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tossawary · 8 days ago

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I have about 10k of fic that's about as far from SVSSS as I've ever written, taking greater inspiration from fics I've written before, which I've been using as writing warm-up. It's a pre-canon third transmigrator AU from the outsider's perspective of Linguang-Jun. (Linguang-Jun having a great reputation as a hunter is something that I originally came up with for the Stardust AU.)

Like SVSSS Mobei-Jun, Linguang-Jun is fun to write because he sucks pretty bad; it's a LOT of fun to try and write a setup for him that's going to explode eventually (not yet, but eventually, inevitably) and in a specific way. How many parallels can I draw? I think it's amusing to think about how the cringefail ballad of Moshang and all the rest of SVSSS is taking place in the crater where Linguang-Jun's dreams used to be. (That happened to my buddy Tianlang-Jun, too, now that I'm thinking about it, and he decided to make that everyone else's problem.) Such is the life of a mere background character!

I don't know when I'll be posting this to AO3. I don't like to post WIP there unless I can fully focus on them. If I don't continue this story, I'll post it eventually to AO3 as an open-ended one-shot or something. But for now... Enjoy!

Warning for minor character death and graphic violence (and vomiting) in the first part, and also unpleasant demonic attitudes to things. Everyone but Linguang-Jun is an OC.

Chapter One: A God's Spear

There is no greater feeling in the world than the long thrill of the hunt.

Chasing their prey, they become the laughing winds rushing across the yellow steppes, howling at the heels of the thundering herds, even felling centuries-old pines that have bent for every natural storm but never broken before. They send corpse after corpse of scavengers squawking and flailing for their lives.

Mobei Yang cannot wait to sink his teeth into the monster wrecking its way across the northern kingdoms. They are chasing a Giant Sea Heron... or rather: the creature that used to be one before it met a hole in the world. Did it breathe the poisonous gases too deeply? Did it feed on the vent's escapees too hungrily? Did it become mesmerized by the shimmering chaotic energy and allow itself to dream where reality itself is torn apart?

Who knows? Who cares? Mobei Yang's lordly brother doubtlessly hadn't cared to ask the babbling messenger either, before waving the lesser demon on to younger men who can truly appreciate the unique challenges of what an unstable Abyssal gateway can create.

Already two times the height of a large man, the creature has swelled in size to become twice as large as that. Its brown neck has thickened, its dark head has grown a sharp and lopsided crest, and its unnaturally elongated beak is now the same size as the rest of its body, perhaps, a god's spear capable of swallowing grown demons whole. The giant creature needs its folded, white wings to walk along the ground now, almost like a large monkey or a small bat, but it struts slowly along not unlike a long-necked antelope.

All the Giant Sea Heron does now is eat: struggling to grow, struggling to sustain its growth, struggling to fill the endless hole that's crawled inside of its core. It has left a bloody, dissatisfied trail behind it. Which the breathless messenger claimed had started with its own former mate and eggs, the messy remains found abandoned in a nest on a high sea cliff.

The giant creature looks so heavy, lumbering awkwardly around the corpse of a Black-Moon Rhinoceros - the crescent of the horn is unmistakable - to jab its long spear back into the dark guts and yank it apart. Ah, it's picking one of those parasitic snake demons out of the body.

Its eyes have become enormous, bulbous; they have a sickly pale color and are rimmed with mucus. Abyss-touched creatures are often sick, like Abyssal creatures themselves are often blinded by sunlight. The giant creature doesn't seem to notice anything as a brown fox darts out of the tall grass and steals a piece of the kill that had been tossed aside, nor does it care anything for the circling black vultures that aren't yet nearly so brave.

Just looking at it, one wouldn't think that the elephantine creature is still hollow-boned enough to fly! Yet when their hunting party ambushes it, the giant creature somehow vaults itself into the sky, folding hideously in on itself and then launching upwards in an ascension even more unnatural than a human's.

Mobei Yang watches its heavy wingbeats take it high up into the heavenly clouds, beyond the easy reach of most demons. All of their hunting prowess, all of the joy they have spilled on their skill, leaves them with nothing today. But this is nothing! When his faithful followers look anxiously towards him for direction, Mobei Yang is the first to laugh at their failure, at the renewed challenge, and they soon echo him.

"Any excuse to extend a hunt is a cause for celebration!" Mobei Yang shouts, receiving a gleeful roar in response. "If you want a meal that doesn't fight back, then go back to the Ice Palace, cowards!"

They don't find it again that day, but the mood is still good when they make camp, freed from the dullness of the courts. At home, Mobei Yang is a prince, sought after and respected, but also one among many formidable clan members working to keep his elder brother's favor. On the hunt like this, he might as well be the Lord of the Northern Desert already.

The wind picks up as the sun sinks. The clouds darken and writhe against a beautiful, burning sky. Shuang Tao, his right-hand, a frost wind demon, loudly and laughingly recalls some of their best kills, their most daring and reckless feats, over the years. A blur of memories now.

Mobei Yang knows a great deal about the habits of hunted creatures, but this one is new, even before it became the only thing in the world like it. Weak-minded creatures and demons touched by the Endless Abyss tend to go uselessly mad: short memories and shorter tempers and a thin grasp on reality if any. He's hunted Emperors of the Abyss before, those malformed masses of demonic energy that die with every step they take out of their pits, and White Sea Whales, their clever and vindictive cousins that never took man-shaped forms.

"I'm preparing myself for disappointment, really," Mobei Yang drawls, accepting a new cup of wine. "But ahhh, that skull will look beautiful in the West Wind Palace... hanging over the hall, I think."

As they were watching the ruined creature, it must have seen them. It must have been watching them as well. In one moment, Shuang Tao is toasting the evening and tomorrow and every hunt after. In the next moment, the setting sun vanishes all at once, as the Giant Sea Heron falls on them like the wrath of the heavens.

Its enormous beak spears through a demon before it lands with a heavy thump, before any of them know it's there, and a second demon rolls away from the continuing jab. Not fast enough to escape the sharp drawing of blood.

The Giant Sea Heron's massive wings crash through the camp as it lands. Mobei Yang is knocked head over heels into the grass and dust. His wine spills everywhere.

Mobei Yang rolls with the blow and recovers quickly, unharmed, of course. And he is the first to summon his weapon and strike back, hastily followed by his hunters, but the creature is well-fed, unflinching, faster than something of its size should be, lunging like a snake.

Its spiritual energy is unleashed with its battering wings: it's foul, rotting, almost overwhelming. Ice spears and arrows don't seem to pierce its feathers at all. Hastily formed spells break easily against the burn of its spiritual strength.

Shuang Tao throws an ordinary spear, whistling with the wind behind it, and manages to draw blood from its featherless leg. But the wound is glancing, a shallow cut in surprisingly thick skin.

"Mire it!" Mobei Yang shouts, summoning ice around its feet. The ice is too weak, too slow, cracking open immediately.

He dodges its long beak, its heavy wings, its beak again. It seems fixated on him more than the others - not uncommon when dealing with spiritually starving creatures, it wants the most meal - but it still gets distracted when another hunter tries to rope its wing. It pulls on the wing up sharply, pulls the unready hunter into the air, and then spears the weak demon through with its long beak.

It's much cleverer than Mobei Yang thought that it was. Much stronger. Not clever enough to live, but still annoying, still thrilling, still enough to bare one's teeth.

Mobei Yang dances towards Shuang Tao's fallen spear, flips it up with his foot, catches, and then launches it towards the creature's swirling eye.

His aim is true! Of course! The Giant Sea Heron screeches and thrashes like a dying thing, but the spear clearly doesn't punch deeply enough to hit its brain. The spear falls out in the thrashing. Messily.

The remaining ten hunters have formed a circle around the Giant Sea Heron, ready just out of easy reach, making it more difficult to kill them all quickly. One of the other hunters makes a second spear-throw for the other eye, not nearly so beautifully. The creature ducks blindness easily and screeches. Its raised feathers crackle with resentful energy.

Mobei Yang can see it decide to flee. Maybe they're much stronger and cleverer than the creature thought they were too.

The Giant Sea Heron goes down and tries to launch itself upwards, only to go nowhere, to stumble, to barely keep itself upright. The summoned ice they've been throwing at its feet has easily been cracked and crushed, but the water remains, and it has been skillfully manipulated by the likes of Heng Leyang and Xi Mingzhu.

The water demons have made a mud pit and the Giant Sea Heron's thrashing has only sunk it deeper into the trap. The half-frozen mud is harder to break.

The creature's rotten energy rises, bubbles, and then it screeches again, disorienting in its sheer loudness, its hatred and desperation rippling through the air. Most of the hunters cover their ears and it helps very little. The unnatural sound shakes through one's entire body. The first terrible screech is still rippling through the world when the next begins.

Such venting of power can't be sustainable, but the unnatural screeching makes the battle wretched while it lasts.

Mobei Yang becomes the black wind around the spearing beak, then twists away to attack this ruined creature, repeatedly. But shifting forms burns under the onslaught of spiritual energy. The hatefulness of it even disrupts him once, forcing him to become solid flesh again, and dodge as an ordinary demon might to avoid a raking of freed talons.

It's hard work keeping the creature down, baiting it this way and that, keeping out of its deadly reach. They pick and they peck, but none of them are certain how to put this Giant Sea Heron down. The Endless Abyss has made a remarkable ruin here.

Shuang Tao's young nephew, Shuang Qiang, keeps looking towards Mobei Yang with wide, expectant eyes. This is the young frost wind demon's first hunt with this royal party. Does he expect a retreat to be called here? Does he think that the spoiled, weaker, younger prince will go running back to his lordly brother now, swallowing his pride, begging for help? Mobei Yang has never surrendered in such a way and never will while he lives.

If a creature can bleed, it can die. Through the ruined eye again might do it...

Mobei Yang isn't certain how long it's been when a new hunting party appears, but the dying sun hasn't fully drowned yet. They must be local demons, summoned by the screeching or the spiritual rot.

"They'll get in our way! Keep them back!" Mobei Yang snarls at Shuang Tao, who nods and turns to his nephew.

He doesn't need assistance. Ordinarily, he might appreciate an audience, but this battle is slipping from fascinating to frustrating.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mobei Yang tracks young Shuang Qiang's progress. The leader of the newcomers, a rock demon by the look of him, greets their messenger with an ally's gesture. Rather than charge in recklessly, they keep their distance atop the hill.

Most of them.

While trying to keep the Giant Sea Heron's feet frozen down, Mobei Yang sees a smaller figure break forward from the new hunting party. Shuang Qiang lunges to catch them and... misses? He shouldn't have missed. The figure running forward obviously isn't as fast or as nimble as Shuang Tao's nephew.

One of the Hao brothers notices and also tries to grab the intruder, his hand should easily wrap around their spear, and yet... he also somehow fails. An illusion wind demon is fast and not easily fooled, but the Hao brother stumbles as though his hand didn't touch anything at all.

Shuang Tao lurches to intervene and Mobei Yang whips an ice spear in front of his second's middle. "Wait," he orders, "I want to see this."

The Giant Sea Heron fixes the approaching figure in its one eye and then spears its enormous beak forward. It should split the intruder, crush them. The enormous creature is faster than this fool.

The intruder disappears. Mobei Yang isn't sure what happens. The figure's own shadow seemed to leap up to swallow them, or they fell down into it, and the blood-stained beak spears down on nothing. There was no noticeable burst of new spiritual energy. Nothing that could be sensed above the Giant Sea Heron's rotting wrath, at least.

The Giant Sea Heron tilts its head in obvious confusion. It screeches its unhappiness again, much to everyone else's misery, before... the ruined creature jolts and abruptly cuts itself off.

"How...?" Shuang Tao says. "On its back?"

"What terrible posture," Mobei Yang remarks, too surprised to put the proper dryness into it.

The disappearing intruder has somehow reappeared on the giant creature's back, struggling for balance. Despite their slowness, despite their obvious lack of strength, the shadowy figure somehow manages to drive their spear through the creature's long, feathered neck in a single thrust. Mobei Yang sees the spear tip come out the other side.

The Giant Sea Heron thrashes wildly to dislodge its attacker. When it tries to screech again, the high shriek quickly dies off into a gurgle of dark blood.

At first, the disappearing intruder clings to their spear like a tied rag, but they fall off within seconds and then vanish again.

Where they go, Mobei Yang doesn't care. While the giant creature is distracted, he becomes the black wind again and rushes forward to take their place, to put solid hands on the embedded spear, then to push all of the wrath of a noble ice demon into this critical weak point.

The ruined creature's neck explodes in a shower of ice, spiritual energy, blood, and no small amount of feathers. The severed head hits the ground with a heavy thump before the body finally topples over in an ungainly heap of wings.

Mobei Yang rides the collapse down easily. Then he jumps off the body, still holding half of the broken spear in his hand, and looks the weapon over. The shaft is ordinary wood. As he felt when he pushed his spiritual energy into it, the spearhead at his foot appears to be without spell or even decoration. This spear should not have been able to pierce such a creature's throat with such singular ease.

Some of his hunters are whooping with victory, with relief, but Mobei Yang is distracted away from their celebration of him by a stranger stepping audaciously in front of him. A... teenage boy?

This demon is a full head shorter than Mobei Yang, which puts them at a taller than average height among most other demons, and their pale face seems young. They're plump like a seal, with large, dark eyes. They have no painted marks or tattoos. Their dark hair is cut shockingly short, close to their head, just long enough to flop over furrowed brows.

Instead of paying the rightful attention and respect to a prince, the boy is frowning at the broken spear, and first crouches down to pick up the spearhead. Like Mobei Yang, the boy is wearing a fair amount of spilled blood. He must have been close.

The boy stands up again and looks up with those big, seal-dark eyes. "Hurt?"

Mobei Yang doesn't understand the word at first, so poorly pronounced, so heavily accented. The boy squints at him, looks him up and down.

"H-help?"

As though Mobei Yang didn't just kill the creature that this boy failed to finish. The boy's eyes are already drifting disrespectfully away to one of the dead hunters, partially crushed in the battle, a gruesome but unsurprising sight. Such is life, as they say, such is death.

One would think so, at least, except that this boy's face turns sickly and he looks hastily away. His body jerks, a hand goes over his mouth, he jerks again, pauses, and then turns away from Mobei Yang completely to vomit on the ground.

It's not often that Mobei Yang finds himself at a loss for words. The overwhelmed awe that he often inspires in lesser demons usually doesn't realize itself so unintelligibly or pathetically as this.

"Please, do contain your excitement," Mobei Yang says.

The boy squints up at him, teary-eyed, only to immediately start gagging again. He holds out a hand, apparently trying to cover up the offending sights.

"How dare you behave so disrespectfully before a prince!" says one of the nearby hunters, Junjun, a mountain wind demon. "Don't you know who this is?!"

The boy flinches away from this looming defense, staring warily up at Junjun without any sign of understanding.

"I don't think he does," Mobei Yang says dryly.

Unfortunately, Junjun takes this as introductions being in order. "This is the greatest hunter in the Demon Realm! A prince of the ancient rulers of the northern kingdoms, the Northern Desert Clan! The only living brother of the great Mobei-Jun! Linguang-Jun!"

"Yes, yes, thank you."

The boy looks between them, turning the spearhead over in his hands again and again, hunching his shoulders. "Sorry," he says, bowing slightly, once to Mobei Yang and twice to Junjun, all equally shallow. "Sorry. Sorry."

And then, further proving his lack of understanding, the boy turns on his heel and runs away. It's so shamelessly cowardly that Mobei Yang laughs.

"Stop him!" Mobei Yang calls out to the hunter ahead. "If you can."

It's one of the Hao brothers, his expression immediately determined. Expecting slippery prey, the hunter should have little trouble; they're all used to disrupting disappearing tricks with their own spiritual energy, all of them practiced at wrestling opponents back into solid forms.

Mobei Yang is surprised again when the flinching boy slips into his own shadow and then appears on the hunter's other side.

The Hao brother is enraged, of course, which is at least amusing. The hunter roars and chases after the slow boy, who stumbles, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes, and then vanishes again. The boy reappears and disappears a few times on his way back up the hill. The Hao brother catches him once, only for the boy to apparently melt away in the hunter's hands, despite an obvious attempt to use spiritual energy to disrupt the escape.

"Enough of that!" Mobei Yang decides, when the comedic pair are too close to the other hunting party. "Stop playing with your prey and come back here!"

The Hao brother stomps back to join the other surviving hunters, gathering behind Mobei Yang. The newcomers whom Shuang Tao is escorting forward hardly seem fearsome, but appearances do matter. Mobei Yang looks best when he looks better than someone else.

The boy skirts wide around Shuang Tao and dives back into the party of newcomers, which... doesn't seem to welcome him back with any enthusiasm. Like larger beasts dutifully making way for some tiny but venomous creature. The boy lurks behind the rock demon leader, peeking out warily, like a plump little seal sticking its snout of the ice.

The rock demon leader is a large fellow, a little taller than Mobei Yang himself, fat and strong. Far more grim than handsome. A stone that ice could crack open without much difficulty, Mobei Yang is sure.

"Greetings and welcome, Linguang-Jun," rumbles the rock demon.

"This is Bocheng, the next clan leader of the Flying Mountain Clan," Shuang Tao offers. "Sworn to the Northern Desert Clan, of course, and at our service."

Bocheng the rock demon appears less than pleased by his required obeisance, but Mobei Yang doesn't care much if some backwater warrior hates the fact that he has a king. So long as all due respect is shown to the future Mobei-Jun.

"And who is that?" Mobei Yang gestures vaguely behind the rock demon.

Shan Bocheng the rock demon's frown deepens. Some of the others step plainly away from their leader and the coward, so unwilling to shelter the boy from their superiors, even though demon children are supposedly all precious creatures. Sighing, the rock demon pulls the boy up beside him. His massive hand spreads across the mulish boy's back and touches those hunched shoulders with no trouble.

"You introduced yourself to my hunting party so audaciously before," Mobei Yang observes. "You truly do have trouble finishing a job, hm?"

The boy looks around miserably. It's like watching some pitiful sea creature try to crawl back inside its shell.

"He wants to know your name," Bocheng says to the boy, with the slowness that one might offer to a particularly stupid baby. "Name. Naaaaame."

Mobei Yang can see the way that the boy's eyes light up, before he bows again, deeper this time, and stays there.

"Beida Wan," he says. "Sorry. I... sorry. Sorry."

"That's a rather long name. So unique. Not very lucky, though," Mobei Yang says. Shuang Tao laughs, while some of the other hunters chuckle.

"Sorry," the boy says again. "I... help."

Bocheng the rock demon sighs again. The mauling of each word suggests another language, but none of these other clan members are stepping forward to offer their translation services.

"Does he not speak Tongyu or Beiyu?" Mobei Yang can also follow the whispered conversation between two of the newly come wind demons, but there's no need to enlighten them of that yet.

"No, we don't know what language he speaks," the rock demon says. "We don't know where he's from."

"He just appeared one day and now he won't leave," complains a young water demon. "Because he saved Bocheng's life somehow, more or less, we can't just-"

"Yubo, shut up," says the rock demon.

"He really didn't know who he was interrupting," the young water demon insists. "Still doesn't. Stupid."

"Let's hear this mysterious mother tongue," Mobei Yang decides. "Perhaps I or one of my faithful followers, worldly warriors that we are, will recognize a few words of it. Say something, boy."

When everyone turns their eyes onto him again, the boy once more tries to shrink into a shell that isn't there. It takes some more prodding from the rock demon to get the confused, then annoyed boy to produce more than one word at a time.

"Whadda fuckayou wan' fro'me?"

Mobei Yang looks at Shuang Tao, who shrugs unhelpfully, and none of his other hunters step forward. There are many isolated languages and wretched dialects across the Demon Realm alone, but Mobei Yang doesn't even recognize the general sound of this one. It's very flat.

"You must be a very long way from home," Mobei Yang says finally.

The boy doesn't answer. He doesn't seem to understand the statement at all, squinting helplessly before taking shelter again behind the rock demon.

Mobei Yang is distracted then by more conventional affairs. The locals had apparently been watching this destructive creature and had been preparing to kill it themselves, and so now must at least pretend to be grateful that their superiors arrived to defend them. Tradition and respect also demand that these lowly demons make an offer of hospitality.

Some of his hunters are injured, two are dead, so arrangements must be made. Mobei Yang graciously accepts the hospitality outwardly, while inwardly accepting that there will be some trouble from his mother's family for even briefly associating with one of their many rivals, which is exactly what he'd wished to avoid when they set up their now-ruined camp instead of seeking shelter. Perhaps if he does his hosts sufficient damage during his stay, subtly of course, the familial moaning and groaning will be minimal.

While Shuang Tao negotiates with the locals regarding the Giant Sea Heron's curse, Mobei Yang studies the intruder again. The Beida boy is staring at the sky, occasionally swallowing retching. He's been staying close to the rock demon like a little fly. How does someone with such obviously poor cultivation have such remarkable abilities?

In his mysterious language, the boy mumbles to no one: "Didwe jus' killa fuckin' pterosaur...?" Utterly unintelligible.

Beida Wan is cultivated enough that he eventually notices Mobei Yang watching him. He stares back, at first, his brow furrowed, and then shuffles to hide behind their shared host again.

Chapter Two: The Wind Demoness

That night, under the silver moonlight, Mobei Yang has his heart suddenly and ruthlessly stolen from him.

The Flying Mountain Clan's fortress is built on and into a tall hill, the foundational stonework not unimpressive, presumably the work of several generations of rock demons. Of the many villagers still awake to greet them, Mobei Yang takes note of the mixture of rock and wind, with some noticeable brides of ice or water, some less distinguishable types, and some here and there of the animal kinds. It's all very rustic and quaint. Very homely.

Mobei Yang is being led to the crown of the fortress in the hill, where rests the clan leader's home and his temporary accommodations. Most of his other hunters will be scattered around the other better residences in this place.

"Oh, when we heard that monstrous screeching, I didn't dare to dream that your hunting would bring back such a handsome trophy. You are most welcome to our humble home, Linguang-Jun!"

Mobei Yang looks away from a weathered stone carving of rampaging Red River Horses and up to the speaker standing on a stone ledge. His breath abandons him, as though plucked out of his lungs by fine and clever fingers, as though beaten from his chest in a single, mighty blow, and his unguarded heart is carried out along with it. Looking down upon him, veiled in moonlight, is perhaps the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Peerless.

He is not, let it be said clearly, a stranger to beautiful women. This demoness is tall, broad-shouldered, and her pale skin glows like untouched snow under the moonlight. Her finely beaded dress glitters faintly as she moves and bares most of her stunningly long legs, which have all the hardness and thickness of a powerful runner, the pride of any wind demon. She's wearing long, complicated braids in richly black hair. With a smile of such pretty fangs, she should be wearing pearls and jewels, instead of merely metal bells and ivory. Her pale gray eyes glow nearly as bright as the moon behind her.

"We have not had a noble demon lord grace us with his presence in too long! If only I had been given time to prepare for you, Linguang-Jun... Days! A month! A year! We can only hope to meet some of your princely expectations..."

"All of my expectations when it comes to enjoying my stay have already been effortlessly succeeded," Mobei Yang promises.

This demoness's indulgent laugh is like the sweetest of songs. He desperately wishes that he wasn't covered in both dust and dried blood for such a fortuitous meeting. Fate can be so cruel.

"My only disappointment is that we haven't met before," Mobei Yang continues. "Oh calamity, have you been busy battling the heavens for daring to outshine them?"

"No, for they must be arguing over who among them has to face you in battle, Linguang-Jun, for such a wicked tongue," the laughing demoness answers, her smile wolfish in its wideness. "But the little human gods are welcome to come when they are ready."

"What handsome trophies that hunt would make," Mobei Yang agrees. "Far more worthy of such a wonderful hostess... whose generosity may also, I hope, extend to her name...?"

"Xiang Ningyue, the only child of Clan Leader Xiang Peng."

Before Mobei Yang can remark that her mother must have been the moon itself, that grim-faced rock demon steps forward, pulling that strange, stumbling boy ahead of him again. It's understandable that the local demons wouldn't enjoy seeing their greatest beauty be so appreciated, but the interruption is nevertheless annoying.

"Wife," says Shan Bocheng the rock demon. "Beida Wan needs to be washed. I'll see you it that our honored guests are given baths as well."

Mobei Yang closes his mouth.

Wife? Wife?!

Xiang Ningyue, the most beautiful woman in the world, lets out a soft moan when she sees the boy covered in blood. "Oh, what did you do to yourself now?"

Beida Wan frowns up at her and predictably says nothing, still trying to fold himself away into the protective shell that he doesn't have. When Xiang Ningyue sighs and gestures for him to come closer, he shuffles forward without any apparent appreciation for the privilege.

"You're not coming back into our home looking like this! How am I supposed to-? Oh, fine! Fine!"

Xiang Ningyue apologizes sweetly to them for this, before throwing out an impressive array of orders towards her husband, their servants, her clansmen, and her clansmen's own servants, as confident and as impatient as a whirlwind. Mobei Yang is still mildly stunned and nauseated when she drags the strange boy off.

"...If I had such a wife, I wouldn't dare introduce her to any higher demon," Mobei Yang murmurs to Shuang Tao, who snorts in agreement.

"She seems very willing to be stolen."

"Mmm, clearly this pile of rocks is a little more interesting than previously known."

A cold bath is most refreshing, even if the following meals are hasty and unbefitting of their stations: some lamb and vegetable stew, which is at least well-spiced. The accompanying wine is tolerable.

While eating, Mobei Yang and his attending hunters suffer through a long and dull conversation with the elderly wind demon clan leader, the beautiful Xiang Ningyue's father, and Shan Bocheng, who is apparently the clan leader's most fortunate son-in-law. Mobei Yang wants the Giant Sea Heron's head for himself, that marvelously misshapen skull with its god's spear of a beak will look good mounted somewhere, but he doesn't much care what the locals do with the rest of the monster's awkward corpse.

Xiang Ningyue rejoins them at this point, with the Beida boy slinking in behind her. The Beida boy's new clothes are less plain than before, but still oversized, now obviously borrowed, beaded and embroidered with the vibrant greens, yellows, and blues that this clan seems to favor. Very modest. The short, wet hair ruins any chance of dignity, sticking out at odd angles like an overgrown tuft of grass, partially covering the boy's eyes.

Beida Wan is sat in the corner of the room with a bowl of stew, which he eats silently and slowly. Mobei Yang has relatives who have been poisoned who regard their meals with less disgruntled suspicion, and he says as much to the beautiful Xiang Ningyue, who laughs in her delightful manner once more.

Xiang Ningyue's rock demon husband's glaring misery is quite delightful too, while his guests strive to make his beautiful wife cackle and preen, and so Mobei Yang doesn't call for the strange boy to be brought over to sit with them. He forgets Beida Wan almost entirely, until the boy becomes relevant in his retelling of their Giant Sea Heron hunt.

"Trying to steal a kill from Linguang-Jun!" Xiang Ningyue laughs. "If I didn't already know that our dear guest Beida Wan is stupid, that would make it clear! How insulting! To think that you would need any help from someone like them..."

"I can generously forgive our glorious battle being cut short if it brought me to such wonderful company all the sooner," Mobei Yang promises.

When he looks over one or Xiang Ningyue's fine, broad shoulders, he sees that the strange demon in question is watching everyone very intently. Perhaps Beida Wan heard his name, obviously listening, head tilted shamelessly.

"Perhaps a little more strength behind that killing blow next time, hm?!" Mobei Yang calls across the room.

Beside him, Shuang Tao cackles drunkenly, and his other present hunters laugh and toast the stupidity and audacity of youth. The present locals join in. Except for Bocheng the rock demon, of course, though he doesn't move to defend the little fly that was clinging to him earlier.

Beida Wan looks around at all of them, black-faced, even though there is an embarassing red flush crawling up his face. When he finally comes back to meet Mobei Yang's gaze, he bobs his head, neither quite a nod or a bow, and then stares determinedly at the floor, picking clawlessly at the beads of his trousers.

Xiang Ningyue sighs dramatically. "We've been trying to teach Beida to speak some Tongyu these past few weeks, but it's hard work! The only thing that's flatter and more useless than this demon's ears is their tongue..."

"Does anyone in your clan have a map that this stranger can at least point at?" Shuang Tao leans forward to ask. "Or does he not know his homeland's geography?"

Xiang Ningyue sighs even more dramatically. "He just stares at it for far, far too long and says, 'No.' Sometimes, he even shrugs!"

"Does he perhaps... not want to go home, do you think?" Mobei Yang asks. "A remarkably slow runaway? A rather unfortunate fortune-seeker?"

"Can he read Tongyu?" Shuang Tao asks.

"I don't know why Beida would have run away from home, because this demon was clearly spoiled!" Xiang Ningyue complains. "No, they can't read any Tongyu either. They just scribble ugly nonsense characters into the dirt. They claim to be twenty-five years old, if you can believe it! But they're even more useless than a child when it comes to most things!"

"Claims to be twenty-five?" Shuang Tao presses. "Does he know numbers or is he just counting tallies in the dirt?"

"Beida can count up to ten using real numbers now," Xiang Ningyue explains, with a nod towards the latter option. "But laundry? Spinning, weaving, building, carving, braiding, cooking... They're such a picky eater, you wouldn't believe it! All useless! So useless! "

Mobei Yang doesn't do many of those things either, but he can at least feed himself. "You're as generous as you are lovely to have taken such a useless demon into your household," he promises.

"I know!"

"Truly magnanimous."

"At least they're an obedient learner," Xiang Ningyue says, finishing her second cup of wine. "Beida can count on their fingers and make stupid gestures in a way that's almost clever... but it's hard to believe that they're supposed to be older than I am! This demon really should be dead!"

"Wife," her husband says reproachfully.

"Where did you find him?" Shuang Tao asks, ignoring the rock demon.

Xiang Ningyue either can't keep a secret or there isn't one to be kept. "We think that they fell out of the Endless Abyss."

"Beida can't explain anything yet," says Shan Bocheng the rock demon, as if trying to remind his loose-lipped wife of something. "We don't know anything."

"The Endless Abyss," Mobei Yang repeats, rubbing his chin. "Well, he's not like any Emperor of the Abyss that I've ever seen spawned in those depths before. He's much too small."

Xiang Ningyue cackles again, as does Shuang Tao, and Mobei Yang smiles and studies the stranger again.

A powerful warrior might go into the Endless Abyss to test their own strength, to prove themselves, but Beida Wan is much too cowardly to be an adventurer.

Weaker demons will seek out the more stable gates into that hellish realm, the openings the least likely to tear them apart, and seek treasure or rare ingredients. One does have to be clever and slippery to survive such expeditions.

Abyssal openings, natural or summoned, often take victims who stray too close. Some are taken when the hole in the world reacts somehow to the spiritual energy of a living creature. Others get snagged and dragged through by lurking creatures, which often can't live long outside of the Endless Abyss, but are eager for easy prey. The Giant Sea Heron killed today is the least of what the Endless Abyss can do to the things that it swallows.

Some who are taken by the Endless Abyss manage to break free again. But most weaker demons don't survive such places physically or mentally whole. Especially not picky eaters.

Even Mobei Yang doesn't hunt often in the Endless Abyss. His expeditions there last no longer than a few days, typically, and only through the most stable guards, better armed and armored than he is now. The lack of sunlight may be reminiscent of northern winters, but the sheer heat of some areas can be atrocious.

"I think that Beida used to be-"

"Wife," the rock demon says again.

"I think," Xiang Ningyue repeats louder than before, "that little Beida used to be human."

"Human!" shouts Shuang Qiang, the nephew of Shuang Tao, now looking at Beida Wan as though the demon might be diseased. "That's a human?!"

"Well, not anymore, clearly," Shuang Tao says dryly. His nephew looks alarmed by the prospect of transformation.

"Calm down, it's not catching," Mobei Yang reminds the other demons. "I hope." He sets his drink down, as the flavor seems to have gone off. "...That thing isn't one of those dream demon puppets is it? One of those artificial demons?"

"Wife," the rock demon groans.

"Dream demons tend to sign their work," Shuang Tao muses.

"Well, yes, they're all narcissistic, everyone knows that," Mobei Yang agrees. "The boy is covering quite a lot of skin..."

"But what would be the point of pretending not to speak Tongyu? Any grandmother knows how to check for possession! At least most types of possession..."

"Beida is not possessed," says the rock demon. "We checked. We don't know that Beida was ever human."

"I do," Xiang Ningyue says loftily. "You just don't like that a human saved your life! She saved my husband, so I spend more time with Beida than anyone, and I'm telling you: no killing instinct! None!"

"That seems against their efforts to interrupt our hunt," Mobei Yang says mildly.

"Oh, Beida will kill if you make them, just like they'll help with the butchering, but they're not any good at it," Xiang Ningyue says, nodding. "They'll run in to help, but they don't fight."

"What does that mean?" young Shuang Qiang asks.

"Won't scratch at anyone!" Xiang Ningyue says, listing offenses off on her claws. "Won't even snarl! Won't hit! Won't even willingly take a hit! Not for fun, not for position, not for pride. Beida will run away from any fight, every time, and it makes all the boys and girls so badly behaved."

"I've never known any demon youth to be able to resist a soft target," Mobei Yang agrees. "Our storytelling hostess, do indulge us, how exactly did your clan find this strange demon?"

Xiang Ningyue lights up. The story isn't complicated, but it is enthusiastically told by the wind demoness: their hunting party was attacked by an Abyss-touched Sword-Toothed Tiger and her husband was injured in the ambush. Their hunting party had been, for nearly a full day by that point, followed by a stranger who had eluded all attempts to catch them, Beida Wan. Shan Bocheng insists that this distraction was the only reason that the Sword-Toothed Tiger managed to surprise him.

To everyone's surprise, the cowardly stranger had rushed in at the last moment to assist Shan Bocheng. "Beida somehow put a stick up through the creature's jaw and into its brain," Xiang Ningyue says with an illustrative jab.

"Without injury?" Mobei Yang asks. Sword-Toothed Tigers generally didn't simply let one approach.

"Without injury! Owing such a debt, we of course had to take in this poor thing in, especially because Beida followed us home anyway." Xiang Ningyue sighs and says begrudgingly, "Beida does try. A real servant's heart, this demon has."

As the wind demoness describes nursing her husband back to full strength, her vivaciousness does... falter. Briefly. Her lip wobbles as she mentions how worried she was. She and the rock demon are, according to her, childhood sweethearts, born in the same month only twenty years ago, and there may be genuine fondness between the young couple.

How annoying. Sunk in a comfortably pool of drunkenness, Mobei Yang falls asleep that night wondering how one might lure such a beautiful demoness away from her marriage and her clan.

One cannot simply kidnap a woman on a whim. One has to plan these things.

He's more powerful than some backwater rock demon, of course, far more handsome, and far richer. His lordly brother even gifted him the Northern Desert's magnificent West Wind Palace as soon as he came of age! He can cover Xiang Ningyue in as many real jewels and rare bones as she likes! And when his childless, elderly brother finally passes, Mobei Yang will inevitably inherit all of his ancestral strength and become Mobei-Jun himself, and his lucky wife will have all of the Northern Desert at her whims.

He certainly wouldn't make his peerless queen share her home with some strange, lost creature who can't speak and won't even fight for themself, neither a servant nor a second spouse... Though, what else does one do when a life debt is owed to such a wretched demon? Too publically to honorably ignore? Mobei Yang falls asleep still wondering.

Chapter Three: A Clever Trick

The land upon which the Flying Mountain Clan lives belongs to the Northern Desert Clan by conquest, so upon them, Mobei Yang and his hunters cannot impose. Mobei Yang takes advantage of this obligatory hospitality by declaring that they will linger in this fortress for several days, until all injuries are mended and all corpses are tended to.

"We'll have a real feast tonight!" Xiang Ningyue declares, swirling in excitement, looking out over her little queendom. "With singing and playing for the great hunters! And dancing! There are no more beautiful dancers in all the world than wind demons!"

"Oh? You know, I've seen many wind demon dances before," Mobei Yang replies.

The blood of the Northern Desert Clan dominates, but his mother was from the Black Wind Clan and they play on that connecting string often, trying to get Mobei Yang to dance for them where they can.

"It seems like every dancer of skill has been summoned to the Ice Palace over the years," Mobei Yang continues. His elder brother is very, very fond of dancers. "I think I've seen everything by now."

Xiang Ningyue smiles with all of her teeth. "You haven't yet seen me," she promises shamelessly.

Mobei Yang laughs. "I haven't seen anyone like you before," he agrees. "You're a calamity."

Before he can decide whether or not to get closer, to risk being scratched, a familiar figure plants itself beside them.

"Mistress Ningyue," Beida Wan says.

Mobei Yang sighs. "I thought you said that this demon didn't enjoy tasks such as butchering prey? He makes such a mess of your lovely name."

Xiang Ningyue cackles, her initial annoyance melting away. "I did say that Beida was bad at everything!"

Beida Wan looks back and forth between them warily. Away from their hosts, Shuang Tao has suggested that the strange boy may be some kind of ridiculous spy, but even Mobei Yang's second can't seem to believe his own suggestion.

With great effort, the boy says, "Cook... say... help. Mistress Ningyue help?"

Mobei Yang wonders if the rock demon sent the boy as interference, given that the boy clearly doesn't know better than to get between his betters and their prey.

"That nasty old cook did not say, 'Help,'" Xiang Ningyue says, but she seems amused.

"Help," Beida Wan repeats firmly. "Help! Help!" The boy waves his hands back and forth slightly, a mockery of flailing panic. "Help, Mistress Ningyue, help!"

Xiang Ningyue laughs again and Beida Wan understandably looks pleased with himself for provoking it. Mobei Yang feels surprised that the strange boy is capable of humor despite his handful of Tongyu words. His smile reveals slightly crooked front teeth and small canines.

The smile fades as Beida Wan looks at Mobei Yang again. "Ahhh..."

"Ah, something to say to me as well?"

"Master Bocheng say..."

"Even repeating things is apparently too difficult," Xiang Ningyue complains. "So useless! A parrot would be a better messenger. And prettier."

"Tr-trainer-ing," Beida Wan slurs out eventually. "Training. Lingu-Linguang-Jun."

Mobei Yang bemusedly watches as the strange boy raises his fists, circling them slightly, in a poor fighting stance. It's vaguely reminiscent of a small child play-acting. Then Beida Wan shrugs, with those round cheeks flushed red again, and points down the hill.

Mobei Yang follows the gesture to see a wide, dirt ring, where some of the local warriors are enthusiastically doing drills and eagerly beckoning some of his watching hunters forward. Such challenges to visitors are extremely common. And likely the only entertainment that Mobei Yang will be offered here until the promised feasting begins later.

"Oh, we would be honored!" Xiang Ningyue exclaims, more elegantly. "Nothing interesting ever happens here! Some of our youths could stand to be made a little more worldly, Linguang-Jun, if your men would be willing to show us their strength."

"I am your most gracious guest."

If nothing else, Mobei Yang can show off for this peerless wind demoness, and perhaps even directly against her inadequate young husband.

His hostess must excuse herself to the feast preparations, so Mobei Yang is escorted to the training ring by Beida Wan. Or so he assumes that is the strange demon's intention, as the boy steps back and makes a presumptuous beckoning gesture, repeating it often along the stairs and sloping roads downwards.

It is the closest Mobei Yang has been to this stranger since the bloody death of that ruined creature. He cannot quite resist the urge to reach out and grab an arm.

Beida Wan startles wildly, but as weakly as a child, before the boy then slips out between the fingers easily. Even with Mobei Yang making a mild spiritual effort to hold onto his prey. The boy simply dissolved like an illusion, with a faint shimmer in the air, before reforming a few skittering steps away.

There is spiritual energy being used here, Mobei Yang confirms now that he can focus upon it. It's... slippery. Subtle. An insect landing in water: one would perhaps only notice it in a small, still pool.

Beida Wan is looking at him with wide eyes and no teeth. "No," he says, flatly.

Then the boy turns and runs ahead to the training ring, as though a wind demoness's son couldn't easily, immediately, close the short distance between them, if he so chose. Where does this Beida Wan come from that that wouldn't be taken as an invitation to chase?

Mobei Yang follows sedately, ignoring the whispers and curious looks from the local villagers, and also from Shuang Tao, who has come to greet him. His hosts have set up a modestly comfortable and shaded lounging area for him and his hunters to observe the training and challenges, waited upon with drinks and cool cloths by some of the clan leader's servants again.

Shan Bocheng the rock demon is acting as their master of ceremonies for this impromptu tournament, with Beida Wan lurking behind the young future clan leader again like a little fly that doesn't even bite.

Predictably, there are several scowling warriors who evidently won't believe in their own inferiority without a demonstration. Just as predictably, there are several eager youths, at least half of whom are likely hoping that they might impress enough to be taken away from this place.

"I do have some empty space in my hunting party at the moment," Mobei Yang remarks casually to Shuang Tao, just to fan the flames.

The locals are determined to mark their territory. Some of the older warriors, canny and cultivated, even manage to put Mobei Yang's hunters on their backs several times, albeit inconsistently. Many of the villagers gather eagerly to watch. A group of younger children are squealing and shouting from a rooftop.

Shan Bocheng is highly skilled for his young age, but not significantly powerful, and he intelligently doesn't dare to challenge Mobei Yang directly. While Mobei Yang is contemplating proposing a "friendly spar" between them, he is challenged directly by a young water demon, with more awe than arrogance, an appetite sharper than his cute teeth.

"Yubo!" Shan Bocheng snaps.

"Can't I have ambitions?" complains young Xiang Yubo, a cousin of Xiang Ningyue apparently, only seventeen years old. "Is it so bad to dream of losing a battle to the great Linguang-Jun?"

Mobei Yang laughs. "I'll consider it," he tells the water demon.

"I want to fight the boy who tried to take the killing blow from us!" declare one of the Hao brothers. "From the great hunter, Linguang-Jun!"

Sitting behind Shan Bocheng, Beida Wan is drawing in the dirt with a stick. Unsurprisingly, he seems to be completely unaware that he's been challenged.

"No," Shan Bocheng says. "Beida can't fight."

At his name, the boy looks up and then around, squinting for some understanding. He scoots back, a little more behind the rock demon, like a small child.

"He nearly killed an Abyss-touched Giant Sea Heron," says Xi Mingzhu, another of Mobei Yang's hunters.

"That's... different."

"How so?" Mobei Yang calls.

The rock demon looks amusingly disgruntled, struggling to explain it. "Beida doesn't know how to fight like this."

"Beida can stab things badly with a spear until they're dead and that's it," says young Xiang Yubo, the water demon. "And that's only if running away doesn't work!"

"Yubo!"

"What? It's true!"

"Just for that... come fight Beida for us."

"In front of-?! I'm not doing that!"

Shan Bocheng the rock drmon ignores the whining and looks down at Beida Wan, who is still squinting at everyone. The rock demon picks the boy up by the back of his clothes and puts him on his feet.

"Go train with Xiang Yubo," Bocheng orders. "Practice fight."

Beida Wan's face twists up. "No," he says. He looks around at her waiting audience, then back at Shan Bocheng. "No."

"Yes," Shan Bocheng insists.

"No."

"Yes."

"No! No, no, no!"

The rock demon has to physically push Beida Wan into the training ring and hand the boy a... staff? It nearly gets dropped. Shan Bocheng throws another staff at Xiang Yubo, who catches it easily and executes a skillful series of twirls, familiarizing himself with the weapon.

"No... hurt?" Beida Wan says.

"No hurt," the rock demon confirms. "No kill. Training. Practice. Go."

Even before the young water demon can lunge forward, Beida vanishes. There one moment, gone the next, in a flicker of shadow and twisting air. He reappears on the other side of the ring without any attempt at counterattack.

It's clearly frustrating for the young water demon, but it gives Mobei Yang the opportunity to study such remarkable abilities. Most elemental creatures can still be caught, can be followed, can be disrupted, can be forced between forms, unfortunately including Mobei Yang himself. It happened often when he used to spar against his lordly brother and all the overwhelming power of their ancestors.

Beida Wan is... unrecognizable. Even when watching closely, there's often no clear thread of spiritual energy to follow from one point to the next. A broken trail.

Shuang Tao is snickering at Beida Wan's clumsy form, the childish slowness, the obvious uncertainty, the unwillingness to strike back. It's distracting. It's understandable. Such remarkable abilities from such pathetic overall cultivation!

But Mobei Yang wants to know how the boy is slipping away from a superior opponent, another warrior who is clearly experienced in fighting elemental creatures. He focuses on those subtle twists of demonic energy.

And he finds himself thinking of... the iridescent shimmer in the air above a hungry Abyssal vent.

Of the twisting flash of an otherworldly spiritual weapon being summoned to a waiting hand.

Of the whisper when opening a small pouch hiding a deep stomach.

Of a dream demon's illusions, spun by a creature hidden in another realm entirely.

Of a monstrous creature disguised as something small, suddenly unfolding itself, ripping a giant's body out of a spiritual web to reveal its spider's trap.

Of the way the air shakes when a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python screams.

"...Ah," Mobei Yang says.

Shuang Tao and the Hao brothers look at him with interest, but Mobei Yang ignores them to lean farther forward. If they can't figure it out, he's not telling them.

The fight ends when the young water demon manages to trip Beida Wan, not for the first time, and Beida Wan is too dazed to get up before Xiang Yubo swings the tip of the staff up against his throat. The water demon taps for emphasis.

Mobei Yang can see the boy's nervous swallow, but also the way that Beida Wan is watching the crowd more than his opponent. It's the boy's choice to release his weapon and indicate surrender. The only thing preventing his escape here should be spiritual exhaustion.

"Well done," Mobei Yang calls out to the young water demon, who was persistent, if ineffective.

Xiang Yubo pulls the staff back and demonstrates relieved gratitude, after such a frustrating duel. It must have been like trying to pin down a ghostly butterfly.

Beida Wan rolls himself up and limps back to hide behind Bocheng again, sitting against the wall in a tired heap.

"Strike back more," the rock demon says to his little fly.

Beida Wan raises his hand sharply, an inward fist with the middle finger pointed upwards, though he drops it quickly.

Mobei Yang wonders what that's supposed to mean. A salute? An agreement? An apology? Hard to say when Beida Wan's sweaty, red face is between his knees.

He understands better now why this young water demon said that Beida Wan only knows how to run and kill. The boy doesn't have the strength or the speed to strike back ordinarily, to wrestle an opponent to the ground, to spar in a skillful way. All Beida Wan can do is sneak close and put a spear through an opponent's critical weak points, using an apparently natural ability to warp space itself around him.

No wind demon, no matter how quick or powerful, can reach something that has slipped away into another realm entirely.

Mobei Yang fights the young water demon, because it makes him look generous more than out of any personal interest. He wants to show Shan Bocheng the difference between them, especially with the beautiful Xiang Ningyue now watching from an overlook with some other local wind demonesses, their colorful scarves and skirts flowing like flags in the breeze.

And he wants to see Beida Wan's face seeing a true demon warrior demonstrate some of his strength. The boy alternates freely between very wide eyes and a frowning squint, apparently.

Mobei Yang indulges a few challengers after that, out of boredom more than curiosity, and likely embarrasses some of them more than originally intended. The Ice Palace attracts countless challengers, fighting for countless reasons, and his lordly brother has become less and less willing to indulge any of them as the years go by; it's a responsibility on top of the countless cousins whose ambitions need to be treated like summer greenery: killed off before they become overgrown.

The cheering and compliments are appreciated. The naked envy even moreso. "I did apparently have to prove to this clan that I have no need of help during any of my hunts," Mobei Yang says dryly, provoking laughter again.

The rush of battle, however inglorious, makes impulses more difficult to resist. While lesser demons debate who has to follow such a performance, Mobei Yang looks towards the elusive little fly.

"Beida Wan!" he calls.

The boy's head snaps up. Several strings of surrounding conversation are cut off, but Mobei Yang isn't afraid of an audience. He echoes that condescending little beckoning gesture. By the way that Beida Wan's reddened nose wrinkles, Mobei Yang's demand is immediately understood.

Shan Bocheng hauls the boy up by his collar again and Beida Wan begrudgingly slinks over to stand in front of Mobei Yang. His expression is wary. He remembers to bow in greeting quite belatedly.

Mobei Yang doesn't give any warning before grabbing the boy's arm again. Again, Beida Wan is too slow to dodge, startling without dignity.

"Whadda fuck?!"

It would have been trivial to break this limb, to do far worse, but Mobei Yang waits patiently. He can feel the shift of the boy's elusive spiritual energy even better this way; he can shift his own weighty spiritual energy to counter the forces hastily moving to work here.

He owes thanks to the depths his ancestors have given him. Perhaps also to the clan priestess who first taught him how to fortify himself against unstable Abyssal gates, so that his body and mind wouldn't be torn to pieces. And to those others who passed down onto him the ancestral knowledge of stabilizing such gates... of destroying them. Though Mobei Yang doesn't think one can discount his own impressive experience, learning how to disrupt summoned weapons and untie folded spaces and all those annoying tricks with just... a little... push.

Beida Wan grunts, flinches, as the shadows twist and writhe and fail to whisk him away into whatever halfway realm he's been using. He pulls uselessly. He keeps trying, again and again, a panicking animal with a paw stuck fast.

Mobei Yang keeps denying the boy an escape. It takes continuous effort, a fair amount of spiritual energy, and really, the boy should be grateful that Mobei Yang hasn't accidentally broken this arm.

"No," Mobei Yang says dryly.

Beida Wan stops struggling and stares up at him. Really, it reminds Mobei Yang so much of snagging a surfacing seal as a bored youth, all big eyes and flopping rage.

Whatever this boy was before, human or not, he's just a weak demon now with a single clever trick. Remarkable abilities left raw and uncultivated. Mobei Yang laughs as he releases his unique prey, at yet another successful hunt, however short and simple it turned out to be.

"You caught Beida," the young water demon, Xiang Yubo, says. "And he actually stayed caught!"

"Oh, you just have to find the trick of it," Mobei Yang says airily. "Shan Bocheng, tell your clan leader that I've found some new demons for my hunting party!"

It's like kicking over a wasp nest, with the buzzing that goes through the watching crowd. The rock demon remains grim.

"Who?" Shan Bocheng says.

"Such an honor!" Xiang Ningyue calls from her makeshift pavilion of ladies, far more civilized, all of her beauty on display as she leans forward. "The Flying Mountain Clan is honored to run with Linguang-Jun! But which of us are you stealing?"

"Your young cousin, generous hostess," Mobei Yang falls back. "Xiang Yubo may have the potential to impress!"

More importantly, the young water demon will give an excuse to return to the Flying Mountain Clan and speak with his relatives. Mobei Yang will simply have to tell his late mother's family, the Black Wind Clan, that he has a complicated plot to destabilize the leadership of their rival clan.

"It's- Thank you! Thank you, Linguang-Jun! I won't disappoint you- I won't- I'll prove myself worthy-" Xiang Yubo stammers.

Mobei Yang nods vaguely at the appropriate gratitude. "And I'll have this thing," he adds, pointing. "If you can bear to let this guest leave your hands."

Xiang Ningyue cackles, as does Shuang Tao. The other laughter around them is more nervous. Beida Wan looks at Mobei Yang's finger like he doesn't know why it's pointing at him; presumably, he doesn't. He shuffles backwards... into the rock demon.

"I... owe Beida," Shan Bocheng says.

"And what better reward could you give than a placement with a superior clan?" Mobei Yang says, even though he really doesn't need to ask anyone's permission here. "If there's anything worthwhile to be learned from Beida Wan, the Northern Desert Clan will uncover it."

"Yes, take them!" Xiang Ningyue calls. "If anyone can make a hunter of Beida, it's you, Linguang-Jun!"

It's more likely that such a useless warrior will die sooner than later, but Mobei Yang doubts that the Flying Mountain Clan will truly cry over the loss. Perhaps something will be made of these remarkable abilities before that, but perhaps not.

Shan Bocheng's shoulders sag slightly. The rock demon won't fight over this.

Mobei Yang smiles down at Beida Wan, who remains wary and confused at first, and then hesitantly smiles back. Weakly. Not threateningly. Obviously false. Quite odd. The humanness is hard to unsee after Xiang Ningyue suggested it.

"What an opportunity to bring our two clans closer together," Mobei Yang remarks, almost entirely to see Shan Bocheng struggle to remain polite again. "Let's look forward to the new future, hm?"

#tossawary svsss #tossawary updates #linguang jun #long post #transmigrator mobei jun mom #mobei jun's mother

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dumbkiri · 1 month ago

Text

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 7

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: you awake from your slumber along with Lenin with more of an understanding of your background. mating bonds are difficult to walk around.

12 pgs, 4.2k words

“Lenin, how is your transformation going?”

You haven’t spoken in months to anyone because of your slumber. But you always remained speaking to Lenin through your dreams. After seeing your death in the eyes of your sisters, the witches, you were allowed to communicate with Lenin in your dreams like breathing came to you naturally.

Your signet developed into something your sisters called ‘manipulation of pure magic’. You were able to channel your own source of power by funneling it into Lenin, with his permission of course.

Yet that came at a cost.

When Lenin chose you as his rider that is when your power began to surge in pulses. Uncontained and powerful.

“Since the beginning, I always knew there was something special about you, Dagger.”

He told you this when you began to learn about your history. Then your sisters explained that Lenin chose to hide your true nature, your power, because he knew what you were capable of. The ability to be an infinite source for the wards, like the humans thought your sisters could be.

Hours passed with you staring at a drawing of your dragon on the wall. His dark wings spread out on the sheet with hints of blue running down the membrane, Lenin’s spine dotted with smooth bumps speckled in blue then blending into a pitch black surrounding the rest of his body.

A feeling of sadness seeped into your body thinking about the vision. Your burned belongings when you die. This piece of paper was going to be the last form of his original look. And they were going to burn it. Only those now will remember how Lenin used to look with his beautifully midnight blue scales, a lethal combination of Sgaeyl and Tairn.

��I look nothing like my parents, Dagger,” Lenin admitted with shame, “All of them look at me like I’m cursed, but Andarna. She’s enamored with my new color.”

“Color?” You asked quizzically, holding yourself up with your arm, “I thought only your size changed. What color are you now?”

“Come see me,” He huffed, “I don’t think I can do you justice by telling you the color. Everything about me has changed except for my thoughts. I am still me.”

“Is that what you try telling your parents?” You could feel him radiate his emotions a bit more strongly now after you slept for months. His apprehension of his change before it actually happened thwarted your resolve in your own slumber, but he reassured you that this is something he will get used to. The covenant explained that not only does Lenin channel his magic through you, you channel a deeper, stronger magic into him. Hence his new change of appearance. And other things like your signet being able to do a lot more. Changes made to become who you were meant to be later on, The Maiden of the Moon.

When he didn’t answer, it gave you the information you needed. His parents do not take lightly that he changed color because of your magic.

“I’ll be there.”

You removed the layers of blankets off your body and gradually you became accustomed to moving your limbs. Months of sleeping did not do your usually strong body justice, but your mind never faltered. You can train when you get better, during the calm before the storm.

Storm.

Speaking of the weather, General Sorrengail and the other higher ups will be here for the Reunification Day. A day you dreaded ever since the killing of your parents, well…foster parents. The scars on Xaden’s back to account for all the children of the traitorous reminded you that he had the heaviest burden to carry.

And you were not going to be one of them. He had too much to worry about and you didn’t want to be a problem for him.

Perhaps you should make an early visit to his room? You knew he wanted to know what happened to you. The reason why you slept so long remained a mystery to him. Not even Sgaeyl knew what was going on with her son. She only knew of the changes to her son’s appearance and his slumber that followed after yours.

You dressed in your uniform accompanied with your flight jacket. It’s been awhile since you flew on the back of Lenin and you missed the feeling of it all. If Sgaeyl and Xaden wanted to, you four can resume the early morning flights starting with this one explaining what happened to you and Lenin. Why everything was changing in a span of months…why everything after your death will be different.

Walking felt a bit weird, your steps much lighter and your mind calmer. Yes, you spent months with your sister witches learning about your past. How you are one of the last witches with the ability to manipulate pure magic. Unlike the venin who take power from the earth, you are allowed to be attuned with it especially with the help from Leninach.

He was the reason why you haven’t been going berserk before. He funneled the massive amount of magic from you into him then slowly back into you. Your output was much faster at a large rate and he was able to give it back to you at a consistent and small amount.

But you possessed too much for him now. So your sisters gave you a solution.

……

“I don’t understand,” You rubbed your temple with your fingers in small circles, “You’re saying my dragon can be my stable connection to my original power?”

“Well yes,” Alani smiled, her dark curly hair reaching her hips with a sway.

Then Rema spoke up with her arms crossed over her chest. Her colorless lips smacked with an attitude, “Your dragon possesses much of your power now. He’s in his own slumber trying to control it. Seriously, how do you not know this?”

“She’s been in the dark, Rema,” Alani whined in your defense.

“And we need you to come into the light,” Sera joined in on the conversation. Her bright green eyes flicked over to your hands which were painted in blood. Your blood after you held your own body as Xaden, who cradled your face in his neck.

“What will happen to Lenin if he agrees to be my connection?” You asked, looking down at Xaden crying into your hair, whispering his begs for you to come back to him. His tears fell like the rain, harsh and unstoppable.

“He becomes you and you become him,” Sera said this like it should have been obvious. But your mind was still reeling with questions. Yet she gave you a look that said, all in due time. She kneeled down next to the image of you and Xaden, her green eyes watching Xaden’s reaction to your heart slowing down.

“This man loves you deeply, sister.”

Alani knelt down beside the older one and nodded her head ecstatically, “Oh yes, he does. The shadows all around him weep with him. The despair is all too heavy for him.”

Rema stood behind her sisters watching the scene unfold. While you tried your best not to cry with Xaden. You explained to them that Xaden is very important to you. Then you asked with complete interest, a twinge of familiarity in your bones,

“You guys can feel how he feels?”

Alani nodded her head and reached out to Xaden. Her pale hand touched his cheek and she wiped away his tears that hadn’t stopped falling. She frowned at her poor attempt to help him and said, “Witches are attuned with everything around them. From the magic, to life and death, to the emotions clouding the judgement of others. If we try hard enough, we can hear certain thoughts too. It takes time and practice for it, but we’ll teach you. I normally don’t like looking into someone’s mind though. You can accidentally find something terrible.”

A warning.

Alani looked up into your eyes and you knew you were right. She was warning you.

“But searching through someone’s mind might help you in the long run,” Rema said. She uncrossed her arms and stepped over to you, “Like searching through a certain higher up’s mind can help you look for us.”

“Although we need your dragon to help you,” Sera never moved her eyes away from Xaden, “and we need his help too. He becomes much more important later on. Leninach balances you and you will balance Xaden Riorson. It’s a complete triangle.”

“Okay,” You said breathlessly, “I need the full story. Why are we being hunted? Where are you guys?”

Rema and Alani both looked over at Sera, their eyes drawn to hers. Then Sera stood up, brushing her white flowy dress with her dainty hands.

“Because the humans have figured out that we can power the wards. So they locked us up into a deep sleep and chained us to those wards. Most of our other sisters have died because while we can channel a great amount of power, we need our stable connection. All of us were fliers and when we asked Fen Riorson to help us…”

Sera faltered. Her expression is grim remembering the event of asking for help.

“We gave him to you for safety precautions,” Rema began with a different starting point.

“You were just a baby and the Mairis were the first ones to step up in raising you. [Name] you were meant to be a flier like the rest of us, but in order to save you from becoming like us, chained to a rock. We gave you up to the riders in hopes that you’ll save us later on and break us from the bonds that hold us. You are stronger than the rest of us. You can do anything.”

Alani jumped up and said, “Your death isn’t an ending, little one. It’s an awakening to your true power. You’ll be able to control it more and your dragon is your stable connection. Our gryphons were the stable connection, but after we were captured…we were forced to break the bond. We did it to save them despite their protests.”

Witches have the power to break a bond. It sounds like they have the power to do anything. You couldn’t imagine doing such a thing to Lenin, but you would do it to save him from being chained with you to a ward.

“How are you guys reaching out to me now?”

Rema smacked her forehead with her palm in exasperation, “Little one, listen! We know you, you are our little sister. The youngest one in our covenant, alright? What kind of big sisters would we be if we didn’t protect or know where you are at all times? We’re the ones who gave you those daggers and I’m a tad bit upset you gave mine to that Sorrengail. It should have gone to Sloane.”

“Violet earned it,” You bit back, defensive for your student-friend…person, “plus it was purple! Her name is Violet so it’s not that bad. I was being nice to her for once!”

Rema rolled her eyes and smacked her lips, “Had to let you know that, but that’s not the point. The point is we can only reach you in your dreams. This isn’t your doing, it’s ours. All three of us have reached out to one another then found you in Basgiath War College, specifically the Riders Quadrant. That’s when we knew your awakening was going to happen soon.”

“Yep!” Alani pipped with a smile, “We almost thought you would have awoken in your first year! You had so many near death experiences, little one!”

“Tell me about it,” You rolled your eyes and this earned chuckles from the trio. So far they’re not entirely emotionless.

Then Sera spoke up, “Threshing had us holding our breaths. We couldn’t help ourselves, but provide you with some aid. Alani came up with the idea to blind them all by using the fog.”

The imagery around you changed. Xaden was no longer by your feet cradling your limp body. No, instead your sisters transported you to your Threshing.

The fog around you as you walked with Rema’s dagger in your hand seemed natural. Until it didn’t when the first person attacked you from behind. It’s always so weird watching your past and your future in this way.

“I knew something was weird about the fog, it became so dense in a matter of seconds,” You always knew you were an outstanding fighter. Everyone told you so, but it was different watching it yourself. The way you moved in the thickness of the fog with fluid moves. Rema’s dagger ends the lives around you with a bright purple glow.

“You made Rema very proud by the way!” Alani giggled.

“It’s our little sister kicking major ass with my dagger,” Rema countered with a smug smirk, “How could I not feel a sense of pride. I gotta hand it to Fen Riorson’s son for teaching you some moves. But we witches have the instinct to kill. Our eyes,” She points to her glowing golden ones, “can see so much better than humans. Then we can hear their thoughts which allows us to know their next moves before they make them.”

You gawked then whispered, “That possessed feeling I had while killing Lara and her friends, that was my instinct to kill. The witch in me. It makes so much sense why I felt so powerful when Lenin finished Lara off. That was my initiation to my true power, my instinct to become what I was meant to be.”

Sera nodded in confirmation, “And when he agrees to become your stable connection, you two will be an unstoppable force. Lenin and [Name], Cloak and Dagger.” She slides her hands high in the air, the scenery changing once more. You can see the Riorson House before it fell and memories begin to flood into your mind.

“Now then we should dive into the pact we made with Fen Riorson.”

Sera looked at you and said, “The same pact you will make with his son when all of this is over.”

……

You did not realize how long you stood outside of Xaden’s room while you recounted your time with your sisters. Must have been awhile because Lenin snapped you out by asking you if you were going to knock or not.

You blinked a couple of times, your “new” eyes scanning his door and you could actually see the magic that protected his room. Witches' eyes come pretty handy when you need it the most. But you already knew his room was protected. Much like yours and Violet’s.

His warded room felt easy to penetrate and to do so allowed you to know if he was alone. You don’t think you’re up to talk to Garrick, Bodhi, Liam or Imogen. All you wanted to do was speak with Xaden and have him by your side while you explained your history.

“You can accidentally find something terrible.”

Alani’s kind and warning voice stopped you from using your power. Your eyes went back to their normal blue and you knocked on his door twice with consistent pressure. Five beats of silence went by then his door clicked with the lock opening.

“What is it now- [Name]?” Xaden looked down at you with surprise, and you looked up at him with a shy wave.

“Hi.”

You have no idea why you are acting shy all of a sudden.

“He loves you deeply, sister.”

Now Sera’s voice was invading your mind and a blush creeped its way onto your cheeks. You wish you brought Alani’s dagger with you, the pink blade would have allowed you to fidget with something as you come up with a response.

Xaden looked back into his room then closed the door behind him with a gentle swing of it. Then he looked back at you and his eyes softened in a way you haven’t seen it before.

Regret.

This feeling smacked into you like a train along with the other ones swarming in his chest and stomach; shame and guilt. You tried not to think about it too much and you went on to explain your presence.

“I wanted to speak to you. I know I have been sleeping for a very long time now, but I think I know almost everything about me. About my signet and I want to explain to Sgaeyl too. With all that’s going on with Lenin. If I could just-”

His door opened up behind him and a tired voice spoke behind the door as it slowly opened, “Xaden, what are you-”

Your words died out in your throat and you moved to the side to catch a glimpse of silver. The way your heart dropped to the pit in your stomach almost had you stumbling back.

“Breathe, Dagger,” Lenin hummed, his voice being the only thing grounding you right now, “Shadow can explain to you and you have to understand.”

“Understand, what?” You bit back, the hurt in your voice evident.

Violet Sorrengail. Xaden Riorson. You looked at the state of them. In your enamor, you didn’t notice the marks on his neck that he tried hiding. Or his swollen lips. Lips that kissed you with a desire so real, you thought he only could share with you.

Yet there she stands wearing one of his shirts with her hair down. Violet looked beautiful. Xaden looked like he wanted to hide in his shadows.

No one said a word. Either they were communicating with one another or they were truly speechless like you. Swallowing the rock in your throat, you zipped up your jacket and stuffed your hands in your pocket.

Then you laughed awkwardly, “Uhm, so I just woke up from my coma. And Lenin has changed, appearance-wise. I just wanted a word with you, but you seemed very occupied. We can talk some other time.”

“Let him explain,” Lenin warned you, so you complied. You forced your feet to stay planted and you can hear Sgaeyl speaking to Xaden in a threatening voice. But you didn’t dive further into his mind.

“It’s the mating bond, [Name],” Xaden spoke slowly, hoping his words wouldn’t push you away. They didn’t, but they also did not help your aching heart. “Sgaeyl and Tairn haven’t had sex in a long time. In months. So when Lenin awoke and they knew he was okay, their feelings came in strong.”

“So everytime they fuck, you two will have some fun too?”

You couldn’t help the instant question, the hurt mixing in with your anger. Xaden knew you only lashed out because of this hurt. It pained him to see you like this. To find out this way.

“No,” He said, “it’s happened before, yes. But we try not to let their feelings-”

“That’s all I need to know, Xaden,” You said truthfully, looking away from him and ignoring the look on Violet’s face. The burning in your eyes and the swelling in your throat pained you, the heartbreak real enough to wish for something out loud. Stumping Violet and crushing Xaden.

“My death cannot come soon enough.”

Your bitter words angered your dragon and you blocked him out instantly. Lenin’s words of advice to hearing Xaden out did not help you in the long run. It only made you want to hurt him back. Before you could walk away, Xaden grabbed your wrist and tugged your hand out of your pocket.

“Take it back.”

He deepened his voice into a threat then used his other hand to force you to look up at him. You can see how your words affected him, but his actions disappointed you. His fingers dug into your jaw forcing you to lock eyes with his own.

“You don’t mean that, [Name]. I know you don’t.”

Of course, you didn’t. Did he have to know that? No.

“It’s not hard to put your shields up, is it?” You asked, with tears clouding your vision, “You have no excuse, Riorson. I can forgive Violet for fucking my boyfriend. But I cannot forgive my boyfriend for letting his shields down to let himself indulge in a mating bond that isn’t his. Now let me go.”

“If I let you go, you won’t come back,” He whispered, your words wishing for your death damaged his heart.

“You already did when you held her.”

You raised your arms up and slammed them onto his forearms, his release on you didn’t come easily. Nonetheless you walked away with the tears finally falling down your face. It’s not fair. None of this is.

Quickly, you cloaked yourself and hid from everyone as much as you could the entire day. Your mind was blocked out from your dragon for hours and you ignored his angry roars outside that demanded your attention.

Until it was flight lessons time.

When you walked out with your cloak down, Imogen looked at you wearily as she stood next to Glane with her arms crossed. No dragon or human came close to standing next to Lenin whose throat bubbled up with a daunting growl.

Everyone knew that Lenin was pissed and you weren’t doing any better. Yet you opened the side of your bond and let’s just say you will never, ever close Lenin off again.

“How dare you close me off!”

He leaned his head down to the floor and roared at you, the force of it making your unzipped flight jacket flutter in his rage.

“After everything I sacrificed for you!” Lenin snapped his jaws in your direction, “I changed for you!”

“You think I wanted this for you!”

You angrily gestured to his white patchy scales that dotted his normal midnight blue color. You can understand why every dragon looked at him differently now. One of his eyes was different too, colored lilac while the other one remained golden.

He slammed his wings onto the floor, dust rising up in clouds of fury. Everyone looked in your direction, but you or Lenin did not mind. Too engaged in the heated argument between one another.

“Lenin, this should be my burden to carry. Not yours, it never should have been yours!”

“Yet here I stand,” He snapped again, “carrying the weight with you.”

You bit your lip, heavy thoughts clouding your mind. Why are you punishing Lenin for making you listen to the truth? He’s always been there for you, listening to you and supporting you.

“-you two will be an unstoppable force. Lenin and [Name]. Cloak and Dagger.”

Again, the reasonable voice, Sera spoke inside your mind. Reminding you that Lenin is your stable connection to your power. Then you felt a warm breath lingering over you and a heavy push making you stumble back a few steps.

Lenin’s growls lowered in pitch and turned into a hum and you jumped onto his snout, giving him an apology. You missed his comforting warmth.

“Lenin, I am so sorry. I know you are doing a lot for me. And you said that these changes to your body are different, but your mind is still the same. I-I cannot say the same myself. All these thoughts, knowing what’s going to happen to me.”

“We can change your fate, Dagger,” Lenin chuffed, “You are a powerful witch. You can change the tides in any battle the way you see fit. And I will do anything to save you, to keep you as my rider.”

His promise melted your sad thoughts and you looked up, noticing that your arms don’t usually hug him like normal. Then you hopped off of him seeing him in his patchy glory,

“You’re bigger than your father, Lenin.”

“Now you notice.”

You can feel the sarcasm radiating off his body. But you let it pass with a goofy smile on your face.

“Was sure that Lenin had thoughts of eating you,” Imogen walked up to you cautiously, her dragon following behind her with her head down. As a show of respect for Lenin.

You forgot that Glane and Lenin were involved in some moments which influenced you and Imogen your first year. Now the guilt for blaming Xaden haunted you. Although you two weren’t exclusive your first year. Plus Lenin and Glane haven’t formed a mating bond yet.

“With all his anger, you’d think he would have stormed the college,” You joked back with her and Imogen finally engulfed you in a hug. She squeezed you tightly and said, “Damn, I’ve missed you. I’m also happy that Lenin is awake, Glane was nonstop worried about him.”

Glane snapped her neck down, puffing out her chest in a defensive way while Lenin…was that some kind of purr? He let out a noise that sounded like amusement, but you can feel him more now. It was…

“Lenin, you’re in love with Glane?” You asked, curiosity close to killing you.

“Say that out loud and I will eat you.”

You nervously laughed and nodded your head, “What does she think of his new color? And size?”

Imogen knew what you were getting at and she couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Yeah, you were screwed once flight lessons started.

……

“I heard [Name] fell off her dragon’s back seven times during flight lessons.”

“Maybe her coma affected her.”

“Could be, but she told the menders she was okay when they visited her.”

“Her dragon is definitely paying her back for something then.”

……

^^ this is how MC be spinning her knife btw

ησтє: don't worry everyone! y'all decided, Xaden will be the ONE AND ONLY ONE FOR MC. however I had to make things a bit complicated with them. I am a sucker for angst before fluff.

and yes, I'm making you a witch, a baby witch with slow understanding of your powers but you got a covenant of sisters helping you. fun!

Lenin's in looovvveeeeeeee

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬: @luvly-writer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs @galaxystern08 @bwormie @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @steph-fowlie

#x reader #x female reader #fourth wing imagine #xaden riorson x you #xaden x female reader #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #cloak of shadows

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art · 2 years ago

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Creator Spotlight: GDBee Art (@prinnay)

Geneva Bowers is inspired by the wonders of the natural world around us, and enjoys manipulating colors to create art full of mood and feelings.

Check out our interview with Geneva below!

How did you get started with art? Did you originally have a background in art?

I’m going to say yes because that’s all I’ve known how to do. It started because I wanted to draw better horses than my sister, and it just spiraled from there. People started asking me to draw things because they saw me drawing horses. I was like, well, I can draw things that aren’t horses, and then it was just kind of all I did.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

I have one right now! Honestly, with time, and I also collect art books; I think I have a couple hundred. If I really want to draw something, then I just flip through those and try to steal some ideas.

Which three famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I mean, of course Van Gogh…I’m really inspired by Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, so I would invite Van Gogh, Monet, and Julie Dillon to a dinner party.

Have you ever wanted to dive into another medium before?

Yeah, actually, I currently am! I’m trying to do more traditional painting. I used to do a lot of acrylics, but I haven’t done it in years, and now I’m kind of bad at it. I’m trying to get into actual impressionistic art with oils and oil pastels. I’m like failing, but you know, you get there. Just fail until it looks presentable.

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I guess it’s more of a feeling. I create art because I’m inspired by things around me, like certain video games. For example, I have been inspired by a Japanese RPG called Chrono Cross on PlayStation 1. They make me feel a certain type of inspiration to create something, so that’s kind of like what I’m hoping to leave behind.

Have any of your projects surprised you with their outcome?

Yeah! I did this Weapon Faerie series where I took three prompts: a weapon, a winged insect, and an herb, which I combined to make different characters. So, a faerie with a spiked club or a butterfly faerie with a katana. I made 13 of those, and they kind of took off! I wasn’t expecting that at all.

What is the hardest part of your process?

My whole art style is coloring, like the way it’s colored… but I hate the coloring process, haha. I like doing the color combos, but I don’t like the blending and shading. That takes like one-trillion years. It’s the part where I’m most likely to give up. You know how art kind of looks ugly before it looks good? I’m trying to trust that process.

What do you wish you knew when you started creating art that you know now?

I guess one big thing would be knowing how to use lights and darks. When I do color, it is definitely colorful, but when you switch it to black and white, you see that everything’s the same tone of gray. I’ve learned that if you just use some brighter colors and some darker shades, you create a bigger impact in the end. So, now, when I paint something digital, I make it black and white for a moment to see where all the hues are, and if something is weirdly dark or not dark enough, I can change it.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

Oh, @feefal definitely inspires me. She does a lot of spooky art.

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #gdbee art #prinnay #nycc 2023 #tumblr nycc #nycc

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baddiewiththebook · 15 days ago

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Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 14

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

April 1984

“You really should know how much I love you,” Gareth is sure to emphasize, while you pat out the wrinkles on his dress shirt.

You hug his belt line by hooking your index fingers in the loops, “I love you too. We’re going to be late.”

Gareth isn’t one to dress up nicely, and to go to a classier restaurant. But, that’s what Chrissy wanted. It’s going to be the most awkward double date - Gareth is sure about this. And, he wonders, how on earth did Jason agree to this? Either he has no clue what he’s about to walk into - or he likes Chrissy that much to do what she asks . . . he’d go with the first option.

With Gareth at the wheel tonight, he could just spin the car around and go where he wanted to go. This, creating the most obnoxious argument with you ever. It’s only obnoxious because he knows that you’ll give him those puppy dog eyes that Gareth will melt into. Shit, that’s how he got here in the first place.

It’s Eddie’s eighteenth birthday, and while cake and presents were a nice touch from Wayne, everyone had their own plans for that evening. So, they split off. While the guys went to Rick’s for a different celebration, you had already roped Gareth into a double date with some of the biggest bullies in school. Although, you insist that Chrissy is just a misguided and sweet girl.

It’s not convincing Gareth, as he searches far and wide for a ditch to “accidentally” drive off into. Not injuring you - of course. Perhaps a slight lump would go to this head. Would you let him go home then?

-> <-

A bright orange flame illuminates Jeff’s face in a flash. This is the first time he’s come to Rick’s place, but he’s not unfamiliar with the man. Eddie’s guy - the main man. It’s intimidating to step into his layer, but after a beer or two (and a few puffs from the joint he’s just lit) has Jeff’s shoulders dropping and his head lolling back in pure bliss.

Eddie makes grabby fingers at Jeff to insinuate he’s held onto the goods too long past his turn. Jeff hands the joint to Eddie, and watches him expertly suck at the end. Cough. Pass. Cough. Pass. It goes like this in a circle with two girls that they’ve barely just met. Paula, the skinnier and much paler, is leaning her weight onto Jeff. That sticky floral perfume she wears is rubbing into his jacket.

Eddie winks at him, “I’m going for another beer. Crystal, why don’t you join me?”

Without the joint, or the beer (now empty), Eddie would have little to no confidence. Women terrify him more than a little kid is afraid of the dark. It’s not the person, or the way they dress - it’s the unknown. What do women think about? A fear as deep rooted as time itself.

The subtle hum from the alcohol numbs his questions for now. Without him overthinking, this woman - Crystal - becomes more than easy to talk too. She wobbles over the heels she’s worn. Strappy little things with a small heel to boost her height. The strap hugs the flesh toned tights across her slender legs, and draw up underneath the short skirt riding up her backside leaving little to the imagination. Her top isn’t doing her any favors. If the neckline dropped any lower, Eddie would see that her bra is purple and does indeed have a tiny bow center to her chest. That, and a tattoo marks her ribcage. It’s illegible and totally illegally done, but now marks her skin permanently.

Crystal, Eddie learns, works at The Box. A hot spot for gentleman of certain class in society to burn money on women grinding themselves against poles, and rolling around on the floor. Now that he’s eighteen, Eddie could most definitely stop in for a dance - at least that’s what Crystal suggests. But, she’s not stupid. This night is about tonight, and there won’t be any more to follow.

Eddie’s eyes are set on tonight’s plan. There is no future where their paths will cross again, unless by pure accidental coincidence. The town is small enough to where they might see each other at the one locally run grocery store. It’s entirely plausible, and entirely not what Eddie cares about.

It takes less time to trap Crystal against an exterior wall of Rick’s cabin in the woods. A kitchen beer run turns into her asking Eddie if he wanted to get out of here. And, when he agrees. They find a quiet space against the house where no guests would pay them any mind. Trees hover the property that cast shadows to play in. No one can see you there.

It’s a bit brutal, and a bit aggressive. Their relations that is. Eddie nips at her skin. Crystal’s used to the pain that comes with her pleasure. She invites this. Rolling her eyes to the back of her head, she moans deliciously for Eddie to hear.

Eddie rests his hands a moment on either side of her face. Cupping her cheeks, Eddie leans forward to press his lips against hers. Almost shyly. Then, all at once, both he and she remember what they came out here to do.

There’s too many pieces of clothing, and not enough time. Someone would come looking - maybe. The party goers are quite drunk at this point. High pitched laughter leaks through the walls of Rick’s place bound to stain just as much as the liquor on the couch. Eddie wouldn’t claim he had anything to do with that.

Dipping his head to her height, he places scorching kisses against her lips. Crystal melts into his mouth. Moans drip from their mouths. Eddie drops one of his hands below her shirt to find the bare skin of her stomach. Soft and plush.

It’s then that Crystal unbuckles his belt, and furthermore pushes his jeans down to just his waist with quite a tug. Eddie’s now hard in her hands, and she drops to her knees hungrily. She ignores the prickling overgrown weeds and tiny rocks pressing into her knee caps.

Eddie’s head lolls back to the night sky. Glittery stars align into constellations, reminding him the heavens watch his every move. Crystal brings him back to earth as soon as her wet hot mouth suckles him in. She makes the most sinful noises. Sloppy and wet. They’re delicious, even.

Both of them know what they want. Their desires. Their hunger. Their lust.

“You got one on you?” Crystal stands again just under the height of his chin.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Eddie feels his sobriety creeping over his shoulders despite having enough drinks to call himself well over the legal limit to be operating a vehicle. The rubber is stuffed into his wallet somewhere, and he wrestles with himself to yank it out.

Crystal brings him back to her by placing her lips just where his skin peaks out from underneath his t-shirt. She breathes him in deeply - taking him in.

“You’re worked up,” she points her chin up at him.

Eddie raises his brow, but surely she can’t read that through the night. “Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?”

“You got a van don’t you?” Crystal knocks through the weeds until she hears the rattling come from the clasp of her purse. “Take me there. I got something that’ll put you at ease.”

Eddie tucks himself away, but doesn’t bother zipping up his jeans. In another moment, they’ll be coming off anyway. Meanwhile, Crystal digs through the pockets of her purse.

Eddie guides Crystal to his van.

-> <-

It is the most awkward dinner when no one has a thought to share between the couple across from them. Well, you and Chrissy have swapped enough stories. Jason grunts out his displeasure every once in a while, earning a nudge from his girlfriend. Gareth glares at Jason with his jaw tightening at every snicker that slips from his lips aimed at you. If he doesn’t relax soon, he might chip a tooth!

Surprisingly, with Gareth cruising at least ten miles under the speed limit, you still arrived at the restaurant first. Your waitress for the evening set you at table set for four next to a big window looking to the main road. It’s not likely a place like this would stay open at Hawkins, but Chrissy told you over the phone earlier that she spent many Saturdays here with her folks.

Gareth fidgets with the seem of the white table cloth. The lit candle at the center of the table burns with such ferocity - you would think the tension controlled the flame. Classical music coming from the speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling offset the tables’ mood. Couples lined each table until the tables were nearly full with clinking glasses, and conversations that are older than you guys.

Jason and Chrissy arrived only a short time after you, and by the steam pouring out of Jason’s ears - he had just lost whatever argument they got into. At least Gareth didn’t moan and groan too much. You give his thigh an encouraging squeeze to calm him down. His jaw relaxes.

Eventually, the meals are brought to the table by your waitress in a penguin suit. It’s far fancier than anything you’re used too. Even while you read the menu earlier, you had an awful time pointing exactly what each ingredient was. You guessed, and now there is a plate of pasta with peas and grilled chicken in front of you. There’s flakes of something dashing the dish.

Chrissy stops telling you about cheerleading, or how you should join the squad - Gareth wants to agree just to see you in one of those uniforms, but he keeps his mouth shut - so, you tell her about your interests in journalism.

“You always did tell the scariest stories at camp. Do you remember?” Chrissy pushes her chicken around her plate, before cutting off a sample size of a bite. “Oh!” - She waves her unoccupied hand - “You should join the yearbook-,”

“Yearbook?” Jason spits out like she’s just announced she’ll be missing a limb next week. Chrissy nudges him with the pointy tip of her shoe. “Yeah - yearbook - what fun.”

“Jason.”

It’s another warning thrown his way. This time you share a side eye with Gareth, who hunches over his steak. It’s medium. Chewy. And, quite delicious. With his mouth still full, he shrugs and takes a sip of his pop. It’s the almost ‘I told you so,’ that nearly tips you over the edge.

“You should join the yearbook committee,” Gareth attempts to plug the holes in this sinking ship. “You write so much - maybe you’ll get inspired.”

“You still write?” Chrissy perks. “You never told me what you’re working on. Is it the same super secret project?”

“It’s just not done,” you explain to her. “It’ll have an ending I’m sure.”

“Well, whenever you’re ready,” she dodges a grain of rice stuck to the back of her meat. Then, cuts a piece even smaller than before.

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo @chaoticgood-munson

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson preference #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst

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genshin-side-piece · 1 year ago

Note

Sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart so imagine Neuvillette unconciously doing that with his darling when they sleep together 🥺

This is so sweet, I'm going to melt. 💕💕💕

Personally, Neuvillette lives rent free in my head as a man who spoons. He recharges his social battery by wrapping you up in his embrace and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he drifts off to sleep. He's heavier than he looks, so the added weight isn't exactly comfortable, but you bear it for your own preservation. It's not like you have anywhere else to go. If you try to leave, he'll tighten his hold on you. Squirm too much or kick at him and he'll use those long legs of his to hold you still. If by some miracle you manage to slip away, then you may find yourself the victim of a midnight chase through the dark corridors of Neuvillette's home.

His hearing is uncannily sharp for someone of his age. You can barely brush the floor with your foot before he's awake and aware of what you're trying to do. Neuvillette's vision is good in the dark, better than in the day you think. It's almost unhuman. He moves a little faster as well. His normal attire is cumbersome, the weight from the robes slows him down. In the night, when he has little more than his nightshirt on, he can move with greater ease. His personal best is catching you before you had ever left the bed. He had drug you back one armed, tucking your body under his as he wrapped both of you back up in the blankets. There was always a gentle reprimand that followed the next morning; either in the form of a verbal warning to not wander in the night or being subjected to spending the entire day with him to make up for the insult of trying to leave him before he was ready for you to.

Some nights he would let you get a little farther. The hallway, the top of the stairs, once he had let you get as far as the drawing room. There was no rhyme or reason as to why he varied on the level of distance he allowed. You had originally chalked it up to how tired he was or his mood; but both of those were about as consistent as the weather. In the end you truly didn't know. At this stage you didn't need too. Once Neuvillette decided he was ready to chase, your adventure outside the comfort of his arms was over.

You would run and he would chase and in the end, he always found you. There would be a small struggle. Your brain felt there was something in squirming and screaming as he silently wrapped his long arms around you; but nothing ever came of it. He would chuckle at you or growl at you as he pulled you in closer, his thin lips running down the side of your neck as he held you tight. On the nights where he was more excited or he had reached the end of his patience, he would nip at you. It was never enough to do any real damage, but he enjoyed baring his fangs at you all the same. You always seemed to concede defeat much faster when his teeth brushed against your skin. The sensation was enough to make you go limp in his arms, a silent resignation that he had once again won.

Once you had, he would always laugh. Neuvillette was always delighted in victory. He would scoop you up in his arms, snuggling you even closer as he carried you back to bed; his bed. There he would claim you as his prize, wrapping you up in a tangle of sheets and limbs, denied the right to leave, until he'd had his fill.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshinimpact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #chief justice neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #anonymous asks #anonymous

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aphroditsdaughter · 2 months ago

Text

IAMGONNAGETYOUBACK

told my friends, “i hate you but i love you just the same”

paige bueckers x OC (part 2 to guilty as sin) but can be read as a standalone

pretty heavy stuff don’t read if you’re under 18 or do im not responsible for your media consumption (all of the photos and graphics are from pinterest and belong to their original creators) also POV changes

like, feedback and comments are always appreciated!!

Paige’s mouth slips from between my thighs, her lips wet with me, her breath brushing across my skin like smoke. My body is still reeling, boneless and trembling, but she doesn’t give me space to breathe. She’s already climbing up my body, eyes dark with the kind of hunger that never fades.

“You think I’m done with you?” she whispers into my neck. Her voice is velvet-wrapped steel. “Cmon Pia you know you got another left one in you”

I don’t even have the strength to answer. I shake my head, already aching again.

“No?” she growls, kissing me hard biting my lower lip until I moan. “you’re a better liar than that? aren’t you?”

She shifts her body, gripping my thighs, spreading me wide, her strength effortless. She presses her core to mine wet, hot, aching. Our slick folds slide against each other, a slow, molten grind that makes me gasp.

“Fuck—Paige…”

“I want you to feel me,” she breathes, forehead to mine. “Every time you go home to him. Every time you look at him across that dinner table, wearing that pretty little lie of a smile.”

Each word is a knife wrapped in silk.

“You can love him, hate me, lie to my face I don’t care,” she says, voice rising with each thrust of her hips. “You’ll still come crawling back. You always do.”

She begins to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, her clit brushing mine with every pass, every drag of her wet heat against mine. The friction is maddening. Our bodies slide together with a rhythm that's cruel and beautiful all at once.

With Paige it’s not just sex—it’s a haunting. A claiming.

Every time we were together, I could feel it—that quiet urgency in the way she touched me, the way her eyes lingered a second too long, as if she needed to stake her claim all over again. It wasn’t possessive, not exactly. It was more like a ritual, like drawing a boundary in the sand just to feel safe, even knowing the tide would come. I’d made her feel that way, like I was always half a breath from leaving, something wild and unpromised. So she marked me in small ways: with the press of her hand on my back, with silence that said more than words, with looks that burned like questions she couldn’t ask. And I let her. Not because I belonged to her, but because in those moments, I wanted to

Her hands grip my hips tight, holding me in place while she fucks me with her body, her voice, her rage, and her tenderness twisted together like vines choking a rose.

“I’m gonna get you back,” she whispers against my mouth, almost tender now. “Maybe not the way you think. Maybe not even the way you want.”

Her teeth graze my throat. “But you’ll remember this. When you’re in bed with him, thinking of me. When he touches you and you flinch, because it’s not the way I do.”

I whimper, overwhelmed her words, her rhythm, her dominance crashing over me like a tide.

“And maybe I’ll get you back by loving you more than he ever could,” she hisses. “Or maybe I’ll ruin you so thoroughly this time, no one else will even try.”

She grinds harder now, faster, our clits dragging against each other in slick, perfect friction. I feel her shaking above me, her muscles tense, sweat slicking her chest. Our nipples brush with every thrust. We’re skin to skin, heart to heart, sin to sin.

“Say it,” she demands. “Say you’re mine.”

I hesitate—but only for a second. My body’s too far gone, my pleasure cresting again like a wave crashing before I can pull away.

“I’m yours,” I cry out, voice breaking apart in her mouth.

But it’s a lie.

And we both know it.

The words taste like betrayal as they leave my lips sweet and sour, soaked in guilt. My body is hers in this moment, yes. My heart too. But I’m not going to leave him. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Probably not ever.

I say I’m yours with her hand between my thighs and his ring still faintly ghosting the skin on my finger. I say it because I want to believe it, even as something inside me recoils.

And Paige doesn’t stop. She doesn’t flinch. But I feel it the way her body stills for a half-second, like my voice cracked something open in her. Like she caught the hollow behind the words.

But she pushes through it. Forces the truth out of me through touch, through pressure, through pain.

“I’m yours,” I sob again, chasing the high, chasing the lie. “I’m yours.”

And I come undone, again, for her. My orgasm hits like a storm, tearing through me loud, desperate, consuming. I cry out her name, clutching her back, clawing her shoulders as my body arches into hers. for the woman I never left, not really. My body clenches around the lie and spills over, pleasure ripping through me so hard I feel the guilt burning right behind it.

She comes with me, her moan strangled, gasping my name into my mouth, her nails sinking into my waist as our slick bodies grind together, frantic and wild and so close it feels like we're trying to disappear into each other.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of our panting, the cooling sweat on our skin, the silent space between heartbeats.

Then she speaks—soft, but sharp.

“I hope he feels it,” she says. “Every time I fuck it out of you.”

She lies back beside me, tangled in the sheets, not touching anymore. Just breathing. Just watching.

And I lie there beside her, skin still buzzing, thighs still slick, knowing I’m going to get up in a few hours and go back to a man who doesn’t make me feel even half of this.

The morning light spills through the blinds, soft and relentless, kissing my skin with an unforgiving warmth that makes my stomach churn, making me squint and groan as I roll over. I’m tangled in sheets, half of my body still pressed against Paige’s, her chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful sleep. If it weren’t for the tangled mess of our limbs and the reminder of last night’s chaos, it would almost feel like a normal morning. Almost

“Paige. Get up.”

“Paige, please. He’s going to be home soon.”

My voice cuts the air. Too sharp. Too cold. Like I didn’t just fall apart in her hands.

She groans into the pillow, her voice muffled but dripping with annoyance.

“Bro, what are you even doing?”

Still half-asleep, she stared at her like I was the one acting out of pocket. My head was heavy, heart heavier.

Last night, she said she’d leave him. Promised, even. But with Pia, the truth always shows up wearing half a disguise.

Now she’s pacing. Panicking. watching me like I’m the stranger. Like I’m not the same woman she just had shaking under her fingers, begging her name into the mattress.

“You’re seriously asking me what I’m doing?” I say, pulling on jeans with shaking hands. “I’m trying to get you out before my husband walks through that door and sees the Dallas Wings’ star point guard half-naked in our fucking bed!”

My voice cracks. Panic now curling around the edges of my words.

“and you’re over here acting like it’s brunch time.”

I say it with more urgency than I meant to, but panic’s starting to set in. It’s almost like I’m talking to myself at this point, more than to Paige. I need her to leave, but she’s making it impossible.

“Paige, please. It’s almost nine. His flight must’ve landed like forty minutes ago”

she rolls her eyes. unbothered

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, and I can almost hear her thinking, “Are you serious right now?”

“So you don’t even know when your own husband is arriving home? Wow, Pia. I mean, cheating on him a thousand times wasn’t enough? You can’t even remember when he’s coming home to you?”

“Paige…”

She stands, finally, in that slow, feline way she always does like she owns the air around her. Like there’s no version of this where she loses me.

“That’s a shame” she says, slipping her shirt on without looking at me. “I was hoping for a second round.”

I wanted to punch her. Dead in the mouth.

But that would mean I’d have to bruise the perfect curve of her jaw, the nose I’ve kissed like a prayer.

Maybe I should. Maybe the pain would help me forget.

“I swear to God—”

“Alright, alright,” she cuts m off, raising her hands like a surrender.

“I’ll go. Don’t worry.”

But then she flashes that smile. That smile—the one that used to make me forget my own name. The one that made me say “I do” and hear her voice instead of his.

I’m pulling on my clothes in silence. She’s quiet too. Not mad just… disappointed.

And maybe a little cruel about it.

She lets out a sigh, low and heavy. “Nothing,” she says when I ask what’s wrong.

But it’s not nothing. It never is.

She wants me to ask her to stay. Wants me to say I’ll finally leave him. Wants me to make this real.

But I won’t.

So she grabs her keys. Shrugs her jacket on.

No kiss goodbye. No goodbye at all.

Because if she kisses me, I won’t let her leave.

And if she asks me to stay, I’ll say yes.

Even if I mean no.

But she doesn’t ask.

She just slams the door behind her.

And in the silence she leaves, I hear it echo—

I’m gonna get you back.

Not now.

Not gently.

But she will.

Because Paige?

She doesn’t lose.

Not without burning something down first.

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mystycalypso · 2 months ago

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do you have any advice for drawing in the ok KO artstyle? Awesomesauce AU btw I’m actually going to eat it

Okay so, I'm gonna try to do my best to do this- like professionally ig? Because I know saying "Dude I just fuckin go in" does not help anyone at all ever. I spent the last couple drawings I did over analyzing how I draw just for you guys.

And so you get the full explanation, I'm going to do a screenshot edit for this. It's basically how I draw in the style but just with a few extra steps to show how I've accidentally fooled people into thinking shots exist in the show when- they don't.

We're gonna use this shot of Carol, because the redesigns for Rad and Enid aren't done yet, and I like her posing.

This is the brush I use, at size 1-2px depending on the line thickness, canvas size, etc. If you're unsure how thick yours should be, try drawing over one of the lines on another layer/in another colour, does it match the original lineart pretty closely? Then you're golden. (Please note this brush kind of sucks with the bucket tool sometimes, especially with dark colours, so I recognize the lasso fill tool)

Now, shape language is very important in ok ko, (it's one of the reasons I love it so much) and every character is made up of very distinct shapes for themselves. If you can draw squares and circles, you're basically golden.

Here's a sort of- quick breakdown of the parts. Sometimes your squares might be more rounded, or your ovals a little more square, but this is generally how I break it down.

Now let's turn the opacity down on our original shot, add a layer and use our shape language to put Laserblast on top

Okay, not bad, but the issue now is he's still built like Carol. But that's okay, now that we know generally how the pose is laid out, we can adjust it to fit his proportions. If you're unsure of what those proportions are, try taking a shot of the character and drawing the shapes over them. THIS IS NOT TRACING. Breaking art down into shapes is vital to style studies and you're only using the original to understand how things are broken down.

Bam! Much better! And you can still see the squares, circles, and triangles he's made up of. Now we're gonna hide the scene beneath our sketch and lower our sketch opacity. If you have a reflection sheet of the character you wanna draw, that's probably already helped you with proportions, but it'll also be important to stay on model. (However, keep in mind, the model is not the Bible for this show's art style, and feel free to break away if it helps exaggerate the emotion or action you want to show.

In my case, my reference image is "Date Night Laserblast" for how he styles his hair, and his outfit.

BOOM SHAKALAKA, YES COB- Sorry

Anyway, you may have noticed his property got adjusted a little between the pose sketch and this one, that's totally normal. Sometimes you don't realize something looks off until after you're basically done sketching, and so you adjust the pose and sizes as necessary. Lasso tool is a digital artists best friend guys. (Admittedly normally I do all of this in one sketch layer, so if that works better for you guys too go for it, but I wanted to easily illustrate the differences for ya) Alright, now with everything but your final sketch hidden, turn the opacity down once more, and do your lineart!

Hell yeah! Next we're gonna colour in our flats. Now in most cases that'll just be- the normal colours of the character, but in this scene there's lighting changes. In most cases you can probably find an image to colour pick from of the character in a similar light, but if not you're just gonna have to use some colour theory. Which- there's way better tutorials on online, I cannot explain colour theory despite it being the part of art I've actually spent time studying.

Don't worry if the flat colours look a little funky on their own. Now we add a clipping mask to our flats, and add the highlights (most scenes/drawings won't require this, because they don't have fancy lighting) in this case like the shading, it's going to lean blue.

Now, you're gonna make a copy of this alone, if you're using ibis "Add from canvas" is what I use, or "Add layer from folder" if you have everything in a folder. Then unhide your background and cover up anything you don't want seen (I can't show that along because I've only got 10 images to explain this) I always do it on a separate layer just too erase any mistakes easier. It's basically a bunch of colour picking and continuing the background.

If you're not trying to make a screenshot edit, you don't need to do this next step. All it's for is to help create that imperfect look a real snip from the show would have. You wouldn't expect the lines to be perfect and crisp when you zoom in.

Finally, take your copy of your character, in this case LB, and use the transform tool, drag the top right corner down until he's about half size (make sure you still have your original version/layers visible as well. Then click okay before transforming the tool again until they line up properly. DO NOT JUST UNDO YOUR TF OR DRAG IT IN AND OUT. It will look blurry, we want this. Turn that layer down to about 20-25% opacity. (your lines should look clean zoomed out, but slightly fuzzy when you zoom in) You should be left with something like this!

As for more general tips, don't be afraid to look at lots of references. The wiki practically knows my fingerprints from how often I look up shots to reference and my gallery is full of images I've saved to help me. Second, practice makes perfect. If you look back even to my earlier posts from this year, you can see a lot of improvements in how I draw the show's style. And there are still characters I want to get better at drawing. (The kids like Fink and K.O. especially)

And finally, as silly as it might seem, don't focus too hard on it! Ian said that one of the major design philosophies of this show was to make it look like doodles. Keep your hands loose and have fun making it look silly! Using and leaning into that philosophy has helped me improve drawing these characters so much. Even during serious-looking scenes, I'm not worried if the shot will look exactly a certain way, but treat it like a quick angsty sketch in my notebook. Don't worry about making it look perfect because the show isn't meant to look perfect.

#ok ko lets be heroes #artist #digital art #drawing #drawing tutorial #art tutorial #ok ko let's be heroes #ok ko #laserblast ok ko #laserblast

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

title: stranger than a stranger

pairing: pre-boston raider!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4964

summary:

When Joel sees you searching for supplies in an old school, he removes your companion from the equation and convinces you that you need to join him for your survival.

author's note: a gift for @dreamingofdaddydin, fellow depraved slut, who sent in an ask that i completely changed. please heed the warnings on this one, as there are dark and potentially triggering elements. if you do decide to read and you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), undefined age gap, no use of y/n, post-outbreak/pre-boston QZ, dark!joel miller, perv!joel miller, survival as coercion/manipulation, dub/non-con somnophilia (the actions are not agreed upon before hand but reader is receptive once waking), sex as a thank you, voyeurism, masturbation, canon typical violence (mentions guns, knives, blood), handjobs, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, honey), cum eating, huddling for warmth but manipulative, wet dreams, thigh fucking, fingering, unprotected p in v. please let me know if any are missing!

You never expected to live through an apocalypse. In fact, before the cordyceps outbreak, you and your boyfriend had watched Night of the Living Dead and you joked that if the time ever came, just throw you to the zombies or demons or whatever hell unleashed.

Yet here you are, ten years post-outbreak and the collapse of one QZ that you and your boyfriend had been living in, climbing through a destroyed school building, picking your way through rubble as you follow Liam in his search for more supplies.

“The stores around here are probably picked clean, but a lot of people don’t think about checking schools. They’ve got plenty of non-perishables in the cafeteria. Remember? We ate like shit growing up,” Liam explains. He shines a flashlight down a hall. “Well, I guess we ate better than we do now.”

“I miss chicken nuggets,” you lament. He chuckles.

“I could definitely use a cheeseburger,” Liam replies.

You continue moving quietly through the school, the cement and linoleum cracked by overgrowth and the abandoned classrooms of overturned desks making you feel like you’re in a whole different world and not just in an elementary school in Massachusetts.

“You got your knife and gun, right?” Liam asks quietly. You nod, pulling the gun from the waist of your jeans and showing it to him. “Good, keep it handy. You know those fuckers are always hiding around buildings like this.”

You and Liam had just started dating when the outbreak occurred, and you managed to stick together for the last ten years. He’s taught you a lot about survival - shooting a gun, starting a fire, and finding edible vegetation in the woods, among other skills. Despite your original desire to be spared from an apocalypse, you’ve somehow managed to persevere.

“Remember to aim for the head,” Liam says.

You roll your eyes. “No, I figured I’d aim for a foot. Of course I’m aiming for the head.”

“Alright, smart ass. You go down that hall and see what you can find.” He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m gonna look for the cafeteria. Meet me back here.”

With another nod, you part ways.

You both miss the figure lurking in the shadows.

________

Joel watches you disappear around a corner before his attention returns to your companion. The man walks quickly in the opposite direction, holding only a flashlight in his hands. Joel clocks a holster on his hip that must hold a gun or a knife. The man looks like the type to know how to fight, weapons or not.

Too bad Joel is the predator here.

He leaves the dark shadow he’d hidden himself in, following the man with quick, quiet steps. The other man seems alert, but not alert enough to notice Joel following him.

Good.

Joel watches the man draw a gun from the holster, holding it in front of him as he kicks open a set of double doors, sweeping his flashlight and gun into the darkness beyond. Joel slips through the door before it shuts, darkness surrounding him as he lets his eyes adjust.

It looks like a gymnasium, cracked hardwood basketball flooring with faded court lines illuminated in the small flashlight beam of the man, who continues across the court and out another set of double doors.

He follows him back out to a hallway, brightly lit thanks to a hole in the ceiling, crumbled plaster and cement littering the ground. He takes a few steps closer, stopping when he hears a clicking sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

The man freezes, too, eyes wide, hands tightening on his gun. Joel slowly brings the shotgun slung over his back around to his front, taking it up in his hands.

The clicking grows louder, more insistent. It echoes down the hallway and Joel knows that the creature is aware of their presence. No matter how quiet you are, those fuckers know how to find you.

He aims his gun, finger poised on the trigger. Heavy footsteps approach from the end of the hall, punctuated by the clicking noise that makes his hair stand on end. The creature enters the hall, overgrowth of cordyceps blocking its eyes and features. It pauses, head turning with jerky motions as it seeks out its prey. He watches the other man shift his stance, trying to widen his legs, but his foot catches a rock, sending it sliding across the floor.

The creature’s head snaps at the sound and it ambles closer, faster. Joel takes aim, pulling the trigger and blowing its head across the room. The man turns in surprise.

“Damn, man. Thanks,” he says, taking a deep breath and giving Joel a smile of gratitude. He reaches a hand out as he says, “I’m Li—“

He pulls the trigger and the man collapses to the ground face first, blood rapidly pooling beneath his body.

Joel approaches, crouching beside him. He opens the bag on his back, rifling through the contents for anything that might be of use. There’s a med kit, ammo for the handgun he’d been using, gloves, a jacket, and a hunting knife. He shoves all of it into his own bag before grabbing the gun beside the man’s body as he stands.

Joel slides the gun into his waistband before turning and heading back the way he came. He imagines the gunshots will have you rushing back to investigate.

Just like he wanted.

________

You hear two gunshots go off, freezing in your exploration of a classroom. You listen closely, ears straining for any sign of clicker activity due to the noise as you slowly draw your gun from your waistband. Hearing nothing in the aftermath of the gunshots, you race back towards the area where Liam had agreed to meet you, heart racing as your mind begs you to choose flight and not fight.

In your panic, you don’t notice the man in the hall until you’re colliding against him, his arms gripping your shoulders to steady you.

“Who the fuck are you?” You ask, scrambling out of his hold and pointing your gun at him. He’s tall with broad shoulders, a flannel beneath a faded denim jacket stretching over his frame. He has tan skin and dark hair with brown eyes that look at you with concern. “Back the fuck up,” you shout.

The man takes a step back, holding his hands up. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“I heard gunshots. Where’s Liam?”

“I came up on a guy fightin’ a clicker. He was in bad shape,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a buzzing in your ears as your brain catches up to his words. You blink, eyes burning with tears that you fight back.

“H-he’s dead?” You whisper.

“‘Fraid so.”

You drop to your hands and knees with the realization, gasping for a breath that won’t reach your lungs. There’s movement from the corner of your eye, the strange man taking a step closer, and you raise your gun once more.

“Don’t,” you snap. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot.”

“Listen. I’m sorry about your friend. But if there’s one clicker, there’s bound to be more. You can come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll be fine on my own.” You keep the gun trained on him as you slowly stand on shaky legs. “I’m leaving now. Don’t fucking follow me.”

You only make it a few steps before he’s calling out after you. “There’s worse things out there than the infected. Girl like you won’t last long.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, the tone of his voice grating your nerves, “that there are bad fuckin’ people out there, ones that’ll take advantage of a girl headin’ out on her own. Some who won’t give a shit that a gun is bein’ pointed at their heads if it means they die tryin’ to bring you down with ‘em. Is that really somethin’ you wanna go through right now?”

Your resolve waivers. He’s probably right. In the ten years you’ve been struggling to survive, you’ve always had Liam at your back. Even in the QZ, before it collapsed, he kept you going. You could survive out there when it came to skill, but would you make it far on your own when clickers move in packs and raiders run rampant?

“I…I guess I’ll come with you,” you say, lowering your weapon. You flick the safety on and the man smiles.

“The name’s Joel.”

________

It’s been a week since joining Joel. The two of you keep a steady pace in your travels, though there’s no real destination in mind. He’s been on his own for a while, he tells you, having split from his brother who had gone to join the Fireflies in their fight.

“Fuckin’ stupid if you ask me,” he grumbled after telling you that little bit of information. “They ain’t gonna change shit.”

You just nod along, wrapped up in your own thoughts. You can’t pinpoint it, but something about Joel makes you wary of him. He’s been nice enough, sure, but there’s something off about the way he looks at you.

You’ll catch the older man staring at your ass when you’re walking ahead of him, or see the way his eyes go dark when you’re on your knees starting a fire. His hands will linger on your hips a little longer than necessary when he’s helping you jump down from something, or he’ll watch a little too intently as your lips wrap around the mouth of your water bottle.

What’s worse is how it makes you feel hot all over when you shouldn’t feel anything, least of all attraction when you’ve just lost your boyfriend.

It’s starting to get cold at night. The days are still tolerable, since you’re always on the move and the sun is shining, but once the sky goes dark, you struggle to stay warm. You layer your two jackets and even that’s still not enough as you lay shivering in your sleeping bag. You turn over until you’re facing where Joel has his bag set up, curling your legs closer to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

Past the sound of your teeth chattering, you hear the shift of fabric, the glide of skin on skin, a low groan. Your eyes snap open and as they adjust to the inky darkness, you can make out the vague shape of Joel on the ground. Another choked off moan rings in your ear, the sound of it making your blood go hot. You listen as his movements and breaths and sounds grow more frantic, the desperation they’re laced with making you rub your thighs together as subtly as you can.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel pants quietly. The air goes still, the sound of his hand moving over his cock slowing to a stop. You wonder where he’s finished. In his hand? On his belly? Your brain conjures an image of you licking the spend from his skin, salty taste of him on your tongue as you look up into his eyes and he groans.

You have to bite your lip to keep your sounds to yourself. You wiggle a hand between your legs, clamping your thighs around it tightly and rocking slightly. It’s not nearly enough and it’s so frustrating you want to scream.

Eventually, as the adrenaline seeps from your body, sleep takes its place, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness consumes you.

You dream of bitten off groans and curses in a voice that belongs to a stranger with dark hair and brown eyes.

________

Two weeks after joining the two of you encounter your first band of raiders.

You’re in a small town picking through a convenience store. There’s a surprising amount of things left on the shelves, including cans of food that you’re tossing into your backpack when the sound of a gun being cocked makes you freeze.

“Hey, pretty girl. Why don’t you put some of that back for the rest of us, yeah?” An unfamiliar voice says. You glance over your shoulder, a large man with a thick beard smiling at you. You turn slowly, hands raised and mind racing with your options.

He’s blocking the exit. You could try to dart around him, but the gun trained at your head is a bit of a worry. Your own gun is in the waistband of your pants, pressing against your low back. Not much help to you like that. You should have been holding it the whole time.

“Hand over your fucking bag,” he says, the calm in his more alarming than if he were yelling at you. “Got me some food and a pretty little pet to keep, too.”

Your blood turns to ice and your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you swallow hard, bending down to grab your bag.

A shot rings out, glass shattering and you shout, dropping lower to the ground. You open your eyes slowly, you gaze landing on the body of the man lying on the ground in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. You look up, eyes finding Joel’s beyond the shattered window of the convenience store as he lowers his gun.

A shout has Joel whirling, gun drawn as three men appear from an alley. He shoots, one of the men dropping. Grabbing your bag, you rush to the front of the store as another shot rings out, shattering the glass of the door. You drop to the ground, pressing your back to the wall beside the window and peeking out.

Joel slings his gun over his back, landing a kick to a man that rushes him, the stranger landing on his back. A second man points a gun at Joel.

“On your fuckin’ knees!” He barks.

Panic courses through you, but you reach behind you, grabbing your gun. You switch the safety off, leaning from your hiding spot to take aim through the window at the man. Your hands shake as you take a breath in, like Liam taught you, pulling the trigger as you exhale.

The shot lands in the man’s abdomen, making him stumble and drop his weapon. Joel stands, rushing for the man as he pulls a large knife from his hip, plunging the blade into the man’s chest.

The man he kicked is getting to his hands and knees when Joel turns on him, knife held at his hip. A wicked grin spreads across his face before he plants his boot against the man’s ribs, knocking him onto his side. Joel shoves at him with his foot until the man is on his back and he stands over him, a foot on either side of his hips.

Joel raises the knife above his head before swinging it down into the man’s chest, holding it there for a moment before he twists it savagely and pulls it free. You stand there, equal parts horrified and something worse, eyes wide as you watch Joel wipe the blade against the man’s clothes to clean it.

“Get their guns, will ya?” Joel calls out. The sound of his voice makes you jump, your muscles finally spurring into action as you comply with his request.

Later, as you settle in for the night in your respective sleeping bags, you hear the tell-tale sound of shifting fabric and bitten off moans. You stare up at the dark sky, pinpricks of starlight winking back at you, as you gather your courage.

“Joel?” You murmur. The sounds stop abruptly, the only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he grunts.

You turn over on your side, facing him. You can barely make him out in the dark, only his silhouette, but your heart beats faster all the same as you say, “I could…help.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, so long that you’ve got an apology on the tip of your tongue when you hear the zip of his sleeping bag being opened.

“Come help, then.”

________

Joel tries to contain his enthusiasm. Nights of coming into his own palm while he knows you’re listening, imagining your hand around his cock instead of his, and now his patience has finally paid off.

You’re crawling across the grass to join him in his sleeping bag, your body pressed to his in the tight space. He takes a shuddering breath, the feel of your heat alone almost enough to make him come.

Your hand rests on his belly, tentatively sliding lower until your fingers brush against the hair at the base of his cock. He hisses as your cold hand grips him at the base, slowly sliding up to his leaking tip. Your thumb circles his slit, smearing a bead of precum around the sensitive head as he groans into the night.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel says. Your face is tucked against his neck, and he wishes you’d turn your face up, let him kiss you, but he has to be smart and only take what you’ll give so that one day you’ll offer more. “Tighter, just like that, fuck.”

Joel’s hips flex to chase your fist, the soft feel of your palm driving him wild. He moans, louder than he should be given the vulnerable position this puts you both in, but he doesn’t give a fuck. All he cares about is you.

“This a ‘thank you’, huh? For killin’ those guys?” Joel pants. Your head nods against his neck and the admission makes his head feel light and fuzzy. “Told ya you needed me, sweetheart. Needed someone to take care of you, right?”

You hum, squirming against him. Your lips graze his neck and that’s the final nail in his coffin, his cock pulsing in your hand as he comes harder than he has in years. He can’t help but whine a little when you let go, already missing the warmth and the softness of it.

“Clean it up for me, baby,” Joel says. You bring your hand up, nothing but a dark shape against darker air, and he hears you licking at the cum coating your fingers. “That taste good?”

“Mhm,” you hum. When you’re done, you roll away from him, crawling back over to your sleeping bag and zipping yourself inside.

With a sigh, Joel shimmies his jeans back up his thighs before turning on his side, letting the sounds of the night lull him to sleep.

________

You’ve been with Joel for a month when winter really starts to settle in and you’re forced to keep moving in your travels until you’ve found abandoned buildings to sleep in to stay out of the harsh winter air. While the snow might not reach you inside, the cold certainly does.

It’s one such night that Joel suggests sharing body heat.

“It’s the best thing we can do to keep warm,” he explains. “Can’t keep a fire goin’ inside. Too dangerous.”

You swallow nervously. He’s zipping together your sleeping bags so that you can fit beside each other, laying it on the ground of the old stockroom you’ve barricaded yourselves in for the night, a little camping lamp on a metal shelf providing a little light.

Joel kneels to untie his boots, removing one then the other and setting them aside. He stands, sliding his arms free of his jacket and setting it on the shelf. When he starts to unbutton his flannel, your blood rushes in your ears.

“W-what are you doing?” You ask. He pauses, hands on his buttons.

“Gettin’ undressed. Can’t share body heat with clothes in the way.”

You stand there frozen as he continues to strip, t-shirt and jeans and boxers all joining his growing pile of clothes until he’s naked in front of you and you’re struggling to keep your eyes on his face with so much muscle and skin on display. He slides into the sleeping bag, staring up at you expectantly.

“You gonna stand there all night?” He asks, lips tilted in a little smirk. “Come on. We’ve come a long way today and you gotta be tired.”

You’re exhausted, really, the kind of tired that settles into your bones and makes your limbs heavy. Slowly, you follow the same steps as he did to undress, starting with your shoes. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s watching you with dark eyes the entire time, until you’re down to your underwear.

“Those, too,” Joel says.

“Why?”

“I don’t make the rules, sweetheart, I just follow ‘em. Skin to skin is the only way this’ll work.”

Reluctantly, you reach behind your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your nipples are tight in the cold room and you grit your teeth against their chattering as you quickly tug your panties down your legs and add them to your pile of clothing.

You slip into the sleeping bag beside Joel, the heat of his body immediately making you feel warm all over. You zip up the sleeping bag, cocooning your bodies in the insulation. Joel turns on his side, sliding his muscular around your tummy and tugging you closer. The hard length of his cock presses to your thigh and you lie perfectly still, afraid to move.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts. You close your eyes, the tension slowly leaving your muscles as you listen to his deep breathing in the dark room.

Somewhere between the warmth of his body and the feel of his breath against your cheek, sleep finds you.

________

Sometime in the night, you’ve turned on your side, your ass pressed snugly against Joel’s hips with his cock slipped between your cheeks. He wakes to the feel of you grinding against his length and his arm tightens around your middle as he groans.

“Joel,” you murmur. He lifts his head to see if you’re awake, but your eyes are shut, brows pinched together. Your hips move against him again and he bites into his lower lip to keep his sounds contained, not wanting to wake you and ruin this.

You murmur his name again and his head drops back to the arm he’d been using as a pillow. He gives a little experimental thrust of his hips and you moan, the sound making his cock jump against you.

With careful movements, he lifts your top leg, laying it over his hip. He lets his hand drift lower, gliding over your tummy until he’s cupping your pussy gently. His fingers slide through your wetness, catching on your swollen clit and making your hips jerk.

Joel worries that you’re awake, but you’re not scrambling from his grip yet. He circles his fingers slowly, so slowly, your hips moving against him and your breathing coming more quickly. You let out little whimpers and whines that Joel wants to commit to memory, the sound of them sure to plague him any time he closes his eyes.

You’re growing wetter and Joel grows bolder, slipping his middle finger into your tight entrance, not able to hold back his moan of appreciation over how your cunt flutters around the digit as he slowly pumps it inside of you.

Another whimper of his name from your lips has his sanity fraying further, his hand moving faster against you, damn the consequences of you waking up to him playing with your pussy. Your muscles go tight against him with your release before going limp, your breath stuttering. He lifts his head once more to check if you’re asleep, surprised to find your face lax with bliss, eyes still closed as your breathing slows to normal.

Joel withdraws his hand, using it to grip his cock, sliding your juices over his length. He angles himself to where his cock is pressed up against your lips before gently lowering your leg. He’s surrounded by warmth, your pussy and thighs cradling him perfectly.

He thrusts his hips, his cock gliding through your wetness with ease. He loses himself to the slick glide, the tip of his cock catching against your swollen clit with each thrust. His fingers dig into the meat of your hip for leverage, pulling you back towards him as he groans against your shoulder.

Your muscles go stiff against him and he freezes as you whisper, “Joel?”

His name is a question this time and he knows he’s been caught.

“It can be another ‘thank you’, yeah? For keepin’ you warm?” He asks, dragging his nose across your bare shoulder. “Could feel so good for us both,” he whispers, thrusting against your clit and reveling in the shaky moan you give him in return.

“O-okay,” you stutter. Joel presses a kiss to your shoulder in gratitude as he returns to the rhythm he’d set before you woke. He slides an arm over your middle, hand finding your breast and gripping it forcefully as you moan.

“That feel good, baby?” He asks. You nod, whining and squirming against him now. “Know what would feel better?”

“W-what?”

He draws back, positioning the tip of his cock against your hole. Your breath catches as he slides inside the slightest amount. Just the tip.

“Would feel so good, right? Fillin’ you up, stretchin’ you,” he whispers. “You could keep me warm just like I’ve been keepin’ you warm all night.” You clench around him and he moans, hips flexing and sliding him deeper into you as you gasp. “So goddamn wet and tight.”

Joel slides the last bit deeper, until his hips are flush to your ass. You’re panting, cunt fluttering around him as you adjust, and he feels drunk on the feel of it, on the feel of you. He pulls out part way before sliding back in with a harsh thrust, the start of a punishing rhythm that has you chanting his name.

The slick slide of you over his cock feels like heaven, but he wants more, wants you cock drunk and earning your pleasure. You are supposed to be thanking him, after all.

He pulls out, lying on his back. “Get up here, sweetheart. It’s time to do your part.”

You turn until you’re facing him, and Joel gets impatient, grabbing at you until he can haul you into his lap, your slick, swollen pussy gliding over his cock. He groans, reaching between your bodies to hold himself steady, notching the thick head at your entrance.

“Take it, baby, come on,” he groans. You rock back until his cock is buried in your cunt, your knees pressing tight against his hips as you whine.

“S’deep,” you slur, rocking yourself over him.

“Feels good though, doesn’t it? So fuckin’ deep in you,” he growls. Your chest is pressed to his, your lips so close he takes his chance, slotting his mouth against yours.

You kiss him back, messy and desperate, moaning against his lips as you take his cock like you were made for it. And maybe you were. Why else would he have been in the right place at the right time, getting the chance to keep you all for himself?

You sit up further, hands planted on his chest as you ride him with fervor. Your blunt fingernails dig into his skin and make him groan, hips punching up into you as you rock back. When you moan desperately, he does it again, and again, until you’re letting out a choked little sob that makes his cock pulse inside of you.

“Come for me, honey, wanna feel this pretty pussy choke my cock,” Joel demands. He can feel your walls flutter around him, your noises growing desperate. He brings a hand to your clit, thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until you tighten around him, squeezing his cock as you come undone with a shout.

You collapse forward and Joel wraps his arms around your low back, holding you steady as he plants his feet and pounds his cock into you with harsh thrusts, chasing his release. Your teeth dig into the sensitive skin of his neck and the sharp sting sends him over the edge. He pulls out at the last moment, his cum splashing between your bodies in thick spurts.

You lie on top of him, catching your breath. Sweat grows sticky on Joel’s skin as the cool air settles around them, your back erupting in goosebumps as you shiver. He maneuvers your bodies until you’re cradled against him again.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

When you nestle closer, body lax against his, he smiles in triumph.

_______

You wake before Joel the next morning, body sticky with the mess from the night. You cringe, wiggling away from Joel’s hold. You find your discarded shirt and water bottle, intending to soak the fabric to wipe yourself clean, only to find your bottle is empty.

You locate Joel’s backpack, knowing he keeps his water bottle in there. You dig through the contents, hand bumping against the familiar bulk of a handgun. Your brow furrows. You haven’t seen Joel use a handgun. He uses the shotgun on his back, the other weapons you’d collected from the raiders stored in your bag.

You pull the weapon free and inspect it. You know this gun. It’s the same gun you’d learn to shoot with, the first one Liam found in the aftermath of the outbreak. Your blood turns to ice.

Joel said he’d seen Liam get attacked by a clicker. If that’s the case, when did he get Liam’s gun?

The sound of Joel moving in the sleeping bag has you shoving the gun back into his bag and grabbing the water bottle you’d gone in search of in the first place.

You’ll have to worry about your discovery some other day.

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #dark joel miller #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic request #joel miller masterlist #the last of us

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hyun3hk3y · 9 months ago

Text

Symbolism in "Portrait of Lady Edelgard Von Hresvelg"

This is something that I’ve usually never really felt comfortable doing. If you ever wonder why some artists are a bit more reluctant to actually *talk* about the “meaning” of their work, its because it strikes the same tenor as having to explain why a joke is funny. If I have to actually lay it out for the viewer why certain decisions were made in the execution of a work of art, the magic of the whole experience may be lost. Moreover, many artists avoid making definitive statements on their work because they do not wish to deprive viewers the opportunity to derive their own unique explanation.

While I chiefly view myself as a fine artist, most of my artistic training was as an illustrator. As an artist, this can lead to an interesting dichotomy when it comes to creating paintings. During my studies, I was told that the job of an illustrator is to solve pictorial problems for people often by making pictures that tell a story or convey an idea. Fine art’s definition, in contrast, tends to be more nebulous. But I digress, on to the painting…

A number of people on reddit and Tumblr have remarked on the candle with the snuffed-out flame. No interpretations on it have been offered, the mere presence of a candle with a smoldering wick is a strong enough implication. However, this is one instance where I drew inspiration from art history so I believe it is worth elaborating on. The animus for the candle originates in the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck. Below is an image of the painting with the pertinent candle circled.

Art history scholars have a number of different readings about the candle’s presence, but the one I was taught in Art History is that the lit candle indicates the presence of the holy ghost or the watchful eye of God. Three Houses draws from a number of religions for its world building, in the case of The Church of Serios, the developers took the majority of their cues from The Catholic Church. If a lit candle would suggest Edelgard’s faith in the Goddess, then an extinguished one must imply Edelgard’s *loss* of faith.

In addition to the extinguished candle, I would also like to direct viewers to the reflection of the candle in the polished wood table surface. In the reflection the candle is still burning very brightly, almost down to the base of the candelabra.

The purpose of this image is to recall a saying from old Taoism Philosophy in China: “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.” Those who are familiar with Edelgard’s back story in Three Houses will find its relevance obvious. I doubt I am the only one to make the allusion.

This brings me to the next major piece of symbolism I employed in the painting, the dagger and the drapery on the table. The dagger’s significance should go without saying, but its application as a device will become more apparent after I explain the table cloth. To put it succinctly, the majority of the dark shadow shapes made by the tablecloth are arranged to evoke the shape of the crest of flames. Below is another visual to help illuminate this detail.

The immediate implication here is the detail of Edelgard possessing the crest of flames. As for why I decided to depict it in a more concealed way…When I first got the idea for this painting, the whole concept was that if a person saw this painting in a gallery, they would be looking at an actual artifact from Fodlan, one that created by an artist who actually lived there. This is why the second row of the inscription reads “In the Imperial Year” on the left side and “1179” on the right. This means the painting would have been completed just before Edelgard starts attending Gareg Mach, and long before the greater public would know she has the crest of flames. How the artist came to know this would remain a mystery. I like to imagine it as a detail that Fodlan’s historians would debate over for years after the game’s narrative.

There is also a second message that I have intended with the dagger’s placement cutting (heh) across the crest…Gripping the dagger over the crest of flames is a statement about what the path is that Edelgard will take, especially when the crest is examined as representing the Goddess Sothis. In fact, there are two (technically three) lines of dialogue from Three Houses I had in mind for this symbolism.

That about sums it up! I may do a couple more posts in the future where I show how the painting evolved from thumbnails, to studies to the finished image if theres interest in that sort of thing.

#oil on panel #oil painting #artists on tumblr #edelgard von hresvelg #fe3h #fe3h fanart #fire emblem #fire emblem fanart #fire emblem three houses #black eagles #crimson flower #portrait painting #figurative painting #realism #fe3h edelgard #fe three houses #fe16 fanart #fe16

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flame-shadow · 9 months ago

Text

A breakdown of my quirrel!nosk comic from last year (original post here) since I like doing breakdowns and talking about my process, and I know at least some people like reading those things. :)

First of all, a little background. I made that comic in an evening with just a pencil, a black marker, two grey markers, and a yellow-orange marker. (All markers had a thick tip and a thin tip, and all were water-based markers, so they don't blend like alcohol markers, but they can still be layered to affect the values) I had a text post from @g0at0ad saved in my drafts that said "gotta say. massive missed opportunity to not have nosk mimic quirrel to lure the knight into its lair." and finally, I had an idea for how to illustrate the reveal and felt I had a decent idea for the nosk's design.

I wanted to follow the same encounter order as the game provides, and by happy coincidence, I realized that the route from first sighting to nosk den includes the hot spring, so it made perfect sense for that location and the real Quirrel to appear in the comic.

Ghost spots a Quirrel-like figure in the darkness in the first panel, and then as the path continues and drops into the hot spring, there's (real) Quirrel, so clearly that's who Ghost saw a minute ago. Yay, friend! And since Quirrel explores around, it's not strange that Ghost would spot him again in an area not so far away, though it's odd how he got ahead of them. Perhaps a different tunnel? And it seems like Quirrel wants to lead the way to something, so Ghost follows, until- That's not Quirrel.

In addition to the potential of a reader already knowing the game's locations and recognizing the path to the nosk's den, there are other visual clues that subtly communicate that something might not be right. I made it so every panel but the hot spring one has black silhouettes encroaching on the space within.

The third panel is the mildest one being encroached upon because Ghost doesn't yet feel like something is off (still reassured from seeing Quirrel in the safe hot spring) but the trap is coming together. The existence of the spider web in the corner is a nod to the trap because it's a common visual symbol for being trapped.

Also note how both the first and third panels have some safety via straight panel edges. Contrasted with the fourth and fifth panels which have no straight edges as Ghost cannot escape and there is no safety.

Another subtle reinforcement of danger vs safety is how the use of black is very limited in the hot spring panel. It's a brighter room mechanically, yes, but it's also a Safe Room. The only black is Ghost's void parts and a thin outline around Quirrel (and also a bit of shading on his arm that I did out of habit before remembering that I wasn't going to use black to shade him here, oops!)

And, note that in the only panel with Real Quirrel, he isn't framed against a darker shape in the background.

Okay, and finally, I will share a bit about the nosk reveal panel and its design...

This pose and angle are dramatic and all, but they're The Worst for showcasing the actual design of the nosk! Just a complete mistake on my part that I did my best to roll with, since I didn't realize until too late how I'd messed myself up.

Which happens! I don't always get it right, and especially when I'm working traditionally, there's a point where I can't go back, so I just have to make do with what I gave myself. :) I don't hate what I have here, but I have been dissatisfied with it ever since I drew the lineart.

A thought I have had since then was that maybe I should've drawn it larger, to be more threatening? Maybe a different pose to show off the side-body frills? I explored a couple ideas below, but honestly, I think the whole panel would have to be reworked to get it right.

Making sure that the background frames the nosk effectively would be one of the main things I'd redo, but I'm getting tired and don't feel like drawing more, so I'll just leave it at the nosk replacement sketches.

And since I don't think I did a good job with displaying the nosk's design effectively, I quickly sketched some of the features to maybe show them off a bit better.

I like the gimmick of the nosk turning its head, so I pretty much always maintain that with my nosk designs. This one is no exception. Quirrel's head and face become the cranium and upper jaw while Monomon's mask becomes the lower jaw - the extra length causes an underbite. I've always been a fan of when people add a veil hanging from Monomon's mask while Quirrel is wearing it, so that's where the frills come from. ("Why didn't you include the veil in your Quirrel drawings, then?" I hear you ask. And honestly..... I don't know! That could've been an oversight or it could've been deliberate and I just don't remember my justification. That happens sometimes XD)

Anyway uhhh yeah! I think that's it. I like making comics. I like thinking about nosk. Tadaa~

#hollow knight #nosk #quirrel #comic breakdown #flameshadowart #long post #id in alt #this took longer than intended lol but it's done now~#i like doing analyses like this both to show where i do cool things and consider where things could be improved

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hootbon · 7 months ago

Note

How do you come up with ideas for horror elements in your Freakshow AU?

I'm trying to make a horror au and also I want to make a completely original story too with horror elements and I wanted to know how you come up with ideas since you're one of the best horror creators I've seen

Why thank you, thank you, I think it simply depends on the type of horror you’re going for! Mine is much more psychological as well as some visual. The characters aren’t the most pleasant to the eyes but it isn’t horrific all the time. The au is scary because it presents a possibility, an idea that ‘hey this could very well be real’ and in fact a lot of it is based on real things people go through such as Stockholm syndrome. It’s a near inescapable situation with only one outcome and you know exactly what it is. Funny enough that’s why I do it in the au, it puts these traumas into perspective. You get to experience the horrors they feel too.. of course I’m treading lightly here because I try my best to do research. That said do research!! This is a great form of horror but only if you do it right, it scares the ever loving shit out of people psychologically but make sure you know what you’re doing of course.

Thus, the art of dystopia.. funny enough the original show is a dystopia in its own right, you just won’t notice how scary it really is under all the bright colors and lights. Funny enough all I’ve really done is push Caine’s idea to an extreme, a ringmaster who does what he’s programmed to, to entertain the masses with complete disregard to how any of those masses feel.

Though artistically.. look to a lot of analog horror, I use it a lot to base my drawings off of. Uncanny valley is your best friend because it bothers people, you don’t want to look at your favorite cartoon character with disfigured human eyes now do you? You don’t have to outright jumpscare to get the same affect, unnerving people works all the same. Darkness is also your friend, it’s a natural fear everyone has though often it’s always what lurks in it rather than the dark itself… or also go by my rule,

when in doubt, realistic eyes.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #freakshow au #tadc freakshow

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ryuzakemo128 · 7 months ago

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Konig x Enemy Soldier!Reader

He falls in love with her while she’s torturing him. His team rescues him later on, and he forms an obsession with her based on that one interaction. Years later he’s walking home from a bar shitty little bar, and he hears someone from inside what seems to be a closed restaurant. He draws his gun and enters the building.

He goes into the kitchen, and finds her chopping some dudes hand off.

You can decide which way the story turns. I just want some angst/dark content, please and thank you!😔🙏

DANGER!

Pairing: König x Enemy Soldier!Reader

Content Warnings: Torture, Interrogation, blood, forceful submission, manipulation, kidnapping, shoulder dislocation, executions, obsession.

Words: 2353

Masterlist

Note: I hope you like this. I had added a few more details from the premise you have given me originally. I hope you enjoy.

Credit for dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Worry not, little lamb. The time has come for me and my kin to put you in your place.”

Enemy. Opponent. Adversary. Foe.

You are not his Friend. His Ally. His Comrade.

Alas you were neither of those things.

Konig’s memory of the past with you was jumbled up. He doesn’t know what parts were real and what were either conjured, fabricated, or purely invented by your words alone.

His brain had been scanned, examined, X-rayed, and scrutinised. Yet they don’t understand where his obsession with you came from.

He still remembers your voice, how it echoed, reverberated and ricochetted. The soft, angelic voice of yours. Haunting his nightmares even after he is rescued years later.

His nightmares repeating parts of his torture regardless of how he slept at night. It didn’t matter if he slept on his side or his back. The nightmares came for his mind, again and again.

Sleeping medication only granted him five hours of sleep at a time. Only ever five hours of sweet, blissful, delightful, tranquil sleep.

“Worry not, little lamb. The time has come for me and my kin to put you in your place.” You uttered into his ear. “You were a little naïve for thinking you could…...waltz right in here without any issue? Hmm?”

“Perhaps you were betting on worming your way right inside here.”

“Unlikely.”

“I mean seriously, have you not seen how large you are? Or did you get an ego boost from someone up top?”

“Either bravely stupid or stupidly brave.”

“No matter. It doesn’t concern me which one it is or isn’t. My job is to figure out what you know up inside that head of yours.” You were keen on it. Bargaining on cracking upon that vault of information inside his skull.

A woman in her twenties handed you his medical file, “Looky here…...it says you’ve got severe social anxiety. And they said there wasn’t anything on here I could find useful. It’s a gold mind, my little lamb.”

König’s eyes to wear you were pacing back and forth, back, and forth, his team would rescue him surely, right? They wouldn’t leave him in the hands of the enemy too long, right? A colonel in the hands of the enemy’s interrogator?

Preposterous. Absurd. Ludicrous. Outlandish. Unreasonable. Laughable

It would be a betrayal of the deepest level. Not that it hasn’t been done before. It’s technically not unheard of. Not unheard of to leave a leader inside the clutches of the enemy. A last desperate resort most of the time. But never done unless they had no other choice.

They wouldn’t do that to him, right? Right? They were coming to get him, right? They will come to his rescue, right?

“Worry not. Little lamb, I’m just going to make a few more preparations, and we should be underway shortly. Until then, you will be in the capable hands of nurses.” Before you headed out to get your tools from your lab. You weren’t going to interrogate the guy and cut into him with dirty tools, are you?

No.

It would be against your moral code of conduct.

Hygiene is a must.

Especially when you interrogate someone as important as him.

Can’t have him dying too quickly, can you? All that information locked up inside his head would be gone.

Can’t have it.

Can’t risk it.

Won’t risk it.

König sat there in the dark, cold, dimly lit concrete box of a room. As the nurses fussed around him, setting the surgical lights ready, the pristine cotton white sheets around him, the gurney he would be soon strapped onto sometime later.

The nurses weren’t harsh on the eyes, either. Meaning, you knew, exactly how to cause a man with severe social anxiety to stutter, fall on his own words and flush up like he was under the midday sun.

They took the helmet off. The dark black veil came off afterwards. The smell of disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, the layers of soft white cloth wrapped over his front to keep the dirt and the dried blood from making a mess everywhere else.

Clearly you took your torture seriously. Seriously, enough to make sure he’s alive and aware of the entire process. Making him aware of the kind of terror you were about to unleash onto his skin.

“She would rather not have you look like you crawled from under the ground.” One of the nurses muttered. As if she were scolding HIM for letting HIMSELF get captured. No. He didn’t let himself get captured. He was sold out. Sold out by someone who knew would be there.

A detail remain consistent with the nurses, they look similar to you, acted like you and the same aura as you.

As if even as, you, the person, the real one, the original, wasn’t there in person. You weren’t completely gone from the room. Your influence remained whenever you were physically present or not. What wasn’t to love?

Your influence, physically present or not.

The nurses looking and acting like you.

The whole nine yards to keep him on his toes.

Despite the fact, you were trying to cause him serious amounts of discomfort. Using his severe social anxiety extensively.

Why? In order to prove to your superiors that anything can be tailored to an individual to both torture and interrogate.

Washing the dirt, the layers of black painted onto the eye region. Washed, disinfected, massaged, and made clear enough for your eyes. To etch in the fear clear enough for you to see. Smug, aren’t you? A right smug bitch aren’t you Maus?

All this work for him? You shouldn’t have.

You really shouldn’t. Furthermore, you should have done all that for him.

No one had gone out their way to do those things for him before.

But you’re the enemy, right? It would be wrong to have you as his.

Though given the chance of it ever reserving, would he give you the same treatment as you just did? He can’t say that he would or ever could.

Then again, he would have to contend with having you get rescued, as he would be sometime soon.

He couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t have that.

Once you walked back into the concrete slathered room, “Aren’t you just a soft lamb. I will get the information from you, regardless of its integrity. Either way, information is just that. Information and information of any kind is worth more than gold from the right kind of person. Don’t you agree? Of course, you do.”

You rolled out your tools upon the surgical tray, the top practically drowning in the dark course material. Each pocket, holding a syringe. “I have a lovely little concoction, the Americans loved to call a ‘truth serum.’ A concoction of a range of psychoactive drugs. Used by Russian Federation and the USSR, United States, and India. Why am I telling you this? Well, can’t have your mind wandering to things that clearly won’t matter.”

God, woman, you talk more than a chipmunk hyped on caffeine. Knowing more about this than I would have expected.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you tapped him on the side of his face to regain his attention on you, as if it ever left it. Your soft fingers on his cheek, sending a small shock of electricity down his spine. I want you to do that again. But I know you won’t.

“Quit zoning out into Lala land and focus on what I’m talking about.” You don’t have to tell me twice. I’ll listen to you no matter how much you touch me.

“Now back onto more important matters, these psychoactive drugs come in the form of at least ethanol, scopolamine, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, midazolam, flunitrazepam, sodium thiopental, and amobarbital, among others. Though thoroughly tested, ethical and legal issues were raised. Serious issues, mind you.”

You paused for a few minutes, tightening the foot strap to prevent him from wriggling out from the chair and escaping. Another form of physical contact between the two of you, the cold black, course medical gloves against his skin. Despite them being covered, he just knew how soft your hands must be underneath those gloves.

“Luckily for the both of us today, we’re sticking with Sodium thiopental, also known as Sodium Pentothal.”

Snip. Snip. Snip. There goes half the sleeve of his long-sleeved undershirt. The syringe dug deep into his flesh, into his skin, biting him like a snake injecting its venom into its unsuspecting prey. But he’s suspecting, you told him it was going to happen regardless of how he felt about it.

Not a complete lie, isn’t it?

The cotton ball dabbed onto his inner elbow. The cold liquid combined with your warm hand made for suffocatingly strong mix of desire, uncontested need for more and if he could will it. He would get more of your touch.

Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.

The syringe placed on his inner forearm, the gentle touches to ensure he received the right dosage amount. Couldn’t have him dying on you before you go the information you wanted from him, could you?

“Now, don’t move a muscle, or I’ll accidentally give you more than I intend to. Which will end up with you overdosing and dying in that chair.” You warned him. A stern glare in your eyes told him you weren’t kidding on the dying part.

The squeak of the wheels on the chair, clearly you haven’t maintained it on purpose, clearly you intend on leaving that way on purpose.

“Let's start with,” you paused, forcing him to maintain eye contact with you. A sly grin spreads across your face.

“Isn’t that better? Isn’t this much better?”

Your hand gripped his chin, forcing his face up to look at you. Tight enough to remind you what you were capable of doing. Loose enough to allow him to breathe.

You’re lucky I am bound within this chair.

If I wasn’t.

I don’t know what I wouldn’t do to you.

I do know what I would be doing to you.

What I would be willing to do to you.

Don’t think for a second, once I am freed, I wouldn’t find you again and again.

To inflict the same level of pain you have done to me.

Delicious levels of pain.

Misery.

All of it will be mine.

Mine and mine alone.

The layers of interrogation kept going from there, from the truth serum, you received little information. But it certainly wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for your senses. You wanted more. You were keen on getting information, no matter how blood it had to get. No matter how forceful you had to be.

Whatever it happened to be the first time. Whatever it could have been. Whatever it will be in the future.

Once König had been recused. Once he had escaped your clutches.

He couldn’t help but stare as they drove away.

The further away he went, the angrier you became. The sweet tasting anger. Only for him.

He really, really, should have known better than to enter the bar. The foolish man ignored his instinct to run. The closed blinds, the locked windows, the only light turned on was the bar’s kitchen in the back.

The bar was a hole-in-the-wall bar only few people recognised, and even fewer people would have appreciated. It had been years since he last encountered you. The depth, the intensity and power radiating from you since then. It had only increased his want for you.

Decapitation of several soldiers leading to the room in the back. Blood seeping into the wood flooring, many of his men were put to death and the screams were getting louder telling him run. To flee.

“What do you know?!” You demanded from the man who would only speak in German.

“I didn’t ask for a prayer. I asked for an answer.”

The amputation of the man’s hand, it was the last act sealed, signed and delivered how much he wanted to keep you for himself. The Damascus machete in your hand, your grasp cutting into the wrist of the man’s arm.

The emotions were brought to the inevitable forefront. Upon seeing your face again. Looking deep into your eyes again.

Snapped something inside of him. Marching into the kitchens. Slamming you against the wall, his grip on your throat tight and his grip on your machete tearing it away from you.

“There is nothing I am not willing to do to you.” He whispered, his hot, warm breath against your neck. It took all your might to resist him.

Konig couldn’t risk you getting away, thus the only way he knew would make you stay with him long enough?

To injure you severely enough to keep you around him. Punishment for touching him so attentively, conscientiously, responsively, and assiduously.

To wound you enough to keep you for himself.

And to turn around to heal you in a twisted act of love and affection.

A most twisted, perverse, dogged, Contrary kind of love.

A darling all for himself.

Determined to force you to feel all of his adoration.

His devotion and tenderness.

With a crack, snap, and pop. Your shoulder dislocated from the combined force of him pinning you against the wooden floor and the force of his hand.

Throwing you over his shoulder like you were a princess from a foreign castle and he was a prince of Austria.

His mother said he loved him.

She always knew what to say.

Dragging you into the van didn’t take much effort. You were too focused on the pain from your dislocated shoulder.

Groaning, moaning in pain.

Your thighs in his grasp like he imagined they would be. Plush, plentiful, sumptuous, abundant.

Wrapped in layers of black clothing he had every intention of ripping off your body once he got the chance to.

The characterless, unremarkable, nondescript black van parked on the side of the road. His team waiting for you to be shoved inside like a fragile porcelain doll.

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