itsachu

[itsachu]

🧸🌸 An old MHA OC I redrew! I'm really happy with how she turned out! ♡

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📖 If you like story driven characters, check out my AO3 fanfic too! "Pretty Eyes" ; a Hunter x Hunter fic featuring my OC Acarnid and a character named Owl!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64325575/chapters/165126592

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🎨 Commissions:

I’m currently open for commission inquiries!

Feel free to DM me if you’re interested in custom art or OC work! 🖤

[itsachu]

My OC, Aracnid, and Owl (CC) and their little family. 🥺 I love Owl so much, he's such an underrated character!

I also have a hc for Owl and why he wears sunglasses even during the night-- it's because due to his large (owl-like) eyes, they're very hypersensitive to most forms of light so he uses the sunglasses for less stress on his eyes. This is hereditary, which is why their eldest is wearing goggles.

[itsachu]

[itsachu]

[HxH] Pretty Eyes - Owl x Original Character (Chapter 3)

[Hunter x Hunter | Owl x OC | Dark Romance] Psychological | Thriller | Torture-turned-Tension | Slow Burn

⚠️ Content & Trigger Warnings

This story contains themes of psychological manipulation, captivity, interrogation, trauma responses, slow-burn tension, and dark romance. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to emotional coercion, or power imbalance dynamics.

---

Chapter Summary

A small gesture. A loosened strap. A scent that lingers. Owl starts to realize: this isn't mercy. It's method.

---

Chapter 3: Unraveling

He didn’t remember falling asleep. But the blanket was new.

It was heavy and placed across his lap with too much care to be an accident. He glanced down at it, then at the chair’s armrest… his right hand still strapped tight. The left was free now. Like she promised.

────── ❖ ──────

She’d sat just out of reach, balancing a bowl in her lap, it was rice and broth. Steam rose in the candlelight. “Here,” she said, holding the spoon to his mouth like it was normal.

He didn’t open up at first.

“Eat,” she said calmly, “This isn’t a trick.”

He stared. “That’s exactly what a trick sounds like.”

She smiled but didn't argue.

Eventually, he gave in. Hunger made it easier than he wanted to admit. Later, when the bowl was empty and the silence stretched, she said, “You’re doing well.”

He looked at her. “Compared to what?”

She didn’t answer. Just reached out and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He didn’t flinch. Not this time. The first time he had… just a twitch, a reflex… he caught it: the slight tug at the corner of her dark painted lips. The way she looked at him after that, like she’d won something.

He wasn’t going to give her that again.

So now, he held still. Let her do what she wanted. Like it didn’t matter. “Good boy.” He looked at her. Not angry. Not grateful. Just… watching. She smiled faintly. Not with her eyes, just her mouth. Then, casually:

“If you behave, I’ll let you have one hand. Cross my heart.” She dragged one gloved finger across her chest, the sharp metal at the end of it causing a little mark on her, it was slow. Mocking.

She didn’t explain what she meant, and that was what stuck with him… the not knowing. Let him wonder. Let him sit with it.

'One hand… free? Or one hand left?'

The possibility had nested in his thoughts ever since.

────── ❖ ──────

The room was the same: cold concrete, no windows, no vents. Just a steel door a few feet away, and the usual candlelight behind him. She never lit the front. Always behind… just enough glow to see, not enough to track time.

No clocks. No sound. No idea how long he’d been here.

He’d tried. Tracked the intervals between when she led him to the latrine. Counted how many times he’d been allowed to shower… or thought he had. Once he tried gauging by the growth of his beard, but even that betrayed him as it did not change. The lighting never changed. His reflection, when it appeared in that small, warped piece of mirror above the sink, told him nothing except that he looked tired.

Time slipped. His body didn’t help. His hunger didn’t follow any pattern. Sleep came in bursts, or not at all.

Nothing held.

The blanket smelled like her.

Cherry and smoke. Not thick but unmistakable. Sweet at first like syrup, then the smoke hit after, dry and bitter, like something scorched. It clung in the air, just enough to stay in his nose, on his skin, in the fabric. Not overpowering. Just there. Familiar. She wore it every time she came in. Now it was in the fabric, in his air, in his head.

She’d been here while he was out.

He shifted under the blanket, testing how much he could move. Not much. Legs still tied. One hand free. A “reward.” For what? Not talking? Not struggling?

He didn’t like that it was working.

'Comfort equals her. That’s what she’s doing. I’m not stupid.'

Still, he hadn’t thrown the blanket off. Not yet.

His stomach was quiet. She’d fed him… small meals, spaced out just enough to keep him guessing. Water when he needed it. Clean clothes, once. No beatings. No threats. Just steady pressure, silence, and her voice.

And now a blanket.

He looked at the door.

She could walk in any second. Or not. She was training him on that too.

She’d be back soon.

He hated that he was waiting.

He shifted again in the chair. The restraints creaked softly, but didn’t give. There was an itch under his skin, not physical. Restless. Like something in his chest wanted to move. To do something. He hated sitting still. Hated how he was starting to wait for her, starting to wonder when she’d come back.

He clenched his jaw.

'Don’t give her that. Don’t give her anything.'

But the longer he sat, the more it pressed in. The silence. The stale air. The smell of candlewax and that faint cherry smoke baked into the fabric on his lap.

His fingers twitched.

He didn’t want to call it fear… Or loneliness… It wasn’t that. He didn’t need her. He was just off balance. Tired. Disoriented.

That’s all.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to push the tension out of his body.

Still there.

Still stuck.

And for just a second, the chill behind his ribs turned sharp. Tight. Like something small and awful had curled up in the space between heartbeats and decided to stay.

He wanted to move.

He wanted to run.

He wanted--

The door clicked.

He froze.

Then… footsteps. Slow. Heels tapping concrete in a rhythm he already knew too well.

She stepped into view.

Aracnid. Same heels. Same scent-- cherry and smoke-- already curling through the air. She glanced at the blanket, then at his free hand. “Good morning,” she said softly. Like they were friends.

Owl didn’t answer, he just looked at her. Watched her watch him.

She smiled.

“See? I keep my promises.”

[itsachu]

[HxH] Pretty Eyes - Owl x Original Character (Chapter 2)

[Hunter x Hunter | Owl x OC | Dark Romance] Psychological | Thriller | Torture-turned-Tension | Slow Burn

⚠️ Content & Trigger Warnings

This story contains themes of psychological manipulation, captivity, interrogation, trauma responses, slow-burn tension, and dark romance. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to emotional coercion, threats of violence, or power imbalance dynamics.

---

Summary

Captured after the massacre of his comrades, Owl (once a proud member of the Shadow Beasts) finds himself in the hands of a woman who is not quite Troupe, not quite mafia, but undeniably dangerous. Aracnid doesn’t need brute force to break him. She’s patient. Calculating. And she wants answers for the Troupe whose partnered with her own group. But what begins as an interrogation slowly shifts into something more intricate... a web of curiosity, tension, and fascination.

And it all begins with his eyes.

---

Chapter 2: Smoke and Silk

The room was dimly lit, the haze of Musha’s cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air like a dream refusing to die. She leaned against the far wall, towering and draped in a dark silk kimono with lavender hair piled into a loose bun, cat-eye glasses sat on the bridge of her nose with spectacle chains hanging on each side. She looked like she hadn’t moved in a while.. but the sharp gleam of her pink eyes betrayed her constant awareness. Beside her, a much smaller girl sat quietly on the edge of a crate, legs swinging in quiet rhythm. Cecilia. Her oversized hoodie swallowed her small frame, and strands of muted pink hair fell over wide eyes and braces that peeked through slightly parted lips. She didn’t speak, just stared, fidgeting with the strings of her hoodie as if trying to disappear into it.

Aracnid stood near the door, gloves in her hands, watching with reserved poise.

Then the door creaked open.

Nobunaga entered first, hand resting near his sword hilt. His expression was tight, annoyed… but not quite furious. That was always more dangerous. “You told us he’s dead,” he said flatly, “I don’t see a body.”

Aracnid didn’t blink. “That’s because there’s nothing left to show.”

Shalnark slipped in behind him-- expression curious, almost amused. “That’s odd. I remember his ability being… pretty unique. Kinda inconvenient, too,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, “Chrollo was considering taking it. You know how he is with things that annoy him.”

Aracnid shrugged lightly, letting her gloves slide between her fingers. “Then he should’ve said so sooner. I wasn’t told to preserve anything.”

“You snapped his neck,” Nobunaga muttered, eyes narrowed, “Before we could even confirm.”

“He talked,” Aracnid replied in a smooth and calm tone despite the other's rising irritation, “Everything you wanted. He broke faster than expected, so I got what I needed. Then he tried to use his ability again. Reflex, maybe. I wasn’t in the mood for games.”

Shalnark tilted his head. “That’s a hell of a call to make alone.”

“I didn’t make it alone. I made it before he got clever.”

“Tch-- clever?” Nobunaga’s tone finally cracked, voice rising as he took a step forward, “That bastard locked me in a sack like some grocery item. I couldn’t even move. You know how humiliating that was?!” He jabbed a thumb to his chest. “I was this close to splitting him clean in half, and you took that from me.”

Aracnid’s stare didn’t waver. “Would you have done it cleanly?”

“What?”

“You’d have taken your time. Dragged it out. Made a mess. I didn’t have the luxury.”

Nobunaga sneered, jaw tight. “You got a smart mouth.”

“Still here, though,” she said, almost gently.

Shalnark gave a single quiet laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “She’s got a point. You’re still breathing, and so’s Chrollo. Maybe that’s all that matters.”

“Not to me,” Nobunaga snapped.

A beat passed in the room.

Musha exhaled slowly, the ember of her cigarette flaring like an irritated sigh. “We’ll deal with the alliance fallout if there is any,” she said to Arachnid, “But next time, maybe don’t make that call without looping us in.”

Aracnid didn’t respond right away. Her gaze lingered on Nobunaga, who looked like he still had more to say, but she held it without flinching. Eventually, he scoffed and turned on his heel, muttering louder this time, “Tch. Would’ve felt a hell of a lot better watching him crawl before I gutted him.” Shalnark followed, hands in his pockets, his smirk fading as he passed the girls in silence.

The door shut behind them.

Cecilia didn’t move. Just looked down at her shoes, lips pressed together. Musha stubbed out her cigarette against the stone wall. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she muttered to Aracnid, “Because that was reckless.”

Aracnid didn’t argue. Didn’t apologize. She just pulled the gloves back onto her hands and turned toward the hall, where her secret was still tied to the chair… and still breathing.

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

The echo of the door’s closure still lingered in the air by the time Aracnid made her way down the corridor.

The hideout was quiet now... creepily so. Only the occasional drip of moisture somewhere deep in the walls broke the silence. Her boots clicked softly against the stone floor, the hem of her cloak grazing the steps as she descended into the lower level. It was cooler here, and the stillness held weight. Down here, secrets didn’t echo... they sank.

She reached the reinforced door at the end of the hall and paused. Her fingers lingered on the iron handle for a beat longer than necessary. The image of Owl, still strapped to that chair, sunglasses somehow still perched on his nose, flashed in her mind. She hadn't removed them... not yet. There was something in his reaction to her that made her hold off. A twitch. A tension. Something worth pressing on.

She opened the door.

The room was dim, lit by a single candle set on a shelf behind him. The flame cast a dull glow across the stone walls and danced faintly across his frame. He hadn’t moved much (not that he could) but his head lifted when she stepped in. His shoulders were tense, like a cornered animal watching a shadow cross the threshold.

“Still breathing,” she said softly, as though confirming something to herself. Owl didn’t respond. His mouth remained set in a tight line, jaw clenched, but his eyes, barely visible behind the dark lenses, tracked her with sharp awareness. There was exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders, but he hadn’t unraveled. Not yet.

Aracnid stepped closer, slow and silent. She circled him, letting her presence settle like a shroud. The scent of smoke from Musha’s cigarette still clung faintly to her cloak, mixing with something sweeter... faint perfume or perhaps incense. She stopped behind him, letting the silence stretch, then leaned in just enough that her voice reached the shell of his ear.

“They think you’re dead.”

He didn’t flinch.

Aracnid’s gloved fingers lifted one side of his sunglasses, just slightly. Just enough to see the sharp, dark brown eye beneath. Small iris. Dilated pupil. Not emotionless. No... he was thinking too much for that.

“Hmm,” she murmured.

Then she let the lens fall back in place.

She moved again, this time walking around to face him directly. The candlelight caught the delicate detail in her gloves, the lace trim trailing over her wrists like spider silk. “You should thank me,” she said, “But I won’t ask for it.”

Owl’s voice was a rasp, dry from disuse. “Why?”

That single word wasn’t desperate or fearful. It was bitter.

Aracnid tilted her head. “Because I wanted to.”

She didn’t explain. Didn’t offer more. Just walked back to the far end of the room and stopped at the table there-- an old wooden thing with carved legs and a ceramic bowl sitting idle atop it. She poured water from a pitcher into a metal cup. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. Functional.

She brought it back and held it near his lips, watching him as he hesitated.

“Not poisoned,” she said, amused, “You’re more useful alive.”

After a long pause, he took the water.

When the cup was drained, she pulled it away and crouched down in front of him. Close. Not uncomfortably so, but just enough that he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes again, barely reflecting the candlelight.

“You’ll stay here until I decide what happens next,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair back beneath her hood, “And in return, you’ll behave.”

Silence stretched between them. Long. Deafening.

Then, finally, he muttered, “I’m already dead. Right?”

A faint smirk curved her lips.

“Exactly.”

[itsachu]

[HxH] Pretty Eyes - Owl x Original Character (Chapter 1)

[Hunter x Hunter | Owl x OC | Dark Romance] Psychological | Thriller | Torture-turned-Tension | Slow Burn

⚠️ Content & Trigger Warnings

This story contains themes of psychological manipulation, captivity, interrogation, trauma responses, slow-burn tension, and dark romance. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to emotional coercion, threats of violence, or power imbalance dynamics.

---

Summary

Captured after the massacre of his comrades, Owl (once a proud member of the Shadow Beasts) finds himself in the hands of a woman who is not quite Troupe, not quite mafia, but undeniably dangerous. Aracnid doesn’t need brute force to break him. She’s patient. Calculating. And she wants answers for the Troupe whose partnered with her own group. But what begins as an interrogation slowly shifts into something more intricate... a web of curiosity, tension, and fascination.

And it all begins with his eyes.

---

Chapter 1: The First Thread

Darkness.

It pressed against him from all sides, thick and forever lasting, drowning out everything but the sound of his own breathing. His pulse drummed steadily in his ears-- it was slow, but not calm... Definitely not calm. The air was stagnant, carrying the faint scent of sweat, iron, and stone. A bag was over his head, rough fabric coarse against his skin, muffling even the faintest of noises beyond the suffocating stillness. His hands were bound behind him, the material tight against his wrists... but it wasn’t rope. Something smoother. Silk, maybe? Whatever it was, it wasn’t an amateur’s knot. There was no slack. No escape. He shifted slightly, testing the restraints, but the chair beneath him didn’t move. Metal. Bolted down. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing.

His mind flickered back.

It had happened in a blink... too fast, too clean. One moment, they were standing their ground, the last of the Shadow Beasts, facing the Phantom Troupe with the certainty-- he was the only one who had cautioned them. The next… nothing. A flash of silver. A spray of red. The wet, sickening sound of death as his comrades were torn apart in an instant. Dismembered. Shattered. There hadn’t even been time to fight back. And him? Caught. Wrapped in thread... literally. Bound by the strange conjured cloth of one of them. And then… a pink haired girl with braces had stepped forward, saying something about letting her people handle interrogations. That was the last clear moment. After that, it all blurred... his limbs went numb, and then the world faded out.

Now, all that remained was the ghost of that panic, echoing in his chest.

A soft sound snapped him back-- a step on stone. Not heavy. Just one person. The faint rustle of fabric, the shift of air. He kept still, straining to listen. Whoever it was wasn’t rushing. They weren’t afraid. They already had what they wanted.

The bag was yanked off.

Dim candlelight flooded his vision, making him blink hard. His sunglasses (miraculously) were still in place, hanging onto the bridge of his nose. As his sight adjusted, he took in his surroundings. Stone walls. No windows. Cold air that didn’t shift with breeze. This wasn’t a dungeon.. it was a tomb. Silent. Isolated.

And then… she appeared.

Black. That was his first impression. She was cloaked in it: lace, leather, silk.. woven together in sharp lines and intricate curves. A hood framed her face, casting shadows over skin that looked pale and smooth, but beneath the veil, her lips were dark and curved ever so faintly at the edges. Her eyes glowed gold, faintly, like molten metal, pinning him with a gaze that didn’t flinch or wander.

She was taller than most women he’d met. Poised. Confident in the way predators were-- never needing to show teeth to prove they could kill.

She was beautiful, in the way something out of reach always was. Untouchable. Other worldly. But there was something else… something inhumanly patient about the way she stood there, simply looking at him. Not rushed, not careless. Like she had all the time in the world to dissect him piece by piece.

Owl swallowed. Not the Troupe. Not a Mafia boss either.

So who the hell was she?

Her eyes traced over him, missing nothing. His posture, the tension in his shoulders, the twitch in his fingers, the way his chest barely moved with each breath. She took it all in, studying him like an object under glass, a puzzle with too few pieces. Her gaze flickered to his sunglasses, and he stiffened instinctively before he could stop himself. That was a mistake. She noticed. And worse… she looked amused by it.

Then, she spoke.

“I expected more.”

Her voice slid through the air, smooth yet unimpressed. A fact she had already decided before he even spoke. It sent something cold down his spine. Owl didn’t react… not outwardly anyway, at least he tried not to. He kept his fingers still, his mouth pressed into a firm line, his breathing steady. But she had already seen that first moment, the instinctive shift in his body language. His cover was already slipping, and he hated that she noticed.

"You’re going to tell me everything I want to know," she said, taking a step closer. The fabric of her cloak whispered against the stone floor, the flickering light catching against the lace detailing along her gloves. Her movements were smooth… not slow, but controlled, her presence filling the space without effort-- she was a woman in total control of herself. There was no force in the way she spoke, no anger, no cruelty… but there didn’t need to be. There was an inevitability to her tone, like a spider watching a fly that had already tangled itself too deep.

Owl exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching once against the chair’s arms before going still again. He had to stay quiet. Had to think. He knew his own limits-- he knew how long he could hold out. But the moment he answered her, he was already losing. She took another step, close enough now that the glow of the candlelight caught against the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the faint shimmer of her lower lip. Close, but not touching. Not yet.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice dipping to something lower, something that barely disturbed the air between them.

“Tell me,” she murmured.

Owl stared at her.

His fingers curled tightly into his palms.

And the web began to tighten.

[itsachu]

Marionette OC :)

[itsachu]

Fairy OC :)

[itsachu]

Masque of the Black Rose Soraka

[itsachu]

✨ Minty Mochicorn FOR SALE ✨

Buyers will receive a version without a background and without a watermark.

💖 Price: $15

DM me if interested!

[itsachu]

✨ Character Design for Sale ✨

🎨 Price: $100 USD 💎 What You’ll Receive:

High-quality PNG file of the character (no background).

Full ownership rights, including the ability to resell or trade.

📜 Terms of Use:

Credit me (itsachu) if the design is used for personal projects (art, roleplay, etc.).

No credit required for resale or commercial use.

🌿 I only accept CashApp: $itsachu 🌿 💕 Thank you for your kindness and support! 💕

[itsachu]

Testing 2 Viral Digital Art Techniques!

Check out my speed paint of Sailor Mercury!! Please like and share!

[itsachu]

🌸🌸🌸New Commission Prices!

[itsachu]

Testing some rendering techniques! I watched a couple videos on different rendering techniques and wanted to see what I could do with them! Obviously, a lot of practice is needed but I did learn from both videos on what I can improve on and what makes a difference in a picture! Which is your favorite?

Videos I watched:

Here is a link to the line art I made for Sailor Mercury! if you use it just let me know because I'd love to see what coloring, rendering, etc techniques you use! Or if you just want to use it! https://www.deviantart.com/stash/0113l4urxwdb

[itsachu]

Reindeer MLP Adoptable - $20 ! (No watermark, Original size, and transparent background)

[itsachu]

YCH Commission for someone on Discord!

[itsachu]

Had the urge to make another skin for my OC, so here's a Sailor Moon inspired piece. :D I call it Cosmic Crusader Rosie.