smiling at his curious expression. So cute. “But no.. I don’t mind things how they are. I didn’t like my normal very much.”

This causes Carl to think, pondering on that statement. A light breeze brushes past, tussling his hair slightly, though he remains focused on you, looking so peaceful while you draw.

“Your normal… with Negan?” He begins, hoping that you would get the hint and fill him in. All this time, and yet he knows nothing about you.

You take the hint, giving a small shrug. “No. With my father.”

Carl tries to read your expression, to gauge how deep this wound is, but he struggles. “You didn’t get along very well?” He asks, voice soft and free of judgment.

It isn’t difficult to read your behaviour these past months. You’re snappy, easily agitated, and weirdly flighty yet strong and resilient at the same time. In many ways, your attachment to Negan is unnatural, though Carl presumed there to be a driving factor behind it all.

“No,” You confirm, “He was a heartless bastard.”

Carl nods, still lying on his back. The silence doesn’t last for long, as he still has more questions. “Did you have any other family?”

His curiosity didn’t piss you off, like it usually would. Maybe it’s because your guard was down, or maybe you felt you owed it to Carl, to open up with him a little.

“I had a sister. Younger,” You begin, speaking whilst you draw, “But she died at eight weeks old. My mother died with her, in childbirth. She was nice.”

There are a few beats where nobody talks. Even Judith has stopped playfully mumbling, though she pays no mind to your conversation. Your gaze flickers up to Carl, finding that he’s still watching you, seeming to be in thought. It’s like he sees something more: something beneath your surface, something you can’t even touch.

Or maybe he just relates. It’s surprising how much Carl understands you, to the point where he’s a little unsettled by it.

“Don’t ask depressing questions if you don’t want the answer.” You finally chime, trying to clear the air of this strange tension.

“No, it’s not that. I get it.” Carl concludes, his voice remaining in that soft tone, one that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He doesn’t want you to feel bad.

You nod, reassuring him. “I know you do.”

Having such a personal conversation is strangely liberating. It makes you feel good, better than you usually do, better than anybody has had the ability to make you feel. For once, there’s a sense of peace, as you know Carl understands you.

The silence returns, but it’s pleasant this time. Trees in the distance rustle slightly in the wind, an atmosphere void of groaning corpses or yelling and fighting. You’ve never experienced that.

After a few more etches with the crayon, the drawing is complete. You spin around the piece of paper, sliding it to Carl with a smile. “For you.”

Carl sits up on his elbows, taking the paper to inspect it. It’s a sketchy crayon drawing of… well, him. Lying there, on the blanket. It’s surprisingly realistic, shapes accurately blocked out in a combination of yellow, blue, and red crayon. The very edge of his hat had been coloured in, messy pink scribbled roughly inside the lines by Judith

“When did you do this?” He asks, not having noticed you creating this masterpiece throughout the duration of the conversation.

You stifle a laugh. “Just then. I was gonna let Judith keep colouring it in.”

Carl nods, still fixated on the drawing. Nobody has ever drawn him before. “Can I.. keep this one?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make Judith something else to colour.” You agree, already pulling out another piece of paper to sketch something a little simpler. Though you viewed that drawing of Carl a breeze, he was amazed by how you’d managed it in such a short amount of time.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He says, finally taking his eyes off the paper, to inspect your newest creation. This time he’s set on paying attention, wanting to watch how it comes together.

That, and he thinks it’s very sweet that you were drawing with the intention of letting Judith colour. A lot of artists would probably be protective of their work, but yours served the sole purpose of making others happy.

You decide to draw the tree line, using an unnatural colour like orange to outline the landscape, in hopes that Judith would colour it green. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You tell him, a strangely cagey answer, but Carl isn’t put off.

“I do want to know you.” He urges, and the conviction in his tone causes you to glance up at him, before back down at the page.

“You will. Maybe when this is all over.” You land on responding, an answer Carl can’t be unhappy with, as it fills him with the semblance of hope that you’re willing to open up to him. That you see a future where you get along.

He sets the artwork down, laying back on the blanket. “So… you agree? That all this will end?” He tests the waters with another question about the war.

“Don’t push your luck.” You immediately shut him down, a playful grin on your face.

Carl doesn’t mind, not when he’s already picked your brain so far. To him, you’re like a stray cat, any further and you’d start hissing and run away. He’d like to maintain this peace for a little longer.

So, Carl laid there whilst you drew an illustration for Judith. Eventually, the toddler gleamed with joy when you handed it over, eagerly scribbling in the lines with her colours. It was messy and unorganised, but brought you happiness to see that she was so immersed.

The two of you soaked in the sunshine, enjoying the quiet surrounding the clearing and absence of responsibility. Carl had somehow managed to coax you closer, to lay next to him, his hand guiding your head to his shoulder. It felt good, and you weren’t used to letting yourself feel good.

He ran his hand through your hair, careful not to disrupt the bandaged wound, finding it surprisingly soft. In a way, a lot of you was soft, and sweet. It was just buried underneath this rubble of anger and aggression, but Carl knew he could wiggle it out.

When this whole war ended, he hoped you’d be happier.

Regardless, the picnic was a nice getaway, though you tried not to seem too bothered when the sun had begun to set, and you knew you’d return to the Hilltop. It wasn’t your home. It was just some place where they held you captive.

“You’ll actually come and visit me, right?” You end up asking Carl as the pair of you pack up, you holding Judith while Carl stuffs the blanket into his bag.

He nods, “I will. I’ll come by your room every day until Negan takes this deal. Promise.”

That satisfies you, for now. At least you’d have some company, though the idea of being a hostage any longer was slightly sickening. For now, you’d put it out of your mind.

Carl leads you back up the hill out of the clearing, finding the car that he’d hidden away. You throw the bag onto the car’s floor, and buckle Judith into the back seat while he gets it started.

However, the bags zip wasn’t done up, fabric splaying open slightly to reveal that Carl had accidentally left the gun inside. It’s shameful that your first thought is to steal it: make an escape right now, leave for the Sanctuary and screw up this entire plan.

You lean down, palming the metal object. It would be a pretty large hike up there, but worthwhile if it gave the Saviours any power. Carl wouldn’t be able to stop you, as long as you had his gun.

Biting your lip, you pocketed it for the time being, coming to sit in the passenger side.

“When we get back, I’ll go ask Michonne how the deal is going. She’ll probably end up telling me,” Carl suggests, “You’ll feel a little better knowing what’s going on.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, watching Carl with a slightly surprised expression as it sinks in. That he’s willing to give you information simply to provide peace of mind. It’s a stupid idea, really, betraying the trust of Michonne and Rick and everyone else… but it’s sweet.

“You left this in the back.” You end up telling Carl, offering him the handgun. The words spill out before you can hold them back.

His brows furrow in concern, and mild irritation at his own forgetfulness, accepting the gun and hooking it back into his belt. “Shit. Thanks, wouldn’t want Judith grabbing it.”

The engine starts in a low rumble, filling the silence as you begin to drive back. Guilt wells in your stomach for even thinking about turning on Carl, and for the better part of the drive, you settle for watching the boy as opposed to the scenery.

“You alright?” He eventually asks, sparing you a glance before looking back to the empty expanse of road.

“Mhm,” You hum, “Just… grateful that you did all this..”

The admission causes Carl to grin, feeling an unfamiliar swell of pride, your thankful attitude boosting his ego. Even without words, the look he gives you makes you scoff, rolling your eyes and looking out the window.

A smile still grows on your face, knowing that he’s earned this victory. You reach out towards the dash, taking Carl’s hand and just holding it while he drives, allowing him to revel in his prize for a little longer.

taglist: @ilov3carlgr1mes @eminemxxeminem @strxwbxrrymarx @ilaaishi @iamaslytherin0 @grimeslvrr @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @kmsatm @ilovespiderpeople @hearts4mitski4 @jkvolgs @mysouleaten

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #twd x you #carl grimes x you #the walking dead

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eldstunga · 7 months

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Hi! I really love your art! The lines are so bold but the colours so natural that it feels distinct but grounded?? I'm obsessed with the shapes in your work

I was wondering if you had any advice for drawing bodies? Whenever I try it either my proportions are off or an arm ends up looking like a calf or something.

First of all, thank you <3 That's so nice and I think "lines bold, colours natural" is some truly aspirational words to say about my art, I'll strive to be what you say I am <3 I do not, unfortunately, have any great tips on drawing bodies - it's a very wide topic and fundamentally just really bloody hard. I fail horribly 9 times out of 10. How to approach it I think varies a lot with like...HOW you are struggling, and who you are as a person. For proportions and anatomy there are definitely books to look at, and some rules of thumb that can help you - anything from "the shoulders are about 2.5-3 heads wide" through "feet are the same length as the forearm", "elbows are in line with the navel and the navel is two sternums down" etc etc. For me, realising just how big the ribcage actually is and learning how to use that as a unit of measure was a big event (the torso is about two ribcages long). Look at references, Draw over low opacity references and try to look for patterns that help YOU. Like... "Hm, do the shoulders line up with something useful?"

Having a good ref model to double check things helps too. The pen is pointing to about the bottom of the ribcage. But there's also stuff like maybe you're getting too hung up on construction and then it might help more to try to draw from references by ONLY blocking in a silhouette first. This helps me sometimes still:

Or you could be like me, struggle with all of the above and then some - like how to make poses look natural and/or dynamic? Weight distribution is a whole other topic.. gah, it never ends, but it's fun to learn.

Lastly, this took me way too long to realise and I think it should be said: Do not fret too much about STUDYING. The unfair thing is that the better you are at something, the better you will be at actually learning from doing studies and exercises or reading books. We accept this with many other disciplines and sports but rarely art. Mileage is king, and mileage is best gained from having fun and enjoying what you do. If you find studies suffering and frustrating you're probably better off just drawing what you enjoy and fuck it if it isn't "pushing your boundaries" or whatever. Eventually you'll get to the point where studies start to give more than they take, and then you're home free. I'm not gonna recommend a billion resources you likely won't enjoy but here are some things I genuinely found helpful lately: * a physical anatomy model, they're pricy and not necessary but being able to just look at it every now and then, turn it over etc helps. * The "Morpho" series of books, they do not teach anatomy, but they are very useful quick reference books and much more easily digested than most anatomy material. Just try to find a real anatomy book to read once your appetite is up as well.

The zig-zag/Lightning bolt method for arms and legs, fuckin' thing revolutionised how I sketch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCkmB030GpQ

Gottfried Bammes "The Complete guide to Anatomy for Artists and Illustrators" This thing is insane, it's from the 50's and like 600 pages long. You could absolutely kill someone with it, but a lot of the pages are more philosophical or art history you can skip and despite its age and fear factor this dude writes in a witty, clever and just wonderful way that I've seen nowhere else. Fantastic photos. By far, FAR the best anatomy book I've ever seen. It's not a book I'd recommend for someone starting out, I would not have been able to digest it like four years ago, but once you get to a certain point it's amazing.

That's a lot, uhhh, feel free to ask me for more specific tips this was a bit of a rant. Hope some of it was useful!

#art tips #.txt #asks #sorry its such a wide topic I dunno where to start

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velvet-games · 22 days

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I finally finished the piece for @prince-liest's OC, Tzafael! this really reminded me of how fun character design is (and also that I've completely forgotten how to make digital art, but that's besides the point...) <3

credit to @hogbogglerspirits for the umbrella design! I kind of butchered it so please look at the original and throw lots of love at them

LOTS of notes, draft sketches, brainstorming, etc. below the cut. enjoy!

(note: a lot of what I'm talking about is based on posts prince made under their #tzafael tag, so take a look at those if you haven't yet!)

thanks for joining me below the cut! here's the sketch without the colors as a treat (in case you want to color it yourself or something, idk).

notes about making the digital drawing:

holy shit this took me forever -- I was not kidding about forgetting how to make digital art lmao. I forgot how much less forgiving digital lines are and genuinely lost the spoons to even attempt lineart, hence just a sketch below the colors.

some of you might've seen the original sketch I sent to prince, which the digital version diverges from just a little. it's mostly the halo which I'll explain later, and I finally caved and drew the sixth eye (you can tell I drew and erased it multiple times in the sketch lmao -- still don't know if I prefer it with or without)

here's the original color ref by the lovely @gendermeh! my color scheme ended up looking really different, so some notes about that:

I was looking at references for magpies like this

and I wanted to basically follow that color scheme while also being somewhat similar to the original -- dark head/shoulders --> dark top of the jacket, bright blue wings --> bright blue bottom of the jacket, greenish tailfeathers --> green pants, hints of purple --> purplish sleeve and pant ends

I also tried (and mostly failed, let's be real) to capture the iridescence of the feathers -- they look like oil spilled on the pavement or iridescent hematite to me! I think the key ended up being adding bright greens/purples and roughly blending them into the blues or vice versa but I didn't really figure that out until I got to the pants lol.

I'm gonna be honest; I don't remember why I went with this shape for the tailcoat. I just remember being unhappy with the sketch and then trying a bunch of different shapes that mostly looked worse lol -- I think I landed on this because a split tail kind of looks like wings?

KEPT the shoes -- absolutely magnifique. I wish I knew how to color gold better.

added lots of jewelry! they like shiny things :)

ALSO PLEASE LOOK AND APPLAUD ME. I FINALLY REMEMBERED TO LABEL MY LAYERS!! NO I DON'T REMEMBER WHY THE HALO HAS ITS OWN LAYER.

alright, time for some more design notes/explanations + draft sketches!

but first, a couple disclaimers:

I want to make it very clear that I LOVE everything about the original design. I made a lot of changes based on personal preference/the way I interpreted the character. I was actually planning on making a digital piece that was more faithful to the original design too, but I was just out of spoons for it cause of life stuff.

you probably shouldn't try to read the notes I made in the sketches I'm about to show you unless I say otherwise. most of it is incoherent brain vomit in illegible artist handwriting and I'll transcribe/explain the stuff I think is important :) (the stuff in quotes are direct transcriptions of my notes)

I know my sketches are very messy lol. I only draw for fun, so I usually don't force myself to make stuff any neater than necessary unless it's supposed to be a formal piece. try to bear with me.

my first few sketches of them! (I think?) this was before I sent prince a laundry list of questions so I was still trying to get a vibe

"magpie -- beak lips?" -- you'll see this in a few sketches; I considered giving them the lipstick design that velvette has since it looks like a beak. I still kind of think it's cute, but 1) I'm pretty sure velvette is the only character that has them, so I didn't want to make it seem like they were related somehow and 2) I thought it might be distracting with how much other crazy stuff I ended up including in their head/face

also, sidenote since it's relevant to what I said about vel: something I realized was important is how one character's design relates to the designs of the rest of the cast. I wasn't sure how much I should've gone for what looked good in a vacuum, how much should be based on what other characters looked like canonically, or what other characters would look like if I also designed them. it ended up being mostly the second option, but it was honestly still a struggle. should I take away some of the tumblr-sexyman-ness (no shade to tumblr sexymen; I love them) because there are other characters that already have it? should I relate their design to sera's and emily's in the show or should I think about how I would've designed sera and emily? should I follow some of the design philosophy of the original show and just throw stuff on there because it looks cool (the answer is yes btw)? decisions, decisions ...

I don't think this showed up really well in most of the drawings, but they actually have a black line down their nose! let's take a look at sera:

since they're siblings, I wanted to include some similar facial markings. the nose line ended up being the only thing I kept though -- I was going to include freckles, but I have a compulsive need to give every character giant bottom lashes so there ended up being no room T.T I like that the magpie's hints of purple kind of match hers tho!

the wingification of the hair begins! I was still unsure of it at this point, but it was an idea I had since I was kind of struggling with how straight the feathers were in the original.

"maybe the ones on their head count as wings (so only one main pair)" -- I originally just had the 2 pairs of wings on their head, so I was thinking of just giving them 1 pair on their back so there would be still be 6 total. also this middle drawing of them is meant to be their exorcist outfit (I wanted it to be a cross between what the other exorcists wear and sera's outfit)

at this stage, I was thinking of giving them more magpie-like characteristics, so I looked at some references and tried to emulate them in a more human design. this ended up being really awkward so I scrapped it, but I still like the idea that their exorcist mask looks like a bird (kind of like a plague doctor's)

peekaboo! I love the idea of them using the wing hair to cover their eyes lol. (ended up using that idea for my own seraph OC since that's their biblically accurate purpose: to cover their eyes/faces in reverence/humility -- doesn't really fit with tzafael tho lol, so they show their face most of the time)

an eyeball in the bowtie -- pretty self-explanatory. the eyeball motif is important.

the one in the middle is just me practicing drawing the original design, and the one on the right is another exorcist outfit I think. I wanted to include the diamond motif/points that sera has on her dress (the diamonds on the bottom turn into eyeballs, which is why the final design also has eyeballs on tzafael's sleeves/pants)

lots of notes on the side based on what prince said in response to my ask

"localized omniscience (power of sight) -- cool + ironic that their sight was supposed to serve God but made them see Heaven for what it really is instead"

another exorcist outfit, this time including the feathers

I was also experimenting with the halo; I was trying to make it look sort of like sera's crown, but that didn't feel right ...

some practice with eyes -- my style is pretty flexible with eye shapes, so I try to make them suit the character. I drew lute's eye and also an actual magpie's as references -- lute's because of the exorcist background and also because they looked appropriately sharp, magpie's for obvious reasons. once again, my compulsive need for giant bottom lashes strikes

there was honestly a lot to balance with the eyes -- I wanted them to look condescending/bored (lowered top lid) but also amused (raised bottom lid) and like a magpie (round) but also harsh/mischievous (sharp, maybe slit pupils like a snake) and similar to sera's (but not too decorated -- also does it make sense for them to look like sera's if emily's don't even look like sera's?)

considered having wings on the shoulders -- the magpie pattern is super cool, so it would've been nice to have that somewhere more explicitly in the design. I still think that might fit in an outfit they would wear in heaven (maybe for formal occasions)

the introduction of the sweatervest! honestly I kind of love this for the way it captures more of the preppy, spoiled old-money upper-class vibe some heaven residents have, but it was scrapped since I couldn't imagine them wearing that while trying to scare the denizens of hell. maybe something they wear casually though.

"yes nictating membrane (on every eye!)" -- AHH I'm so sad I didn't end up putting this to use. I just feel like the whole effect is based on actually seeing them blink, and I don't animate lol.

ugh, the nefarious laughter one ... don't worry I tried harder on a sketch later on lol.

"like the diamonds on Sera + Em" + "diamonds turn into eyes?" -- I draw the diamonds on the sweatervest turning into eyes later.

tried an actual bow instead of a bowtie -- very cute but didn't fit the vibe.

a skirt! I think they would wear a skirt sometimes.

"FUCK ASS BOB" -- asghdk the wingification of the hair continues. unfortunately, I'm realizing at this point that the silhouette of the hair is starting to look a lot like alastor's. I gave a very half-hearted attempt at mitigating this, but it goes back to the thing of how much I am obligated to the original show's designs and what looks cool to me -- I think the wing hair fits them and I didn't want to change it because of alastor, plus my alastor design actually has completely different hair anyway. I did add a third pair to the back to look like a ponytail though.

introduction of the scarf! I was actually going to include this in the final design but uh,,, I forgor. are you starting to see a pattern.

the reason for the scarf is that the "tzafael going to places they know they'll draw attention/can incite chaos" reminded me of that scene in avengers where loki walks into a fancy building looking pretentious af and just casually stabs a guy's eye out. not really the same thing but I felt like the vibe matched. hence, loki's funny little scarf fit.

uaoughdfjh it was SO FUN to draw the wing hair, and it was at this point that I realized they had to stay even though I wasn't sure if it was too different from the original.

gossiping with rosie cause that's the first person I thought of -- tzafael also summoned a pearl necklace to clutch because of the sheer drama of it all (your ex-husband did what??)

also started drawing the rings on their hands. magpie like shiny.

lots of notes cause I was trying to compile the things I still needed to think about/incorporate into the final (I thought this was gonna be the last draft ... haha)

trying to include more bird/eye motifs

"fish ... purse?" -- ha! I forgot I was gonna give them a fish purse. I think I drew that in a later sketch, but not them wearing it.

"picked up Hellish traits bc of extended stay -- existential crisis?" -- I asked prince about the sharp teeth, and their answer implied that they became sharp as they stayed in hell longer, which got me thinking ... I feel like that's actually a great body horror concept. lucifer falling and looking like a normal angel at first, eventually waking up to more and more devilish features and feeling more and more like he's lost his home and his past self ... spooky.

another exorcist outfit -- I actually really like the eyes on the ribs! I never made a final draft for the exorcist uniform, but it would probably look close to what I drew here.

the one on the bottom was meant to be similar to the feathered shoulder pad idea, but this time with the whole magpie (with giant eyes). tried putting the "freckles" (really just dots in this case) over their brows, but that ended up looking kinda weird.

the eye is pretty close to the final design

the one on the right was supposed to be the full final design, but I was totally off lol -- the long trench coat really doesn't give off the right vibe at all

playing around more with the loki vibes of the scarf, also added an eyeball to the chest

I never got happy with the design of the back of the coat -- I think it should probably just be blank at this point. but the sketch here is meant to look like wings/tailfeathers.

yet another exorcist outfit, this time with more magpie motifs. I actually like this one a lot, but I probably should've added the eyes on the ribs from the last sketch. I think I also considered giving them actual tailfeathers at this point.

thanks for sticking with me! I promise we're almost done. have a trans dinosaur I saw while I was travelling as a treat <3

10:

this is after I finished the sketch for the final piece and realized I didn't like the halo design. I drew lute's, sera's, em's, and adam's as refs. (honestly I love the show's idea that each person/people of each rank have a different kind of halo -- I wonder if they can switch them out?)

my main inspiration ended up being the exorcist halo, but I made it look more like an eyeball -- since it always points toward heaven, we can say it's always "looking" at heaven.

(also sera's feather lashes! they're so cute)

11:

EVEN MORE EXORCIST DOODLES

12:

tzafael shooing away my fox demon OC

13:

these are actually sketches for my own seraph OC (raguel), but I wanted to include it since it has even more wing/feather hair variations. I also think the idea of the eyelashes being feather-like could've been cool for tzafael.

14:

some more OG design doodles

tzafael and raguel together because self-indulgence is the name of the game babey (also wanted to draw tzafael freaked out with their wings flared)

(raguel's blind btw, hence asking for eyes -- tzafael has so many!)

you can probably read the dialogue here so give it a shot. I believe in you.

15:

you know what? the fish purse deserves some doodles

16:

putting them in Situations! I was reading over prince's posts again and I realized there were some funny things I could draw them doing/saying

again you can probably read the words here

angel dust also loves fish (but is apparently bad at taking care of them, hence the suffocating blobfish), so tzafael shows him their aquarium (complete with live fish and flora ofc)

I thought alastor was 8 ft but apparently he's 7.3 ft? so tzafael is enjoying the .2 ft they have on him

trying and failing again to come up with a design for the back of the jacket lol

THE crowley quote

apparently the halo still sends signals from the exorcists -- thought their reaction to the battle at the hotel would be funny

the nefarious laughter (take 2) that I promised -- based on a doodle of alastor viv did that I found

them being sad and curling up in a pile of shiny things like a dragon

OKAY I'M DONE. huge, huge thank you to prince for sharing their OC! this was a lot of fun and clearly inspired me a lot haha. please check out their writing; it's literally so good that I can't read anything else these days. I am chewing on their thoughts constantly.

this was an absolute monster of a post, so if you're still reading, I am both impressed and bewildered at your patience. I hope you enjoyed! (I certainly did!)

#prince (because they are very sweet): I'm excited to see your thoughts!#my thoughts: magpie like shiny hehe #hazbin hotel oc #prince-liest #hazbin hotel #my art #character design #sera hazbin hotel #em hazbin hotel

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despazito · 11 months

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Idk in my idyllic world the use of ai could improve animation workflow and catapult junior level artists into creative leads roles faster if there's less menial work to be done.

We could have artists still in charge of creative decisions and drawing vis dev while the computer assists with the most labour intensive steps of making shows or movies.

For simpler shows for instance it would be neat I think if you could run your storyboard through a script and have the machine import all relevant assets staged to the best of its abilities instead of manually having to drag props and rigs into your shot and scaling everything before you can even begin to animate (does that tech exist already? Probably).

Like nowadays we already have animation programs where you can set deformer limitations.

youtube

i could imagine a possible future where software includes or does subscription services to ai trained on work by artists who got paid to draw or animate template motions or anatomy references. something like generating smart bones could become an automated feature. i can maybe even foresee tech that can look at a character model or design sheet you've drawn and generate a rig for it. in all these scenarios you would have to correct stuff and tune things to your liking, but it gives a considerable head start to the work.

More dynamic shots could be made on smaller budgets if we gave ai props or backgrounds and said "give me this but rotated a little" instead of drawing the same damn chair from 10 angles as a prop artist, I refuse to believe anyone's passion in life is to make prop turnarounds or clean up inbetweens.

what if you had an ai that was trained on drawings of heads at every angle, animals in every angle, a slew of expressions and mouth shapes, then gave it a character ref drawn from a few angles and bam it makes the vtuber rig for you.

this still leaves space for original art and would still require a skilled creative to make something look it's best, that could be a gig. more animators could potentially begin their own smaller studios if cartoons are way easier to make. if anyone could potentially make their own movie in the future, charge people to do it right! no computer can replace a human knowledgeable in film or drawing to guide it in the right direction. without creative people at a production's core, i think the future of ai film is just a very, very, sophisticated version of goanimate than can also do art theft.

this could become the weird futuristic version of "i wrote this children's book can you illustrate it for me?" but instead your mom's friend wants to commission a show pilot they wrote a screenplay for.

When animation was drawn on cels we had entire painting departments whose job it was to paint each individual frame by literal numbers, and it was tedious!! Now we have the paint bucket tool for digital coloring, and software like Toonboom lets you color in one frame then generate the coloring for the proceeding frames. We still have a colour and painting department, it's just different work now. but now we also have people making full color cartoons from their basements because Flash was released for personal computers with said digital tech along with computer generated motion tweening for animation!!

Junior animator and junior bg painter or prop artist roles will probably face an overhaul where more work can be done with less people. But the utopian outcome would be these junior artists can sooner take up lead or supervisor positions where they get to execute their own ideas instead of someone else's. more shows or movies could be produced with less crew for less money, slashing costs when deciding what to greenlight or to take a risk on new talent. The problem is capitalism would make it suck because it only cares about exploiting workers for those cheapest costs possible and forego the necessary human crew required to make the difference between machine-assisted productions and pure ai generated slop

#my thoughts on ai #as someone with a degree in animation whose worked a bit in several parts of production pipeline

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poetryinsilence · 2 years

Text

Boyfriend Corey Cunningham 🔪 (18+)

🚨contains possibly some dark (maybe) triggering themes

-Corey is sweet and nice when you first met him. Kinda like the boy next door type

-He’s always there when you need help or when things needs a fixin’ (broken down kitchen appliances, car needs an oil change)

-You bump into him quite often when you’re out on grocery runs or simply going for a walk (weird coincidence right?)

-gradually, he began asking you out on dates and movie nights with him and you slowly fell in love with the cute quirks about him

-you’d be the one to confess that you love him. After hearing so, he would be on the verge of tears and pulls you in a tight embrace cuz he’s not the only one that feels the same way

-he’d open up to you about his upbringing and the way his mother treats him growing up. You would be in tears and cupping his face gently and kissing his pain away

-Corey had a habit of picking you up and dropping you off work. You insisted that it’s not necessary but he said that “it’s what boyfriends are for”

-occasionally, you swear you caught a glimpse of him outside your window during your shift. You look up and he’s gone

-one particular day, at the end of your shift, some old guy heckled you and got a bit handsy grabbing your wrist. Corey jumped out of nowhere and decked the guy right in the face

-you were shaking with nerves and heart dropped to your feet but he held you and rocked you till you calmed down. “It’s okay, baby. I got you”

-you’d ask him why he’s here but he said “I just had a feeling I should pick you up today”

-next evening he knocks on your door and you’re shocked to find him bloodied and battered, holding a bouquet in his hand.

-“what happened?!” “…some guy ambushed me”

-ushered him inside the house, you turn to call the cops but he grabs your wrist and you flinch from the sudden pain. Corey shakes his head and firmly said he doesn’t want to make this a big of a deal

-the deafening silence fills your bathroom, he flinches a little when the disinfectants smooth over his cuts. But the pain doesn’t really bother him.

-he would find himself, entranced by your touch, his hand trails the curve of your waist and inch his way up to the shape of your face, skin soft and supple and radiate with heat

-one thing lead to another, you’re sprawled out across the bed, him caging you in between, drawing out your jawline with feverish kisses

-your first time with him, he was gentle, loving. He made sure your needs were met before his. The next day when you look in the mirror, he peppered you with his markings, purple bruises and a few bite indents

-although, you initially thought the biting was just a spur of the moment and a kink he enjoy, you didn’t really mind the marks that he left you

-but over a while, his teeth sinks deeper into your skin, drawing blood at the moment of chasing both your highs. You look up with starry eyes, Corey hovers over you with a bloodied mouth agape. A prey trapping its victims, he’d draw his lips onto yours, showing you how good you taste

-the bite marks begin to appear more and more over your body; shoulders, arms, stomach, thighs. Corey knew people can’t see the marks he left on you, or else people in Haddonfield will question you. In the end, they will tear you away from him. No one can take you away from him

-they heal, scabs and scars over one another, he would rebrand them when they start to fade. You peer at your own reflection, markings scattered all over your body that you could connect them like constellations. For some sick and twisted part of you, you felt content that Corey will always be a part of you

-Corey— like the ever silent killer, appears in the reflection dawned with a stoic expression, snaking his arms around your waist in a tight embrace. The scent of you calms the bloodthirsting beast inside him, and the touch of your skin makes him weak to the knees, so much that he could either break you on the spot, sopping wet and twitching, and leave you begging for more. Or, you could ask him to die for you, and he would happily end his life at your will

-the next couple of nights, Corey came home, soaked in blood and bruises, a lone sunflower in his hand. One flower for each night (each victim), he counted. He said ‘it reminds him of you’ and beamed at you with the biggest smile on his tattered face. But, you were more concerned about his well-being than his act of gift giving

-and the cycle repeats itself— you would treat his wounds in your shared bathroom, then somehow you would end up pressed against the mattress with him stuffed inside you, filled to the brim

-if out of desperation, he would devour you while in the bathroom— situations on top of the sink and him between your legs until you come screaming for his name

-while cooking dinner one particular evening, the voice over the tv announced the bodies of a few missing citizen’s of Haddonfield found in an abandoned field

-“oh my god…isn’t that the guy that came to my work a few days ago?” Your voice trembles. Corey slips you into his body, rocking you side to side, soothing your nervous state and planting a kiss at your temple. “That’s a shame…” he mutters, pressing himself at the nook of your neck, “didn’t expect they would find him so quickly”

#corey cunningham #halloween ends #my corey blorbos🥺#he’s babey to me #corey cunningham x reader #corey cunningham x you #I will at some point write a wholeass fic…as soon as I finish some of my wips #⭐️.txt

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threi · 1 year

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Love your regan stuff so much <3 Also since you like questions may I ask about your process of making comics? Yours are so neat! I always struggle with panels and choosing an interesting perspective,,

thank u so much!

firstly i describe the idea with text (it's easier to choose the compose)

compose depends on what you need to show

if its hard, I'm splitting the text into small sentences that will become future frames

when you compose frames, you need to remember about text panels where you about where to place it

so when i have text of idea, i do draft storyboard (like this) (this is for big thing, but you can do same with smaller things)

about compose

(sorry about russian and tv format but with comics its almost the same)

you can choose the most suitable option, based on what needs to be shown, what kind of atmosphere, what emotions, what actions

the first frame has a domestic and frivolous atmosphere of the second one evokes a sense of the seriousness of the situation-a conversation

also you can create frames of any shape how you wanna just for fun or for plot

i use something like this for fast strips

and dont forget about facial expressions and gestures

you can use references, you can remember how you behaved in any situations

something can be borrowed from other works - movies, comics, manga (manga in this sense is my favorite, I really like how emotions are shown there) also cartoons are a very good base, since most often there emotions are exaggerated (memes are also good)

also you can use some templates for compositions the analysis of paintings from museums or drawings from the Internet is suitable for training

also in comics, animation principles are often used for brighter movement (t is not necessary to study everything, I would highlight the preparation, stretching and compression, movement in arcs (this is what I use most often))

for me, the most important thing is that the actions are understandable from the viewer's side

if you have a mess in your head and there are more questions, ask, I will be glad to answer

#comic #art

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adobe-outdesign · 1 year

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Have you reviewed mr rime? He’s one of my fav regional evos; makes mr mime into a cute lil guy

As a certified Mr. Mime enjoyer(TM), I'm a huge fan of Mr. Rime. "Mr. Mime evo that becomes Charlie Chaplin" is simply something I never knew I needed in my life but I'm so glad we got.

Thematically, going from Galarian Mr. Mime's tap-dancer theme to Charlie Chaplin's Tramp character makes logical sense. You could argue over whether or not this being a regional evo was necessary, but in this case I think the theme and the ice-based cane and shoes justify it enough, even if it's a shame that regular Mr. Mime gets left in the dust a bit. (Also side note: shoutout to whoever on the translation team came up with the "Mr. Rime" pun.)

The second face is appropriately silly (and likely is based off of the haradashi yokai, which also changes and has a face on its stomach). One of my favorite things about Mr. Rime is that the second face isn't just markings—the eyes on its stomach blink, as well as change expression. It's so bizarre that I can't help but love it.

And design-wise, this lad is delightful. The little mustache's shape is paralleled by the hair on the head, which also references the same hair G. Mr. Mime sports. Likewise, the shape of the "tux" parallels similar markings on G. Mr. Mime, and ties back into its icy, well, tie. The triangle nose becomes the mustache, and I think it's neat that the "hat" basically just covers its bald spot. It basically has its own unique design, but there's enough there to see how it continues from G. Mr. Mime.

The yellow spots draw attention to the two sets of eyes, while the red helps draw attention to the second face specifically. There's a good blend of blue, dark bluish purple, and light blue found in the rest of the design as well. I also appreciate the ice cane and shoes, as it works as a visual indication of the new typing that wouldn't be clear otherwise. The vaudevillian aspects are obvious, and this guy just oozes personality, even when not animated.

Overall, this is a 10/10 for me. Great concept, ties back into the pre-evo both thematically and visually, and has a ton of personality. You guy, funky little man.

#mr. rime #mr rime #pokemon #pokemon reviews #.gif

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kikiiswashere · 4 months

Text

Terms of Agreement - Chapter 2

When my bestie, @sand-sea-and-fable, asks for Zaundad smut, she gets Zaundad smut. However, I am gonna do it my way and make it longer than necessary. So a little, baby novella it is! Here's chapter 2!

Chapter 1

Summary: Vander shows Silco just how devoted he is to him.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Established Vander/Silco

Word Count: 3k

PURE AND UNADULTERATED SMUT FROM HERE ON OUT! MDNI!

-------

Warm, sticky steam enveloped Vander as he stepped inside the small, tiled room. He closed the door quietly behind him and tossed Silco’s shirt onto the rest of his clothes piled by the toilet. He shrugged off his vest and began to undo his belt.

“Mind if I join you?”

Silco’s silhouette paused behind the shower curtain, considering.

“It’s your bathroom, too,” was the snide reply.

Vander refused to bite on the passive aggressive statement and finished undressing, dropping his own clothes on top of Silco’s. Mindfully, he slipped into the shower behind his partner, and sighed at the sensation of hot water against his skin. Silco’s back was to him, and his gaze raked down his slender form appreciatively.

Vander enjoyed all body types, but Silco was by far his favorite. The most beautiful. His silver eyes tracked the breadth of those sinewy, strong shoulders; down the narrowing planes of his back to a slim, slim waist. He lovingly smirked as his gaze dropped to Silco’s comically small and perfect ass. He loved to grope and bite those pert and round cheeks, like they were the sweetest pieces of fruit from the market. Below, his long and lean legs sprouted. Like the rest of him, his muscles were cut close to the bone; their shapes and lines defined by Silco’s minimal amount of body fat.

Vander felt his cock stir. He tamped down its excitement and gently reached out to run the tips of his fingers down Silco’s spine. The smaller man, who had been running his hands through his hair, stopped at the touch. But still did not turn to look at Vander.

“I missed ya, Sil,” Vander murmured, stepping closer. His front wasn’t flush to Silco’s backside yet, but it was a near thing.

Silco snorted and reached for the bar of soap nestled in the shower’s corner. He began lathering his arms and chest with feverish attention.

“Did you now?”

Vander sighed and dropped his head, brow pressing against Silco’s damp crown. His giant hands settled on those narrow hips. And Silco stilled.

“I did,” he said, and stepped closer, allowing their bodies to mold against one another. Vander’s heart thudded furiously to feel Silco go ever so slightly slack against him. A bodily response even Silco’s conscious mind couldn’t fight against. Proof that they had been meant for each other, Vander thought.

“I haven’ seen ya for three days. I get fuckin’ worried sick when yer out there. By yerself.”

Silco began soaping himself up again. “You seemed to be managing just fine.”

“Sil – “

“Aren’t you needed up in the bar?”

Vander flinched at that. But he rallied, and slid his hands around Silco’s middle, drawing him tightly against his belly and chest.

“Benzo’s got it covered,” he said, nuzzling at Silco’s temple, kissing the hair plastered there.

“Benzo can manage the bar, yes,” Silco scoffed, “but what about your friend?”

Vander loosed a weary sigh. “It’s just business, Sil. I didn’ know you’d be back t’night. An’ I didn’ know she was comin’ by.”

“I told you I’d be back in three days.”

“Yeah, an’ half the time ya say that an’ it ends up bein’ double.”

“Sometimes things happen – “

“I’m not blamin’ ya, Silco,” Vander insisted, firming his grip on his partner enough to spin him around. He took the soap and placed it in back in the corner. Silco glared up at him. “It’s just . . . we agreed. I let you do these missions – “

“You let me?”

“ – An’ I help Zaun on the home front by . . . well, ya know.” He waggled his head from side-to-side, not quite meeting Silco’s ire-filled stare. “It’s just business.”

“Yeah, well, it hurts me when you bring your ‘business’ into our home,” Silco spat. His glare became watery and he broke Vander’s gaze. “I know you are only doing what we agreed. I know it’s not . . . personal. I just . . . don’t want to see it,” he muttered, his voice barely louder than the running water.

Vander’s face softened and he drew Silco closer to him, a large hand splayed on his lower back. His other hand cupped and lifted Silco’s chin, allowing their eyes to meet once again.

“’M sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’ mean to hurt you. I won’ bring it here anymore.”

After a moment, Silco’s face softened and he felt him give the tiniest nod against his palm.

“You missed me?” he coyly asked.

Vander grinned. “You bet yer sweet ass I did.”

He leaned down and closed the distance between them. As their lips met, Silco wound his arms around Vander’s shoulders and leaned up into the kiss. Mentally, he was kicking himself for being such puddy in his partner’s hands.

Physically and emotionally, he was flint – Vander, the spark. Together, they became aflame with desire.

Silco slanted his thin lips against Vander’s full ones, his silver tongue flicking across the miniscule space between them. A soft rumble rolled at the back of the Hound’s throat as he thrust his own tongue forward, sliding across Silco’s, probing the roof of his mouth.

Silco couldn’t help it. He whined. Gripping Vander’s shoulders tighter, he lifted himself onto his toes to kiss him more intensely.

Insistently.

Desperately.

One of his hands slid up and fisted itself in Vander’s brown hair. His locks were smooth and thick between Silco’s fingers.

“Did ya miss me too,” Vander teased, pulling away to nip at his partner’s ear.

“Shut the fuck up,” hissed Silco, wrapping his lips around Vander’s throat, and sucking fiercely. Leaving his mark on the Hound.

Vander grunted and his hips tilted forward, his dick half hard and well on its way. He gripped Silco’s ass – hard – and felt his partner’s own growing cock against his belly. Vander’s balls tightened and something small and excited fizzed tantalizingly low behind his navel. He wrestled Silco back into a kiss that was all tongue and lips. His right-hand slip down around his partner’s small ass. His fingers pet the defined cut that bisected his buttock from his leg. And then slid lower. And under.

Silco started and gasped at the first tender stroke placed on that sensitive strip of flesh between his balls and anus. His hips pressed back into Vander’s digit. His lover did it again. And again. Each time, the swipe would end nearer and nearer toward that tight ring of muscle. Silco whined and panted into Vander’s mouth, kisses becoming too wide and hungry. His cock grew and thrummed between them, the tip of him pointing up seeking attention. It pressed into Vander’s flat, strong belly, and the pressure was as euphoric as it was maddening. Silco groaned, his hips rocking between Vander’s finger and stomach.

The Hound broke away and looked down between them.

“Janna Almighty, Sil,” he breathed, crowding his partner against the shower wall, and sinking to his knees.

Vander’s hands raked up and down Silco’s front – just as slim and defined as his back. In the glistening light of the bathroom, under the spray of water, the delicate cut of his physique glimmered and shone. Like starlight on the Pilt. Vander’s cock ached at the sight of him. He was so beautiful. How could he ever think Vander would prefer anyone to him?

His thumbs flicked Silco’s dusty pink – nearly mauve – nipples, and raked down his ribs. Silco shuddered. Not only at the sensation, but at the sight: The Hound of the Underground on his knees in front of him.

For him.

It made Silco feel loved. And powerful. He reached out and ran his hand threw Vander’s hair, guiding his head to tilt up. For their eyes to meet. They looked at each other, eyelids heavy with lust, lips kiss swollen. Vander grinned at Silco, and nuzzled the thatch of wiry hair near his hip crease.

“I missed ya, Sil,” he said into his skin, and then licked a long, wide stripe up the groove of his hip flexor.

Silco sighed and shuddered, his hips jutting forward into nothing. His cock seeking out something, anything. A low chuckle rippled through Vander’s throat as he shifted his head over – making a point to lightly drag his lips across the purpling head of Silco’s dick – to the other hip crease. Another teasing, erotic swipe of his tongue.

Silco grunted, the back of his head bumped against the tile. In frustration. In elation.

“Vander – “

Before he needed to ask, there was wet, delicious heat tracing the underside of his shaft. Then a seal around his head. Light suction before Vander bobbed his head down in increments, running his tongue along veins and Silco’s frenulum, until he was nestled at the root of his partner.

Silco’s hands threaded through Vander’s hair as his eyes closed, his eyebrows pitching up in ecstasy. Vander drew back slightly, adjusted the angle of his head, relaxed his throat, and began a gentle rhythm.

Pleasure rattled up and down Silco’s spine as Vander repeatedly swallowed around his cock. When his hips jerked forward, Vander’s hands gently, but firmly, held Silco in place. A touch that said ‘I got this. Let me take care of you.’ He created a particularly tight seal and swirled his tongue around Silco’s flushed glans. A gesture to assure, tease, elate, and promise.

“Y-yes-s,” Silco moaned, scraping his nails against Vander’s scalp.

Vander hummed in thanks and the sound vibrated through Silco’s sensitive cock wonderfully; another bolt of pleasure rocketing up his spine, his abdominal muscles flexing excitedly.

“I missed you, Vander,” he whispered up toward the ceiling as his lover continued to lavish him.

Vander’s right hand stroked down Silco’s thigh once, twice, before carefully lifting the back of his knee, and slinging his leg over his shoulder. Before Silco could question what he was on about, there was a gentle press against his hole. He gasped, and accidentally pulled Vander’s hair. He winced, but chuckled around Silco and pressed his index finger against him again, circling. His heart soared when the tip of his digit was welcomed in. Water was fine, but it wasn’t lube; so Vander very slowly and very gently pumped his fingertip in and out. Above him, Silco whimpered and cursed, his body opening effortlessly. His hips pressed down as he took in Vander to the second knuckle.

“Faster,” he ordered. Although, Vander knew it was a plead.

He obliged, pumping his finger in and out in time with the contracting of his throat. Silco’s thighs began to tremble.

“Another. Please.”

Vander pulled off of Silco’s cock, a thick string of drool hung between its tip and his bottom lip. He grasped the shaft in his left hand and began a languid, but steady pace. Hand jobs were easier to give when his attention needed to be elsewhere. His middle finger zipped up tightly against his index, and the pair slowly breached Silco’s opening.

Silco flung his head back and groaned, fighting the urge to just sit on Vander’s hand. The fingers bottomed out, and a sly grin cut across Vander’s face as the pad of his middle digit lightly pressed against that spot he knew so, so well. Silco jerked and choked. Vander drew his fingers back and slid them in again and again, each time brushing that knot of nerves with more conviction.

Vander smiled as he watched his lover become more and more undone. Silco’s face pink with pleasure and open; his slender body trembling. He looked so good. Gods above, Vander loved him.

With the pace set, Vander prepared to take Silco back in his mouth. To finish him off and take his cum down his throat. But as his lips pressed against the tip of him, Silco batted him away.

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head. “No, no. I want – I want you inside.”

Vander’s heart leapt. He chuckled, “I am inside ya, Sil.”

He rubbed the tips of his fingers against his prostate pointedly. Silco yelped and ground his hips against Vander’s hand.

“The other way,” he panted, swinging his leg off Vander’s shoulder. “I want your cock. Please. I’ve missed it.”

Silco couldn’t bring himself to care how desperate he sounded. He had missed Vander. Had missed having sex with him. Had missed his cock. It was all true. He would deal with the vulnerability hang over later. Right now, with his prostate and dick well-primed, he just needed to be fucked.

At once, Vander was reminded of his own dick. He’d been so wrapped up in and around Silco, he’d forgotten his own turgid member. Since dropping to his knees, it had grown and swelled in the wake of the sounds and sensations of his lover. It ached and dribbled.

Silco carefully stepped out from in front of him, and Vander took himself up in his own hand. He allowed himself a couple strokes to soothe the pressure in his rock-hard member. He stood, cock bobbing proudly before him, turning toward Silco. His partner was bent over at the waist, hands braced on the tiled wall, that perfect ass presented and ready. His blue eyes glanced over his shoulder, hazy and lust-filled. Vander’s mouth went dry with want. He surged forward and grabbed Silco’s narrow hips.

He curled over his back and whispered, “’M gonna make ya feel so good.”

“You better,” Silco purred, tilting the cleft of his ass to catch the cock prodding him.

Vander laughed lowly, before taking hold and guiding himself toward Silco’s winking hole. A zip of pleasure rocketed up from his toes to the crown of his head as the tip of him was pulled in.

Heaven. Silco felt like heaven, if there was such a place. Vander drew back before pressing forward again, digging deeper. He didn’t suppose he’d ever make it to heaven, but he didn’t care. Not when he could hold it in his arms; not when he could be wrapped up in it, feel it from the inside out.

After another couple rocks and sways, Vander was seated to the hilt – his pubic hair scratching at Silco’s cheeks, his heavy balls caressing the back of his slender thighs. Vander sighed in relief and bent over, resting his forehead between Silco’s shoulder blades. Beneath him, the smaller man trembled and panted.

“Ya okay?” Vander asked, kissing his back.

Silco nodded. “More than okay. Move. Please.”

“Anything fer you.”

Vander kissed between his shoulder blades once more and stood. With a secure hold on Silco’s hips, he began thrusting back and forth. The sound of wet skin slapping together rang throughout the bathroom; Vander’s grunts and Silco’s whines were quick to join, the small space becoming a cacophony of sound. Neither had enough bandwidth to consider or care if the sound of their love-making traveled up to the bar.

Silco’s nails scraped against the tile wall. His ribcage swung frantically with his breath, like the bellows that kept the furnaces alive in Augmentation Alley. Intense pleasure built up his spine like a heating thermostat; his cock jumped and dripped. With each pass and press of Vander’s dick against his insides, he didn’t know whether to push back or pull away. His thighs began to tingle, his knees began to knock.

“Fuck, Sil,” Vander gasped behind him. “So tight. So. Fucking. Good.”

He grit his teeth and increased the pace. Silco cried out and his back arched. He babbled and agreed.

“Vander!” Silco yelped. “I ne – I need – “

“I gotcha, Love,” Vander assured, knowing exactly what Silco needed.

His right hand released Silco’s hip and swooped under him, taking hold of his impossibly rigid cock. The smaller man moaned and bobbled his head up and down as Vander began stroking him. Silco gasped and pleaded and rocked his hips into Vander’s hold.

“Yes yes yes yes – hng – YES!”

Silco came with a cry, ropes of himself splattering over Vander’s fingers and against the tub. After working him through his orgasm, Vander made to pull out, but Silco reached his hand back and grabbed his thick wrist.

“No. Inside. Inside, please,” he breathlessly asked. And then, with more snark, “You’re not done making me feel good.”

A grin that toed the line between sweet and wicked curled Vander’s lips, and he renewed his grip on Silco. Truthfully, he was grateful for the request. There was something about finishing inside his partner that felt untouchably intimate. It made him feel close to the man he loved.

Vander set a vigorous pace, as much for himself as it was for Silco. The muscles cradling his cock squeezed and massaged as the head of him beat against that bundle of nerves repeatedly. The fizzing behind his navel swelled and bubbled in mounting pleasure.

“Oh, Gods, Vander,” Silco warbled as the pressure against his prostate threatened to release. Vander’s hips stuttered. His cock swelled. “Fuck, I love you.”

Vander erupted at the proclamation. Yelling in relief as he unloaded inside of Silco, his hips rutting against his backside. The firm, consistent sensation of Vander’s cock massaging him, coupled with the feeling of his seed filling him up, tipped Silco over the edge. He moaned lowly as the deep, gooey feeling of release seeped through his muscles and bones, threatening to shake his legs right out from under him.

Before he could slip away, strong arms were gathering him up and lifting him away from the wall. Vander pulled Silco into his chest, his softening dick slowly slipping out of him. He winced at the emptiness and sighed. Vander kissed his temple and held him tighter.

“I missed ya, Sil. I love you, too.”

Silco hummed appreciatively and wrapped his arms in front of Vander’s. He turned his head, and Vander ducked his head down, kissing him softly.

Belatedly, Silco heard the patter of the shower. Then he felt the water. He’d forgotten where they were. He shivered.

“The water’s gone cold,” he said against Vander’s lips.

The Hound huffed a small laugh, and reached behind him to turn off the spigot. “Let’s get ya into some warm clothes, yeah?”

Silco smiled and nodded, following his partner out of the tub.

-------

Notes: *blushing furiously* I HOPE YOU LIKED IT. If you did, please comment and reblog! I'd really appreciate it!!

There will be at least one more chapter. Hopefully, I'll have it up in the early days of the new year.

Coming Up Next: Silco reminds Vander why he belongs to him

#silco #vander #vanco #silco x vander #zaundads #young silco #young vander #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco fanfic #vander fanfic #mdni #smut #silco smut #vander smut #zaundads smut #my writing

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philomenie · 1 month

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MOON HILL

4 Beings from a different time, a different world than today. Rivals, friends, allies from the beginning of time. 4 magical beings, long separated, now reunited to save what means the most to them.

Moon Hill

Nicholas: Peuchen, vampire-like winged serpent, demon

Joakim: Fenris, Fenrir, wolf-like demigod

Nick: Kerberus, hellhound

Noah: Yokai, demon, Chi o nomu hito, blood-drinker, also Kyuketsuki, vampire

CN Fantasy, Mystery, Mention of Blood, Torture, Killing, Betrayal

ONE

NOAH

It is rainy, nothing else he expected from this cold part of the world, people scurrying crouched through the gathering darkness.

Bored, the strikingly tall man watches them for a while with his dark, almond-shaped eyes,

Humans... necessary for the sole purpose of feeding him! To make them subservient to him, to manipulate them into thinking that they have come of their own free will, that they are masters of their own senses, goals and thoughts.

A sneer forms around his mouth.

The rain has soaked his chin-length hair and drops are falling onto his black trench coat with the collar turned up.

He is also dressed in black in other respects, his black suit trousers, black leather belt, elegant black ankle-high boots, his tight-fitting turtleneck sweater that hugs his muscular upper body and whose collar he can pull over his lower face if necessary.

His hands are hidden in black leather gloves.

His most sacred possession, the katana of his ancestors, is hidden from view on his back under his coat.

In public, he hardly shows himself in any other way, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself, to his body, his skin covered with tattoos, sigils and incantations, signs of his power and strength.

He is a yokai, a demon, older than mankind.

Chi o nomu hito, they called him in his old homeland, Japan, blood-drinker. Or kyuketsuki, vampire!

And that's what he is, a vampire, a blood-drinker who has wiped out entire families and clans, sometimes in a single night.

He was feared even among the other yokai, the only one who never feared him was Yuki Onna.

As always, his heart sinks at the thought of her. Now is not the time for feelings, he gruffly frees himself from them, concentrates, watches and waits.

"You're late! What kept you?" his voice dark and quiet.

"The weather, I don't like wet!"

Noah looks mockingly at the smaller man next to him, "You're getting old Nicholas, in the past even a hailstorm wouldn't have stopped you!"

"Times are changing! And don't tell me you're still as impetuous and reckless as you were in the beginning!"

Noah growls in reply.

Nicholas strokes his arms several times.

"What are you doing?" Noah wants to know.

"Trying to dry my feathers, I want to be able to use them and not have to crawl!"

"You think it's necessary to change?"

Nicholas laughs coldly, "What did you think? That we'd just march in there in human form and the guards would just leave him to us? After all this time?"

"I thought we could deal with them like that, yes. After all, we're older than them and stronger!" Noah's gaze remains fixed on the road.

Nicholas looks at him skeptically out of his blue-gray piercing eyes, then shakes his head with his shoulder-length, raven-black hair. The weather is really getting to him.

Like Noah, he is also dressed completely in black, but in tight black jeans, a black sweater, a wool short coat and a scarf. He also wears black leather gloves.

He is a Peuchen, a demon like Noah, fire his element. In its original form, it is a powerful winged serpent that drinks the blood of its victims and tears their bodies apart.

His human form is also covered in tattoos, sigils and incantations. Like Noah, he is feared by his kind.

"Where is Folio?" he wants to know from his old friend, "late too?"

"No, Folio is watching the entrance for us!"

"I hope not in his original form!"

"I strongly assume he is, if not human, then at least a simple representative of his species!"

"I wouldn't put anything past our hellhound!" growls Nicholas. "That's why Joakim is in this position in the first place!"

Noah sighs, "I know, but today is finally the day we're going to change that. And then they will pay, for every single day!" His eyes blaze with anger and vengeance.

"It's going to be a celebration, just like before!" Nicholas' face lights up with anticipation.

"Just like before, my friend! And then we'll be united again, no one will be able to stop us. We will regain our sanctuary and protect it for eternity!"

"So it shall be, so it shall be!"

"Once we have freed him, we have to find the Völva, the Kami Izanagi has made it clear. We won't succeed without the Völva!"

Nicholas snorts, "And has your kami made it any clearer where we should find these Völva?"

"We will cross her path, those were his words!"

"Well then, nothing can go wrong!" Nicholas barks sarcastically.

Noah's eyes narrow, "You dare to doubt the words of a kami, a god?"

"Since when do you listen to gods?" Nicholas laughs with amusement.

"Since everything went wrong, I at least give their words a hearing and a chance!"

"Yuki...." is as far as Nicholas gets.

"Leave it!" hisses Noah, "she's unreachable, and that's a good thing!"

Nicholas looks at his friend skeptically.

"When Folio comes back, which should be soon, it's on!" Noah's eyes glow black; through his open mouth, Nicholas can see his friend's fangs grow longer. Noah's thirst for blood has awakened.

Now he can't resist it, at the thought of the blood of their enemies, his fangs also flare out and his skin begins to shimmer like iridescent snakeskin.

FOLIO

To avoid attracting attention, he has turned himself into a dog. It's beneath him, but he owes Joakim, and he knows that his old friend will make him pay when they free him.

It's his fault that they found Joakim, that they kept him bound for so long.

It's not as if they hadn't tried to firee him before, but the Norns threw a spanner in the works. Let it be his fate....

Folio shakes his head in disgust, having to submit to those three old, blind women back then was the hardest thing ever. He would have loved to crush them all with his powerful jaws. But before he could even reach them, they would have cut Joakim's fateful thread and his friend would have been lost beyond repair.

Noah then called him and Nicholas back, complied, he had never seen Noah angrier.

Joakim's desperate roar back then, when he realized that even his friends couldn't do anything, still rings in his ears today.

Scowling, he turns his attention back to the tall, elegant building in front of him.

It is well protected, invisible to the human eye, but he is not human, he is Kerberus, the hound of hell.

The magical sigils and runes are cleverly embedded in the façade. The billowing energy fields generated by them can be broken by normal mortals. Impenetrable for magical beings, demons, gods and demigods.

But Noah is certain that it is possible today, as his kami Izanagi has assured him. Let's hope he's right. Folio remembers all too well the painful, unsuccessful attempts to penetrate the field.

There, the roller shutters on the doors and windows of the building close. The time has come.

Folio sets off, quickly running along the streets on all fours.

But before he arrives at the agreed meeting point, he wants to change. He will certainly not appear before his friends as a simple street dog - that would be beneath him.

Nicholas would let him feel that for a long time. He can clearly imagine Noah's appraising looks. He stops behind the wall of a house where he has changed beforehand, looks around and makes sure that no one can see him. Then he begins his transformation.

His limbs become longer and stronger, the mangy fur gradually disappears and human skin becomes visible. His jaws recede, his ears become human. He straightens up, he is strong, the smallest of the friends, covered in tattoos, sigils and incantations just like them.

He quickly grabs his bag, which he has left there, and gets dressed, also in black. Jeans, sweatshirt, boots, leather jacket, he puts a baseball cap on his short brown hair and pulls the shield low over his face.

He starts to move, he has to hurry now, he doesn't want to be responsible for them missing the time slot.

When he arrives at the meeting point, he sees that Nicholas has now joined Noah.

It's good to see everyone together again and hopefully they'll all be back together tonight.

"Folio, good to see you, man!" Nicholas slaps him amicably on the shoulder!

"Likewise, good to be reunited!"

"We're not reunited yet!" Folio winces slightly at Noah's sharp objection.

Damn this cold blood-drinker always manages to make him look like a failure. Folio angrily meets his gaze.

"Not yet, but we're going to change that today!" Folio sticks his chin out at Noah, belligerently.

Noah ignores the objection, asking instead, "What's the situation there, everything quiet?"

"Yes, the mortals have left the building, all the rolling gates are closed. The sigils and runes still activated when I left. Are you really sure about the date, Noah?"

"I'm sure today is the day, the night, when the Bound One will be freed!"

"Your word is in the ears of the gods!" sighs Nicholas.

"The gods now?" Noah suddenly grins at Nicholas.

"This lot must be good for something!" he snaps.

"What do we do now?" Folio wants to know.

"We'll go to the building and wait until the power of the seals breaks!" Noah replies calmly.

"THAT'S the plan?" Folio is stunned, Nicholas also looks worried.

"That's the plan!" confirms Noah.

"And then what? Do we just march in, greet the guards, and traipse underground to free Joakim from his damn shackles?! And we'll stop by the Norns in between? Or what?!" Folio gets louder and louder.

"Something like that!" Noah's voice still calm.

"Nicholas, you say something! This is madness!"

"Well, that's probably how his kami Izanagi saw it!" Nicholas' voice also full of doubt.

"His kami? Noah you and a god?" Folio couldn't be more stunned.

"Desperate times, force one to desperate acts and unusual alliances. And you know exactly what's at stake! You know very well why it came to this in the first place!" Noah's voice is as cold as ice.

Folio winces "I know it's my fault, I didn't think they'd find him....."

"Yes Folio, that's the problem, you THOUGHT!" Noah's voice and look disparaging.

Folio would like to hit him, to transform and tear the arrogant blood-drinker's neck apart with one of his powerful jaws while the others tear his body apart. But he knows that before he could even change into his demon form, Noah would have cut him in two with his katana.

Nicholas couldn't have stopped him. Noah is faster than the wind, even in human form he is superior to most demons, magical beings and demigods. Even gods would have a problem with him, as he has proven several times.

Transformed, he is the bringer of death to all. That is why he is the leader of the small group.

Even Joakim, as a demigod, has subordinated himself to him. Not from the beginning, there were fierce battles between the two. But he was no match for Noah.

NICHOLAS

Nicholas is skeptical, if THIS is supposed to be the plan, then he doesn't know either. He had expected something more when Noah contacted him.

He had sensed all along that something was changing.

The sanctuary had always been guarded by one of them, but the complete absence of the fourth guardian, Joakim, had slowly but steadily changed the balance of power.

He felt the dark, all-consuming nothingness growing ever more powerful, stretching its claws out at them, at everyone else.

Not that he or any of his friends were among the light figures of the known world, no, certainly not, but this nothingness that suddenly appeared changed everything.

Light and dark were now forced to make a pact against a common enemy.

Hence Noah's collaboration with the kami Izanagi. He could never have imagined this in his wildest dreams.

He is also not sure how Joakim will react to this news. He's probably fed up with gods for the time being.

Joakim's father Loki tried to intervene at the time, but to no avail, Odin was too angry with the Fenris wolf, had him bound, broke his power.

Nicholas sighs, none of this would have happened if Folio hadn't been in love with Skadi and accidentally revealed Joakim's whereabouts to her. Moon Hill, the sanctuary of them all.

The gods invaded it, captured him and bound him in Asgard with the thread Gleipnir.

Even Joakim could not break it, as it was made by the dwarves.

Gods are a sneaky lot, Nicholas is sure.

If anything goes wrong today, he fears that the divine wrath will descend on them all. These arrogant, ignorant Asen still don't understand what's at stake and Odin would probably rather kill the Fenris wolf than set him free. Out of sheer fear that Joakim is ultimately more powerful than the Aesir.

Nicholas is glad at this moment that he is a demon, not that other demons wouldn't have wanted to kill him too, not that, but being betrayed by his own blood has a different quality of infamy!

His own blood would never have dared to lay a hand on him.

He notices Noah next to him.

"Ready?" he asks him.

"Always, I'm just waiting for your signal!"

"The seals should break at any moment!"

"What if Odin has ordered the guards to kill Joakim if anyone tries to break free again?"

"Then they'll be in for a shock! You can't kill the Fenris wolf that easily! Joakim wouldn't let anyone get that close to him!" Noah is certain.

Nicholas nods silently, not fully convinced.

"What will he do with Folio when he's free?"

"Knowing Joakim, he'll be tempted to kill him. I really can't blame him. However, it will remain an attempt. Joakim isn't stupid, he knows what's at stake. He's always known!"

"Ragnarök?"

"Call it what you will, but yes, world conflagration, end of the world, all that. If we can't protect Moon Hill, it will happen soon!"

"And what is this Völva supposed to do? Who is it supposed to be anyway?"

"She is the link between everything. Her work is supposed to make the void disappear again!"

"Then let's hope we find her!"

"We definitely should!" growls Noah darkly.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #joakim jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #bad omens fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 1 year

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Beef over Wands

Harry Potter meets Black Panther meets HBCU. #ReaderInsert

Fun lil one and done unless y'all want more.

Nigga stole my wand, you glare as the six foot fool takes his turn in the duel. Erik is his name. He's up against Turner Pewter, Hufflepuff's best, and he's swishing all wrong. The wand is his only saving grace against his wack technique.

"Let's go Turner," you cheer when Turner defends Erik's blows perfectly. "As you should," you clap. He fires right back. "As to be expected from a HAMU senior." Blow for blow, he's proving to the dueling club why he's called the best of his year. "Turner dodge!"

Erik throws a potion bomb that erupts in green smoke, making Turner gag and cover his eyes as he's disarmed. Dammit Turner. Facepalming, you sigh. "Dirty play."

"Here's a free lesson. It's only dirty if it's against the rulebook."

"Tomato," you say flatly, turning to Turner. "That was all you, you did that."

"HIM? I won! Oooh..," he points. "I get it. You still mad about your lil wand." He twirls it in the air.

You wanted that wand. You draw its twin into your grasp and move into the dueling circle as you stare him down. He was so focused on taking something that didn't belong to him that he didn't do his research. You push your glasses up so they don't slip off your nose. He's not taking you seriously.

"I'm all about a duel, but this ain't what you want, sweetheart."

You hold your wand before your face, in starting position.

"Wands at the ready," Turner announces. Reluctantly, Erik gets into position.

(Flashback)

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts Agricultural and Magical University. Students will be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival. Please find an enclosed list of necessary books and equipment. Term begins February 1, 2023. We await your owl by no later than January 12, 2023. To avoid detection by muggles, please use the entrance located at Grand Central Station in New York, New York. We look forward to having you at our school.

Choosing schools was hell. Either way you went, you were disappointing someone. Your parents stood in the living room while you stood in the ashen fireplace. Your send-off was a personal and private affair. No outside family allowed. Dad held you by your shoulders and told you to send word at the slightest whisp should you find yourself in a pickle. Mom already had the start of a new photo album labeled for your college days. Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room. Your boyfriend wasn't there.

Dusting it off, you said a proper goodbye and threw a fistful of floo powder. "Grand Central Station." In a poof, you were heading into a busy bathroom to change out of your dusty clothes into something appropriate and stylishly blue. You walked through the specified wall and boarded your express train, unnoticed by the muggles, and within the hour, you were in a new and unfamiliar town. Caldwell Avenue. Luckily, your acceptance letter came with a map.

"Where Cauldron Depot is," a girl stops in front of you to ask.

"I'm new like you, I don't know," you walk by. There's another girl with long braids staring at her map and standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Not everyone has a sense of direction. Ignoring her, you continue to a shop called Grim's Wands & Wonders. It's nothing like Olivander's. It's less antique, more like a Zale's diamond store. Everything expensive or superpowered is protected behind spelled glass.

"HELLO," a woman pops up. She's definitely British, wearing long black locs pulled back and a tailored purple twin-tailed suit. "I see you're interested in charms," she taps the glass you only glanced at for a second and points to the exact triangle-shaped charm that attracted you. "You need luck?"

"I do," you step forward to get a better look. "I assume you're Grim."

"Mhm. Oh dear, it's all over you."

"Luck?"

"What? No. She's torn up about her one and only legacy choosing Hogwarts of all places."

"Excuse me?"

"Your mum." She takes the charm from its showcase. "She's disappointed. She did all she could to sway you in the direction of Beauxbatons."

"You know my mom?"

"Of course not," she laughs. "I do psychic work on the side. And that boyfriend of yours will come around." Putting the charm on a silver chain, she clasps it around your neck. "Pretty. This little stone in the center is peridot," her hands rest on your shoulders as you look at your reflection.

"The stone of innocence."

"It'll help you trust your intuition."

"Yikes," you wince.

"No worries."

"No, my intuition disappoints the ones closest to me. I need the opposite."

"You're a smart, young Ravenclaw and HAMU is a wonderful school. You'll do fine."

"Well I know that.."

She smiles as the entrance door audibly opens and shuts behind you. "Hello, just a sec-"

"I need a wand," the new customer demands, leaning on the glass despite the sign that says not to.

"Well. We have lots," Grim gestures smartly to the many many wands. "Take a beat. I'll be with you shortly." Returning her full attention to you, she glances to your school bag and extends her palm. "Now then. Let's get down to it, shall we? I have reason to believe the wand in your possession.. is ready to assist another young witch in finding her magic."

"Oh? What witch, because I don't foresee myself letting it go."

"Sentimental," she nods. "I suspected. As we develop, we become different people. Your wand has not changed with you."

Well, isn't that convenient. Confused, you pull out your wand and stare her down. Her intuition hasn't been wrong, so you'll trust her. She inspects it, gently closing it in a black rectangular wand box and setting it aside.

"Look I got things to do. Just gimme this wand right here," the other customer interjects. He's looking at a long and elegant black one, 14 inches and sturdy with a tribal cut embossed with silver metalfruit dye. It's very rare. "Give me that one."

"That one's not for you.. But I have one in mind. I'll be right with you. Now, as I was saying.. Let's see about a new wand."

Her fingers sweep gently over the glass cases as she walks around her store. There are hundreds of elaborate and unique wands neatly on display. No one in London had anything close to a wand this artful. She hesitates, muttering to herself as she hovers over one before changing her mind and hovering over another.

"Shit," the guy mutters under his breath. He's sucking the tip of his finger when you glance over. That's what he gets for trying to tamper with spelled glass.

"Is this your first wand," you shade.

He pulls out his current wand and lays it down. "My third." It's an Olivander wand, you can tell. It's very similar to yours, almost identical. Your nose wrinkles. It's possible he attended Hogwarts School of Magic with you, but he doesn't look familiar. Different year, maybe?

Grim returns with her find. You give it a wave, and the ceiling cracks.

"NO MA'AM," she snatches it and locks it away. The guy snickers, but both you and Grim ignore him. Racing to the opposite end of the store, Grim grabs a few wand boxes seemingly at random. She races them back. "What house was your father? No that's not it," she removes an option. "When's your birthday? Never mind." She brings the box back. You hear the open and door shut behind you once more. Another customer.

She opens the boxes, revealing 4 beautifully made wands, all of different styles. Your hand is drawn to one, and when you touch it, you feel it taking you in, sizing you up. You can feel its intent. It's an elegant, beautiful, and powerful wand for a powerful, elegant, and beautiful witch. It has swirling gold patterns.

"The core is dragonheart string," Grim grins, reading your mind. The most powerful wands have a Dragonheart string core.

Grim steps away to greet the other customers. You place the wand back in its box and eavesdrop as she helps the guy who came in after you.

"Just gimme this," he points to the same wand he's been waiting on. He tosses his wand on the glass like trash, one of the most disrespectful things he could do in front of a wandmaker. Grim's tongue presses into her cheek.

"Big bad wizard. This old wand could never keep up with the likes of you." Her voice drips with sarcasm as she picks up his old wand from the counter, inspecting it. You're holding your breath. Her hackles are up. "I see you chose not to return this piece to Olivander. I'd know an Olivander wand anywhere."

"Then you know why I'm getting rid of it. It doesn't suit me."

"We wandmakers take great pride in the study and art of our craft. We know our wands inside and out. This wand is the one you need. Maybe not the one you want.. but it would behoove you to trust in decades of research and expert-"

"Gimme the wand."

Offended, Grim stores the old wand in an empty black box and puts it away, granting his request and pulling the long black and silver wand he was looking at. He strokes the pattern gently, barely waves it, and an engraved water canteen on a far shelf explodes.

You snicker and cover your mouth.

"I'm not paying for that," he sets the wand down quickly.

"That was the will of a wand that seems to know you better than you do," you remark.

"Try this one," Grim presses a second wand into his hand before he can respond. "Ancient olive oak from Ancient Sumeria. The core is pure dragon's scale. It's powerful but delicate."

"I don't need delicate," he frowns as it flips out of his hand and across the shop, rejecting him.

"Telling," your eyes roll.

Wands have personalities. His is aggressive. You see disaster come once more when he demands to try a sandy golden wand.

"Demanding which wands you want with no regard for the materials? You don't understand wands at all. That's Ashwood. Even I know you're incompatible. Ashwood wands gravitate to users who are stubborn and courageous, however, never arrogant or crass."

"You real chatty," his attention turns to you.

"I've been called worse." You watch him approach. "You'd know these things if you'd done any research."

"I like this one," he snatches up the box you've already chosen, or more accurately, has chosen you.

"Then give it a wave," you smirk in challenge. "I recognize an arrogant Slytherin when I see one. Go on."

He waves your wand and visible waves of power eb and flow around him. The wand didn't do that for you. Eyes wide, you look at Grim. She shrugs, like there's nothing she can do.

"This wand seems to be indecisive," she says.

"Indecisive? Dragonheart string requires a powerful user. I'm stronger than him. I'm smarter than him. What's to decide?"

"It sees you both as worthy weilders. However, it will always side with the most ambitious. This wand seeks power."

"Obviously not. Besides, I was first," you argue.

"The wand chooses the wizard, I do know that," the guy smirks, swirling the wand box in his hand. Shaking your head in disbelief, you stare at Grim and she has a stroke of memory.

"Oh! Wait. Wait right here," she says excitedly, disappearing into her storage and re-emerging with another box. When she opens it, it's nearly identical. "Why didn't I just do this from the beginning," she chides herself. "Your old wands were twins! Of course, your new wands would have that same possibility."

You grab it, and it feels like electricity flowing through your body. You can see your aura.

Grim snips a tiny curl from your head and fuses it to the wand. She makes a written record of the sale and you're back in Caldwell Avenue with your map.

(Return to Present)

"Incendio," you point and watch him burn where he stands. It tickles you. He wasn't fast enough. "Vaulting Charm." He's blown back on his butt, patting out the flames.

"That's right," Turner yells.

"Depulso," Erik casts, causing you serious physical pain, bad enough to distract you while he drinks a healing elixir.

"That's OK," Turner claps.

"Depulso," you fire back when you can.

"Jelly Legs Jinx." Doubled over, he attacks your stamina. You're shocked he even knows that spell. It's advanced. Still, he's looking to end this. You have to hit him hard or risk looking bad.

"Depulso." High damage.

"Depulso!"

"Stupify." You drink an elixir of your own while he's frozen.

"Flagrante."

"Depulso," you dodge his flames. "Expelliarmus!" He's diswanded.

"THAT'S RIGHT," Turner yells, raising your arm as the victor. "And our new winner," he bows in your direction.

Erik gets to his feet. Breathing heavily, he nods in your direction. "New class has some good wizards, what can I say. We the truth."

"We?" You watch him reach for his wand. You look closely, noticing the subtle look in his eye when it doesn't react to him the same as before the battle. It's rejecting him. "Well, isn't that interesting," you smirk. "Grim was right. It is ambitious."

He looks irritated, not angry, just annoyed.

"So now what? Wand number... 4?" You tease.

"This wand is shit. I don't need it," he tosses it to you. You toss it back.

"I'm straight," you laugh. "You two can have each other."

"Dayum," he sighs. "Now I gotta get my shit back..."

"Didn't she tell you! Tsk tsk."

"Aight, okay," Turner intervenes, holding your shoulder. "It's cool, we all a team and no one's dick is bigger than the other."

"Iunno.. she gotta pretty big dick," Erik chuckles.

"Wanna see," you smirk.

"I think I'm good."

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter crossover #ravenclaw fanfiction

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s0lar-ch3ri · 9 months

Text

lil mythborne hcs because ive fallen in love with them again (maybe spoilers so yeah)

(theyre absolutely roommates btw for less confusion) ryan and aster have woken up several times in the middle of the night to see connor watching "incorrect history" by ted

these three act so close many think theyre all in a relationship with each other (and one of my headcanons says yes cause i got a ton of alt hcs)

asters sapphic awakening was the gardeners in the gardening club, ryans gay awakening was asters dad (not romantic fucking ew like he just realized men were pretty then), and connors ace realization hit while researching about the frat

they can all be pan, poly, and ace spectrum if i try hard enough (and i do)

listen to me for this: boyflux aster

professor aeliana was quite a comfort to connor after his brothers passing, as when connor's grades were dropping due to lack of motivation and using most his energy to not break down or "do something irrational" as hed put it, he offered help with work and recommended him a therapist (who helped him a lot), plus even offered him a place to talk if he really needed it

biwi is a registered therapy rat

aster offers tutoring as shes very good with work and commonly has lots of free time (she uses some of it to talk with biwi)

you know how the mana goddess of the sun just happens to be named aster? hear me out...

despite what some think, ryans actually pretty smart as its necessary to have good grades in school to participate in sports

i cant get the idea out of my head that romeo tried to cast aster ryan and connor as riptide characters for a play he wanted to try, but ended up not having enough actors for (ryan would be gill, aster would be jay plus characters like lizzie, amanda rinn, and niklaus hendrix because shes turned out to have a good voice for them, and connor would be chip, with biwi as pretzel)

ryan likes giving presents and eventually got better at matching items to people (connor has a friendship bracelet, a moon shaped pencil sharpener, a journal for art which unknown to ryan has a picture of them together on the cover, etc.)(aster has a fucking random bobble head, a sunflower pencil sharpener, a small locket, etc)

all of them can draw and get art tips while doing it, so you can see some similarities in their styles despite them being different (aster learned because she wanted to draw out where flowers would go and eventually drew flower people and flowers as people, connor used it as a way to vent out and study better, ryan did it for the sillies and saw how much fun aster and connor had so he started back in middle school and shit)

not a hc but i cant stop thinking about mermaid aster rn

these guys are seen as "oh they could never do harm" but biwi knows the horrors of being in a room with them after mario party (everyone has had a breakdown at least 3 times from it)

once connor had an insomnia induced theory about a mythical land called "texas" and did a 3 hour presentation on its possible existance, ending at 3, for ryan and aster and the next day he forgot about it and never brought it up again and they think about it sometimes

ill say more when my brain lets me think up more

#jrwishow #jrwi podcast #jrwi #just roll with it #jrwi show #jrwi mythborne #aster jrwi #jrwi spoilers #jrwi ryan #jrwi connor #connor connors #aster aeliana #ryan selucreh #jerwee supreme

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galacticnova3 · 1 year

Text

Finally finished her ref last night, soooo here’s my Lor gijinka! I’ll be adding some notes about her functionality under a readmore.

Reblogs appreciated and encouraged!

Though she can assume her ship form, most of the time she prefers being person shaped instead; having hands and an expressive face is fun and convenient! Plus, it’s pretty hard to hug your loved ones when you’re a boat, and hands are better for head pats than oars. When switching between being an android and a ship, her interior remains unchanged, while her exterior is reorganized and scaled up or down as needed. Her cape is her sail, for example, with the materials just… shuffled around a bit. The parts of her mast that it had attached to take the forms of clips: a small pair on her shoulders to hold it in place, and a slightly heavier pair to add weight and reduce flutter. You’d think that’d keep her cape grounded, but one of the ways her wind element manifests is having it always seem to be flowing in an eternal breeze, just like her sail does normally. Evidently her creators had an eye for flair and a lack of concern for what was and wasn’t necessary, and giving their magical boats the ability to do backflips just wasn’t good enough for them. They were right btw

Each of her wings has a decent range of motion, from the main elbow joints down to individually adjustable feathers, but they’re made of metal and even the feathers don’t have much flex to them. Her top wings are slightly longer than her middle ones, which in turn are a bit longer than the bottom pair, somewhat mirroring the wings she has as a ship. Though her oars are firmly attached under normal circumstances, in her combat mode(which I will draw later) they can essentially act as really big throwing knives at the flick of a wing. So, y’know, maybe reconsider fucking around and finding out when she has a purple color scheme. Regardless of which mode she’s in, her wings are primarily for generating lift and controlling her direction and orientation; she has thrusters on her feet and lower body that allow her to reach high speeds. When not in use they assume a resting position that has them mostly tucked away to be less inconvenient, but doors are always a bit of an obstacle regardless. Alas, being big is not without its downsides.

#rambling #my art #lor starcutter #kirby return to dreamland #kirby gijinka #my gijinkas #YEAH THATS RIGHT I ACTUALLY FINISHED A GIJINKA REF AGAIN #SEE I CAN START WIPS AND NOT ABANDON THEM #AAAnyways I’m happy with how she turned out #this looks loads better than her original gijinka design #however comma #if I had a nickel for every time I gave a design 6 feathered wings #in spite of the fact that I always complain about how much I hate drawing feathers #I’d have at least 2 nickels which just goes to show my decision making is not always in my favor #but hey it look neat I think #worth it for that imo #also if you’re weird on this post im eating all your doorknobs

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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 8 - Started slow, started late

Masterlist; Chapter 7 Summary: Reckless decisions and miscommunication shake up the foundations. Warnings: Angst (sadly the time has come), violence (non-graphic descriptions), swearing. Author's Notes: Remember the intensity I mentioned? Well, here is some of that. Apologies for whatever you find here, though I assure you it was necessary. Idiots need idiot-proofed methods, after all. And it does get better. With that said, this chapter is sort of an introduction for the next one aka the one where we get up to speed. And I do hope it makes sense 🙈 Thank you to everyone reading, leaving comments and reblogs - it really means more than I can express! 💕 Hope you'll enjoy and tell me what you think? #singleblueberryclub Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki

(Gif source: @1038276637)

Sometimes when waking up, especially after a peculiarly realistic dream, you have no idea where you are even though nothing has changed. The walls seem different. The shapes of the furniture and the shadows falling on the floor too. Then it all fades. Only sometimes it does not.

Your eyes flew open as the body registered the softness of the thick quilt and the strangeness of the mattress. It was certainly not the shabby bedroom of your apartment. And then it clicked. Your gaze wandered over the guest room at the Wayne Tower. The heavy curtains were drawn over the window, the coat of dust on the mahogany furniture, the large postered-bed with pristinely white bedding. Despite the evident years of neglect in the air, the grandeur was easily noticeable. And even a little overwhelming.

With a sigh, you rolled over to pick up your phone, noticing the late hour. It took another moment of gathering strength to throw away the covers and get up. The coldness of the floorboards acted like a sharp wake-up call, making you quickly scuttle towards the window and draw back the curtains to reveal the view. A gasp was the natural reaction when your eyes landed on the cityscape spreading outside. With the clouds hanging low over the horizon and no rainfall in sight Gotham could be almost pretty. Almost.

Once the ice-cold water splashed your face over the bathroom sink in the ensuite, the coherence returned fully. And along with it, the memories of what you said and did. The confession. Everything that followed. Fuck. Although a devoted advocate for never crying over the spilt milk, you strayed dangerously close to doing just that. Only the scalding shower stopped you. And the unknown of what lay beyond the door to your borrowed room.

After making sure you looked passably normal (except for the rumpled clothes), you braved the outside. The corridor was almost eerily quiet. With all the doors closed and no sign of a living soul. Following the logic, you silently made your way down the staircase, listening in on any clues. Suddenly your ears perked up upon hearing the distant sound of the television. You traced your steps along the unfamiliar route, past the study and the kitchen, until you found an open door to what looked like a dining room. The tv was on, and the table was set for breakfast. Shyly, you peered inside only to see Alfred sitting by the table, staring at the tv with a porcelain cup in hand. He did not give you time to back away and pretend you never found him in the first place.

“Good morning” the warm smile greeted you with a welcomed dose of familiarity.

“Morning” raising your hand in a half-wave, you slowly entered the room, taking in the surroundings.

Like every other room, the dining room, too, was furnished with grandeur, which had now faded. Although dusted and frequently cleaned, the cupboards and decorations all needed a new coat of lacquer. The table was large, yet only a half of it seemed in use and covered by a smaller tablecloth. Alfred was sat at its head, over the breakfast spread consisting of coffee, toasts, butter, and jam.

“Do you want to grab some breakfast?” interrupting your study of the room, Alfred glanced at you expectantly.

As if responding to the question, your stomach rumbled quietly, making you frown with embarrassment.

“I- Sure, though I don’t want to steal your food” with your cheeks tinted pink, you took one of the empty chairs and eyed the spread with curiosity.

Because it did look inviting. And you were hungry. Without a doubt, Alfred did not need to hear your thoughts to understand your qualms.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already prepared the meal for two,” another encouraging smile paired with the man passing you a plate with toasted bread, “Bruce is still asleep. He’s rather… nocturnal,” he answered the unasked question without a hitch, busy with preparing the cup of coffee to hand you.

It was impossible to stop your heart from springing back up from the dead upon the mention of Wayne. It seemed that no matter how hard you could have tried to pretend that nothing was happening, you were bound to fail. Because something was happening. And it had nothing to do with logic and everything with feelings.

“I see” you washed away the fear with a sip of cappuccino and pasted a grateful smile you’re your face, “Thank you,”

No need to be dramatic. You got as far as spreading butter over the toast when the news jingle caught your attention, and you raised your head to watch the tv. On the screen, a well-known face of the GC1 presenter greeted you, only without the usual bright smile:

“Good morning, Gotham. It’s Saturday, November the 2nd, and we must pass you the terrible news from the previous night. Another high-profile murder happened last night. Commissioner Pete Savage has been found dead inside the Police Athletic League facilities in the Tricorner area. This time, the killer has come forward to claim the credit via a video posted on social media. We must warn you; the footage is very disturbing…” you barely registered what happened next, watching dumbfounded as the terrifying show commenced.

This is the Riddler speaking… The sentence rang out in your head as you placed the cup back on the saucer with a rattle and glanced at Alfred. Judging by his shocked expression, the information was news to him as well. Ignoring the dread raising the hair on the back of your neck, you mused dryly:

“Well, that looks much more serious than a desperate cop trying to wipe his name clean…” it was difficult to pretend you were not bothered.

That you were not scared by the prospect. Because if there were a serial killer lurking in the city and ready to let loose, you would need both courage and confidence.

“The Riddler, is it?” Alfred met your gaze with a cautious look of his own “What are you thinking?” the glimmer in his eye told you he meant it.

The feeling of being at ease in his company helped to do the talking. As a preamble, you shrugged and took another toast from the plate, taking the time to piece together an answer.

“He’s after the powerful and the mighty, so it seems like perhaps he’s got dirt on them, only instead of blackmail, he’s into more… final solutions” frowning at the choice of words, you offered the butler a knowing look “It looks like both Mitchell and Savage were corrupted, but they were good at keeping it under wraps” making a mental note to ask fellow journalists about the rumours concerning the late commissioner, you added “He’s aiming to change that drastically” a grimace painted itself on your face at the memory of the recently watched video.

A cage and a rat trapped inside it, waiting to scratch at the face of the victim sounded elaborate. And unbelievably cruel.

Before you could think of a thing to say, footsteps echoed in the corridor, stopping at the dining room’s doorway. Bruce peeked inside with strange uncertainty, eyebrows drawing up once they saw you at the breakfast table next to Alfred. As usual, your gaze slipped over him without a rush, lingering at the shape of his face and the forearms revealed by the oversized t-shirt. It was once he caught your stare that you looked away. You could feel Pennyworth’s gaze boring into the side of your skull, undoubtedly watching the scene with curiosity. He was the one to save you the pain.

“Good morning, Bruce” Alfred offered his protégé a warm smile as he gestured towards the table, “Do you want to join?”

The look of utter bewilderment at the question appearing on Bruce’s face made you choke back a chuckle. As if he was a vampire who did not need food to survive, and the idea alone made him cower back with revulsion.

“No” Bruce shook his head once and directed the intense look to you, asking, “Do you know what happened?”

There was no doubt about the meaning. You nodded and replied with the voice even:

“Yeah, it was on tv just now…” trailing off, you tried to search his face for clues.

It was difficult to shake off the residual awkwardness. As if the nightly happenings have caught up with both of you and were not letting you forget should you want to. Only, you didn’t.

In Bruce’s eyes, you found the shadow of the conflict reflected as he made up his mind and offered an answer:

“I have something to show you” with that, he was halfway out the door.

Confident you would follow. With an incentive like that, you had to. You threw a regretful look at the food left on the table.

“Now?” just to be sure.

“Yes” judging by the sound, he was already halfway down the corridor.

You downed the cappuccino and drew the chair back with a defeated sigh. Grabbing another toast and quickly spreading a thin coat of butter over the surface, you muttered to yourself:

“Alright,” you could feel Alfred watching you with a smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth as you met his searching look and grinned, bowing mockingly, toast in hand, “Thanks for the company,”

Without waiting for his response, you bolted through the door and down the corridor towards the disappearing Bruce Wayne. Once you caught up with him, you threw an arm over his shoulder to make him slow down the steps. One look full of confusion was enough to pass him the buttered toast and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You did not wait for his reaction, passing him in the corridor and confidently striding towards the library. He would follow. You knew that already.

***

Not long after, you found yourself staring at a series of printed photographs, all grainy and dark, with the confusion etched deep in the crease between your eyebrows. Bruce had placed the photos on the table and took a step back, expecting you to study them, so you did just that. But you did not know what you were looking at; the faces all seemed foreign or too obscured to remind you of anyone particular. Picking up one of the photographs, you inspected it closely, eyes taking a long moment to look at everyone pictured. There was an expensive car in the background, and the location seemed similar to the front entrance of the Iceberg Lounge, Falcone’s realm. At the centre, you could see a woman with a tear-streaked face, held in an iron grip by a smartly dressed man. When your gaze landed on the stranger, it clicked. Don Mitchell Jr. himself. And a woman, who was certainly not Mrs Mitchell.

“Where did you get those?” glancing over your shoulder at Bruce, you noticed a passing annoyance, immediately triggering a chuckle; no questions “Oh, alright, I get it” grinning, you finished the half-pirouette and faced him properly, resting your back over the table edge “So I was right” the smug note was undeniable.

Bruce returned your triumphant look with a pained sigh before he closed the gap and collected the photos, explaining:

“Yes, seems like Mitchell had a lover. She’s gone missing, by the way” he gestured towards the woman accompanying the late mayor and continued, “Both him and Savage were often seen in the 44 Below. It’s a-”

Uh huh.

“I know what that is,” interrupting Bruce with a dismissal wave, you strode over to the armchair, arching your eyebrow with curiosity piqued, “How do you know all this?”

That is the question.

He did not seem thrown off guard, leisurely sinking into another armchair and addressing you with a measured tone:

“Through an informant. I found her when I was doing some digging last night. She’s working in that club and knows who’s a frequent client” your reaction upon hearing the information was everything but measured.

It was hard to pinpoint which one stung the most. Whether it was the fact that you were not the only one working with him. Or whether that last night, when you went to bed and promptly stared at the ceiling for hours, he kept on working. Outside and not alone. And there was absolutely no reason to be jealous. Only your heart didn’t get the memo.

Biting hard into your lip to focus the brain, you asked:

“She?” because clarification could only be beneficial.

And because you did not trust yourself to say anything more than a single word.

“Yes, why?” it was his turn to look at you with palpable disorientation.

Whatever was going on in your head must have remained on the inside, for Bruce seemed clueless. Which could only work in your favour, right?

“Nothing,” you tried to rouse the flatness of your tone with a faux smile, eager to change the subject, “So… what’s the plan?”

There. Perfect distraction. Bruce caught it without a hitch, opening a laptop and slipping into your usual mode of work:

“We could try to find any common threads between the two victims, people they both could have known” you could see the metaphorical cogs turning in his head as he pulled up documents and websites.

It was almost too effortless to understand his intent and get pulled along for the ride. Almost. A frown painted itself on your lips even before the words got out.

“To foresee who’s next? The Riddler seems to punish the corrupt, and if that’s the only requirement… half the Gotham falls under the criteria” you shrugged, sensing the dejection take hold.

It was nothing, merely the dread from before settling in your heart and hoping to make its home there. You knew your sentiment was shared when you met Bruce’s weary gaze across the space. He looked tired, dark shadows underneath his eyes highlighting the blue of the irises. Yet there seemed to be a spark of eagerness buried deep underneath the regrets and the worries. It was that feeling you heard in his voice when he spoke next:

“Maybe it will narrow the scope” the look he shared with you said something else.

It was enough to curl your mouth into a smirk and offer a quip:

“Or you’re just that desperate to work with me” your grin widened upon seeing the hint of blush on his cheeks.

Bingo. The glare you received all but confirmed it as Bruce made sure to move further away from you, muttering under his nose:

“No comment” you could have told him that saying it never worked the way they showed in the movies.

But instead, you only hid the fond smile behind a laptop screen and began the research. As he said – maybe it would do something. And something was always better than nothing. Or so the tired brain told you.

It turned out that mapping the shared relationships between the mayor and commissioner was not that easy. Not for the lack of similarities but rather for the abundance of them. Before long, you both realised that there likely was a whole web interwoven between the victims. Bruce took it upon himself to go through the names in common, identifying the potential targets and drawing up a map of connections between them. Your job was to dig in the past of the dead figures, find out their sins and transgressions, to decipher why they had been chosen. Which also proved harder than expected.

So, when the clock had chimed two in the afternoon, and you heard your stomach rumble loudly, it was impossible not to let out a loud groan, catching the attention of your companion. Bruce raised his head slowly, peeking at you from the distance, visibly perplexed. You had half the mind to get up and go to the kitchen to fetch a sandwich before he stood up with a graceful stretch and placed the laptop on the side.

“What-” before you could finish the intended question, Bruce interrupted you with a glance.

“Stay here” the command fell from his mouth without a second thought, and he marched out of the room with confidence in his step.

What indeed? To say that the object of your interest was confusing seemed like an understatement. There was nothing else to do but sigh heavily, curse your preference for males and bury yourself in the newspaper archives. Which you did, once again forgetting about the passage of time or the need to eat. After all, what was more interesting than the love life of Gotham prosecutors and wanna-be politicians?

You did not notice when the silence was interrupted by footsteps. Or when Bruce stepped close, soundlessly placing a plate with a sandwich on the table in front of you. The first thing you registered was a gentle touch on your chin, fingers tipping your face up. With your mouth agape and eyes wide, you looked up to see Bruce staring at you with a soft smile. There was no time to react when he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss, easily stealing the breath from your lungs and the coherence from your mind. His mouth glided over yours with familiar zeal, yet there was no hint of desperation. As if now that he knew how you felt, he was willing to be braver. To risk more in exchange for whatever you could give him. The brief kiss was over before it began, but the taste lingered as Bruce took a step back and glanced at the plate on the table as if expecting a question. You sure did not want to disappoint:

“What’s all this?” with an eyebrow raised, you allowed yourself a quick swipe of tongue over the lips.

Just enough to collect the remains of the sensation. And to make Bruce blush, again.

“Thought you were hungry” he only shrugged; a strange sense of lightness in his eyes.

It seemed different, new in a way. But you would not be the one to argue with the turn of events, accepting the meal with a grateful grin and no complaints. If it was a truce for the mention of Bruce’s informant earlier, you sure did not mind.

The research lasted for another few hours, leaving you both drained and resigned, bathed by the shadows of the fading day. After the kiss, Bruce moved closer, seemingly unafraid of your proximity or the sharp teeth of your jokes, often aimed at him to lighten the mood or distract him from work. Even the silence felt companionable, lulling you deep into that blissful state of ignorance. Only to shatter soon after.

Checking the watch to find that it was long after six in the afternoon, you stood up and stretched, instantly catching Bruce’s attention. Whatever comment was waiting in the roof of your mouth was forgotten when he spoke:

“I’m busy tonight, so… You’re free to do whatever you want” the casual statement caught you off guard, forcing the brain to pick it apart and find meaning.

What you began to understand turned the taste on your tongue sour and tightened the invisible rope around your heart. It sounded like a rejection, not a straightforward one but the meaning was the same. Ignoring the pain shooting through your body, you measured him with a steady gaze and asked:

“What?” because once more, a single word was just enough to get through the constricted throat.

Anything more could have broken the illusion Bruce seemed to hold. The illusion that this did not bother you. That jealousy was a foreign emotion. And perhaps to him, it was.

“I’m doing recon at the club…” the hint of puzzlement in his eyes was enough for you to backtrack, enforcing the wall and strengthening the foundations.

If he did not understand, it was not your job to tell him. Because maybe it was simply not meant to be.

“With her?” forcing out another question, you put an end to the eye contact and walked over to the window.

The city did not look as pretty as it did in the morning. Or maybe it is you who changed the outlook throughout the day.

“Yes,” when Bruce replied, you allowed yourself a quiet sigh and pressed your forehead to the cold window.

Not long after, you heard him leave the room. Undoubtedly off to disappear in the rooms you had no access to until he would have to meet her. Her. The pronoun rang strangely in the quiet of your mind, tinting everything with envy and regret. Perhaps it was a mistake to let him in. Perhaps you really should have known better.

***

If asked to say exactly when the idea bloomed to life in your head, you were not sure. Maybe it was during the train ride home, legs hugged to your chest, unseeing gaze fixed on the dirty railing of the cart. Maybe, it was when you stepped inside the apartment, noticing the dust covering the furniture and the darkness lurking in the rooms, waiting for you to disappear inside it. Maybe it was when you sat on the chair by the table, and the only thing you could think of was that night when Bruce was sitting in front of you. His hand held in yours, a tender yet strangely solid connection. Only you were wrong. Destined to pay for the naivety with heartache and shame burning in your blood.

Just once, you wanted to stop feeling useless. To do something and show them they were wrong. They, him, it didn’t matter. Someone. Using the research you wasted the day on, you knew that apart from the 44 Below, there was another club often attended by those in power. Going by the catchy name of Inferno, the venue was famous for its bad reputation, easily beating the Iceberg Lounge and its secret club-within-a-club. And since that first place was a no-go for the fear of getting your broken heart shattered, the choice was made for you. Your recon mission, and where better than in a place directly controlled by Carmine Falcone. Right?

Sure, it did sound… risky. But, sometimes, it was better to be sorry than safe. Or so someone told you. Ignoring the anxious thoughts, you made sure to get dressed to the nines, pulling out a skimpy skirt from the bottom of the closet and fishing out a sequin top to match. It was hard to say which voice told you to drop the key for the Wayne Tower into the purse as you exited the flat. But thinking could only bring harm, so you brushed it aside, focusing on the determination that had sprung from pain. The determination to be something more than you were. To be enough. For him. For them. For you.

Getting past the bouncer was easy. You flashed him a confident smile and waved your hand as you passed, doing your best to create an impenetrable veil of certainty that you did not feel at all. It was all a question of the right smile, the sureness in the stride, never-waning eye contact with whoever was eager to look at you. As you descended the metal staircase into the underground venue, the red lights hit you in the face, making you squint in the harsh glare of the reflectors. Unsurprisingly for a Saturday night, Inferno was packed. It was impossible to tell where the dancefloor began, for the space between the entrance and the booths was crowded with strangers. The deafening, blaring music filled your chest with subwoofer vibrations and filled the blood with a daze. But you had to stay vigilant, quickly creating a plan in your head as you pushed through the people, locating the bathroom, bar, and potential targets of the reconnaissance. The best strategy on paper was to loiter, listen to the partiers, have a drink, and mix in with the crowd while searching for familiar faces.

Ordering a margarita at the bar, you scanned the surroundings, waiting with your back pressed against the counter. Here, too, the space was cramped, voices interweaving in a barely comprehensible mess, but you listened in anyway. All it took was a little period of adaption, getting accustomed to the rhythm of the music and tuning it out. You took a deep breath and focused your mind on the people around you, slipping between them like a ghost. Soon enough, the voices were there for you to hear them:

“That Riddler guy? Fucking hell, and here I thought that the Bat was the worst this city has to offer” a heavy sigh accompanied the sentence as the man downed a shot of vodka, flinching comedically.

“Maybe Riddler is the good guy, helping us get rid of the rats in the sewers” his companion had a slurred speech, offering counterarguments with the wisdom of a drunkard.

“Nah, we’re all fucked. No one can save us from this shithole,” another shot, glass hitting the bar counter with a clink.

That was certainly not what you were looking for. You picked up the drink and waded through the crowd, nearing a circle of chirpy women buzzing with gossip. Resting by the wall close by, you tuned into their conversation:

“Have you heard? Vengeance showed up at the Iceberg Lounge last night” the young blonde leant close to her companions, excitement clear in her voice and the sparks in her gaze.

Interesting… very interesting. Because Bruce was there too last night.

“Secret deals with the Penguin?” the one who replied wiggled her eyebrows suggestively while taking a long sip of the drink.

“I dunno… maybe he was just looking for company” third woman chimed in with a smirk gracing her face.

You did not like the sound of that, turning away with a strange sense of unease. Because it was a fact that Bruce ventured into the club and found company, in some meaning of the word. What Mr Vengeance had to do with all of that you were not sure if you wanted to know. You took a swig from the glass, feeling the pleasant burn of the alcohol in your throat. Mixing in with the crowd felt good, quite like being anonymous. Lost in solo dance, you did your best to look around, spotting familiar faces from the research. Cops, lawyers, lower-rank city officials. All supposedly not fitting in yet looking perfectly at home.

As your gaze landed on a group occupying one of the more intimate booths distanced from the dancefloor, you spotted a GCPD investigator, Clint Johnson. The man surfaced on the few lists you went over earlier, both as the acquittance of the murdered and a notable sinner. Hoping to look as natural as possible, you slowly drifted towards the table he occupied, catching the conversation:

“So, Clint… you worried about our dear Pete?” the man seated opposite your target leant into his space, cheeky expression on his face.

From your vantage point, the whole party looked wasted, either thanks to the drops or the alcohol. It did not matter.

“It’s a god-awful tragedy, but… I mean… pretty sure he had it coming” Johnson stumbled over his words, tongue-tied by the intricate lies and half-truths, “Man was practically best pals with Falcone, spending every weekend at the club” he shrugged as if wanting to shrug off the guilt he had been burdened with.

“Not worried you’ll be next?” his companion had no intention of giving up.

“Why?” another shrug though you had a feeling those were not going to work, “I’m as innocent as they come” the blatant lie fell with a hitch of a drunken hiccup.

You frowned with disgust, burying the expression in another sip of the margarita.

“I think the prosecutor would disagree with that” the stranger leaned back in the booth, leisurely letting his eyes wander over the people.

Including you.

“About the Maroni case? Come on, that’s gone now. We all did what we had to do” there was a growing sense of defence in his tone as though desperate to fight for his name right here, “Including-”

But you never got to hear the end of that sentence. The other man had stood up from the table, the ruthless gaze set on you entirely:

“What’s your problem, babe? Are you lost?” the questions were dropped with a venomous edge.

Fuck. You felt the adrenaline surge to the head, mind lost in a chaotic daze, wanting nothing but to find an escape from the situation.

“No, I was just-” the denial died on your tongue as he leapt from the booth, forcefully taking hold of your arm.

“I saw you, eavesdropping” he tightened the grip, the other hand waving at the bouncer for attention, “Hey, can you throw her out? She’s ruining our evening,”

Fuck. It took one look at the bouncer to know there was no chance of getting out of this unscathed. The fear seemed like a permanent fixture in your chest when the man started leading you away, the iron grip bruising your skin mercilessly. Putting up a fight could only make everything worse, so you let the man lead you towards the exit with your eyes fixed on the floor to avoid meeting anyone’s curious gaze. The shame and panic were stronger than the need to keep up the act. There was no point anymore, you had already lost. Now it was just the question of paying the price.

When he led you outside through the open doors and into a dark and empty alley you knew it was bad. The bouncer was followed by another one, both have barred their teeth, grinning at you like demonic incarnations of the Cheshire cat. The grip on your arm loosened as your captor spoke:

“Let me show you why pretty girls like you should never disobey our guests” you did not need a warning, already cowering back as far as he would let you.

But it was never far enough. He released you when his colleague raised his hand, palm open, to slap you across the face. The sting of the hit reverberated through your cheek and over the split lip, making you wince. It was not the first time, but the pain was just as bad. If not worse. The next punch was not a surprise, yet when a fist hit you in the side, you doubled down with a sharp gasp, eliciting a malicious laugh from your executioners. Another hit, deepening the bruise over your rib. Second blow across the chest, the pain shooting through your body. The tears began streaking down your face as the only sign of torture you were eager to offer. The whimpers were all kept behind a façade, in the teeth biting into your split lip and tasting of copper. It took three more punches to make you fall to your knee, the impact sending a sharp sting through the right knee and immediately toppling you to the ground. Another salve of laughter as you covered your head, instinctively curling into a fetal position. But it was not enough. A kick to the back was all it took to break the dam. Only just enough to make you sob quietly, the tears flowing freely down your face and onto the damp tarmac.

“That will show you” the voice pierced the silence, followed by heavy steps retreating from where you were lying.

When you heard the metal doors close, you allowed yourself to move. First, slowly sitting up, feeling the bolts of pain shooting through your whole system at every move, no matter how small. But the pain was not the worst. The worst was the feeling of knowing that you failed. That you made a mistake. That you were not good enough. For anything, for anyone. The sky opened as you stood up. The raindrops fell on your face and mixed with tears until it was impossible to tell one from another.

A fuck-up, a mistake. That’s all you were.

***

Maybe it was fate that made you rummage in the purse then, desperate to find at least a half-used tissue to wipe away the blood and the tears from your face. Instead, your hand encountered the cold metal of a keyset; fingers clutched it tightly as the overwhelmed brain scrambled to remember. The keys to the Wayne Tower, of course. You breathed a sigh of relief, legs carrying you towards the train station as if acting on their own accord. For once, there was no strength in you to argue. Because you did not want to limp back home, destined to survive the night alone, without a shred of comfort or hope.

No one batted an eyelid when you stepped aboard the train drenched by the rain, with the tears streaking down your face and a bloody cut on the knee. But then, nothing of this sort was an unusual sight in Gotham. Least of all, on a Saturday night. You took the seat close to the door of the cart and fixed your gaze on the floor, urging the mind and the heart to keep it together just a little longer. Once you were in the tower, there was no point trying. Alfred and Dory would sure be asleep, and Bruce might as well still be outside. Or so you tried to tell yourself as the train carried you through the city towards your stop.

There was a part of you that wanted to find him. The part that wanted Bruce to see you like this and not take pity but feel something else entirely. Anger, hurt, and worry, to name a few. But that part was too dangerous, so you kept it locked up, letting yourself drown in the overcoming emptiness, numbing away the pain throbbing underneath the skin. When the train pulled to your stop, you were the last to step off the cart, walking along the platform and down the stairs. You did not even realise when the legs had carried you to the tower as you gingerly climbed the steps towards the front door, the keys clutched in hand tightly as if they were a lifeline. Following the habit, you made sure to check whether there were no spectators before turning the key in the lock and quietly opening the door. Another rule was broken. Once upon a time, you would have never allowed yourself to enter Bruce’s house at night. Even if only because of common sense. But that was long gone. As your eyes adjusted to the lighting change, you were struck by how different the space looked without the daylight falling through the stained-glass windows. With the doors closed and locked, you felt the adrenaline plummet. Along with it, the numbness dialled down, making you realise a few things at once. Everything was aching; the whole body felt as if you had been beaten and slammed into the concrete ten times over. With the continuous rain pouring down from the moment you left that alley by the Inferno, your clothes were soaked, making you shiver and tremble from the cold autumn wind outside. Before you had to decide what is the next reasonable step, the noise from the elevator caught your attention.

Slowly, you turned to face whoever had stepped into the foyer. You froze, motionless when your eyes met the familiar blue gaze, staring at you across the space. A frown etched between the dark eyebrows, mouth agape in mild surprise. Bruce looked almost too ordinary, dressed in the same old jeans and a black t-shirt he had on earlier. With your eyes fixed on his face, it was easy to tell when he registered every detail regarding your state. The frown deepened. A strange flash of darkness clouded his eyes as he desperately looked for something to say. You found it before him, taking a shaky step closer as if pulled by an invisible wire towards Bruce:

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you choked out the sentence, grimacing at the coarseness of your voice and the pitiful excuse.

How pathetic. He had every right to turn you away, to make you leave and tell you how worthless you are. And, for a minute, you expected him to. The pain and misery rose in your chest until there was no air to breathe, and the sobs shook your frame with force. Tears welled up, falling down your face without a care of being watched. Of causing a scene. In the final moment of self-consciousness, you covered your face with your hands, hiding away from Bruce and his intense gaze. At least the broken whimpers and cries were muffled now.

You had no sense of how long you stood there, lost in your tragedy. Or whether Bruce was still there. Then you registered slow, cautious steps on the carpet, stopping close and warm, gentle touch, fingers curling around your wrists and peeling away the hands to make you look at him. When your eyes met his, Bruce entangled your fingers together in a careful hold. There were many questions in his gaze, but he asked none.

For now. A grateful sigh was all you could manage as he started leading you towards the elevator with certainty in each step.

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