#i did less layers this time and it was way easier

[yandereonepieceimagines]

May I please request a yandere who's who, denjiro, katakuri, king, and shanks done separately, where the readers little sister/brother keeps trying to rescue them

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Of course! I love the idea. To make it a bit easier and less confusing for myself, I decided to make the sibling a little brother.

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Charlotte Katakuri

The grandeur of Whole Cake Chateau was suffocating in its elegance. Sugary white pillars, caramel-tiled floors and windows glazed with candy glass wrapped you in a gilded prison. You had room to move, to read, even to wander the village under watch. But there were no ships. No maps. No Log Poses. No open sea. No freedom.

And he was always there.

Charlotte Katakuri.

The man who had stolen your freedom. Not with chains, but with foresight and obsession. You had crossed paths with him in your explorations of the New World. As an adventurer, you were no pirate, but your strength rivaled some of the fiercest pirates currently alive. But not as strong as someone like him.

Katakuri noticed. More than noticed. He admired. He saw something in you beyond strength. It twisted into something relentless inside him.

He did not lock you in a dungeon. He offered you sugar-infused teas, rare books and a private wing in the Chateau. You could stroll the halls. Dine under chandeliers made of spun sugar. But your steps were always watched. And in the very rare moments Katakuri was away attending to business, your watcher was Charlotte Perospero, his elder brother.

About every three weeks without fail, came your little brother.

You warned him. Begged him not to come after his third attempt. But he was tireless. Driven by the same blazing resolve that once defined your own path as an explorer. Each time he returned, his Observation Haki was sharper, his instincts keener, honed by every failed attempt. He grew faster, more evasive and more daring. He traveled by ship, foot, sea, and sheer force of will entirely on his own, slipping and fighting his way through the layered defenses of Totto Land. It was a long journey each time and still he never hesitated.

Every time, Katakuri stood in his way. Silent, stern and relentless. There was a rhythm to their encounters now. A dance between foresight and fury. Katakuri never struck to kill. He deflected with surgical precision, each blow aimed to subdue without lasting harm. The boy fought harder every time and Katakuri acknowledged it.

"He possesses an impressive resilience," Katakuri would murmur in a low voice, carefully lowering the unconscious adolescent to the polished floor as though he were his own kin. "That intensity… it echoes the same fire I first saw in you."

On several occasions, Katakuri remained by the boy's side well after the confrontation had ended, methodically brushing dust and blood from his forehead with a rare, almost incongruous tenderness. An expression of conflicted admiration that belied his otherwise unshakable composure.

He’d command his subordinates in a low voice. Always the same instruction, repeated like clockwork: "Take him far from Totto Land. Feed him well. Let him rest where it’s safe. Then let him go. If he returns again, it means he’s strong still."

It had become a routine now, embedded into the rhythm of Katakuri’s life like the cycles of the moon. The boy would come. He would fight. He would fall. And Katakuri would issue this order, never deviating, never hesitating. It was as much a ritual as it was a resolution. Not to destroy what he admired, but to let it return stronger, fiercer.

There was something in Katakuri’s expression in those moments. A mix of respect, melancholy and inevitability. As though he knew your brother’s growth would eventually make future battles harder.

But he never stopped him.

Because some part of Katakuri admired the boy’s tenacity. And the rest of him... he knew exactly where it came from.

It was not that Katakuri didn’t have options. You once accused him directly: "Why don’t you have Mont-d’Or trap him in a book? You’ve done worse to others."

Katakuri’s expression had shifted. Just barely. His voice had been quiet.

"Because if I did, you’d hate me more than you already do. And he would stay young, imprisoned in stasis, while you continued to age. That kind of cruelty would burn down everything I’ve built."

Then, softer, almost to himself: "Besides... I like the fire. It’s what drew me to you."

Once, after sending your brother away again, bloodied but unbroken, Katakuri lingered longer than usual. He remained seated by your chamber window. Silent and unmoving. The moonlight painted his sharp features in silver and his scarf, so rarely lowered, now rested loosely around his neck. His jagged mouth, the one he always hid from the outside world, was laid bare in the glow.

"I saw him reaching you," he said at last, voice low. "I saw him pulling you away from me. But only in one future. Just one. And I’ve erased it. I can’t risk losing you."

You turned from him, the fury rising behind your eyes restrained only by sheer will. Your voice, when it came, was cold and certain. "You know I’ll never marry you."

He didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.

"You will," he said quietly. "Because I see the moment. I’ve seen it so many times. You’re wearing white. You smile when it happens. It’s real."

You clenched your fists until your nails bit into your palms. "A false hope."

Katakuri's gaze dropped, not in shame, but in a tired resignation that weighed more than his gigantic body ever had.

"If that’s the case..." he said slowly, the words almost catching in his throat, "then everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed to keep that hope intact, it means I was wrong. And if I’m wrong about that, then I may as well lose everything. Except you."

Denjiro

The Flower Capital was a city of contrast. Bright lanterns and cherry blossoms painted its skyline while shadows and secrets ruled its alleys. And at the very heart of those contradictions stood Denjiro. Or rather, the man the world knew as Kyoshiro. The elegant, calculating yakuza boss of the capital.

But behind the calm exterior, behind the mask of composed cruelty, was a kind man obsessed.

You had arrived in Wano under the guise of an explorer. A foreigner with strength to rival a warlord, grace enough to stir admiration even in hardened samurai and a spirit that refused to yield to anyone.

And Denjiro had fallen for you.

Not gently. Not slowly. He was consumed. Caught in a quiet storm of admiration and desperation. When you refused his subtle advances, denied his gifts and tried again and again to leave the borders of Wano after some time, he responded not with violence, but with control.

He didn’t lock you in a dungeon or bind you with chains. No, Denjiro used the city itself. He arranged for oiran guards and trusted geisha loyal to the Kyoshiro Family to watch you from within. The Yakuza network shadowed your every step. You were free to walk the capital, to dress as you pleased, to pretend your cage was a garden.

But you couldn’t escape.

And every time you tried, he came.

But so did your brother.

A teen not yet a man, but with the fury and conviction of a hundred. He somehow scaled the mountains of Wano, slipped past Orochi’s men, defied the Kaido-backed authorities just to get to you. Each time he came, he fought Denjiro. And each time, Denjiro stopped him.

Their battles were furious but precise. Observation and Armament Haki clashed like steel on steel, ringing through the empty courtyards and echoing down the misted alleys of the Flower Capital. The boy’s strength was undeniable. And it grew with each encounter. Faster footwork, tighter focus, a maturity beginning to harden into something deadly.

"His Ryuo... Sharper than last time," Denjiro murmured once, brushing his bloody lip with the back of his hand after a brief clash. "And heavier. He's also learning levels of restraint. That makes him even more dangerous."

But Denjiro never struck to kill. Even when the boy came at him with a fire that could have scorched the sun, he deflected, parried and subdued. And when the boy inevitably fell- legs crumpling under the weight of exhaustion or a single, clean blow, Denjiro was there to catch him before his body hit the ground.

He would scoop the boy up in practiced silence, carrying him to the quiet corners of the city. An abandoned tea house tucked between merchant rows, a hidden room beneath a theater stage or a healer's parlor owned by someone in his debt. He never used the same place twice in a row, but each was secure, each protected by the Kyoshiro Family.

And always, Denjiro gave the same order:

"Take him somewhere safe. Watch over him. Let him rest. Do not interfere unless he wakes."

His subordinates obeyed not out of obligation, but out of reverent fear. They didn’t fully understand their boss’s fixation, but they understood the rules. No one touched the boy. No one mocked him. No one questioned why a yakuza boss would protect an enemy with the same care he might show a wounded comrade.

They understood that in Denjiro’s madness, there was a code. And in that code, the boy was sacred.

"That boy... he’s no fool," Denjiro said to you once, watching cherry petals fall from the rooftop of your borrowed estate. "Every time, he comes back stronger. If this continues, then one day, he may even defeat me."

You looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your attention. Your silence was louder than any insult.

"Then you should be afraid," you said finally. "Because he won’t stop. No matter how many times you throw him aside. He'll keep coming back until I’m free."

"I know," Denjiro answered softly, his voice nearly lost in the hush of the wind. "That’s why I cherish every moment you stay. Even if you hate me for it."

There was a desperation behind his calm. A dread that clung to the edges of his perfect posture. Like tension coiled in a blade about to snap. Every smile he offered you was touched by subtle sorrow, every kind gesture a calculated effort to preserve something that was already slipping through his fingers. He knew he couldn’t control your heart, and yet, he couldn’t stop trying. Not when the alternative was unthinkable.

He didn’t want to force you to stay like this.

But he was prepared to, if it meant keeping you close for just a little longer.

And every time your brother fell at his feet, bloodied, determined, but never broken, Denjiro felt the prophecy writhe in his bones like an omen too long ignored. The prophecy Oden’s wife once spoke of. A storm would come to Wano. The blood of the past would return to reclaim the future.

And Denjiro felt it: that prophecy wasn’t some distant fate meant only for this land. It applied to him as well. To you. To this growing, impossible tension between devotion and destiny.

If he couldn’t win your love before that storm arrived, Denjiro knew what would happen. The boy would rise. Your will would turn to steel. And his heart would split down the center.

He would lose you.

And that, more than any blade, any curse, or any prophecy, terrified him most.

King the Wildfire

There were no gilded palaces in King’s world. Only fire, steel and silence.

You never expected to be caught in the orbit of someone like King.

You were a free soul shaped by the sea. The world had no chain that could hold you, no cage you couldn’t shatter. But Wano... Wano was different. And King?

King was absolute.

From the moment you stepped too far into the closed country, he had marked you. His eyes had followed your strength, your face and your tenacity. He hadn’t needed Kaidou’s permission. He took you the same way he took command. Without question and without any further delay.

Your cell wasn’t iron. It was an empty wing in Onigashima carved high into the cliffs, wind screaming like ghosts outside the jagged windows. You were left with the sky and King’s silence. He didn’t speak often. When he did, it was either orders or unsettlingly direct statements.

"You stay because you want to breathe. And I allow that."

But each time you tried to escape… Each time you threw yourself into the fury of the island’s defenses… Someone else came for you.

Your little brother.

Young, furious and wild with determination. He somehow came through fire and sea, past Kaidou's men, past Onigashima’s monstrous security. And King...? King always met him.

The battles were not kind. King didn’t mock. He didn’t waste time. He struck with ruthless precision, wings lashing through the air, flames tearing stone. Your little brother never stood a chance.

And yet, King didn’t kill him.

Every time the boy fell, King stood over him in silence. Minutes would pass. Heavy and loaded with something unspoken. As if deciding. As if measuring not just the boy's strength, but the value of his persistence. Sometimes King knelt, gloved fingers brushing against the blood-matted hair, as though verifying the pulse of a memory he could not name. But he never delivered the final blow.

Then he would shift forms, claws tightening around the unconscious teen, becoming the great Pteranodon once more. His wings cut through the sky in eerie silence as he flew beyond Onigashima, past the borders of Wano’s civilization. He scoured the map in his mind, always searching for the same kind of place: inhospitable, forgotten and merciless.

One time it was a rugged isle scorched by volcanic vents. Another, a jungle ruin populated by beasts long thought extinct. And once, a crumbling battlefield still haunted by the remnants of long-dead warriors. He always chose the worst of them. Islands thick with predators, scarred by ancient wars or plagued with silence and suffering.

There, he left the boy. Alive, armed and alone.

Not out of mercy, but calculation. Because if the boy died, the problem solved itself. And if he lived...? If he survived…? Then his return would feed the very narrative King was crafting. That the brother’s suffering was a consequence of your refusal, not King’s cruelty.

"If he survives-" King once said without turning, "then he was meant to try again. If he dies, then he never mattered in the first place. That’s how this world works. Strength determines worth."

You screamed at him. You called him a monster, your voice raw with fury, your fists clenched until your nails bit into your skin. It didn’t matter. Nothing moved him.

King didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t touch you. Just stared from behind his mask as he looked back down at you.

Impassive. Unbothered. Unchanging.

"I don’t kill him," he said flatly, as if that alone absolved him of anything. "You should be thanking me. I could erase him. No one would question it. But I don’t. Because I want you to stay without hate in your heart. To love me... Eventually..."

His voice was calm, but the words carried the weight of iron. It wasn’t affection. It was a calculated patience. A deliberate erosion of your will. He didn’t just want your presence. He wanted your surrender.

You knew what he was doing. He wanted your brother gone. But not by his hand. That way, when the guilt festered and bloomed like rot inside you, he could be the one to offer comfort. He could point to your pain and say, "This is the result of your resistance. This is what you chose."

If your brother died out there, torn apart by beasts or driven mad by the isolation, King wouldn’t have to say a word. The blame would wrap around you like chains. And in your weakest moment, he’d be waiting. Arms outstretched and mask removed.

"He came for you again," King would say each time your little brother returned, only to be beaten back once more, bloodied and burned. "And you let him. What does that say about you? About your choices?"

You hated him. Hated how he twisted the truth and how he planted seeds of doubt that slowly bloomed into guilt. But you couldn’t deny it worked. The longer your brother suffered, the more you hesitated.

The more you began to question your own strength and your own convictions.

The more you started to think that maybe... Maybe if you stopped resisting, things would stop hurting.

You long since began waking at night to phantom cries, to dreams of your brother calling your name from some half-buried grave on a distant, cursed island. And every morning, King would be there. Silently watching you as if he knew.

The guilt chewed at you. The confusion crept in. You began to wonder. Was your defiance brave or selfish? Was your escape plan noble or a death sentence for him?

The more you started to hate yourself, the more you started to think that you should just give in. Try to see if you could develop at least something for King. Not love, maybe. But tolerance. Peace. If only to stop the endless cycle.

And King himself, ever stoic and unshakable, waited like a giant monument to inevitability. He didn’t pace. He didn’t beg. He didn’t threaten. He only endured.

"One day," he murmured, looking down at the map of the New World, tracing the boy’s last known drop site, "he won’t come back. And then you’ll realize I’m all that’s left. All that you need. All that’s ever stayed."

He didn’t need to chain you.

He just needed time and the slow crumbling of everything else you cared about.

Red-Haired Shanks

It was never a prison. Not technically.

You had space to walk. You could drink, dance and argue with Lucky Roux over dinner. There were parties on every full moon, the music rolling like thunder across the decks of the Red Force. Shanks made sure you had everything you needed.

Except the sea.

Not in the way you wanted. Not the freedom you once lived for.

You were an explorer. The kind who didn’t just travel but searched. You would have a high bounty, easy, if the World Government had ever decided you were dangerous enough to tag.

But Shanks had tagged you in his own way.

He let you believe you were drifting. Free. When in truth, the anchor had long since dropped, buried deep beneath your daily rhythm and carefully maintained routine. It didn’t rattle or tug. It simply kept you from sailing too far, even when you thought you had the wind behind you.

Every time you asked to leave, to chart your own course again, his smile never faltered. That lopsided, effortlessly disarming grin. The one that could sway enemies or pacify kings. He wielded it with a casual grace that made your resistance feel absurd. Like a child asking for something they already had.

"Let’s not ruin the moment," he would say, voice dipped in honeyed patience. It was never angry. Never forceful. Just... Immovable.

You began to see the truth. It was never about force. It was about making you feel like staying was your own idea.

And then there was your little brother.

Young. Reckless. Brilliant in his own right. A blade sharpened by time, pain and loyalty to you. Every two months, like the rising tide, he came for you. Never wavering and never giving up. The crew had come to expect him, as one expects the turning of the tide or the coming of rain. It was ritual now. A stubborn echo.

And every time, Shanks met him.

He didn’t want to. He said so each time, with a sigh of resigned certainty. But the boy insisted. A duel, always. No exceptions. His stance burned with conviction, fists wrapped in Haki, eyes blazing with the kind of fire Shanks had once seen in another boy long ago.

The crew watched from a distance, their gazes steady but silent. Benn Beckman would shake his head and sigh through the smoke of a half-finished cigarette. Yasopp muttered about pride and youth and futility. But no one interfered.

If the boy wanted to reach you, he had to get past the Emperor.

And of course, he never did.

But something shifted every time. The air. The force behind the boy’s strikes. His ability to hold his ground just a moment longer. A split second more before his legs gave out. Shanks noticed. And while his face remained unreadable, somewhere behind those calm, calculating eyes, the acknowledgment simmered. Your little brother was learning. Evolving. And though it was still far away, a single truth had begun to form; dangerous and very promising.

Shanks never gloated. He never injured the boy beyond recovery. He fought like a man fulfilling an unwanted obligation. His Haki hummed with quiet power, not overwhelming but steady, guiding the rhythm of their clash. The blade still moved with purpose, cutting the air with a precision that spoke of skill, but without the weight of devastation. Each strike was deliberate. No wasted force, no unnecessary show of power. Just enough to win, to keep the boy at bay and to remind him of his place in the world.

When the duel ended, Shanks would crouch beside the fallen teen, checking his pulse. He always called for his crew to carry him gently below deck, to treat his wounds, feed him and let him rest.

"He’s got guts," Shanks would murmur, brushing the boy's sweat-slick hair aside. "But not yet the world to wield them. Maybe one day, though. If the world doesn’t break him first."

You fussed. You pleaded. You even cursed him. Your words were knives, thrown in desperation, in fury, in sorrow. You demanded to know what satisfaction he could possibly find in repeating the same fight, in watching your brother break and rebuild over and over again. You asked him; how many more times? How many more bruises? How many more unspoken promises that this would be the last?

And Shanks listened.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t lash out. He just watched you with eyes too still, too calm. The kind of quiet that had weight, that drew all the noise out of the air.

Then, for the first time, he made an offer.

"A trade."

You blinked. "What?"

His smile was soft. Not cruel. Just wistful. Like someone opening a door they’d always hoped you’d knock on. It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t manipulation. It was almost... Lonely.

"You want freedom. I want your time. Give me one week. Every two months. No running. No pretending you hate it. A week of peace. A week of dinners. Stories. A walk under the stars. A moment to just... be with each other."

You stared. "And if I refuse?"

The smile dimmed. It didn’t vanish. But it hollowed out. Like something older had returned behind it.

"Then you stay. Just like now. And I’ll keep pretending this is enough for me."

You wanted to hate him. But he wasn’t cruel. He was honest. Brutally so. He didn’t offer salvation. Only structure. One that gave just enough slack to make you believe you weren’t still tied to him.

You said yes.

And true to his word, he let you go. Every time you returned, his arm was open in welcome, his crew treated you like you’d only stepped off for a breather. No pressure. No reminders. Just that same drink, that same sea air, that same quiet gratitude behind his eyes.

But if you skipped even once...

The tides would turn. The anchor would rise again. The Red Force would find you.

"I’ll let you fly," he told you once, his hand resting over yours like it was a promise. "But the wind? That’s me. And I don’t plan on changing course."

Who’s-Who

There was a time when he wore the black of CP9 and whispered death into the ears of kings. Now, clad in crimson and surrounded by fire and ambition, Who’s-Who wore a different kind of mask. A toothy grin forged by betrayal, bitterness and unfiltered ego.

He wasn’t Kaidou. He wasn’t King. But he didn’t need to be. Because unlike them, he remembered what it meant to serve something greater. And how quickly the world could turn on you.

So when he saw you... Free, powerful and entirely unclaimed... He didn’t ask.

He took.

You were an explorer, not a pirate. But your strength was undeniable. That strength, your fire. It reminded him of a time when he too thought the world could be conquered through sheer talent alone. Before the chains. Before the cell. Before the Gum-Gum fruit was stolen under his watch.

Now you belonged to him.

Not in chains. Not in name. But in shadow.

He kept you in a controlled corner of Onigashima. Not locked away, but watched. You were free to walk, to pace and to protest. He liked the way you protested. It kept things... interesting.

And every time you tried to escape, your little brother followed like a prayer refused.

A tenacious adversary. Youthful, but already exhibiting a formidable acuity of perception and speech. His sharp, discerning gaze mirrored the intensity once seen in your own. And his Haki; raw yet unmistakably potent, resonated with an energy that vibrated on the same frequency as yours. It wasn’t just strength. It was promise, a signal of the relentless will that drove him forward with a conviction that could not be easily dismissed. The first time Who’s-Who met him, he laughed. Not out of mockery, but genuine amusement.

“Seriously? You crossed that ocean for her? Must be some sibling bond.”

But then the kid fought.

And lost���

That first clash, Who’s-Who didn’t even bother staying in his human form for long. With a casual stretch of limbs, he shifted. Muscle rippling, bones snapping into place right into his Zoan form. The towering sabertooth hybrid cast a monstrous shadow, his movements elegant and almost economical. His growl echoed across the high cliffs, a sound that felt ancient and final.

He relished the reactions his Zoan transformation often provoked. Reverent fear, stunned awe and instinctive hesitation. These responses created a strategic lull, a pause he could exploit to recalibrate his stance, refine his next strike, or simply observe the unfolding psychological shift. Yet, curiously, your little brother offered none of these luxuries. No hesitation. No fear. Only raw defiance. Unflinching, irrational and infuriatingly familiar. The same stubborn resilience he saw burning in your eyes, now mirrored in his. And for a fleeting moment, Who’s-Who felt the precariousness of control shift ever so slightly beneath him.

He didn’t even have to use his full strength. A flick of the tail, a lunge timed with eerie precision and it was over.

But it wasn’t mockery that followed. It was something colder. He approached the fallen teen with a predator’s patience, crouching down as though examining a newly-forged blade still too soft to cut with. His cigarette glowed faintly in the dim light, casting ash across your brother’s cheek like a quiet warning.

“You’ve got fire,” he muttered, exhaling smoke between sabertooth fangs. “Not enough. But give it time.”

Who’s-Who didn’t kill him. There was no thrill in that. No satisfaction in extinguishing something that hadn’t yet reached its full potential. He didn’t need to kill him. There was no glory in it, no sport, no challenge. And more importantly, it would undermine everything he was working toward. Killing your little brother would sever the one thread that still tied you to him through fear, guilt and even a level of curiosity. If he wanted you to crave him the way he had since the moment his eyes landed on you, then preserving your brother’s life was the necessary compromise. Even if it meant tolerating the boy’s resistance, again and again.

Instead, he gestured lazily to his men, his tone dry, almost bored.

“Drop him somewhere. Not here, not too far. Somewhere inconvenient. He’s not a threat. Not yet, at least."

The places changed. An old quarry. A beach at the edge of Kibi. A ruined shrine at Mt. Fuji. Dangerous, but survivable. He never said protect the kid. Just... Don’t make it easy for him.

He told himself it was tactical. Logical. Practical.

But deep down, he liked it. The anticipation. The little brother’s return. Each time bloodied, each time fiercer. Like watching a test subject evolve.

“Kid’s growing some teeth,” he mused once, wiping a cut from his cheek. “Maybe one day he’ll even leave a lasting mark.”

He never told you what happened when your brother disappeared for days at a time. He didn’t have to. The worry in your eyes said everything.

“You think I hurt him?” he asked one evening, lounging across from you with a broad grin. “Just a bit. He’s alive. Probably pissed. Maybe a little hungry. But alive.”

He leaned closer, and though his body radiated ease, his eyes were still hidden. Always hidden. The large, yellow-tinted lenses of his red half-mask reflected the flickering flames, giving you nothing to read. No glint of conscience. No flicker of remorse. His grin was wide, cigarette burning low between his lips, but the real him stayed just out of reach. Somewhere behind that crimson façade. It was maddening. Like talking to a shadow with a mouth.

“Thing is, you’re still here. Which means I’m doing something right.”

You hated him. Not for the violence. Not even for the manipulation.

You hated how calm he was. How certain. How his voice never rose, how his tone never cracked, even when your rage clawed at the walls of your shared silence.

Because in his mind, this was all under control. You, your brother, the twisted game you were all trapped in. Every move, every reaction, every painful delay felt like it had already been predicted.

He believed it.

He didn’t call it love. Not out loud. But sometimes, when the mask slipped... When the conversation turned to Nika, to myths, to chains you couldn't see, there was something else in his voice. Something unguarded. Not just hunger for power or vengeance.

But longing for something permanent. Something willing.

A fixation masked as fate.

Someone who wouldn’t vanish like everything else did in his life.

“You’ll get tired,” he said one night, voice low. “Of waiting for someone to save you. Of hoping your brother gets stronger. When that happens... I’ll still be here.”

His words didn’t come with promises or kindness. Only inevitability.

Like chains you didn’t know were already dragging you down.

[somethingsomethingcomic]

gay and stupid

[twitter-sakuranokaze]

FF14 Battle Portrait Tutorial

For the past few weeks I was trying to find a way to recreate the battle portrait from FF14 as there was a few characters that I want to see in that style but don't officially have one yet. I think I got it down more or less (see image below) so I thought it's a good time to share what I did.

First of all, I made a few files that would help make life a little easier. They can be grabbed here .

Note: I did use Reshade to do a bit of work at the screenshot stage to help speed up the process but the same effect can be recreated in Photoshop with a vanilla screenshot. There are a lot of tutorials on how to do comic/cartoon effect in photoshop and those would make good bases to work off of.

Step 1: Take the screenshot with the PortraitBase Shader on. I usually take two screenshots. One with "Comic" on and one with it turned off. This is so that I have more to work with if needed.

Step 2: Drag all the screenshots into photoshop and remove the background. In photoshop, arrange the layer so that the screenshot with the Comic lines visible is on top of the one with the effect off.

Step 3: Duplicate the the layer with the "comic" effect and apply Blur->Gaussian blur (radius 0.5)

Step 4: Take a look at the hair. In Eric's case, It still doesn't look blur enough to me so I used the blur tool and blurred it a bit more

Step 5: Create a new layer above the layer in the previous step and use the brush tool to start outlining the edges. Where to outline is up to you but the idea is to make edges defined so that it looks more like a drawing.

Step 6: Duplicate the outline layer and then hide that layer. Step 7: Merge everything under the outline layer. Step 8: Drag and drop the "Texture.png" into the project and Clip it to your character layer. Set the blending of the texture to "soft light". Step 9: Drag and drop the "stroke Texture.png" into the project and Clip it to your character layer. Adjust the size till you are happy then set the blending to "overlay". Step 10: Adjust the opacity settings of both texture layers until it looks good to you.

Step 11: Click on your character layer and go to image->Adjustments->Hue/Saturation (note: you will see I dragged in the official Hades portrait as a point of reference to work off of). Adjust the saturation till you are happy.

Step 12: Go to image->Adjustments->Color Balance and adjust the color till you are happy. In this example, since Eric is also wearing the Sophist robe, I tried to match that color to Hades' Sophist robe color.

Step 13: Once you are happy, drag the "Template.png" into the project and scale that to the size you want. Make sure it is completely covering the character. If it's not, you can just use paint more of it with the brush tool to extend it till it covers everything.

Step 14: Hide the "template.png" layer and select your character layer. Use the magic wand tool to select the outside of the character.

Step 15: With the selection still selected, click on the "Template.png" layer and press delete on your keyboard. You should now be left with a blank in the shape of your character.

Step 16: Drag the"Template.png" layer to be below your character layer. Then click on your character layer and clip it.

Step 17: Click on the "Template.png" layer and add a 2px stroke and shadow to it.

Step 18: Drag "Back_Deco.png" into the project and place it behind your character. Scale it till you are happy with it.

And that's it! Now you can recreate portraits for any NPCs that you want (in theory). A lot of it is also fine tuning to what you want but this should at least give you a decent base to work off of :)

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing 1890s Day Dress in Doll Scale

I went slightly overboard with this second historical doll project. Here's my first one. The style is from around 1897 and more of a middle class style. As with my first doll outfit, I tried to stick to historical methods as much as possible, but the scale forced me to do some deviations. I hand-sew everything though sewing machine was already widely used, because in this scale it's easier to control the stitch, there's not that much to sew anyway and also I just really like hand-sewing. Here's all the items I made. As said, I went a little overboard. One thing that's missing is the corset cover, but the layers of fabric were creating enough bulk on the waist as is so I decided to not make one.

This time I decided to try repainting the face. I don't have any doll customization materials, so I used acrylics. After couple of attempts I got decent results. Acrylics can't make as smooth and delicate finish as pastels, pencils and gouache, which can be used on vinyl with basing sprays, and I'm not experienced with painting small details on 3D objects, so it's a bit smudged at points, especially with the other eye. I aimed for 1890s very neutral make up and the type of expression that was popular in fashion plates and other illustrations.

Undergarments

Combinations and stockings

The combinations are split crotch as they were in the period. They are from thin cotton voile I have a lot of and is very appropriate. I didn't have really tiny enough lace for this, so it's kinda bulky, but I think it's okay enough. The stockings are cotton knit, which fits well. The garters are not actually necessary for this doll since her legs are rubbery.

Corset

I made the corset from a firm-ish linen and satin rayon pretending to be silk as the fashion fabric. The stitching of the boning channels is not super neat, this fabric is very unforgiving, I didn't have exactly matching thread and the scale made it very difficult. I of course didn't have tiny busk, so I used small hooks, sewed thread loops for them and used narrow metal wire for the edges. I think it looks surprisingly right on the outside. I used the same wire as the boning to reinforce the lacing on the back. I didn't actually use boning elsewhere but the tightly packed linen edges in the boning channels kinda work like lighter boning. I think it keeps the shape pretty ways even with just that. I stitched cotton tape inside to shape the corset further. I also didn't have tiny metal eyelets so I hand-sewed the lacing holes.

Bustle pad

The bustle pad is from linen and stuffed with tiny cabbage.

Petticoat

The petticoat is from the same cotton as the combinations.

Outer wear

Skirt

The fabric is cotton half-panama. It's pretty thin, but firm. I would have liked to use a woven wool, but I didn't have any that's thin enough to work in this scale. I think this cotton looks close enough in this scale to a wool with a tight weave, so I'm imagining it's that. My problem was that the cotton was white, but I wanted light brown. I wasn't going to buy any fabric for this, so I did the reasonable thing and dyed it with red onion peals (I've been doing natural dye experiments so this worked well for me).

Shirtwaist

The shirtwaist is from the same cotton as the undergarments. Yes, I dyed it too. I didn't have thin enough cotton in a color that would fit with the skirt and the purple bow, so I dyed it light blue with fabric color. Since I already went the trouble of dyeing I decided I might as well make a small flower print to it since that was popular in the era. I didn't want it to jump out too much but the lighting makes it even less visible. I made it with a white fabric pen. The collar and cuffs are reinforced with linen. I also sewed small stick-like beads to the cuffs on both sides, so one acts as a button (I sewed a buttonhole too) and the other makes it look like they are cufflinks. The bow is from the same fabric as the corset and the belt is sewn from the same cotton as the shirtwaist. The buckle is from a barbie belt.

Waistcoat

The waistcoat is from the same fabric as the skirt, thought the lapels and the back are from another satin rayon. I tailored the front panels and the lapels by stitching the linen interlining with tailor's stitches (I don't remember if that's the correct word in English) into shape. There is some wonkiness on one side of the hemline for some reason.

Boots

I made the slightly insane decision to make the shoes fully from leather, like they would have been in the period. I had an old broken leather wallet I had saved in case I needed some leather scarps. It has fairly thin leather, so it was workable here. It's light brown though, so I used black shoe polish to darken it. I wanted black or very dark brown shoes. I stacked the heels from glue and leather pieces and carved them into the right shape and sewed the shoe itself to leather shaped as the sole and glued it to the heeled and shaped sole. After I had shaped the shoes and the heels as much as I could I painted the heels black.

[qlossytbh]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you get your period. that’s the synopsis.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fem!reader, mentions of lots of period pain, cramps, nausea, fatigue..etc, mutual pining, idiots in love. pretty much just fluff tbh

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 guess who just got their period!!!!!

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

An involuntary groan left your lips, elbows perched against your desk and head falling weakly into the palms of your hands. Your forehead was shining a thin layer of sweat, breath short and jagged.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to alleviate the gut-wrenching pain that was pulsating throughout your lower abdomen. Your body felt weak, shaking slightly due to the pain.

This time of the month was the devil's way of making you pay for something you had done in a past life— although you couldn’t think of anything that would bring you anywhere near deserving of this monstrosity.

Penelope eyed you curiously, stopping midway on her trail back to her own little bat cave, as you liked to call it. It would take an idiot not to see how clearly in pain you were.

“Hello my sweet love,” She walked up to your desk, heels clinking against the floor. “You okay?”

You gave your friend a side glance, lacking the vast amounts of energy you needed to dismiss her concerned gaze.

“Just great Pen,” You gritted, teeth clamping together as one more wave of cramps shot through your body. Your cramps came in waves and right now you were trying to recompose yourself from one of said waves. You were failing miserably at the staying cool and collected persona.

Penelope's face fell, mouth curving into a small ‘o’ of understanding. “Oh..”

You slumped over your desk, resting your forehead on the cool surface as your arms snaked around your lower body. She rested a hand on your back and rubbed soft, soothing circles. “That time of the month?”

“Does everyone have such a hard time with cramps?” You groaned from your position on your desk.

“Some people do,” She whispered, voice hesitant. “I had a friend that had to go to the hospital once because of how bad her cramps were and they told her that she—“

You whined, curving your spine impossibly further as an attempt to sooth something, anything. Maybe if you curled up further into a ball it’d hurt less. Penelope could tell she wasn’t helping “Sorry! I thought I was helping with the—“

You were on the latter end of society that suffered period cramps immensely. Back pain, nausea— all of it. It made it impossible for you to come to work the week of your period, but hey, here you were pulling through.

Lucky for you, today had been paperwork day, meaning skimping through countless files was easier than having to run around chasing a serial killer while your uterus was being ripped to pieces.

Soon enough the bullpen's glass doors pulled open and in spilled the rest of the team, Emily chatting along with JJ, Spencer alongside a very enthusiastic Derek and so on.

Penelope continued to rub your back even when you lifted your head and let your chin settle on the desk with a pout that looked as clear as day. Anyone in this building could walk by and notice your clear discomfort— Spencer was no different.

He placed a hand on the back of your chair, ducking down to get a better look at your pitiful state. “Hey,”

“Hi,” You grumbled.

“Should I ask?” Spencer pulled a chair out from the desk beside yours and sat by your side, letting his hands fall in his own lap as he looked up at Penelope.

“I tried helping,” Penelope muttered out. “I get skittish when I don’t know how to help, or what to do and I do this thing with words and—“

You turned your head, laying it flat on its side on your cold desk to get a look at him— a proper one. Your eyes bored more than a million ways to say you were exhausted, and he immediately caught what was up. He always did.

“Doesn’t the fact that I look like a dying corpse give it away?” You complained, face smushed onto the desk

He smiled back. “You don’t look like a dying corpse,”

You blushed. “An already dead one then,”

He shook his head with a huff that left his nose. He scratched at his chin before muttering. “You were a little snappish and grouchy last week,”

Penelope visibly shrinked, thinking Spencer may have just pinched a nerve. “I’m gonna go get you a nice warm coffee, ok?”

It was all she needed to walk away in a hurried movement of heel clicks. You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he insinuating that you had been an utter pain in the ass last week because you were about to get your period?

Noticing this, he half-panicked before quickly jumping into his own defense. “You— uh, I often notice that you get like that the week before which it’s mainly attributed to hormonal fluctuations, particularly changes in estrogen and progesterone levels. They— These hormones can affect neurotransmitters like serotonin and GABA, which regulate mood and emotions.”

“I wasn’t that snappish and grouchy last week,” You knew you had been, because you always were the week before the devil decided to test your limits. You just didn’t really think anyone noticed.

But he did, he always did. And the fact that he did notice was doing funny things to your brain.

He smiled at you. Very softly and almost humorously. “Here—“

You perched up, watching as he reached into his satchel and pushed around in search of— well, something. He pulled out a bag and plopped in on the desk.

You reached over and grabbed the crumpled white paper bag “—I uh, you mentioned wanting a bag of swedish candy a few days ago, especially the sour ones, and me and Morgan walked by a shop and yeah— I figured why not get you some,”

He was doing that very expressive thing he did with his hands where he flared them around as he talked, but you just stared at the bag and then looked up at him.

The pink tint on his cheeks was evident as he avoided eye contact with you. Your shoulders slumped down, bag laying flat in your lap, while trying so hard to keep the tears from coming out of your eyes.

“Can I have a hug?”

Spencer cut himself short from the mumbling, looking up from the floors to study your face. He looked mostly confused, not really being able to pinpoint what was going through your head with your request. He had to be a very, very stupid man to deny your request.

His eyebrows pinched together, probably concerned for you, and that did no better for your upcoming waterworks. His voice came out in the very soft and caring way it always did when he was worried for you.“Yeah, of course,”

He pushed the wheels of the chair he had just pulled out and scooted closer to your own chair. His arms reached out for you, and you slumped forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and burying your face into it.

“Thank you,” You muttered. His hands tightened around your back, giving it a firm rub. He breathed in the sweet scent of you, basking in the strong vanilla that intoxicated every fiber of his being.

Being there for you as a friend, even infatuated as much as he was with you, was hard— but so worth it when he at least was allowed these moments with you.

You wanted to melt into him and not move a single muscle ever again. Why would you when your most comfortable place was in Spencer arms. It could never get better than this.

“You ok?” He mumbled into your hair, and you buried yourself deeper into his neck.

“Yeah, just wanna stay here for a bit,”

He smiled to himself, feeling you cling to him like dead body weight. As long as you felt a little better, he had no room to complain.

[toyourheartandback]

TORNADO WARNINGS

luke castellan x reader

you have to prove you are not on luke’s side

word count: 634

warnings: swear words, mention of sex, implied manipulation and some slightly toxic luke

a/n: in honor of me singing this song live just some weeks ago in milan! skinny dipping part two is on its way, i swear on my mama

every tuesday, after hours spent toiling in the strawberry fields, you found yourself in the same room of the big house. the air was always thick with the scent of old books and wood polish and the maroon armchair you sat in was stiff, lumpy, and far too familiar. across from you, mr. d lounged with his usual disinterest, but his eyes watched you too carefully to be fooling anyone. beside him, chiron sat with a deepening frown, the lines on his face etched with something between concern and suspicion. they always asked you the same questions.

“did you ever see him again?” the wine god drawled, tapping his fingers idly against his diet coke can. his tone was casual, but you knew they didn’t trust you. if they did, you wouldn’t be here week after week. you met his gaze, steadying your breath. “i never saw him,” you said. “and we never kissed.”

of course, you were never on the seesaw at the park just outside thalia’s tree with luke castellan that one night, talking about your feelings like the world hadn’t just fallen apart because of him. he never held you in his arms when you were cold, whispering sweet nothings while ignoring the chaos his betrayal had unleashed. you never laughed with him, remembering how the stoll brothers once covered the hermes’ cabin in toilet paper and glitter, leaving a mess that took days for you to clean. and you definitely didn’t cry together when you realized nothing will ever be the same again.

because none of that happened. at least, somewhere in your mind, you think that if you can convince them enough, maybe even convince yourself, than maybe he never existed. and maybe it would hurt just a little less.

it was so easy to quickly get back on your rhythm when you were with luke. you always ended up stumbling into each other without missing a step, like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. logically sleeping with your enemy during wartime should be the last thing on your mind, but you wanted him there. it was the only way you could still have him.

you wanted to forget about the boy who was trying to destroy the only home you ever had. but instead, you obsessed over him and his sharp words every hour of the week. sometimes you wish you kept some of your feelings in the basement, buried in the back of your heart, because then maybe it would’ve been easier to say no to him. if you loved him less, you would never have become his little pawn, spying on camp half-blood.

you stopped calling him out about his nonsense plan everytime he got too close to camp, probably starting to feel guilty about it. “baby,” luke would murmur, brushing his thumb over you cheek. “we’re doing this for us” then he would kiss you, rough and possessive, until your head spun and your mind went blessedly blank for a few seconds, before crashing back into the tornado it always was.

luke castellan was driving you crazy. maybe that’s why they held you there every week with the god of madness himself. desperately lying and carefully tricking dionysus, just as you’d been taught by the prodigal son of hermes himself. “i’m over that son of a bitch” you said this time, your voice flat and detached. and while chiron was scolding you about the language, mr. d didn’t move or blink. his purple eyes stayed locked on you, burning into your skin like they could peel back every layer and dig into the truth. he was definitely onto you.

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate - III

Read part one and two first!

Pairing: Nyx x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Nyx and Reader are advancing in their relationship, now in the Day court where they can spend time together without fear of getting caught.

Warnings: A little heated kissing but this is just a fluff chapter!

A.Note: Guysss this little series is about to get so good and juicy I promise, also please vote on this poll for what you’d like to see in the next chapter!

Wordcount: 7.5k

The morning I was set to leave, Spring Court's estate felt suffocating. The weight of my father's expectations, the ever-watchful eyes of the sentries, the knowledge that I was slipping away not just for a visit—but for him—pressed down on me. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I was going to see Lucien. I was supposed to be there. But deep in my chest, the bond hummed, whispering truths I couldn't ignore.

I could still feel his lips on mine, the press of his hands at my waist, the quiet promise he had left me with before I winnowed away. Three days. It had felt like an eternity. Now that the time had come, I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I crossed the courtyard, my pulse quickening with every step toward the open lands of Spring.

My father had been surprisingly agreeable when I asked to visit Lucien—perhaps because I rarely asked for anything at all. Perhaps because it was easier for him to believe I sought an escape rather than suspect the truth. Either way, the approval had been granted after minor convincing.

I let out a slow breath, focusing on my destination as I prepared to winnow.

The air shimmered around me, and with a final glance at my home—if it could even be called that—I vanished.

The Day Court was a world of golden light and sprawling dunes, a kingdom carved from the sun itself. I landed on one of its marble pathways, the heat instantly settling over my skin like a second layer. White and gold towers stretched toward the sky, the brilliance of them nearly blinding.

Lucien was already waiting.

He leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, his red hair catching the sunlight in hues of copper and fire. He arched a brow the moment I appeared, pushing off the pillar with a lazy sort of grace.

"You're on time," he mused. "Did the skies part for a miracle, or are you actually excited to see me?"

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside him as he led me toward the palace. "Don't flatter yourself, Lucien. I'm just desperate for decent company."

His chuckle was warm, genuine, but his sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing. Lucien always noticed more than he let on. "And here I thought Spring Court was finally growing on you."

I scoffed. "Like poison."

Lucien didn't argue. He simply guided me through the sunlit halls, the scent of citrus and sea breeze drifting through the open archways. But I could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his tongue.

"Go on," I said finally. "Say whatever it is you're thinking before you combust."

He cast me a knowing glance. "You have a look about you."

I blinked. "A look?"

"A very particular look." He stopped in front of a set of golden doors, his expression unreadable. "The kind that usually means trouble."

I fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "You're imagining things."

"I've known you since you were six," Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, pushing the doors open. "But if you say so."

The throne room was empty when we stepped inside. Not that I expected anything different—Lucien had told me Helion would be absent for the week, handling an issue near the borders. It made my request easier, less complicated.

"How long will I be staying?" I asked, trailing a hand along the intricate carvings of the marble table.

"As long as you need," Lucien answered, his voice easy, but his gaze watchful. "But your father expects a week. Don't get any ideas."

I turned to him, weighing my words carefully. "You did say I could visit whenever I wanted."

"That, I did," he acknowledged. "But I also know you don't make casual trips anywhere. So either you've grown fond of me—" He smirked. "—or there's something else going on."

I hesitated, the bond thrumming softly in my chest. Nyx would be here soon. I could feel it, that gentle pull like a tide calling me home.

"I just need time," I said finally. "Time away from Spring. Time to breathe."

Lucien studied me, his expression softening just slightly. Then he nodded. "Then you'll have it."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, the air behind me stirred.

The scent of summer rain and star-kissed skies filled the room.

My breath caught.

Lucien's lips twitched, amusement flashing in his russet eye as he glanced past me. "Right. Now this all makes sense."

I turned, and there he was.

Nyx stood in the archway, clad in deep blue, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering within them.

A slow, lazy smirk curved his lips. "Miss me, princess?"

Lucien let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Cauldron boil me. You do have a look about you."

Nyx didn't hesitate as he crossed the room, moving with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to look away. Like the world had never given him a reason to doubt himself. Like he belonged here, with me.

The bond hummed softly in my chest as he stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Lucien with a quiet, knowing amusement.

Lucien, for his part, didn't seem surprised. He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling a sharp look at me. "So. This is why you came."

I winced. "Lucien—"

He held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyx, who only smirked. Smug bastard. "It's...new."

Lucien arched a brow. "New?"

"Three days," Nyx supplied unhelpfully, rocking back on his heels. "Well, three days since she kissed me."

Lucien's eye twitched. I swatted Nyx's arm.

"Since we kissed," I corrected.

Lucien's gaze flicked between us, unimpressed. Then he exhaled heavily. "And your parents?"

My stomach twisted. I dropped my gaze, my fingers curling into the sleeves of Nyx's jacket. "None of them know."

Lucien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gods, just like your parents. Just like them." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. "Why do both of your families insist on making my life difficult?"

"Lucien—" I started, guilt pressing into my ribs.

"I know, Fawn," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You're good. You're okay."

I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly. I hated using Lucien's kindness like this, but I needed this. I needed to be here, needed him.

Lucien gave me a long, considering look before sighing dramatically. "My wife will be thrilled that Nyx is visiting, so I suppose you can stay." He gave a look of acknowledgment to the heir of Night.

Nyx dipped his head in gratitude, but before he could respond, Lucien turned to him fully with a sharp, easy threat. "Though, if you hurt her, and I'll be sending armies to your doorstep."

I groaned. "Uncle—"

"Completely understood," Nyx said, ignoring my protests.

Lucien only huffed, then turned toward the open archway. "Come on, Your Highness, let's get you settled before I regret my entire existence."

Nyx winked at me before following, falling into step beside him as they led me through the sunlit halls.

—

Lucien's home within the Day Court was smaller than the palace itself but no less grand. The rooms were warm, decorated in golds and creams, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the distant dunes.

Lucien pushed open a set of doors, revealing a guest suite. "This is for her," he said pointedly, flicking his gaze to Nyx. "You, however, can take the room down the hall."

Nyx smirked. "Separate rooms? What do you take me for, Vanserra?"

Lucien gave him a deadpan stare. "Someone with a death wish."

I stepped inside before they could continue, rolling my eyes. "You two are worse than children."

Nyx only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as I took in the space. It was lovely—soft linens, airy curtains, a private balcony that bathed the room in golden light, and a ginormous bathtub sunken into the floor like the room's very own indoor pool. All this for a guest?

I was going to tease Lucien about it but when I turned back, Nyx was watching me carefully.

"We don't have long," he murmured, the humor fading just slightly from his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. "I know."

Lucien cleared his throat. "Right. That's my cue to leave." He shot me a look, something softer beneath his usual exasperation. "Get some rest, Fawn. Meet me for breakfast in the morning."

I nodded, and with one last warning glance at Nyx, he slipped out.

Silence settled.

Nyx didn't move from the door. He just looked at me, something unreadable in his expression.

Three days. Three days without him, and yet the pull between us was stronger than ever.

I let out a slow breath. "I missed you."

Nyx's smile was slow, knowing. He stepped closer, hands bracing on either side of the doorframe. "Yeah?"

My pulse fluttered. But I refused to look away. "Yeah."

Nyx hummed, gaze sweeping over me like he was committing me to memory.

"C'mere then." He gives me one of those signature smirks.

I let go of the grip I had on my dress as I approached him, suppressed smile on my face.

His eyes follow me, watching my every movement as I come closer but not making a move to cross the threshold of my bedroom.

I peer up at him through my lashes, blinking once, twice. Then, "I missed you too," He murmured, leaning down and sealing a gentle kiss to my aching lips.

I pulled away first, and immediately regretted it the moment his lips left mine.

But he moved away, and with a quiet, secretive grin, he murmured, "Come find me when you can't sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

—

Sleep evaded me.

I had tried—tried curling into the soft sheets, tried counting my breaths, tried pretending the bond wasn't a tangible thing pulling me toward the other side of the hall. But it was no use. The awareness of him, of Nyx, was a whisper against my skin, a constant hum in my chest.

With a soft exhale, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of my room.

The halls were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The Day Court at night had a different kind of beauty—soft, glowing, endless. I made my way toward his room, heart hammering for reasons I wasn't ready to name.

Nyx must have sensed me before I even reached the door, because the moment I lifted my fist to knock, it swung open.

He stood there, leaning lazily against the frame, shirtless, like he had been waiting. His smirk was immediate. "Couldn't stay away, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him into the room and inviting myself in. "Don't flatter yourself."

His room was similar to mine, only slightly smaller, with the same open balcony letting in the cool night air. The scent of him—night-blooming jasmine, crisp wind, something uniquely Nyx—wrapped around me instantly.

I turned just as he shut the door, crossing his arms. "So, what's keeping you up? Me?" His grin was all arrogance.

I huffed. "The bond."

Nyx's eyes darkened slightly, but he still managed a chuckle. "I am the bond, sweetheart."

Heat bloomed in my chest, but I ignored it, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed with a casual grace. "We should talk about it."

Nyx arched a brow. "About how wildly in love with me you already are?"

I tossed a glare at him. He returned it with a laugh, his sapphire eyes somehow beckoning me closer. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Let's talk."

I swallowed, unsure where to begin. "Are we...accepting it while we're here?"

Nyx's expression turned thoughtful, something softer creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to rush you," he said, voice low, steady. "But I also don't want to pretend it's not there."

I nodded slowly. That was the problem. The bond was there, a silent, unyielding thing, urging us closer. Ignoring it felt unnatural. But accepting it—fully—was irreversible. And rejecting it, for some reason, was out of the question.

Nyx must have sensed my hesitation because his lips twitched. "You know," he mused, a grin on his lips that could only mean trouble, "Lucien and Elain's rooms are at the opposite end of the hall."

I blinked, confused. "And?"

He smirked. "So if there are any... aftereffects of us accepting the bond, they won't hear a thing."

Heat flooded my face. "Nyx."

He grinned. "Just saying, if you're worried about keeping them up—"

"Nyx." I smacked his arm, and he just laughed, catching my wrist with ease.

With a soft tug, he pulled me forward until I was standing between his legs. My breath hitched as he peered up at me, his grip warm, steady.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured.

I bit my lip tentatively. "It's a lot to think about."

His hands slid up my arms, slow and careful, like he was mapping out the places he could touch, where I would let him. "Then don't think," he whispered. "Just...stay."

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I let out a breath and climbed onto the bed beside him.

Nyx shifted easily, stretching out against the pillows, one arm behind his head as he watched me settle in. "See? Not so bad."

I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Don't get used to this."

"Too late," he said, grinning.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, the weight of the bond settling into something warm, something oddly familiar.

Then—

"What if we did accept it?" I asked softly, tracing patterns into the sheets with a fingertip.

Nyx was quiet for a moment. When I glanced up, his gaze had softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I think," he murmured, reaching over to brush his knuckles against my cheek, "it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

His thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Like something I don't ever want to stop."

A shiver ran through me, but I forced myself to scoff. "You're so dramatic."

He chuckled, his hand drifting away, but not before his fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering. "You love it."

I did. I really, really did.

Nyx was still watching me, his expression unreadable but utterly devastating. His fingers, still barely brushing against mine, curled slightly, testing.

I should have pulled away. Should have ignored the way the space between us felt unbearable, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers fully intertwine.

Nyx inhaled sharply.

His other hand lifted, tracing the shape of my jaw before tilting my chin up ever so slightly. His touch was featherlight, like he was waiting for me to pull back, to stop this before it started.

I didn't. I couldn't.

His eyes darkened, and I barely had time to take a breath before his lips brushed against mine.

Soft, at first. A question. I answered by pressing closer, hand against his hard chest.

Nyx groaned, low in his throat, and then he was kissing me in earnest, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him.

Heat curled through me, my body igniting at the sheer rightness of it—of him. His lips moved against mine with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, deepening.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my lower lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that had my fingers running up his nape and tangling in his hair, pulling, needing.

Nyx growled softly, his grip tightening, his body shifting so that I was beneath him now, the weight of him pressing into me in the most delicious way.

I should have stopped him. Should have reminded him that Lucien and Elain were likely eavesdropping, that this wasn't what we came here for.

But all I could do was gasp against his lips, drowning in him as he kissed me like he'd been waiting a lifetime to do so.

And maybe he had.

The tether between us hummed, alive, crackling like a storm ready to break. My entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something I wasn't sure I was ready for—but gods, did I want it.

Nyx pulled away just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breaths ragged, uneven. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't say anything.

Because I didn't want him to stop.

Instead, I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him again.

Nyx practically purred, deepening the kiss instantly, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my waist like he was trying to anchor himself. I whimpered as he tilted my head back, his lips tracing a path along my jaw, down my throat—

I shuddered. "Nyx—"

He froze, his breathing heavy. "Too much?"

I hesitated, my mind hazy, body thrumming, aching. I didn't want to stop, didn't want this night to end—but I knew if we kept going, if I let him keep kissing me like this, there would be no turning back.

Slowly, I nodded.

Nyx let out a shaky breath, then pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back, dragging me with him. His arm curled around my waist, keeping me tucked against his side.

I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. His heart was racing.

"Sleep, Princess," he murmured against my hair, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.

I exhaled softly, my body still humming, my lips still tingling, my heart still pounding.

But as Nyx's warmth surrounded me, as his arms tightened slightly around me, I found that—for the first time all night—I was finally at peace.

And sleep came easily.

The warmth of the Day Court sun streamed in through the open balcony doors, golden light spilling over the plush bedding and dancing across the smooth marble floors. A gentle breeze carried the scent of citrus and wildflowers, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air—soft, melodic, impossibly peaceful.

I stretched beneath the silk sheets, the remnants of sleep clinging to my limbs. Nyx's steady breathing was warm against my neck, his arm a heavy weight draped over my waist. The bond hummed between us, quiet, content.

Carefully, I slipped from his grasp, his fingers twitching slightly in protest but aside from that he didn't stir.

I smiled to myself, watching as he burrowed further into the pillows that likely smelled of me, the golden light turning his midnight-dark hair almost copper in the morning glow.

For a male who spent so much time under the stars, he certainly slept through the hours of night like a log.

Shaking my head fondly, I padded across the room, stepping out into the hallway and making my way back to my own quarters across the hall.

The Day Court truly was beautiful in the morning—the soft glow of the sun filtering through sheer golden curtains, the air crisp and warm all at once. By the time I reached my room, I was fully awake, the peaceful hum of the court settling over me like a second skin.

I dressed in a white silk gown, the fabric flowing like liquid over my frame, cinched at the waist with a delicate golden belt. My jewelry was plentiful—thin, glimmering chains draped over my collarbones, golden cuffs sliding up my arms, rings adorning my fingers.

I had just finished fastening the final piece of jewelry when the door behind me creaked open.

I caught his reflection in the mirror before he could even enter.

Nyx stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, his bare chest golden in the sunlight, the tattooed whorls of the night sky on his skin dark against the warm glow. He was beautiful—in that utterly devastating, ruinous kind of way.

He said nothing as he crossed the room, his steps slow, languid, his body still half-asleep.

Then his arms were sliding around my shoulders, his bare chest pressing against my back, his face tucking into the crook of my neck. His lips brushed against my skin—soft, lingering.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror as he sighed against my skin. "You are such a night owl."

One of his hands trailed up my arm, fingers ghosting over the golden cuffs there. "That's because I am Night," he grumbled. "It's unnatural for me to be awake this early."

I huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to lace my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. "And yet, you're awake."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't abandoned me." His lips brushed over my throat again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I have breakfast with Lucien," I reminded him, though the words were already losing their strength.

Nyx hummed, as if considering coercing me out of that particular plan. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my waist as he exhaled against my skin. "Or," he suggested, his voice a low murmur, "you could stay."

I turned in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, "I'll be back soon."

Nyx sighed, dramatically, his hands tracing slow circles along my back. "You're cruel," he muttered.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You'll live."

"Debatable."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could move, he kissed me again—slow, lazy, lingering. By the time he pulled away, I had half a mind to actually abandon breakfast.

But I forced myself to step back, smoothing my gown as I gave him a knowing look. "Go back to sleep, Night Prince."

Nyx smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that was far too awake for someone who had been dead to the world only minutes ago. "You'll come find me after?"

I nodded. "I'll come find you after."

Seemingly satisfied, he took a slow step backward, his lips twitching. "Enjoy breakfast, princess," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't miss me too much."

I barely resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him as I slipped out the door.

The Day Court's dining terrace overlooked a sprawling garden, the morning sunlight painting the marble floors in warm golds and soft whites. A faint citrus breeze carried through the open-air space, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, honeyed fruit, and roasted coffee.

Lucien was already seated at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"Good morning, Fawn," he greeted, setting his cup down as I slid into the chair across from him.

I sighed, reaching for a slice of peach from the array of food laid before us. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his own plate. "You wound me. I would have thought you'd missed me."

"I did," I admitted, which earned me a pleased look. "But I also knew that my first morning here would be spent with you poking at me like a bored hound with a bone."

Lucien hummed, popping a grape into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. "You make it sound so terrible."

I gave him a dry look. "You live for gossip."

"And you have been supplying me with an endless amount of it," he countered, flashing a sharp grin. "You and the heir to the Night Court, sneaking around behind your father's back?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Do you know how much restraint it takes for me not to send a letter to Tamlin about this?"

I nearly choked on my tea. "You wouldn't."

Lucien's russet eye twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, but there was no real threat in my stare. He was teasing—mostly. "You wouldn't because I'm your favorite."

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. "You think that's enough to keep me quiet?"

I plucked a croissant from the basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. "I also brought Nyx with me, which means Elain is getting a visit from her favorite nephew," I said sweetly. "And I doubt she'd be pleased if his visit was cut short by some ill-timed news reaching Spring."

Lucien raised a brow, amused. "Using my wife against me? Low blow."

"You leave me no choice."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "Fine, your secret is safe with me. For now."

I exhaled in relief, but he wasn't done.

"So," he continued, smirking, "do you always sneak into his bed, or was last night a special occasion?"

I set my croissant down with exaggerated care. "You are insufferable."

Lucien grinned, positively delighted. "Oh, come now. I'm merely curious."

I sighed, shaking my head. "And here I thought you wanted to talk about Spring."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but I saw the flicker of something—wariness, perhaps, or exhaustion—pass through his russet eye before he settled back into that smooth, unbothered demeanor.

"You want to talk about Spring?" he mused, sipping at his tea. "Now that's a first."

I hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of my napkin. "It's been... stable?"

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh. "Stable is one word for it."

I lifted a brow, silently urging him to continue.

He sighed, swirling his tea in his cup. "Your father is as he always is. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Trying to mend what little he has left, though his attempts have been... half-hearted, at best." A pause, then a softer, "He does love you, you know. Don't take that for granted."

I looked down at my plate, a strange weight pressing against my ribs. "I know, I try not to. I love him too."

Lucien sighed, setting his cup down. "Well, that was depressing."

I let out a weak laugh, grateful for the shift in subject. "You brought it up."

"Yes, but now I regret it," he muttered before shooting me a sidelong glance, that familiar smirk returning. "Luckily, we have a much juicier topic to discuss."

I groaned. "Lucien—"

He ignored my warning tone, lips twitching. "How was sleeping with the Night Court's heir?"

"I hate you."

"Did you snuggle?" He grinned. "You did, didn't you?"

I picked up my spoon, debating throwing it at his head.

Lucien laughed, positively beaming. "Oh, this is delightful."

"You are the worst."

"I am," he agreed, unbothered. "But I'm also right."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

Lucien simply smiled, far too pleased with himself.

And somehow, despite his relentless teasing, breakfast was... nice. Easy, even.

Lucien had always been that way—quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but warm beneath it all. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to enjoy that warmth, even as he smirked knowingly over the rim of his tea cup.

The soft pad of footsteps against marble had me glancing up just as Elain entered the terrace, sunlight catching in the golden waves of her hair. She was radiant in the morning glow, dressed in a pale yellow gown that complemented the warmth of her brown eyes.

Lucien's teasing stopped instantly.

His gaze softened, his entire being seeming to realign as he turned toward his mate. The smug amusement he had wielded so effortlessly moments ago melted into something quieter, something devotional, as if Elain were the only thing in existence.

"Good morning, my love," Lucien greeted, rising smoothly to pull out a chair for her.

Elain smiled at him, a soft, knowing thing, before placing a kiss on his cheek and settling into her seat. "Good morning," she replied before glancing at me, her expression warm. "I'm so happy you're here."

I smiled back, genuinely. "I'm happy to be here."

She took a sip of tea before asking, "What do you have planned for today?"

I glanced at Lucien, who was too busy staring at his mate to contribute to the conversation, then looked back at Elain with an amused huff. "That depends on what there is to do in the Day Court."

Elain brightened. "Oh, there's so much. The markets are always lovely in the mornings, and later today there will be a performance in the amphitheater—music, dance, sometimes storytelling, depending on the day. We could also visit the gardens."

At that, Lucien seemed to shake himself from his daze just long enough to say, "She loves the gardens."

Elain laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I do."

The moment their hands touched, Lucien's thumb traced small circles over her knuckles, his russet eye drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in ages, as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

I looked away, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

Instead, I focused on my tea, swirling it in my cup before Elain's next words had me stiffening.

"And what about you?" she asked gently. "What do you have planned with Nyx?"

Lucien tensed beside her at the mention of his nephew but, surprisingly, didn't interrupt.

I hesitated before answering. "I... don't know yet."

Elain tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You two seem happy."

A small, shy smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It's... new."

Her expression softened. "New can be wonderful."

I glanced at Lucien then, at the way his entire world seemed to orbit Elain, at the ease with which they simply existed together.

They had a love that was constant, unshaken. One that didn't need to be loud or demanding, because it was felt—in the way Lucien always reached for Elain without thinking, in the way she always seemed to understand him without words.

I wanted that.

I wanted something sure. Something safe. Something like them.

Elain must have seen something in my expression, because she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll find your way," she assured me, voice as soft as the morning light.

I swallowed, nodding. "I hope so."

Breakfast ended not long after, Lucien and Elain caught in their own little world as I excused myself.

I walked back to my room slowly, heart and mind tangled in thoughts of what I wanted—of him.

And of whether or not we would ever have something like the love I had just witnessed.

I pushed open the door to my room, the silk of my gown whispering against the marble floor as I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the mess of dark hair sprawled across my pillows, the sheets tangled around long limbs and bare skin.

Nyx had crawled into bed. My bed.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "You do know you have your own room, right?"

A low, sleepy groan rumbled from the depths of my blankets, his face still buried in my pillow. "Too far," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's across the hall."

"Exactly," he sighed dramatically, cracking one sleepy eye open. His voice was heavy with drowsiness, warm and lazy in a way that made something in my chest tighten. "Besides, your bed smells better."

I raised a brow. "That's not a compliment if you're just stealing."

He grinned, stretching like a cat before reaching a hand out for me. "Come here."

"Absolutely not."

His lips tilted into something smug. "Oh?"

"Nyx, it's nearly noon."

"So?" He patted the space beside him. "Come lay down."

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped closer to the bed. "You are so lazy."

"Excuse me," he feigned offense, propping himself up on an elbow, hair a tousled mess. "I am strategic in my rest."

I huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the moment I did, he was moving—strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me down beside him.

"Nyx!" I yelped, but he only laughed, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

"There we go," he murmured, his lips pressing against my skin in a way that was entirely unfair. "Much better."

I sighed, pretending to be put out even as I melted into the warmth of him. "You are impossible."

"You love it."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. The argument died in my throat.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against my skin, his voice still thick with sleep. "Does every court suit you? Or are you just naturally perfect?"

A rush of heat curled in my chest. "Flattery will not get you out of trouble."

He hummed, brushing his nose along my cheek before stealing a kiss from my lips. "Five minutes," he mused, brushing another kiss over the corner of my mouth. "Just five and then we can get up."

"Fine. Five minutes." I lean into him, melting into the warmth that was his skin.

He kissed me again, slower this time as if savoring the remnants of whatever sweetness still lingered. "Lucien didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

I huffed a laugh, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Lucien is always a menace."

Nyx chuckled, his breath warm against my lips. "I bet he was insufferable."

"He was fine," I admitted, tracing a lazy pattern against his bare shoulder. "Elain joined us."

He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly. "Oh?"

I nodded. "She asked about you."

His lips curled. "And what did you say?"

"That you are insufferable, whiny, and prone to excessive dramatics."

Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Whiny?"

I grinned. "You are."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "So harsh, princess."

I laughed, but the sound faded as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, his expression softening. "Did you sleep well?"

I hesitated before nodding. "I did."

"Good." He kissed me again, slow and sweet, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "I like waking up with you—even though you left me before I could."

Something inside me melted at the confession, at the sincerity in his voice.

I bit my lip, trying to fight back a smile. "You're so soft when you're sleepy."

He groaned, flopping onto his back. "And the moment is ruined."

I laughed, rolling onto my side to look down at him. "Come on, Nyx. Admit it."

His arm flung over his eyes. "Never."

I grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against his jaw. "I like it."

His breath hitched slightly, but his arms wound around me again, pulling me closer.

And as I settled into the warmth of him, into the safety of his embrace, I realized—this, whatever we were becoming, whatever this bond between us was shaping into—felt new and foreign.

But gods, it was lovely.

After fifteen minutes Nyx still had me caged against him, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting me leave. Every time I so much as shifted, his grip tightened, and a pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"Nyx," I warned, pressing my hands against his bare chest, though my voice lacked any real heat.

"Mmm," he murmured lazily, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. "Five more minutes."

I huffed, though the way my body betrayed me—melting into his warmth, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders—was not helping my case. "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't recall."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're impossible."

He lifted his head slightly, his messy dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. "And yet, you're still here."

I scowled at him, but it was utterly ineffective given the way my face was burning.

His grin widened. "You like this."

"No, I don't."

Nyx hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't." Then, as if to prove his point, he kissed me—slow and indulgent, his lips warm and sure against mine. My breath caught, my fingers tightening against his skin.

His hands roamed lazily, tracing along my waist, my back, settling just beneath the curve of my ribs. "You're so soft," he mused between kisses, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. "So warm."

I glared at him, my face burning. "You're so full of yourself."

His chuckle was dark and teasing. "Only because you make it so easy, Princess."

I groaned, flopping onto my back as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over me with a stupidly satisfied expression. "You are so lucky left my daggers in Spring."

Nyx only grinned, dipping down to nip at my jaw, his voice warm with amusement. "I'd like to see you try."

I shoved at his shoulder, but he barely budged. His weight was solid and steady against me, and I knew—knew—that I could have pushed him away if I wanted to. But I didn't.

Nyx's fingers skimmed along my arm, down to my wrist, to where he laced our fingers together. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

"I have things to do, you know."

"Like what?" He raised a brow, his nose brushing against mine. "Surely nothing more interesting than me."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Now that is just cruel."

I rolled my eyes, lifting a hand to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it back. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and my heart did something ridiculous in my chest.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so clingy."

His eyes opened, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "And you love it."

I huffed, but my lips twitched despite myself. "Maybe a little."

Nyx's expression softened, his fingers brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Good."

His mouth pressed against mine again, stealing whatever breath I had left. My heart raced, my fingers fisting in the fabric of the sheets as his hand traced down, over the silk of my gown, teasing along my thigh. His touch burned—not in a way that made me want to pull away, but in a way that made me want more.

And that should have terrified me. It didn't.

It only made me want to hold onto him tighter, to let myself fall.

I exhaled shakily when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. He was still watching me, waiting.

And gods, I knew. I knew.

The mating bond shimmered between us, pulsing, undeniable. I could feel it, pulling me closer to him with every breath, every heartbeat.

I wanted it.

Screw that our parents didn't know. Screw that this would be irreversible. That once we accepted it, there was no undoing it, no way for them to separate us even if they tried.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what that meant.

"Nyx?"

"Princess?" he drawled, his voice thick with warmth, teasing as he brushed his fingers over my wrist.

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "Can you teach me how to block you out of my head?"

Nyx's lips twitched. "You mean my Daemati powers?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He hummed in thought, tilting his head. "Of course. Though, why the sudden interest?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral, knowing full well he'd see right through me if I wasn't careful. "Just seems like a good skill to have."

Nyx studied me for a long moment before his lips curved in amusement. "You're a terrible liar."

I scowled. "Am not."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Alright, alright. Come here."

I let him shift us so I was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands resting lightly on my knees. His gaze softened, the usual teasing glint dimming just slightly as he said, "I want you to imagine a wall in your mind. Something strong. Something unbreakable."

"A wall," I repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Picture it. And then focus on reinforcing it. Make it thick, make it impenetrable." His thumb traced circles against my knee as he watched me carefully.

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I tried to summon that wall.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to push just a little—try not to let me in."

I gritted my teeth as I felt the gentle probing at the edges of my mind. It was strange—like a featherlight touch, testing the defenses I'd barely managed to put up.

"Your wall is shaky," Nyx noted, the laughter in his voice evident. "I could break through it in an instant."

I cracked an eye open to glare at him. "You're so encouraging."

He grinned. "I'm just being honest."

I huffed, closing my eyes again and focusing, really focusing, on that barrier. I imagined thick, towering walls, impenetrable and unwavering. I strengthened them, bracing them against his presence.

Nyx hummed in approval. "Better."

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"Huh," he muttered.

I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, mildly impressed. "What?"

"You actually did it." He tapped his temple. "Can't hear a thing."

I grinned, triumphant. "Told you I could do it."

Nyx chuckled, his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulled me toward him. "I could still break it." He makes clear. "But now I can't hear em' unless I want to."

I smiled softly, "Good enough for me."

Then he kissed me.

Slow and deep, as if savoring the taste of victory along with me. His hands traced up my spine, his touch warm and steady as he pressed me closer. I melted into him, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips moved against mine with aching patience.

It was a reward, and I greedily took it.

When we finally parted, his lips trailed down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my neck. "I should teach you things more often," he murmured against my skin, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I swatted at his shoulder, but it was weak at best. "Behave."

He laughed, the sound muffled against my throat as he kissed a slow path back up to my mouth. "Not a chance."

I sighed, allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress, tugging him down with me. Nyx followed willingly, draping himself over me as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"So," he mused, his lips brushing my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw. "What do you want to do today?"

We eventually collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together. His hands roamed lazily, his lips finding every inch of bare skin he could reach. Between kisses, we murmured about what we could do today—halfheartedly listing off places we knew we wouldn't go, tasks we knew we wouldn't complete.

"We could go for a ride?" I suggested idly.

Nyx hummed, lips brushing my collarbone. "Mmm, sounds nice." His fingers traced circles on my hip. "Or we could stay right here."

"Lazy," I teased, though I had no intention of moving either.

He nipped at my shoulder in retaliation, making me squeak. "Not lazy," he corrected. "Just—" He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Comfortable." Another kiss on my cheek. "Perfectly, completely comfortable."

My heart thudded, my fingers tightening around his bicep. I could still feel the bond shimmering between us, waiting.

Waiting for me. Because he seemed to have already decided that accepting it was his only choice, the only one he'd acknowledge at least.

Nyx pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft, but unreadable. "What?" he murmured.

I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over his chest. "Nothing," I whispered.

Not yet.

He searched my face, but I knew he wouldn't find anything—not now. Because I had learned how to block him out. Because the next time I opened my mind to him, it would be on my terms. A choice. A gift.

Nyx pressed one last kiss to my lips before sighing, letting his head drop against the pillow. I curled into his warmth, letting my eyes drift shut, a secret burning in my chest.

The next time I let him in would be when I was ready to accept the bond. And I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise.

Which meant he had to stay out of my mind—just for a few days. Just long enough for me to do what I had already decided.

What I knew I wanted.

I glanced at him then, at the male who had stolen my heart in the span of a few weeks, at the way he watched me with that easy, knowing smirk—completely unaware of what was coming.

A slow smile curled on my lips.

What I wanted.

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The Boys Preference: Reacting To Your Tattoos

A/N: I have so many ideas for The Boys cast! Be sure to look out for more posts! I'm updating my request list to include them 😊 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA! I'll be getting back to requests asap! Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher loves them. This is not the moment to say something, to react, but he definitely takes notice. You got hurt, really hurt, and the only way to save you was for Annie cauterizing your wounds, buying you a little more time. Butcher didn't need to hold you down, you'd already gone limp, losing all color in your face. He begs you to wake up, to stay with them. There was so much blood. So much red. He was covered in it, seeping through his shirt. Your jacket was thrown off, the collar of your shirt torn, ripped, for easier access to your shoulder and they both discovered the tattoos. Your chest, your arm, neck, you were covered. He had a feeling there were far more, wondering why you never showed any of them. You were always so bundled up, he never even questioned it. He warned you this was going to hurt, though he wasn't even sure you could hear him. Still, as Annie's hands grew bright, he cringes, hoping you were too out of it to feel anything, hoping this would all seem like a far away dream. Hoping you won't mind the large scar that will warp your ink.

Hughie is pretty intimidated by them. The Boys are already a scary looking group, but meeting you, he thought you were going to bite off his head. Your body was pretty covered. After getting to know you, he realizes how wrong he was. You're snarky and stubborn, but you're also thoughtful and funny. If it were up to you, you'd never hurt a fly, just Vought. Still, every so often you'll do or say something that reminds him of that first impression, especially when you feel threatened or your friends are threatened. You'll show up with a few new ones, filling in the gaps. When it comes to open wounds you're ready to treat it with a strong drink and duct tape. When it comes to your tattoos, you're meticulous in your aftercare. He's never seen you so serene looking as when you're taking care of them, so gentle. Something about that makes him feel like he shouldn't be witnessing it, but he's grateful that he is. When they're in tricky spots, he's the first to offer to help. He works with nervous hands, afraid he'll do something to ruin it. You just laugh, walking him through it.

Annie knows all about your tattoos. They are, after all, linked to the V in your blood. You didn't start developing them until your late teens, your parents assuming the V they injected was a dud. Images started appearing and with them, your powers. By the time she met you, you were covered. You didn't like showing off to The Boys. You still had a long way to go to gaining their trust. Parading around the fact that you were a Supe wasn't going to help. Still, when it was just you and Annie you were less reluctant to show her. All kinds of images adorned your skin: weapons, insects, animals. You liked the weapons the best. The thing could project itself from your skin as if it were real. In seconds, you had a sword in each hand, as real and sharp as if you'd physically gotten one. The best part? Your skin was indestructible. Every few months, maybe years, a new tattoo would appear, giving you a leg up in the fight against Vought. She thinks you have by far the most interesting powers of any Supe she's met.

M.M. hates them. Because they're linked to the V you got as a baby, he sees them more of a warning than anything else, the way brightly colored animals are poisonous. He hadn't realized the first time you met, what they were from, and you were smart enough not to tell him. It was only when you were fighting for your life did you use your abilities: the circles on the back of your neck, layered, you let out a sonic scream that shattered windows, set off car alarms, and drew blood. The group that had attacked you were coughing it up, it was running down their necks from their ears. M.M. was far enough away not to be affected, but the way he tells it, he was *this* close to having his insides turned to goo. Some were safe enough to run away. The ones who were closer dropped dead with a wet squelch. He trusts you even less for not telling him. When he breaks the news to everyone else, he's shocked to find out that they either knew (like Annie) or they were unfazed, more impressed than anything else, like you'd become this great asset. You apologize profusely, but you know it'll be a long time before he can even look you in the eyes.

Frenchie thinks they're so cool. He went with you once and got one of his own: while you were getting a rather large piece finished, he wants to get a smiley face on his ass cheek. Despite the discomfort, Frenchie's all giggles. He's more than excited to show this off to everyone he decides to moon. You try to tell him how to take care of it, but he waves you off. He's eager to show The Boys. He's lucky it heals properly and by the end of the week, everyone he comes into contact with has seen it. Besides that, his favorite thing is to study the ones you have. They're intricate and beautiful and some of them are pretty silly. You never understood the sentiment that there had to be some grand kind of meaning behind them. If you like it, you get it tattooed. He asks questions about them, most done all over the world or, a couple, in prison. He thinks you look badass, especially when you shed the bulky layers and show off what they normally don't get to see. Your back piece is his favorite. When you're wearing something with a low back, or disregard a shirt completely, he can't help but watch you. You're careful, covering them with clothes or makeup so that whatever illegal thing you're doing can't be traced.

Kimiko asks a lot of questions. Did it hurt? Why that image? What does it mean? How long did it take? You never mind, in fact you like talking about them. You spent enough time getting stabbed, you wanted someone to ask. She especially loves the ones on your hands. They look beautiful as you sign back to her. Some are still a little raised despite how well you took care of them, those are her favorite. She touches them delicately, afraid it might hurt, but you assure her they're all healed. She watches when you're getting changed together, how they move with your skin and muscles. They make her smile knowing you feel so much more at home in your body because of them, something you admitted to her late one night after a few drinks. They help you like yourself, covering up insecurities, making you feel cuter/cooler than you would without them. She's always the first to notice when you get a new one, making a point regardless of the situation to tell you how nice it looks and that she likes it a lot.

Bonus! Homelander thinks they're horrendous. Disgusting. Just another way you've defiled your body. He can't stand to look at them and made sure you understand that. Around him, you keep them covered, either by clothing or makeup. You know better than to draw attention towards them. Regardless of how you acquired them (Compound V or just an aesthetic choice) you know not to bring them up or let anyone else bring them up. A-Train noticed the one of the back of your neck and that put Homelander over the edge. You were both thrown out of the room. You consider yourself more than lucky. He could have killed you, both of you, but he was feeling generous. He had bigger things on his mind. You knew working for Vought would lead to sacrifices, uncomfortable situations, but being interrogated by Homelander about your tattoos was never something you ever considered. He thinks about using his lasers every time he sees them poking out from your sleeve or pants. But he needs you. As long as he needs you, you're safe. The moment you stop being useful, he's going to cut off every individual image until there's nothing left. Until you look normal again.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Summer Nights ~ LMH

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

PAIRING: Minho x GN!Reader

GENRE: established relationships, clingy minho, cute, sweet, soft,

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - June 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

A/N: I feel like this came out so short I’m sorry! I hope you like it though!!

To everyone on the outside of your relationship, Minho was a cold and uncaring boyfriend but that was because they didn't see the boyfriend that you saw in private. In private Minho was one of the clingest boyfriends of all time - not that you ever had any complaints about it of course. You adored how clingy he was to you, though in summer you did love it a lot less since it was far too hot for someone to be clinging to you all night long in bed. Something you hadn't really noticed he did until recently though.

It was just last week when you'd woken up drenched in sweat because of the heatwave that was hitting your area when you realised that Minho was clinging to your body. 

As soon as you felt a droplet run down your cheek you whined and moved to get away from the one thing that was causing your body to overheat and sweat. You slowly pulled yourself out of the bed and turned to look at Minho who was now pouting in his sleep, a frown beginning to form between his brows as you shook your head to yourself. As much as you loved your boyfriend it was far too hot for you to be laid right next time him and be cuddled. It was almost 35 Celsius outside and you weren't in the right mood to be cuddled to sleep so you headed out of the room to go and splash some cold water on your face. Maybe that way you'd be able to cool yourself down before getting back into bed beside your human radiator of a boyfriend.

Running the tap for a little you began to scoop some water into your hands and gently splash it onto your cheeks, letting yourself relax as the cool water cooled you back down to a normal body temperature. Whoever said summer was the best season was a liar, you felt as though you were going to melt away in this heat. You would gladly take winter over summer any day of the week, being cold and being able to add layers on to get warmer was easier than being too hot for any kind of clothes at all.

Sighing a little to yourself you slowly began to make your way back to the bedroom, rubbing the back of your neck and freezing in the doorway when you saw Minho staring at you. His arms folded across his chest as he pouted at you, a frown on his forehead as he finally saw you coming back to him. As soon as he felt you weren't beside him he couldn't sleep anymore and he hated it, he needed you beside him to be able to sleep. 

"Where have you been?" He whined a little as you slowly got back into the bed beside him, reaching for the thin sheet and pulling it up onto your body. At least if you were covered in a thin sheet you could sleep,

"Washing sweat off my body," You giggled a little when you noticed how pouty he was being about this,

"Don't do it again," He mumbled, laying down and pulling you back into his chest, one arm around your waist with a leg wrapped around yours making you whine a little but you let Minho do what he needed to fall asleep once again. 

Every day for the last week you'd woken up in the middle of the night because he was clinging to your body and you were overheating too much. But every time you'd move away from him he would simply drag you straight back to him, not giving you a moment of peace. Even when he would come home late from work, you'd be straight back into his arms and pulled into his embrace. Last night was no different, you were drenched in sweat and his arms and legs were clinging onto you tighter than ever before and you whimpered a little. There was no way you were going to get out of his arms without waking him up, or so you thought.

You'd managed to do it before going to sleep downstairs on the sofa but right now you were facing the repercussions of it. Minho was staring at you with a pout on his lips and his arms across his chest. When he'd woken up this morning to find you nowhere in sight he'd worried a little until he came down to find you fast asleep on the sofa of all places.

"You have to stop moving away from me in the night," He told you as a matter of factly, your eyes softening as you saw how upsetting it was for him to have to wake up without you. It wasn't that you didn't like sleeping next to him but you couldn't do it, not with the heat this unbearable. 

"Minho-" You tried to say slowly but he was already shaking his head at you and getting ready to disagree.

"I can't sleep without holding onto you," It was a small whine that came out of his throat and you could hardly believe it when he did it, your eyes found him and you bit down on your lip. You did feel bad for leaving him at night but you couldn't help it,

"You can't?" You whispered a little as he sank down next to you and held onto your hand, shaking his head a little.

"No...I-I need to feel you close or I can't relax." Your heart was doing summersaults as you heard him admitting this to you, you smiled a little

"I didn't know that, it's just been so hot lately Minnie, I can barely sit beside you." You pouted a little as he looked at you, the two of you were going to go round and round in circles about the sleeping situation unless something was done about it.

"What if we got an AC installed? That way you can stay cool and I can have my sleeping buddy." He smirked at you, wiggling his brows at you. The truth was he'd already been looking into getting one for the house since he noticed how humid and dry the nights had been getting lately and he wanted you both to be as comfortable as possible.

"We could look into it, but I'm not going to get it unless you let me pay half," You already knew that if you didn't say something he would pay for it himself, it was just like Minho to spend all his money on you and not let you join in on it.

"Fine," He whines before carefully wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him,

"Can we cuddle a little? Just let me have another hour and then I'll let go." He begged as you nodded, cuddling into his side. Since it was still quite early in the morning the heat hadn't fully hit the house and there was a slight breeze through the windows making it more bearable to deal with.

"One hour," You promised him as you both snuggled down together on the sofa.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @acciocriativity​ @scarletemeterio​ @halesandy​ @aerastus​ @laylasbunbunny​ @critssq​ @lenfilms​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @meowmeowisdaname​ @imafivestarkpopstan​ @lost-leopard-beanie​ @illicee​

[aashi-heartfilia]

Deku and Ochako: Two threads running in parallel

MHA has a vibrant cast with each character having its own quirks and perks. We often find ourselves shipping them and rooting for them to become cannon but in the midst of these shipping wars, we often overlook their personal journeys become true heroes.

One such pair is IzuOcha.

People often view it as a straight vanilla ship and ignore everything that makes it special/different from the other so-called vanilla ships. The fact that their journeys were always running in parallel, fighting side by side, inspiring each other in a give and take relationship...but let's start from the very beginning....

.

.

Chapter 3: The first time we meet Ochako, she saves Deku from falling on his two feet. She's nervous, but not as much as Deku. She wishes them both good luck and leaves. Now, this was their first meeting, and this is where their "Do your best" starts.

They both did their best in the exams, where Deku saves Ochako from the giant robot and Ochako in turns saves Deku from falling, like literally saving his life this time around.

Chapter 4: Then, the next time we see her, she was vouching for Deku, even at the cost of her own points. This also parallels her speech later in the manga.

Chapter 7: They enter UA, finally meet each other again, and become friends. In fact, on the very first day, Ochako says that she likes the name Deku, as it kinda gives a "You can do it!" vibe. Another fun thing to note here is that in Japanese she refers to 'gambare' which literally means "Do your best!".

She changes the meaning of his name, from an insult to something inspiring and it might have looked like a comedy gag moment at that time, but when you look at future chapters, it was much more than that.

Chapter 8: The very next chapter, we see Deku facing off Bakugo and saying "He's the Deku who does his best!". And we even see the importance of what Ochako said as she inspired him to do his best. In that test, they both pass with flying colors.

Chapter 22: Then not after too long, we find out about Ochako's motivation to be a hero, which was to earn money so that her parents can have easier lives. Some might say, there are other ways to make money, why choose heroism?

Well, you need to look deeper into the character, especially for someone like Ochako that has layers to her character. She's not someone you can tell by looking at first glance. From outside, she might be all sweet and cherry but from the inside, there's a storm. She has an iron will, and that she depicted again and again, be it her battle with Bakugo in sports fest or her quirk awakening and battle with Toga in the 2nd war. She has always been like that.

On the surface, she presents herself to be your average girl next door, but when you look behind that facade, you'll see a plethora of emotions.

She laughs with everyone but cries alone.

Her crying after Deku leaves (ch 37) or her thoughts about "who saves the heroes", or her "I didn't know the first thing about Toga" thoughts...

She has thoughts and emotions that are deep and not for not everyone can comprehend them. Some people might still see her as nothing more than a blatant love interest but we know that's far from the truth and that's why we'll deep dive into her character a little more.

Ochako has a lot of self-respect >>>

Despite what inspires her to be a hero, she refuses to take help from anyone. This is depicted when she refuses to take help from Deku in the SF. She felt embarrassed when Iida challenged Deku as that made her question her own ideals.

They were all there to become heroes and that makes them all rivals, even if they are friends and thus she challenges him to meet her at the finals.

I think that was a very underrated Ochako moment. (can't present all the pictures because Tumblr only allows less than 10 pics, but you can see it in the collage above)

From the very first day, her "let's do our best!" moment to their battle with Toga in the final war, she has been challenging / inspiring Deku but due to her soft personality, it gets overlooked very often.

It parallels Bakugo in a way and I love the parallels between Bakugo and Ochako but that is for another day.

So it's safe to conclude that just like Bakugo who has been a hardcore rival in power and ideals, Ochako has also been a friend / rival both in terms of power and ideals, although it might be more of her morals that inspire him the most. He even thinks about her in his final battle with Shigaraki, because she was the only one that resonates with his idea of saving villains but more on that later.

Chapter 37: After her loss, Deku goes to check on her and it turns out she was doing fine. She has taken it very positively or so it may seem but as soon as Deku leaves, she starts crying and Deku overhears her. He even feels guilty about not being able to do anything for her.

And that shows you how perceptive Deku really is. He's not some dumb, dense MC that has no clue how others are feeling. He's very sensible and wouldn't cause unnecessary trouble.

Chapter 45: After the sports fest, we see everyone choosing their hero names and Izuku chooses Deku. We even get a reaction panel of both Ochako and Bakugo. Bakugo always looked down on Deku and used it as an insult to call him 'useless' but Ochako changed its meaning to some positive, more meaningful.

Then in the following chapters (ch 46) they both go for their internships where Deku learns to control his 5% from Grand Torino and Ochako learns combat from Gunheads and I might say, IzuOcha might be the only people who learned the most from their internships, lol.

From then onwards, they both continue to grow in terms of power, as the story starts focusing on other characters as well, and we see less of her. Plus, her slight crush starts to develop from that point on, which made most people overlook her entire story.

But let's go over some of the key moments from that time:

Aoyama and Ochako vs 13: Aoyama teases Ochako about Deku, and this might be the first mention of her having a crush on Deku (ch 67)

Izuku encounters Shigaraki at the mall: If it wasn't for Ochako, everyone in the mall, including Deku would have died, making it the 2nd time Ochako saved Deku's life, quite literally (ch 68 and 69)

God knows what would have happened if Ochako didn't come back at the right time. She called the police and alerted everyone. Ochako doesn't get enough credit for her responsible and mature nature.

Chapter 76-77: Deku vs Muscular and Chapter 80: Ochako and Tsuyu vs Toga 1.0 where Deku and gang's interference saved them kinda like how Ochako's presence in the mall saved Deku from Shigaraki, although that was more serious.

Chapter 100: Ochako, Iida and Deku meet Hatsume. Yeah, that iconic encounter that has another parallel.

Chapter 102: Ochako realises her feelings for Deku.

Chapter 105: Deku realises it's not Ochako.

The thing is, Deku knew from the get go that the stranger is not Ochako. He even says "Ochako has been training to use her quirk and now she can float herself for some time, ignoring the side effects. In a situation like this, she wouldn't forget to use it and to reveal herself to the enemy without a plan?"

No, you're not the Uraraka I know.

And that, says volumes out there relationship! Even though, we saw how Ochako had romantic feelings for Deku in the previous chapters, she still kept on improving and Deku acknowledged that!

Even if we don't see him analysing her quirk again and again like Bakugo, he always keeps an eye on her, because note that in the manga, she never specifically tells him about her improvement but he still noticed it!

He knows Ochako enough to know that she's smart and strategic and that she would never reveal herself in front of the enemy without a solid plan. So when he saved Toga (disguised as Ochako) he knew that it wasn't Ochako!

And that's pure respect.

It is one of the examples of "Show, don't tell".

Chapter 107: Ochako quickly followed Deku's idea because she trusts him so much.

Chapter 109: And later, we see her struggling to keep her feelings under check. Because she's so inspired by Deku to do her best, it becomes an internal battle of emotions. At one point, she wants to compete with him, on the other, she has feelings for him that she can't control.

After that, it's a brief period of self-reflection from Ochako. We start seeing her less and less. She gets busy with her internship with Ryukyu and the team and we later see that they help defeat that giant villain in ch 156.

We later see that one of the biggest developments of Ochako comes from ch 163, where she regrets not being able to save Sir Nighteye.

In the class 1a vs 1b arc, she saves Deku when his quirk blackwhip goes haywire. If it wasn't for her quick thinking, again God knows what would have happened.

She may not have numerous power quirks like Deku but she's a capable hero in her own right and that is depicted in the Joint training arc when not only does she save Deku, but also manages to KO 3/5 people in the opponents team (Monoma, Rei, Poltergeist). She was literally the MVP of that arc.

Plus we get to see more of what runs inside her brain. Her ideology about forms the basis for one of the greatest arcs in the story.

"Who saves the heroes when they are in pain?"

After JTA, they again go to their internships and when they come back Deku apologises for what happened during JTA. Note that even though it was never shown, he was still concerned about Ochako.

He was sad that he unknowingly hurt her (much like how he says thank you very later after her speech). But Ochako on the other hand brushes it off, saying it's not a big deal and it inspired her to use wires much like Sero and Deku.

So, we see this relationship of give and take come into play again and again where they both inspire the other to do their best. Then they share a cute fist bump.

On Christmas, out of pure coincidence (wink** wink** Horikoshi) they both receive each other's presents.

Also note that, Ochako gets her hero costume upgraded after JTA, where she starts using those grappling hooks to grab and throw stuff, much like Deku and also attaches tiny rockets in her heels for more mobility.

Plus, that cute tiny pocket where she keeps her AM plushie❤️(that she got as Christmas gift from Deku). I think, after Bakugo and Deku, she has the most useful costume upgrade in the entire class!

Also, when Deku has a battle with Shigaraki in the 1st war, there is an entire chapter dedicated to Ochako vs Toga. Plus, she also gets to witness the aftermath of the war and her face, even now serves as the highlight for that chapter (ch 295).

The ragged blanket of heroism shed that day and what was left was the remains, of what it means to be a hero.

And for someone who was initially there for the money, it is especially important that she gets to witness this. It was the true horrors of hero society. She witnessed all this and still chose to stay in that line of work already says that she is way past her old thinking.

She's not some government agent like Hawks or Nagant or training to become the No 1 hero like Deku, Bakugo or Endeavour. Her life is simple, much like the citizens she saves, but it still matters.

And that's what makes her a People's Hero.

And finally after the first war, Deku leaves UA and Ochako rethinks "Who saves the heroes when they are in need?" and after that point onwards there was no looking back as her character arc takes a great turn!!

We get an entire arc of Dark Deku, indulging more and more into the darkness of his own powers and almost 10 chapters later we see a completely different Ochako.

I still remember people talking about it when ch 319 dropped.

This Ochako is ready to take action and takes shit from no one! One of the greatest character developments if you ask me. Ochako in a way is more like Lucy from Fairytail. Gets ignored most of the time but their moments are just as important.

Even though Deku went around saving people for days, people started viewing him as a villain. Ochako's speech brought him back to being a human.

Not a hero, not a villain, just a human.

And then we see her thinking about Toga, and how she didn't know the first thing about her in ch 342. She had a chat with Deku, where she confided in him. I think that kind of emotional intimacy is what makes their relationship interesting.

Her morals matter a lot to Deku, believe it or not! And that's why when she asks him to leave and take care of Shigaraki in ch 348, he thinks back to this conversation and unwillingly obliges.

Because he has faith in her, the kind that cannot be expressed in words. That comes from a long time understanding of each other...that is beyond comprehension for many people and that's why her "Do your best!" matters because that's what they have been doing since the day they met!

~Sunshine

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Winx Season 2 Outfits

Once again, I finished this way back and just never posted it.

Season 1 Outfits

Onto the why! This got long, so cut! ✂️

The main factor for these outfits was the fact that they're on Earth for almost all of this season, so the outfits had to be a little more in-line with Earth fashion while still being "them".

Tecna finally opens up to different clothes. While shopping for Earth clothes, she comes across a jacket (Pictured above) that she absolutely falls in love with and never takes off. The shoes she's wearing are an old pair of Bloom's. She still prefers Zenithian clothes (as seen by the shirt), but is glad to have stepped out of her comfort zone a bit.

Musa's been saving up her allowance for some new clothes for a while, and finally got to expand her wardrobe. It's not too far from what she wore in season 1, but it's new, and it's actually hers this time. The headphones were a group gift to her for her birthday (they do actually fit her ears. It's not pictured bc I didn't want to edit the bases much, but all pointy ears get hidden via magic).

Flora brought some of her nicer clothes with her this year, now knowing the kind of group she's with (and she's glad she did when she meets Helia). There's not a huge change in the types of clothes she wears this season beyond that. Most of her clothes can reasonably blend in with Earth fashion.

Stella wears a little less jewellery this season. The illusion hiding their more alien features is her doing, and it's dark magic too, which she still isn't strong at, so no earrings to make it easier. The dress is actually Vanessa's. She starts the season off in something typically Stella, but gets very close with Vanessa, and gifts her a dress of hers. Stella still wears the sunglasses (I forgot to turn on the layer with them when I took the picture, and I'm not going back or this will never be posted).

Bloom is wearing some of the clothes she had to leave behind when she first came to Alfea. She takes full advantage of having access to her full wardrobe this season, and this is really only one of many outfits. She's still struggling to figure out how to incorporate pink into her outfits.

Aisha!!! She makes her first appearance this season! This isn't her introductory outfit, but she changes to this pretty quickly after being accepted into the group. This was meant to be similar to the group's season 1 outfits, where she's still trying to find herself a bit. Luckily, she has a lot of people ready and willing to help. It's nearly entirely second hand and paid for by everyone else.

Roxy also makes her first appearance this season. She gets a lot of her trousers scratched up from various animals she takes care of, so she ends up patching them with custom-made patches. Her docs are also customised. She wears fingerless gloves because they look so cool. I will not be taking any kind of criticism on this point. She has a few outfits with some different styles, but likes to stick with either darker colours or neons.

Extra Tidbit: Most of this season's wardrobe is from various second-hand clothes stores.

Aisha and Roxy's first appearance outfits

[charlottes-diary-entries]

Hii! Could I please, pretty please, ask for more metmorphmagus non-binary reader? I really loved your drabble!

this is my chance >:) i'm using this ask as my excuse to yap, yap, yap about being a genderqueer shape-shifter on halloween. genuinely my favorite thing that i've been thinking about for years, thank you for requesting darling <3 this got a touch steamy so i hope you don't mind and pleeeaasseee enjoy!

"a vampire needs their victim"

2.2k words, poly!marauders x reader, kind of bottom james, some making out and hickeys, underage drinking, consent!, reader generally having a very sexy, powerful vibe, doing a lot of flirting, showing skin and such, steamy fluff with a hint of angst!

You plucked at the fishnets that covered your legs, glitter drifting off from the small movement. Looking into the mirror all you saw was gorgeousness, upon gorgeousness, upon gorgeousness. Deep red lips stretched into a wide, pointy grin across your face, your eyes sparkling in the most literal sense.

With ears stretched to a point, some creatively colored irises, and very sharp, very real fangs, you deemed your vampire costume ready. The way your skin glittered was less magical than your physical differences, but you felt delightfully alien. The mini-skit was skirting in the most boyish way, and your chest looked exactly how you liked it to. Your hair was delightfully androgynous, swept and layered to perfection.

A flash of insecurity washed over you as you glanced over your outfit one last time. So rarely did you feel you could present like this, not entirely a girl or boy, just because it was easier to stay one thing for other people. Easier for them, at least.

Your train of thought was quickly cut off, however, by a short knock on your door.

"Dovey, I hope you're ready because I've been sent to collect you naked or-"

James's eyes met yours as he slammed the door open, coming to a complete stop, stunned.

"Naked or not."

You giggled and did a spin for him as his gaze raked up and down your body. Finishing it off with a little pose and a kiss blown his way, you couldn't help but laugh again at your sweet, slack-jawed boy. His hands lifted and fell back to his sides before he blinked slowly and swallowed.

"You like?" You grinned at him, flashing your fangs. "Figured I'd go all out for once."

"Like? Dovey, this is..." He looked you up and down again before letting out a low whistle, placing one hand on his hip and the other to cover his mouth. You couldn't help but note how delightfully flustered he seemed. "Godric..."

"You look great too, Jamie."

Carefully, you slinked towards him and reached out to playfully brush off his very sweet looking Quidditch jersey. Paired with his goggles up on his forehead, the number from some Quidditch player he loved, and your compliment seemed to have gone completely ignored as his hands now migrated to your hips. You were taller than him for once, heels paired with a little morphing.

He eventually looked back up at you, stars in his eyes as he gently squeezed your hips. You smiled, taking his face in your hands to lean down to kiss his cheek. A dark red imprint stuck to his cheek and your smile only widened. Your pointer finger gently tapped his face.

"Are you still with me baby?"

"Nope." He now grinned, giddy as he slid his arms fully around you and leaned up to return your cheek kiss. "I've died and gone to heaven because you are absolutely stunning darling."

He continued to trail kisses down your jaw and to your neck before pulling you as close as possible and pressing his lips against yours. The sensation set a fire in you as you fervently began to kiss back. James whined as you dared to tug at his hair. With a little more pushing and feeling and touching, he ended up pressed against your wall as you sucked a dark hickey onto his neck.

His little noises continued to spur you on, his hands grasping at any part of you he could feel. As you left a gentle kiss on the first bruise, you pecked his lips playfully before beginning to work on a second.

"D-Dovey-" He sucked in a breath and squeezed at your hand, which had at some point found his, desperately trying to speak up. "They're waiting for us downstairs!"

"The party can wait another minute." You punctuated this by licking a stripe up the side of his neck to his ear. With a gentle nip at his earlobe, you whispered to him, "After all, what's a vampire without their victim?"

After a full five minutes of waiting extremely patiently for his gorgeous partner and boyfriend, Sirius was just about ready to march up after you two and drag you down by the scruffs of your necks himself. The Halloween party was starting to kick into full swing and Remus had barely managed to keep him contained for that long, trying to convince him you were just finishing up your costume. Remus's case was helped by his very sexy doctor costume. (Note: This is just a normal doctor costume with Remus in it.) But despite his attempts to fill the time flattering Sirius over his marginally "sexier" pirate costume, his infamous impatience won out.

Sirius was convinced you'd captured James with your seductive wiles which is exactly as he would've done were he in your position.

However, theories aside, nothing could have prepared him for the mouth-watering sight presented to him.

You were pulling James downstairs with you, one arm tightly secured around his waist. He was wide-eyed and ruined and absolutely covered in your dark red lipstick, two hickeys with clear teeth marks (were those from fangs?-). His gorgeous hair was frizzed up, and overall he looked as though he just might drop to the ground if you weren't supporting him. A delectable sight to any man, but particularly to one Sirius Black.

You weren't much help to Sirius either, taller than usual, shaped like pure sex, covered in glitter, and all topped off with a devastatingly evil grin on your face. Red lipstick was smeared all over your chin and neck, giving the effect of fresh blood. The amount of skin on show was sinful. Confidence seeped off of you.

You just screamed... power.

Sirius actually felt his knees wobble beneath him.

You pressed a sweet kiss to James's temple as the both of you reached the bottom of the stairs and then sent a salacious wink over to Sirius, who had now grabbed onto Remus for support. (Remus was not faring much better than Sirius, floundering to compliment you but completely unable to find the words.)

One good look at the two of them broke your debonair confidence and sent you into a laughing fit, hiding your face in Jamie's shoulder. He couldn't be fonder of you in the moment though. He just continued to stare at you like a lovesick puppy. Remus eventually found his words and his lips quirked up into a awkward little smirk as he asked, "What's so funny, dove?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just-" A giggle interrupted your sentence, "I was going for gorgeous and seem to have overshot all the way to speechlessness. James was the same way when he got to my room!"

Sirius pulled James away from you, thumbing at the fresh bruises covering his jugular with his mouth completely agape. "James was alive when he got up to your room! What have you done to him love?"

"Victim!" James piped up, before shrinking back sheepishly at your laugh, "Vampire costume needs... needs a victim?"

"Godric, you've completely broken him. Captured him in your game of seduction you- you seductress!" He tilted James face side to side appreciatively, before turning back to you with a smirk. "Shit, when's my turn to get seduced?"

This made you laugh yet again as Remus grabbed your hand. He twirled you about to get a look at the full ensemble and nearly dragged you back up to their dorm when you blew him a fang-filled kiss. His soft grin was anything but innocent as he pulled you in for a deep, deep kiss.

And while you may not have known about the plan he was entertaining, you would've followed gladly had your moment not been interrupted by a screech.

"DAMN!" Marlene barreled into your torso just as you pulled away from Remus, one hand on a drink and the other on your waist as she spun you around. "Shit! Babes, you look fantastic holy fuck! Are these tossers appreciating you enough?! Fuck!"

She pulled you into her side as James muttered something about you feeling plenty appreciated, sending an defensive stare towards your boys.

"Sorry boys, this ones mine tonight. This is the hottest they've ever looked and that's on top of how they normally are. You can collect them later after I've paraded them about!"

She delightfully ignored Sirius's squawk and dragged you deeper into the now booming party with a great big grin. You sent your boys an apologetic one as Marlene began ensuring you were drinking your fill.

With significantly more alcohol in your system, the confidence you had displayed when James barged in on you was beginning to affect those around you. Even beyond the fact that with Marlene's dreadful influence you were a flirty drunk, everyone seemed to be noticing just how much you glowed.

Remus was in complete awe. He'd never want to tell you how to look, but damn, if looking like this made you this delighted with yourself, he figured you should never go back. You were hot. You were illuminated. Joy and comfort radiated off of you and drew in every single person who saw you. He just wanted to keep you smiling like this forever, shining like a star in the sky. He caught up to you as you began to reapply your lipstick in the reflection of someone's mirrored sunglasses.

"Hey Dovey-"

"Remus!"

You abruptly interrupted your reapplication to pull him into a searing kiss. He barely managed to get his hands on your hips by the time you'd pulled back again, beaming at him. (Your new height made it delightful to look you in the eyes.)

"What'd you want, sexy?"

"Well," Then Remus took a pause to process that you'd called him sexy whilst looking the way you did, "I'm just checking in on you. How much've you had to drink, darling?"

"Plenty! Marlene keeps giving me these delicious little cocktails," You trailed a hand down his chest, not so subtlety feeling him up, "Not nearly so delicious as I'd bet you'd be."

This made him laugh and flush terribly, pulling you aside to sit with him in an arm chair. Better to keep you away from anymore alcohol then, at least until he could get you near some water. Like second nature, you settled into his lap. You traced a finger up and down his jaw as someone somewhere shouted loudly.

"Y'know we're completely taboo right?"

"What do you mean, dovey?"

"I mean, you're a werewolf." You were muttering to him, beginning to press sweet kisses to his jaw as you spoke. "I'm a vampire. It's horribly sensual."

"Alright," He pulled back with a roll of his eyes, gently cradling your face in his hands, "You're getting awfully touchy for someone who's too far gone to actually do anything tonight."

Your lovely pout was difficult not to kiss, but he kept his wits about him and brought his hands down to hold your own, then pressing kisses to your knuckles. This brought the smile back to your face, however, and you pressed yourself into him as much as you could.

James signaled him from across the room where he seemed to be managing an equally hammered Sirius, holding up a cup of water. Remus nodded him over while you muttered into his shoulder. He turned back to you, pressing a kiss to your temple as you continued to mutter.

"Didn't catch that dove," He whispered, "what'd you say?"

"Wish I could do this all the time..."

Remus's brows furrowed. "Getting wasted?"

"Being... being me."

He frowned now, watching as you began to fiddle with his doctors coat.

"I just-" A sigh escaped you and you smiled up at Remus. "It's exhausting playing one side of it all the time. And it's dreadfully embarrassing to explain it when I decide to be on the other side for once in a while, when really all I want to do is be... me."

"I'm... biologically, magically, it makes sense! I'm not one or the other, I'm more! I'm... I'm stardust and glitter and mixed up genes all stuck in one weird body. Why should I keep everyone else comfortable instead of keeping me happy?"

"Dovey..." Remus began, shifting you up to look you in the eyes. Your eyes continued to sparkle and shine like you'd wanted earlier, but were now watery. He cooed, swiping away one stray tear.

"I'm so happy right now Remus. I'm so happy."

"Then be happy, angel! Who cares what anyone else thinks, you look amazing and you look radiant. I don't think I've ever seen you look more yourself."

You tucked your chin into your chest and sniffled. He tutted, lifting your chin back up with his knuckle and sent you an encouraging smile.

"I'd personally love to see you like this more. You could turn into a little slug and I'd charge into battle for you if it made you happy. Because that's all we want. To see you happy."

Remus cooed as you sent him a watery smile and dove to give him the tightest hug you could. He squeezed back, trying to make you feel as safe and loved as possible.

"Hey, how's everybody over here?" James asked, smiling down at the sweet scene before him as he set your new water cup to the side, Sirius groaning into his shoulder. "All good?"

"All good James," Remus said, punctuating it with another squeeze to your shoulders.

"All good."

i hope you enjoyed darling! also, sweet reminder to everyone that my requests are wide open for marauders characters listed in my pinned post <3 happy pride btw!

[frozenjokes]

deeply infatuated with them. so much so that you guys can have the full ficlet as a treat. And yeah he wears that dumb fuck lab coat to bed of course he does. he’s also a socks in bed wearer and if you don’t think so we will be dualing at dawn.

zombiecleo and the worst found family in the world vvv

Ow. Ow.

Mosquitos, deer flies, horse flies, bugs, Cub was being ravaged by bugs, he really hadn’t considered the bugs when he’d started this journey. In the Wisconsin northwoods you breathed them, all sorts, but the deer flies were his worst enemies, drawing blood even through the thick layers of.. well, moss didn’t feel like an accurate descriptor. It looked a little like moss, like life had reached toward the sky and captured the stars, brilliant and twinkling and everything good. But moss didn’t have teeth. Sculk did. Cub liked that about it. Whether it hurt more or less than the flies, that was up for debate, but the sculk was consistent, familiar, everywhere, and the flies were in his way.

But with all the bugs, there was some reprieve. Afterall, another source of food meant less of those teeth under Cub’s skin. Less pain, though, somehow, he still managed to miss it.

Sculk was alien. It was not supposed to be here. But it wanted to be.

Sculk was a parasite. So was Cub.

Ow- Fucking- stupid ass dumbass fucking-

Cub jolted awake with a screech, being shaken- dragged out of bed, the monster on his neck- he was falling, a bear- a black bear had got him, he was being dragged through the woods by a black bear- fuck- what bear was it you where you were supposed to play dead? Cub had thought the brown bear, there weren’t brown bears in Wisconsin- He tried anyway.

He realized the floor was not dirt. The paws awkwardly dragging him along weren’t black or brown. Momentarily stunned, he heard Cleo cackle through the darkness.

“Scar- Scar! What are you doing? Wait- No no- No! Scar!”

Cub had the wind knocked out of him as his kidnapper attempted to jump onto Cleo’s bed, his stomach slamming into the mattress before he was unceremoniously dragged all the way up over a howling Cleo. Briefly Cub was released, to which he cautiously began to move until the sheets were pulled so hard underneath him that he fell off balance, only to be grabbed by the throat, then shoved head first underneath.

Cub needed a second to breathe, utterly shocked he was still alive. Then a large weight fell on top of him, and breathing became a little harder. The weight began to purr.

“Scar.” Cleo gasped, sounding just as shaken as Cub felt, though not nearly as dazed. The purring ceased briefly, then began again, Cleo’s bewilderment remaining unanswered. “What- Why?” they tried again, which Scar seemed more receptive to.

“Easier to watch when you’re close together. This is better. Efficient. Safer.”

“We- We don’t need to be watched, Scar. We are safe. This room is safe. There is literally nothing in here that can hurt us.”

“That RenKing is awfully suspicious. It’s watching me.”

“He’s not on! He can not turn on by himself, we are fine.”

“What else lurks in the shadows, Cleo? You never know, you never know. One minute you’re safe, the next minute a hawk has swooped out of nowhere and grabbed your kitten, you gotta be careful, you gotta sleep together. It’s the best way to do it, it’s the best way.”

“I can not argue with you about this right now. Is Cub even alive?”

“He’s wriggling.” Cub was indeed wriggling. He wasn’t even uncomfortable per se, there was something deeply mollifying about having a large weight directly on your back, and he slept face down anyway, so this wasn’t a huge issue. Just adjusting.

“Let him go, Scar.”

Cub was a little offended by the implication that he could not get Scar off by himself- Scar was at least half his weight! “I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Scar parroted.

Cleo sighed, long and strained. She said no more. With enough passage of time, Cub stopped going to sleep in his own bed, since no amount of arguing was going to stop Scar from dragging him out of it every night. Though, out of all of Scar’s disruptive quirks, this was not something Cub minded all too much. He liked Cleo’s company, though he was relatively certain Cleo did not enjoy sleeping in a full bed nearly as much. Well, Cub definitely took up more room, but it wasn’t like she had slept alone since Scar had invited himself to sleep at their feet anyway.. then their legs.. then their stomach.. then their chest. Maybe this was always the next step. Cub wouldn’t be surprised if Scar had been planning it from the start. Oh well. No skin off his back.

uh if you like this there’s more of it on ao3 here’s a link

[awellboiledicicle]

I wanna throw out a reccomendation for @shopwitchvamp's skirts and joggers.

For those of you who don't know, i'm fat. I have problems finding cloths that both fit and are cute. Them lasting against the gauntlet of my thighs rubbing together is a wholly separate concern that comes about 50 feet before the concern of if pockets exist in the thing. Somewhere in there is "and how long until the elastic cracks out and i'm screwed?" And that's not covering the sensory issues of if the fabric is ok or it'll feel like satan is rubbing his pubes on my skin every time i move.

I know well that i'm not the only big person to have these issues. I would wager it's common enough that several people are nodding along and waiting to see me go "and these clothes cover some of these issues".

HOWEVER

I would like to say that they cover ALL these issues very well!

First off: I first purchased a skirt from this store and generally assumed it'd be too small. Because even when things say they fit a certain size, i get skeptical. It not only fit over my belly comfortably-- the elastic not cutting in and sitting smoothly--but i could pull it up and the band would rest easily around my chest so I could wear the maxi skirt as a dress! It also has pockets that can fit my wallet, phone, keys, and nintendo switch. Granted, if you distribute them lopsided, it'll pull that way, but it is only a mortal garment. It's not a miracle worker. That said, i've had it for a year + and not only has the smooth texture not changed, but the elastic hasn't lost tension. It's been well worth the money.

Second off: the joggers. I purchased a pair of joggers with stars and moons and clouds. I believe it was one of the jester's patterns, but i could be wrong. Point is, i had yet another spike in trepidation because skirts? easier to not be a problem. And yet, the joggers not only fit very well, but stretch with little issue. The only problems i've ever run into was whenever i'd eaten/drank a lot and then did a lot of bending. Then the waistband would press in, but that's a folly of pants as a garment. The elastic continues to hold up, both on the waist and the ankles. They're breathable enough to wear during summer, but insulated enough that they're rapidly taking the place of the ol standard "jeans until you need layers". The pockets are also well sized, though not as spacious as the skirts. This is literally the only serious mark against them and that's on me trying to shove a switch in my pants pocket and kneel down to pet a cat.

THIRD: i ordered a jesters privilege tank top and the literal only downside i have with it is i overestimated the idea that it'd shrink with washing. Upside is that it makes my chest look GREAT when i wear it to see my partners. Does wonders as a sleep shirt. And if i tuck it in or wear a jacket over it, it does great at work too. There is less to talk about here, expressly because there are no pockets to review.

I will also shout out their quick customer service-- i once sent an ask about the drawstring in the joggers turning so the end of the string was inside the pants and i couldn't get it out. Within a few hours they responded with a solution to a problem that literally most people let alone companies wouldn't bother with.

"But Mok" you might say, dear assumed reader. "What's the catch? Do they cost an arm and a leg? Do they cost a soul? One pure and untarnished soul from a small child?"

They do not. That said, as someone with a lower income Witchvamp clothes are certainly a "save up for when what you want drops and then treat yourself" deal. They're worth the cost, though. I'd say it's well worth getting a couple pairs of joggers and a skirt for like $150 ONCE in a while, that will LAST and FIT and look nice, than continually dropping $20 on clothes that'll wear out in a season or less.

Also sometimes you get a free rock with your order.

Go forth.

[honkbird]

The big art post !! the behind-the-scenes of the tribalhunter PNGtuber stuff ! At least on the art side-- I can talk about the coding mechanics but that's not quite my place to. The high-level overview of that is there's some cool stuff going on with memory wrappers and godot to get stuff shake'n and jamm'n The rest of it is below the cut just so you don't have to scroll tons if you don't care, but take some time and read !! 3 days of work y'know !!

The first sketches were started at 10 pm tuesday the 15th. I tweaked it with some edits until about 1 am

For people working on pngs or long term projects -- make notes !! genuinely !! you can see "ok what was i thinking when i did this" and it made like infinitely easier. You might notice that stage 2 png was not long for this world -- we ended up cutting that one and shifting 3-5 down a stage, and just making a larger final stage. The night ended with: these!

Larger final, we moved where some hands ended up, cleaned some notes, and so on

Wednesday I got to work

on some second pass ones, e.g., cleaner lineart. Mind you, not final! To have proper safespace with the png we had to make actual layered sections to avoid ripped seams on squashing and stretching and rotating and etc.

These also had the first of the talk sprites! I don't do entirely new sprites for the talking ones just because of the pure quantity of images. So, just an arm tilt and head angling. This means we have mute and a talk variants of a few sprites (e.g., the stage 1 is 3 sprites. Body, scarf flappies, and head. We have talk versions of the body and the head). Also, he used to have nips! there was going to be a slightly darker purple but we scrapped it for . well . obvious reasons. We went with classy scarf modesty.

This is how you know you're doing well!

Thursday I started on the finals!

This was the first one sent -- showing off the layers. Tip, I used to layer based on like "back arm" "head" "fore body" etc. It's weirder to get used to when you use numbered layers, but holy shit it made importing easier. You automatically know the layer order to put them in to avoid clipping. Getting these done I got to work on testing 'em too!

this gave us our first working model! Oh, he used to have black robes too! this was to match the custom ingame sprites he got, but the color wasn't quite popping enough. The scarf saturation would later be turned up too, and more color adjusting. But this was workable! A lovely demo. All that was left was design tweaks and the talk sprites!

Friday was dedicated to

figuring out the colors and the talk sprites. For giggles, here's a bunch of variants produced!

We changed the robes, the scarf tone, and his lower gradient. neat Brave fact, his design has a gradient! It's horrible for gif compression! With all that done, then came doing well . all of the sprites!

Note, the talk sprites had some copied mute ones for visual reference. Gotta be consistent! It was at this point the pngtuber was "done", so to speak. Talk sprites worked and everything uh . jiggled right. But I still had a whole weekend! There wasn't as much photo evidence. What WAS changed between then and the final was: 1) the gradient was shifted to be a smooth curve instead of dappling 2) the talk sprite for stage 5's beak was fixed to remove a tangent line 3) the belly for stage 5 was rounded out to be more consistent with the game (less "doughy" to quote) 4) we added another sprite for the arm on stage 5 to layer better. Those changes weren't done until about Saturday, and then the code was tweaked all the way up until adding damage and transition effects on sunday and monday!

P.S., the model still clipped in the end a little! The code did some growth based on the fullness factor and . uh. wow!

Anway woo !! that was some wip photos and stories, I wish there was more of an intense struggle to tell but it was pretty quickly done. My shoulderblade hurts a bit to tell the truth and I think I overdid it on the pace but hooray!

[rosesradio]

Annabeth had been the baby and favorite of camp half blood once...and that somewhat still remained true for the older campers this dynamic steeps in the titan army. Luke, Alabaster and even Ethan who hated her as much as he wanted to be her . The tension on the battlefield could not be understated Percy hated every moment of it. So did Thalia. But what could Annabeth do about it ? This was all the resuslt of a time of her life where both of them weren't around.

ugh, the dynamics here are /so/ compelling.

because you’re right, ethan hated how much attention annabeth got when he wasn’t that much older than her. he would train arguably harder, longer, and more dangerous than her, and still he wouldn’t get even a fraction of the attention she did. most of all, he was jealous of how luke gave her attention, how she clung to his arm like Velcro, especially in their younger years. ethan would have definitely clocked annabeth’s crush, wether luke did or not, and luke’s feelings for her (platonic & familial or not so platonic & familial, whichever way you slice it), make ethan spiral more than anything. he wonders if luke gave him attention, if others would soon follow. he wonders if luke would be enough, all he really wanted.

ethan views annabeth as spoiled, but she’s really anything but. she doesn’t have any real friends, only older campers who feel pressured to take care of her. she doesn’t even have thalia, one of the few people she actually wants to be there for her. she is viewed as the baby & the favorite, & is therefore put in a box she can’t get out of. she’s not taken as seriously for years, even when she excels at the war games. she isn’t allowed to go on a quest or even leave to explore the mortal world outside of field trips or (gods forbid) trips to see her father. she doesn’t /want/ to be the coddled favorite, she wants to be on the same level as the older campers, as the heroes she looks up to…even if those feelings of wanting to take care of annabeth are what wakes luke up and saves the war.

and then there’s thalia, who wakes up in the middle of everything. she’s pretty perceptive (her cynicism helps more or less in that), and probably was able to clock certain things as making sense despite the horrible events (example: her understanding luke’s bitterness towards the gods lead him astray). even so, she doesn’t think it’s fair. it’s not fair that the remaining TA members have a soft spot for annabeth, who thalia intended to die protecting, when they continue to fight against her & every other demigod who used to be their friends. it wasn’t fair that they had come to love annabeth, but held none of the same hesitancy for the tree that had protected them for years. underneath her hardened layers is a sensitivity like a bruise. just because she launched luke off the cliff doesn’t mean part of her didn’t want to fall right down with him.

and then there’s percy, an underdog who does eventually make friends (arguably easier than annabeth, imo annabeth’s specific flavor of neurodivergence makes it harder for her to make friends because i enjoy projecting 👍). the thing is though, the TA never cared for him. there are moments like in tbotl in which luke asks for annabeth to be spared in order to talk to her about joining the TA. i have to wonder if percy ever felt bitter about this. he was in a really vulnerable spot when he first got to camp, and luke was there only to pull the rug out from under him. i wonder if there’s a small part of percy that feels jealous of annabeth in the same way ethan does, thinking that if the circumstances were different, maybe luke and the others would be his friend. and it’s a sick thing, why would he want to be friends with demigods who have tried to kill him? but all at once percy can’t help but feel that way, seeking out validation and envious of annabeth, because she wants to throw away something that by birth he was never going to receive.