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brookghaib-blog · 1 month ago

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Silence between hearts - II

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

Word count: 8,5k

note: I'm struggling to deliver such complex character, but I'm trying! Put some Kali Uchis on the back to get inspired and make the pain real, recommend it (Silk Lingerie,)

Warning: severe self-esteem issues, psychological violence, forced body modifications

Chapter I - III

Rain lashed against the wide, fogged-up window of her office, the rhythmic tapping like a war drum behind the muted hush of classical music playing on low from an old speaker.

Y/N sat at her desk, the light above casting a focused glow over a chaotic spread of notes, scans, and neural maps. The monitor flickered with Bob’s brain activity, overlaying heatmaps of synaptic explosions taken only hours ago. It was like watching a storm crawl across a neural coastline—one moment dormant, the next erupting with impossible activity.

"Physiology is stabilizing," she muttered, eyes narrowed. "But his cognition… it's all over the damn place."

Across from her, Dr. Ilari Kuznetsov—clinical psychologist, stoic as ever—leaned back in a leather chair. His arms were crossed, attention fixed on the screen with quiet intensity.

“He's exhibiting accelerated development in cortical density,” Y/N continued, tapping the screen. “This area—prefrontal, temporal—these bursts of activity shouldn’t be happening without some sort of chemical stimulus, but he hasn’t been dosed since day four.”

Ilari tilted his head. “And yet he’s stronger. Smarter. Less predictable.”

“Exactly,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek. “And then there's… last night.”

He glanced at her. “You're sure it wasn't a dream?”

“No. It was real.” Her voice was low now, cold and certain. “I don’t dream about my childhood piano room. I don’t hallucinate the smell of blood or feel the sting of his presence.”

Ilari went silent.

Y/N stood abruptly, walking to the board at the far end of the office. She clicked a marker open and began sketching two columns under the word "TRIGGERS." On one side, “Physical.” On the other, “Emotional.”

“Every protocol we've run,” she said, writing rapidly, “has been about the body. Blood. Hormones. Reactions to pain, to pressure. And yes, it's brought results. But not that.” She circled the word Void? scrawled in the corner.

“We’re dealing with a psychic phenomenon,” she muttered. “And if that’s true, then nothing I inject him with is going to unlock it.”

Ilari raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting... a psychological approach?”

“A social one,” Y/N said, her expression sharpening with quiet fervor. “If something is in there—something ancient, fractured, or just hiding—I want to meet it. And for that, I need to challenge Bob, not his body. His mind.”

She returned to the desk and pulled up surveillance from the previous tests: Bob, twitching, begging to leave. Then, when struck—his demeanor shifting. When soothed—his demeanor dissolving into worship. The pattern wasn’t consistent, but it was revealing.

Ilari watched, arms still crossed. “So what? You plan to manipulate him?”

She didn’t look at him when she replied.

“I’ve already started.”

Ilari frowned slightly, sensing something deeper in her tone.

She finally met his gaze. “Think about it, Ilari. His pain tolerance changes when he’s praised. His compliance spikes with perceived emotional closeness. He needs connection—but if that connection becomes unstable or toxic… perhaps it feeds whatever’s inside him. Or wakes it.”

Ilari stood now, stepping toward the board. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N. He already sees you as some kind of savior figure.”

She smirked faintly, voice like glass. “Let him.”

Silence fell.

Ilari watched her, unease plain on his face. “You’re not just doing this for the data, are you?”

Y/N turned back to her desk, gathering the scattered files.

“I’m doing it because he’s my project. My creation. And if there’s something divine inside him, it’s because I put it there.”

A beat.

“You don’t believe in gods,” Ilari muttered, shaking his head.

“No,” she said softly, a faint smile touching her lips. “But I do believe in becoming one.”

Ilari gave her a long look, almost pitying.

And then, just under his breath: “He’ll destroy you, Y/N. Whatever’s in there—it doesn’t love its maker.”

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she lifted the folder labeled SENTINEL-01 and slid it under her arm.

“Then I’ll make it love me.” She responded as she gets ready to leave the room.

"Y/N."

His voice, low and almost fatherly, stopped her hand just as she touched the doorknob.

She didn't turn at first. Just exhaled—slow, measured. Like a general on a battlefield, holding still when the wind changes direction.

Ilari stepped forward. "If I let you walk out of here now without saying this, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight."

She turned her head slightly, expression unreadable. "Then say it."

Ilari took a breath. "You're not like him."

Her brow twitched—just barely—but he saw it. She turned fully now, her grip on the folder still iron.

"You think I don’t know that?” she asked coldly. “I’ve spent my life trying to prove that.”

“I know,” Ilari said gently. “That’s why this experiment frightens me.”

She scoffed. “Not the powers. Not the anomalies. Me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You’re brilliant. But you're also… cracked. Not weak, no—never weak. But he made sure you’d never feel whole unless you became him.”

Her lips pressed into a hard line. She hated how well he could read her sometimes. It wasn’t fair.

Ilari stepped closer, voice quiet. “You don’t have to be like him to surpass him, Y/N. You don’t have to sacrifice what’s left of yourself.”

She leaned against the desk now, the weight of his words slowly catching up to her. Her shoulders slumped—not visibly, but enough that Ilari, who had known her since she was a girl, could see it.

"I'm not doing this for him," she muttered. "Not anymore. This is about me. My work. My legacy."

“But what if it turns on you?” Ilari asked, watching her carefully. “That boy—Bob—he's more than just a subject. You know that now. And you saw something inside him last night. Something you weren't prepared for."

She went still.

He pressed further. "You saw your father’s voice in your head again. Didn’t you?"

That one landed.

Y/N's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk until her knuckles paled.

Ilari’s voice softened. “You’ve buried your past under so much science that you forgot it bleeds. That it festers. Now something inside that boy is pulling it back up, Y/N. He saw it, didn’t he? Saw you.”

She looked away. “He doesn’t know what he saw.”

“But you do.” Ilari stepped in front of her now, forcing her eyes back to his. “So I’m begging you—don’t turn this into a battle with ghosts. Don’t make Bob your redemption arc.”

Silence.

Finally, Y/N’s voice came, fragile under the edge of her steel.

“I never got to choose how I became who I am, Ilari.”

A pause.

“I was broken down and reassembled by a man who thought perfection was pain. And now… now I have a chance to create something better. Someone better. Not just a man. A god.”

Ilari studied her.

She looked so much like her mother now, he thought—not in her features, but in the way she guarded her vulnerability like a relic. Delicate. Yes, she was. But she’d been wrapped in so much armor for so long, she forgot how to feel without bracing first.

"You can create the perfect subject,” he said quietly. “But don’t forget there’s still a human in there. And there’s still one in you.”

She swallowed hard.

Then, softly, he added, “I remember you playing piano. When you were ten. You were crying through the whole recital, but you never missed a note. I asked your father afterward why you were so upset.”

Y/N flinched, her mask finally cracking.

“He said,” Ilari continued, “‘You cry when it hurts. But she’ll learn it’s better to be admired than loved.’”

A silence fell between them like a guillotine.

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, not with tears, but the weight of remembering. Then she straightened, recomposed herself.

"Admiration is all I’ve ever needed," she said quietly, and walked past him—folder tight under her arm, heels clicking like defiance across marble.

Ilari stood alone in her office, staring at the screen.

Bob’s neural activity pulsed like a heartbeat.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought was there:

Gods aren’t born. They’re built. And sometimes… by the wrong hands.

The door clicked shut behind her.

No cameras this time. No staff. No restraints. Just a clipboard and a notebook she wouldn’t open for now. Her coat hung loosely from her shoulders, sleeves pushed to her elbows. No gloves. No mask. No distance.

Bob was sitting on the edge of the cot, his back hunched slightly, the faint shimmer of the IV tape still stuck to the inside of his arm. His posture wasn’t guarded so much as… uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel safe.

Y/N pulled the chair closer, dragging it gently across the tile floor. No fanfare. No announcement. Just a soft kind of stillness as she sat across from him, only a few feet apart.

He didn’t look at her at first.

“Hey,” she said gently, a calmness in her tone that wasn’t clinical. Not yet. “I thought we could talk for a little while.”

Bob looked up, blinking slowly. His face was pale, drawn with fatigue, but his eyes were more alert than usual. Alert—and unsure.

“Is this part of the tests?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Something like that,” she said. “But no wires. No needles. Just questions.”

He nodded once but said nothing.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she said carefully, leaning forward a little. “I want to understand how you’re feeling. Not just physically. But… here.” She gestured to his temple.

Bob shifted uncomfortably. “Not sure what to say.”

“That’s okay,” she replied softly. “We’ll start simple.”

She waited. Let the silence stretch for a moment.

“What do you remember,” she asked, “about the day before you took the serum?”

Bob looked down at his hands. His fingers twitched faintly—like they remembered something his voice didn’t want to say.

“I was cold,” he said after a long pause. “Hungry. I remember staring at my shoes for an hour. The sole was peeling and I didn’t have glue.”

Y/N didn’t interrupt. She just listened.

“Everything felt heavy. Like even breathing was work. But I… I wanted to hope. I think.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, voice growing smaller. “Then I heard you say I could be something more.”

A pause.

“That maybe I wasn’t useless after all.”

His voice broke slightly on that word—“useless”—like it still tasted like poison in his mouth.

Y/N’s face didn’t flinch, but inside she stored every syllable like it was code.

“Do you feel useless now?” she asked, gently.

He hesitated. “I don’t know. Some days I feel like I could lift a building. Some days I can’t even lift my own thoughts.”

She tilted her head, voice calm. “That sounds exhausting.”

He laughed once—dry, without joy. “Yeah.”

Then he glanced up at her for the first time in minutes.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly.

She blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.” His eyes held hers now, less shy than before, more curious. “Before this place. Before the project. Before… all of it. What were you like?”

She raised a brow. “Why would you want to know something about me, Bob?”

He swallowed. “Because you’re the only person who talks to me like I matter.”

That stopped her.

And then, more quietly, he added, “Even if you’re faking it… you do it well. And I guess… I want to believe it. Just a little. Even if it’s just in here.”

He tapped the side of his head gently. His voice was soft now, vulnerable in a way that wasn’t performative.

“You’re kind sometimes,” he said. “Or you try to be. And I think that means something.”

She held her breath for a moment, suddenly unsure whether the warmth she felt in her chest was pride in her experiment—or guilt.

“I guess I just want to know,” Bob added, “what kind of person knew how to make someone feel like they weren’t trash. Even if they were.”

Her heart didn’t break—no. That would require letting the crack show.

But it did ache.

Y/N leaned back in her chair slightly, folding one leg over the other. She looked at him carefully, studying the way his shoulders tensed when he was waiting, the nervous flick of his thumb across his palm.

“I used to play piano,” she said suddenly.

He blinked. “Really?”

“Mmhm.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were far away. “I was very good. Perfect, in fact. Until I missed a key.”

Bob frowned. “What happened?”

“My father happened.” She said it casually, like commenting on the weather. “He believed pain was a form of discipline. He also believed mistakes were a choice.”

Bob’s hands curled into fists, but he said nothing.

“I wasn’t allowed to cry in front of guests. I wasn’t allowed to be second. Ever. And eventually, I wasn’t allowed to be soft.”

She glanced at him now, a faint smile curling on her lips. “But I still remember how to fake it.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You don’t have to fake it.”

Silence.

She tilted her head. “No?”

He shrugged slightly. “I think the people who fake it best are the ones who used to mean it the most.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

So she stood slowly, walked over, and sat on the edge of his cot. Not close enough to scare him—but enough that he could feel her presence not as a doctor, but something gentler.

Bob tensed at first—but didn’t pull away.

She reached up carefully and brushed a strand of hair from his eyes.

“You’re not trash, Bob,” she whispered. “You’re… complicated. And I want to understand all of it.”

He stared at her.

And for the first time since he arrived—he didn’t feel like an experiment.

He felt like someone worth unwrapping.

Even if it was just a trick of the light.

The room they used for the sessions was different from the sterile coldness of the rest of the facility. It was dimly lit, intentionally warm, with soft neutral tones that were meant to calm the mind. There was no glass between them here, no restraints, no tests or needles. Just two chairs and a worn notebook on the table beside a tepid cup of coffee.

Y/N sat across from him, legs crossed neatly, pen held tightly in her hand though she wasn’t writing anything. Bob was fidgeting again, his sleeves rolled down to hide the old scars, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. He looked tired—always tired these days—but there was something else, too. He had started showing up early to these sessions. Sometimes sitting outside her office like a patient dog waiting to be let in.

She asked a simple question that day: “When did it start, the using?”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant, visibly shrinking into himself like the truth was just another way to be humiliated. His voice was low when he answered.

“After my mom died. I guess I didn’t know how to handle grief. No one teaches you how to survive that kind of thing.” He paused. “And my dad... wasn’t really around. Not in a way that mattered.”

Y/N remained still, her features calm but firm. Inside, something twitched. That word—grief—was a blade she had long learned to dull. Still, she nodded for him to continue.

“I tried to fix it by pretending. Like if I acted like everything was fine, it’d go away. But pretending is a drug too. Just doesn’t come in a bottle.”

Her fingers tightened slightly on the pen. “So you found something stronger than pretending.”

“Yeah,” he laughed hollowly. “Stronger. And crueler.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the lights above was the only sound in the room. Y/N wanted to ask more, to dig into that wound and examine it—but then he looked at her with those tired, pained eyes. Eyes that had begged before. For help. For rest. For death. She couldn’t push.

Not yet.

Session after session, he gave her more. Broken pieces of his past like offerings, laid out with hesitant fingers. A story of falling into addiction, of shame, of waking up in places he didn’t remember going, of people he used to know turning their backs on him. The pain he had caused. The guilt he wore like a second skin.

And Y/N listened. Not as a doctor, but as a woman who had also spent her life hiding scars no one could see. She never offered comfort—never let herself. But she stayed. Always.

One afternoon, after a particularly heavy session where Bob had talked about the first time he tried to end his own life, he lingered in her office. He didn’t want to leave. His fingers brushed against hers when she handed him a glass of water, and though the moment was brief, it hung in the air like smoke.

Later that week, he brought her a book—old and torn on the edges—about astronomy. “Thought you’d like it,” he said, almost whispering. “You look like someone who stares at stars when no one’s watching.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

By the time the sixth or seventh session had passed, Bob had grown visibly attached. He started asking for her instead of the other doctors. Wanted her to run his physicals. Asked her if she’d be there during testing. Waited for her in the hallway with questions that had nothing to do with his treatment. “Did you eat?” “How late are you working today?” “Do you want me to help carry that?”

It was small, subtle things at first. But Ilari noticed.

He brought it up during their briefing one night, arms crossed, a concerned look painting lines on his forehead.

“Y/N,” he said, tone heavy, “I’ve been watching your sessions with him.”

She looked up from her files, tired and sharp. “And?”

“You’re good with him. That’s not the problem. But he’s relying on you for more than treatment. He’s… starting to care for you.”

She didn’t answer.

“I know you,” he continued. “I’ve known you since you were a girl. You’re not like your father. Not really. You care. Even if you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine, Ilari.”

“I don’t think you are. And I don’t think you realize how dangerous this could be if you let your guard down. This—” he gestured to the case file, to Bob’s photo, “—this project is volatile. And he’s unstable. And you… you’ve been wounded too many times to see the line clearly anymore.”

Y/N stared at the file in silence. Her jaw tightened.

“I’m not feeling anything. He’s a subject,” she said evenly.

But her voice faltered at the end, and Ilari caught it.

“Maybe. But sometimes the ones who need saving most aren’t the ones on the table.” He softened. “Just watch yourself, Y/N. Please.”

That night, as she returned to Bob’s room for observation, she caught him waiting for her with a small paper crane he’d folded from a test result page. “Made this,” he said, eyes hopeful.

She didn’t know why, but her chest ached a little. Maybe because she saw the way his fingers had carefully creased the folds. Or maybe because, despite everything, despite all she had done, all she was still doing—he looked at her like she was something worth loving.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

The days dragged on with increasing weight.

Bob, though still cooperative in the sessions, was visibly wearing thin. His once-passive compliance had turned into quiet resistance. He followed instructions but did so sluggishly, without motivation or energy. During the last round of testing, he had refused to look anyone in the eyes. The bruises were fading quickly—his healing factor ensured that—but the emotional toll remained etched across his face.

Y/N knew something was coming. He was withdrawing again. It started when he skipped breakfast. Then he stopped talking between tests. His once-curious gaze grew dull. And then, finally, he spoke.

It was late, after another exhausting battery of tests. They sat alone again in the observation lounge—where she always came under the guise of checking data—but she could feel the heaviness in his silence.

“I don’t like this anymore,” Bob said, voice low and hoarse. “You know they’re hurting me.”

Y/N turned her head slowly, feigning surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” His eyes were sunken, and his arms were covered in fresh injection points. “Every day it’s needles. Probes. Blood drawn. They push my body to the edge and call it science. They don’t talk to me. I’m not a person to them.”

She stayed quiet, letting the words land. Bob looked down at his lap, breathing shakily.

“And you—you give the orders. I know you do. You smile at me, and you sit with me, but they only do what you say.”

Y/N felt the sharp sting of guilt crawl up her throat, but she buried it. She had always known this conversation would come.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I do give the orders.”

He flinched slightly, surprised at her honesty.

“You’re not dying, Bob,” she added, her voice tightening. “You’re responding to every test, every threshold. You’re the strongest biological specimen we’ve ever encountered. You don’t get sick. You don’t bleed for long. You can’t break. What we do is calculated. You’re not supposed to feel fragile.”

His fists clenched in his lap.

“But I do.”

That simple phrase rang through her like a gunshot.

He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t beg. He wasn’t even angry—not in the way she’d expected. He was simply exhausted, shrinking under the weight of something no healing factor could repair. His humanity.

Y/N didn’t answer. Instead, she stood and left the room without another word.

She spent that night alone in her office, awake well past midnight, staring at the medical logs and data charts. Her hands trembled as she reread the list of procedures he’d undergone in just the past 72 hours—thermal stress testing, controlled exposure to toxins, forced deprivation, strength exertion over limit. It was too much. It had been too much.

But her project was close to perfection. The results were undeniable. Bob Reynolds—Sentry—was something no one had ever seen before. A man touched by divinity. And she had crafted him.

Still... she remembered his voice. But I do.

The next morning, Y/N called an emergency staff meeting.

The entire medical and science division filed into the sterile conference room—doctors, technicians, analysts. Dr. Ilari stood at the far end, arms crossed, eyes wary. She took her place at the front of the room, standing behind the clear glass table, a thick folder in her hand.

They expected a report. They expected new assignments.

What they didn’t expect—was her announcement.

“Effective immediately,” she said coldly, “I am assuming full control over the Sentry project.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I will be conducting all medical testing, all data collection, and psychological assessments personally. Your departments will no longer have direct access to the subject unless explicitly requested.”

Murmurs broke out instantly. Several of the senior researchers exchanged alarmed glances. A hand shot up.

“With all due respect, Dr. Y/L/N, the scale of this project is—”

“I am aware of the scale,” she cut in. “And I am telling you now, the data we are collecting is being compromised by your methods. Subject 01 has been exhibiting signs of regression, instability, and emotional degradation. You’re treating him like a machine, and machines break.”

Ilari stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Y/N, this isn’t sustainable. You can’t handle the full scope—”

“I can, and I will.”

Her voice rang like a bell. The room went quiet again.

“I’ve monitored every blood draw, every dosage, every scan, every forced physical exertion. And what I see now is a subject who is reacting more to how we treat him than to the formulas themselves. If we want to control the god, we must not destroy the man.”

There was silence.

No one knew what to say. She was young, driven, brilliant—but this... this was a declaration of war on the entire system they had been building together.

Ilari stepped forward again, lowering his voice. “You’ve grown close to him.”

Y/N met his gaze. “This isn’t about emotions. This is about control. And I’m taking it back.”

She turned without another word, leaving the room in stunned silence.

—

That afternoon, when Bob returned from his brief outdoor break, he noticed something immediately. The usual technician wasn’t waiting at the door. There were no unfamiliar eyes watching him. No machines prepped.

Only Y/N stood inside, sleeves rolled up, her usual clinical coat left behind. Her expression was unreadable.

“Where is everyone?” he asked cautiously.

“I sent them away.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because from now on,” she said softly, “it’s just you and me.”

Bob stared at her for a long moment. "Did you do it..because of what I told you ?".

Y/N stared at him, a serious expression on her face. "No, I did it because the way you're treated affects my results. When I need them, they'll come back. For now it's just me. You're my priority."

No longer sterile, no longer clinical.

The harsh lights were dimmed now, replaced by soft amber hues from a floor lamp Y/N had brought in herself. The reclined metal exam chair had been replaced with a cushioned lounge seat, a table set with water, coffee, and a plate of biscuits Bob pretended not to like—but always finished. The whiteboards with biometric tracking and neurological data had been replaced with a single corkboard showing scribbled notes, hand-drawn mood scales, emotional triggers, color-coded maps of memory and cognition.

It looked less like a lab.

And more like a living room.

Bob sat cross-legged on the soft recliner, fidgeting with the seam of his pants. His hair had grown slightly, a bit uneven, and he looked both healthier and more childlike. Y/N sat across from him in an armchair, clipboard in hand, though it remained mostly blank these days. Most of their sessions had stopped being recorded.

It was safer that way.

“Let’s go back to the earliest time you remember… using,” she said gently, careful not to let judgment seep into her voice.

Bob shifted uncomfortably, lowering his gaze.

“It was... a vitamin bottle. From my mom’s cabinet,” he mumbled. “I was twelve.”

“Twelve,” she echoed softly. “That’s young.”

He nodded, then sighed. “I didn’t even know what it was. I just knew I didn’t want to be the version of myself I was. I wanted to be someone else.”

There was a long pause.

“What version of yourself were you running from?” she asked.

Bob blinked at her, his blue eyes wide and painfully human.

“I was just a scared kid,” he whispered. “Ugly inside. Angry. I had these... impulses. And I didn’t want to be him. So I started using whatever I could find. Pills. Later, harder stuff. Then the serum... and then everything got worse.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. But she didn’t speak. She let him sit in it, unravel in his own time.

He sniffed, brushing a hand under his nose like a boy trying not to cry. “You know... when you gave me that apple the other day?” he said quietly. “It was the first time I tasted something without wondering if I deserved it.”

She looked up, startled.

“You... don’t think you deserve things?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I deserve kindness. Or peace. Or... this.” He gestured at the warm, safe room. “That’s why when you sit with me like this... it messes with my head.”

Y/N put her clipboard down.

“You think I’m manipulating you?” she asked gently.

He looked up sharply, startled she said it out loud.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I think you’re... trying. I just don’t know if you’re doing it for me or for the project.”

Y/N inhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest like she could physically contain her guilt. “Does it matter?”

His eyes flickered toward her.

“It shouldn’t,” he murmured. “But I think it does. Because when you ask me things—about my life, my pain—it feels like you’re the only person who sees it. Like it’s not just data for you.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. Her voice, when it came, was small.

“It’s not just data.”

Bob swallowed hard. His hand moved toward the arm of his chair, almost instinctively reaching for hers—but he stopped. Let it fall back into his lap.

“I think about you when I try to sleep,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Not in a weird way. Just... you’re the only person who talks to me like I’m still real.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

And for a terrifying second, she forgot who she was. She forgot the glass between them. Forgot the millions of dollars of funding, the scientific scrutiny, the mandate to keep him controlled.

Because in that second, he wasn’t the Sentry.

He was just Bob.

A boy who broke too early and was still piecing himself together with shaking hands.

She leaned forward slightly.

“What are you most afraid of?” she asked.

Bob didn’t hesitate.

“Loving someone,” he said, “and then watching them disappear because they finally realize what I am.”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

“I won’t disappear,” she said, almost involuntarily.

He looked up sharply.

And for a moment, something soft bloomed behind his eyes—something desperate, something fragile.

A spark of hope.

She broke the eye contact quickly and stood up, walking toward the small cabinet in the corner. She needed space, a second to remember what this was. What she was doing. Why this mattered.

But as she poured them both a glass of water with trembling hands, she realized she was crossing the line.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was the kind of silence that hung gently, like a blanket wrapped around a shared vulnerability. The kind that said everything even when no one spoke.

Bob shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes never leaving her face. Something was different in the way she had reacted earlier—when he’d mentioned what scared him most. She hadn’t looked away because she didn’t care.

She looked away because she did.

He leaned forward slightly, voice low. Careful.

“Can I ask you something now?”

Y/N looked up, eyebrows raised.

“You’re already answering all my questions,” he added, half a smile tugging at his lips, though his voice remained serious. “I just want to ask one.”

She hesitated. The scientist in her was always in control—of the conversation, the space, the subject. She wasn’t used to letting herself be the subject.

But something in his voice made her nod.

“Go ahead.”

Bob exhaled slowly. Then asked, with terrifying gentleness:

“Is there something that makes you feel unloved? Maybe something that makes you think that… you have more worth if you were far away?”

The words stopped her cold.

It was like someone had reached inside her and pulled a string she didn’t even know was still connected.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her lips parted, then closed again. Her eyes dropped to the floor, then lifted, searching his face. He looked so soft, so unsure, as if the question had cost him something too. He already had seen a part of what destroyed, if felt like tha was the real question.

Y/N swallowed hard, heart thudding in her chest.

She could lie.

She should lie.

But somehow, it wouldn’t matter. He’d see through it anyway.

So instead, she settled on the safest possible truth.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “I don’t feel pretty enough.”

Bob blinked.

He stared at her for a moment, the silence now sharp with disbelief. And then, without meaning to, a dry laugh escaped him—more stunned than amused.

Y/N’s expression tightened slightly. She didn’t flinch, but something behind her eyes dimmed. “Was that funny to you?”

“No,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “No—I just—I’m sorry, it’s just… you?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, Y/N.”

He said it without fanfare, without hesitation, without flirtation. Just simple, raw honesty.

“You’re elegant. Controlled. Brilliant. You walk into a room and everyone holds their breath. And I—I can barely look at you sometimes because you’re so... untouchable.”

That word hung between them for a moment like a ghost.

She looked away, a faint, sad smile on her lips.

“Well,” she said softly, “I didn’t always feel like that. I grew up in those kinds of neighborhoods where no one really said ‘beautiful.', we just had to be, you know as girls…”

She trailed off.

Bob didn’t push. He just listened, fully present.

Y/N continued, her voice flatter now, detached.

“My mother was... obsessive with beauty. I don’t think she ever looked at me pride of my face, just looking for parts to fix. My posture. My skin. My weight. She’d tell me I looked tired, or my clothes were wrong, or I’d never find someone if I didn’t ‘try harder.’”

Bob’s expression darkened, his jaw twitching.

“She said the world doesn’t give love to plain girls,” Y/N said, her voice now barely above a whisper. “Only to the beautiful ones..”

Bob’s heart ached.

Not just for what she said.

But for the quiet way she said it. Like it didn’t deserve to hurt anymore.

He leaned in, his voice breaking.

“She was wrong.”

Y/N’s eyes met his.

“You’re not loved because you’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful because of how deeply you care. Even when you pretend you don’t. You stay up late cataloguing my nightmares. You memorize my blood sugar before your own sleep schedule. You still try to protect people, even when you’ve already decided they’ll leave you.”

She blinked, lips slightly parted.

“I think,” he added, “you’re just scared of being loved in a way that isn’t conditional.”

Her breath caught.

“You think I’m scared?”

“I know you are,” he said softly. “Because that’s the only kind of love we were ever taught. Love that only comes when you’re perfect. When you’re quiet. When you behave.”

He leaned back, watching her closely.

“But that’s not what I see when I look at you.”

Y/N looked away, blinking rapidly, as if she could physically hold back the sting behind her eyes. No one had ever said that to her before—not without wanting something. Not without using her after.

“I didn’t expect you to turn this session around,” she said with a dry, forced chuckle.

“I didn’t expect you to answer,” he replied.

They sat in silence again—this one more fragile, charged. But something in it had shifted.

The space between them no longer felt like subject and researcher.

It felt like two people, both worn thin by the world, quietly finding the broken pieces in each other

2016-Manhattan, NY

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, cold and heavy, mixing with the faint citrus perfume her mother always wore. Y/N sat on the edge of the examination table, her legs dangling, heels not quite reaching the step below. The crinkle of the disposable sheet beneath her thighs made her feel like a child. Which — she still was. Fourteen. Braces shining behind tight lips. Dressed in the soft pink satin dress her mother insisted she wear, with hair pulled neatly into a ribboned ponytail.

She hated that dress. It itched at her shoulders and clung wrong around her ribs.

Across the room, her mother sat perfectly composed in a velvet chair, legs crossed, pearls nestled against her collarbone like they belonged in a magazine spread. She flipped through a beauty magazine without really reading, eyes flicking up every few seconds to examine her daughter with a critic’s precision.

The door opened with a faint click, and in walked the doctor.

Polished. White coat. Plastic surgeon, just like her mother had said. He smiled warmly — professionally — and greeted them with a firm handshake.

“So, Y/N,” he began, looking down at her chart before glancing at her face. “It says here we’re considering a minor rhinoplasty, yes?”

Y/N’s heart skipped. She opened her mouth, but her mother spoke first.

“She’s had some… development issues. Her nose just won’t stop growing, and it’s throwing off the symmetry of her face.”

The doctor nodded, nonchalant. “Yes, at this age the cartilage can definitely appear out of proportion, but—”

“She looks like her father,” her mother interrupted, a thin, cold smile on her lips. “And that side of the family has very unfortunate noses.”

Y/N’s throat felt tight.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this,” she mumbled, finally finding her voice. Her fingers were twisting the hem of her dress in her lap. “I think I’m fine…”

Her mother’s magazine hit the table beside her with a soft slap. She stood, heels echoing through the room as she approached the table.

“Y/N,” her mother said calmly, but the tension beneath the words cut like glass, “do you want to be seen as beautiful or not?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but the words tangled in her braces and shame.

Her mother leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if she was sharing something intimate — something only for them. “I’m not going to have a daughter with an unattractive face. You already need braces and a brow correction. You don’t get to be stubborn and plain.”

Y/N’s eyes burned, but she blinked hard. She didn’t want to cry in front of them.

The doctor looked away politely. Or perhaps uncomfortably.

“I just… I don’t like the idea of being cut,” Y/N tried again, softer. “I’m not even done growing yet.”

“You’ll grow worse,” her mother replied flatly. “You’re lucky I’m doing this now. Later it’ll just be harder. Uglier. You’ll thank me when you’re older, when people look at you and can’t look away.”

She smoothed the hair from Y/N’s forehead, almost tenderly — as if she hadn’t just called her ugly.

“Beauty is power, darling,” she said. “And you don’t have much else yet.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Her eyes drifted to the mirror across the room. Her reflection stared back: pink satin dress, too-bright cheeks, braces flashing silver, eyes too big for her tired face.

She didn’t look pretty.

She looked like a girl trying to become something for someone else.

And the worst part was… she would say yes. She always said yes.

Over the years, the girl in the pink satin dress slowly disappeared — replaced by something sculpted.

After the nose job, the healing came with more than just physical pain. There were weeks of swelling, bandages, and the quiet ache behind her eyes that she never spoke of. But the surgery wasn’t the end — it was only the beginning.

By fifteen, the conversation turned to her chest. “I’m not saying you look bad, darling,” her mother said, examining her like a mannequin under harsh boutique lighting. “But you’re… underwhelming. And in this world, no one gives attention to the flat ones.”

And so the boob job was scheduled. Recovery was hidden behind “a ski injury” for her peers. Her mother coached the story, even had a note forged from a fake orthopedic specialist. She smiled and told Y/N she looked more “feminine” now. More sellable.

At sixteen, the braces came off. Her teeth were straight, pristine — a perfect row of white lies. But before she could even get used to her new smile, her mother was already booking appointments for lip fillers. “Now your lips won’t disappear when you smile,” she had said sweetly, applying gloss to Y/N’s face like one might polish a car. “Don’t pout, baby. It’s called maintenance.”

The gym came next. Two hours a day. No excuses. A personal trainer was hired to tone, to sculpt, to burn away anything that didn’t fit the image. There was no room for rest — only routines, calories counted and monitored, waist measurements noted weekly.

At school, the other girls admired her. Boys stared. Teachers complimented her presence like she was a young socialite. She got good at smiling. At saying thank you. At being exactly what she was built to be.

But behind the makeup and luxury brands was a hollow hum — a ringing silence where her voice used to be.

By seventeen, etiquette lessons were part of her weekly schedule. How to sit. How to stand. How to speak just enough, but never too much. “You walk like you’re from the suburbs,” her mother once said, adjusting her posture with a ruler against her back. “Walk like you own the world.”

Her wardrobe was curated with surgical precision: no jeans, no sneakers. Only skirts and dresses, preferably form-fitting, elegant, demure but enticing. High heels were not optional. Her mother said that flats were for quitters. Every inch of her had to scream polished, desirable, perfect.

Her hair was always done — keratin treatments, hot oil masks, trims every three weeks. “You are not a girl who has split ends,” her mother once said sharply after catching a broken strand. And so the hair remained long, flowing like a curtain around her carefully constructed face.

A full-time makeup artist became part of the household by eighteen. “She’ll teach you what works for your bone structure,” her mother said while sipping wine. “We can’t rely on youth forever.”

Every morning was a ritual. Foundation, contour, liner, lashes. A mask she wore like armor. And she wore it well.

People stared. People desired. People praised her.

But no one saw her.

They saw the product. The work of another woman’s ambition. They saw a sculpture carved from insecurity and painted over with expectations.

And sometimes, late at night, in front of the mirror — bare-faced and stripped down — Y/N would touch her nose or trace her lips, wondering if her reflection remembered what it was like to be real. Wondering if there was anything left of the girl who once cried in a doctor's office, begging to keep the face she was born with.

But those thoughts didn’t last long.

She had been raised to be beautiful — not brave.

The small apartment in Malaysia was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the lone candle on her nightstand.

Steam still lingered faintly in the air from her shower, curling along the ceiling like ghostly fingers. Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her wet hair clinging to her bare shoulders, a white towel wrapped securely around her body. The dim candlelight flickered across the room, casting her reflection in warm, dancing shadows.

She exhaled slowly, arms crossed, fingers clutching the edges of the towel.

She had always been so clinical about herself. Her body was a machine—one to be sharpened, maintained, hidden when necessary. It was easier that way. Easier than acknowledging the ache she’d buried since she was young, since she’d stood in this exact position in a much smaller mirror, hearing her mother’s sharp voice cutting into her like glass.

“You’ll never be loved looking like that.”

“You need to try harder. Be softer. Men don’t fall in love with girls who don’t look like they want to be loved.”

She had taken those lessons and pressed them so deeply into her bones that even now, even with every degree on her wall and title next to her name, she could still hear them.

But Bob’s voice—his voice had been so different.

“You’re one of the most beautiful I've ever seen, Y/N.”

She stared at herself now, like she was trying to see what he had seen.

She let the towel slip just a little lower, exposing more of her collarbones, the top of her sternum. She turned to the side, watching the lines of her silhouette in the flickering light. She pulled the towel away slowly and dropped it to the floor, standing naked before the mirror, her skin still glistening from the shower.

Her eyes traveled slowly across herself—shoulders, chest, waist, hips. She had always been lean, naturally so, but harshly maintained through skipped meals and long nights at the lab. Her curves weren’t soft; they were strategic. Everything about her had been designed to survive, not to be desired.

Was she thin enough? Beautiful enough?

Was she what Bob had imagined when he said those words?

She brushed a damp lock of hair from her face, letting her gaze settle on her own eyes.

How would he see her like this? Bare, vulnerable. Not behind her lab coat. Not behind notes or experiments or questions. Just her.

Would he still think she was beautiful?

And then, as if her own thoughts physically struck her, she flinched.

Her breath caught.

Why do I care?

Her hand went to her mouth, as if she could pull the question back.

She took a step away from the mirror.

Why the hell do I care what he thinks about my body?

It wasn't just clinical anymore. She wanted him to see her. She wanted him to think about her. And that terrified her.

She had never let herself feel that.

Not since—

Not since the last time she loved someone who couldn’t stay.

And Bob? He was the definition of unstable. Of unpredictable. Of dangerous. He was a cosmic bomb wrapped in a sad smile and dependency.

And yet… she was falling.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes as if it would stop the flood of heat in her chest.

You’re getting too close. You’re starting to like him.

Dr. Ilari’s voice echoed in her mind like a warning bell. “Y/N, don’t romanticize his pain. I’ve seen this before. You’re not the cold, surgical person you pretend to be. You’re delicate. You care too deeply, and you’ll pay for it if you lose yourself in him.”

She stumbled back to the bed and pulled the sheets around her body, collapsing into the mattress with her hair still wet and skin still bare.

Her mind raced.

The way Bob looked at her.

The way he said you matter.

The way he saw past her harshness and perfectionism and still wanted to stay.

And most dangerously… the way he made her wonder what it would feel like to let someone truly see her again. Not as a doctor. Not as a project. But as a woman. A person.

She rolled onto her side, facing the wall, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Maybe the worst part wasn’t that she cared. Maybe the worst part was that, for the first time in years, she wanted to be cared for, too. Not even thinking about pleasing her parents...she was thinking about pleasing Bob.

Oh no.

The next session was different.

The air in the room felt heavier than usual, weighed down by something unspoken. Y/N sat a little straighter than she normally did, her clipboard clutched more tightly in her hand, her gaze more clinical than warm.

Bob noticed immediately.

He sat across from her, slouched with a blanket draped around his shoulders from the coldness of the medical wing. But his posture stiffened the moment she didn’t look at him the way she usually did.

No gentle smile. No soft eyes. Just distance.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked quietly, voice uncertain.

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She was too busy jotting something down—though, truthfully, the page was still blank.

“No,” she said after a pause. “Nothing wrong. I just think we need to reestablish some professional boundaries.”

There it was.

Clean. Cold. Measured.

Bob stared at her. His heart lurched in his chest.

“Professional,” he repeated, like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth. “Okay… What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means,” she said, keeping her tone even, “that we’re slipping into something emotionally codependent. I’m here to observe, treat, and study. I’m not your friend, Bob. And I think I’ve let my guard down more than I should’ve.”

Bob blinked at her, the betrayal hitting him like a slow-moving train.

“But you wanted me to talk. You asked me about my memories, about my trauma. You listened, you said it mattered.”

“It does matter. But that doesn’t mean it’s healthy for either of us to blur the lines.”

“You tucked me in two nights ago,” he said, his voice rising. “You held my hand. You slept next to me. And now you’re telling me we’re too close?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed, but she kept her composure. “That was a misstep. One I shouldn’t have made. You’re a subject under my care, Bob, not—”

“Not what?” he snapped. “Not a person? Not someone worth more than the data you scribble on your clipboard?”

“That’s not fair.”

Bob stood up abruptly, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He looked hurt, but more than that—he looked abandoned. Again.

“Why would you do all that if you didn’t mean it?” he asked, softer now, more broken. “You made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just some lab freak they keep stabbing with needles.”

Y/N stood too, uncomfortable, defensive. “Because you do matter, Bob. That’s why I have to do this. If I let you believe this is anything more than part of your recovery, I’ll be failing both of us. You need stability, not attachment. And I—”

She caught herself. Almost admitted something she couldn’t afford to.

“And I can’t be the person you lean on like that.”

Silence.

Then Bob stepped back, his jaw clenched.

“You said I was smart,” he said. “Smarter than I let on.”

“I did.”

“Then you should’ve known I’d figure this out eventually. That all your affection—your kindness—it was calculated. Part of your experiment.”

Y/N’s eyes softened just a touch, guilt creeping in.

“It wasn’t fake,” she whispered. “I just… let it go too far.”

Bob stared at her like he didn’t recognize the woman in front of him anymore.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he said, voice trembling, “to go from nothing—to being locked up, experimented on, treated like a threat—and then suddenly someone treats you like you’re human again? Do you know what it does to a person when that someone pulls away?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Bob turned, his back to her, arms tense at his sides.

“I don’t want to be your experiment anymore,” he muttered.

“You’re not,” Y/N said, quietly. “You’re not just an experiment. But you’re also not my responsibility beyond what this project demands.”

Another long silence.

When Bob turned back to her, his expression was no longer just hurt—it was unreadable.

“Understood, doctor,” he said. “From now on, let’s keep things professional.”

And then he left, walking out of the session room without another word.

Y/N stood there long after he was gone.

Her clipboard was still blank.

And her heart—against all logic—ached. Did she want him to go away? How is this man so special to break her this deep in just three weeks.

#robert reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts x reader #marvel #mcu fandom #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts*#mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel x you #mcu #sentry x reader #sentry #void x reader #void

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gatheringbones · 4 months ago

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would you happen to have any recommendations on where to start re: thick doorstopper tomes about interpersonal conflict?

I hope we choose love: a trans girl’s notes from the end of the world by Kai cheng thom

what my bones know: a memoir of healing from complex trauma by Stephanie foo

adult children of emotionally immature parents by lindsay c gibson

the dance of anger: a woman’s guide to changing the patterns of intimate relationships by harriet Lerner

why won’t you apologize? healing big betrayals and everyday hurts by harriet Lerner

on repentance and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world, by rabbi danya ruttenberg

love and rage: the path to liberation through anger by lama rod owens

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handweavers · 1 year ago

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do you have some favorite pants sewing patterns you recommend? (esp for beginners)?

top left is my fave pants sewing pattern of all time, the fremantle pants by elbe textiles. i've made 5 pairs for myself in varying weights/fabrics and i love them dearly and will continue to make pants with this pattern forever

top right: pleat pants by readytosew. the asymmetry is unusual and not for everyone but i really really love these and find them so comfortable. when making them, the big pleat adds a bit of complexity but i'd say if you've made 1 pair of pants before you'd be able to do this for sure

bottom left: the alexandra morocco pants (free pattern) are really great too, i think these would be a good beginner pattern because there aren't any pockets to fiddle around with but i have hacked these to add inseam pockets before. these are also nice when hacked into shorts

bottom right: the all well studio pants are awesome, versatile, excellent beginner instructions and the designer has a hacking guide you can follow to modify the pants in various ways. the other patterns by this designer are also fantastic btw

i generally wear a US size 20/22 and all of these patterns come in sizes that fit me. all photos are taken from the designers websites. i like pants that hit at my high waist/a few inches above my belly button and all these hit the mark, so keep that in mind.

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palmanatomy · 2 months ago

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Again, no one asked for this but here's another fic rec because people liked the last two and my brain has been filled with these fics and I will explode if I don't get them out.

The Babysitting Job by pornosophical is a beautiful slow burn Timkon fic that is just so accurate to their characters and portrays their relationship in such a beautiful way. I love it and I love all the supporting characters that are involved in it. Basically, Tim was planning on coming out to Kon when Steph asks him to fill in for her in babysitting Manhunter's son, so Kon helps out. It's beautiful and I love it.

I already recommended Nights and Days by malcyon, but A Saturday Evening is a beautiful, established relationship Timkon as a part of that series about Tim meeting Ma and Pa Kent. The characterisation of everyone is so on point and their relationships are all so accurate. I love how malcyon writes Tim and Kon and it just makes me so happy reading them being happy. And I love Ma and Pa Kent and people need to write more old people romance.

I was shocked to see there are like three fics about Serling Roquette in her tag because tbh I thought everyones mind just revolved around the funky side characters in my favourite comic runs. Anyway, more lovely and more temperate by merils is beautiful and amazing and so well written just like everything else they write. Serling Roquette moves to San Francisco and runs into an old friend, making two new ones in the process. Kon and Serling are long overdue for a reunion in comics and ugh, this fic just does both characters such justice. If I could recommend every fic by merils I would.

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by BirdChild focusses on Tim and Bruces relationship post adoption in like the later issues of Robin 1993. I just love how it shows the complexities of the relationships in Tims life and the rational rightous anger that Tim feels but comes out at the wrong time. Like how everyone argues with their parent over something that seems stupid and evolves into a bigger argument when they're a teenager. Its just so real. I love it. It also has a little bit of comic accurate Timsteph (YAY) and addresses the complex relationship that Tim has with grief and, y'know, losing his gf and everyone he loves in a few months. I love it.

This ones my favourite rare pair and it makes me so happy to see that people have actually wrote fics about them instead of them just living in my head. Anyway, Thats How the Light Gets In by poisonivory is just. incredible. Its a bombcat fic about Grant Emerson and his relationships with a lot of people, mainly focussing on his one with Tommy Bronson, my favourite catboy. It's so beautiful and it just makes me so happy to see these obscure character that no one seems to talk about anymore be done justice. If you've never heard of these characters before, read Damage 1994 (lowkey a dumpster fire), Titans 1999 (amazing) and Justice Society 2007 (way too many characters but incredible but also half the time you actually have no idea what's happening because theres too many characters. justice society is what the justice league wishes they were and they are family goals) Another fic that's a little darker (also has some smut) is free time and a long spine by shenanigans which just gives Grant so much justice i love my angry human bomb ugh. Any fic by poisonivory or shenanigans is just amazing and i'd highly recommend reading.

Finally, hit me like lightning by cissiecassie is THE koncassie fic that just encapsulates the energy that they project in the comics. I could write an essay on how kon and cassies relationship and how it represents insecurity surrounding sexuality on both parts but i won't because i would bore you to death. Just the way that both of them are written in this is so amazing and Cassie's valley girl speech pattern is just so important to me and I'm happy someone included it. Kon and Cassie are both just so repressed gay man and lesbian woman and I love it.

That's all for now, I hope you guys enjoy these as much as I did and make sure you give these writers all the love that they deserve.

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chipontherailroad · 6 months ago

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HI!! Do you have any tips for beginners who want to try their hand at making a Stex cosplay?

So, StEx cosplays can be really intimidating when you first start looking at them, but I’ve found that breaking the costume down into what you can recognise really helps! :D

Like as follows:

- What does the base garment look like to me?

- What shapes of clothing can I see

- What are the main feature pieces?

- What Materials might replicate the textures?

And in an example, using my Rusty cosplay as a reference, the answers would be:

- Base garment looks like dungarees with a main feature t-shirt piece and long sleeves underneath that. (This kind of answers the two first questions!)

- The main feature pieces would then be the chest plate, coal box, hat, belt & panels

After that you can start to put in more research for what clothing or sewing patterns would work for the elements you need to have!

Always remember that buying pre-made garments to use as a base is 100% valid in the cosplay making process!! It can be so useful and definitely the best way to start if you’re just beginning in your cosplay journey!

- For the more complex feature pieces, Craft Foam will always be your best friend! Not only is it the easiest to work with, it’s also fairly easy to get ahold in terms of availability and pricing!

- Worbla is also a really great option for making pieces, but it can be a bit more on the expensive side and tricky to work with!

- I also recommend using UHU glue as it creates a good strong bond on most materials!

Acrylic paints can be used on loads of different materials and will also work on fabrics, just remember to use your iron/heat gun after painting to heat seal the acrylic paint if you do use it on clothing/fabric! Fabric paints are also great!

Always remember that cosplay is for everyone, it doesn’t matter whether you’re just starting out or have been doing it for a long time, if you love a character enough to want to dress up as them it’s always going to be incredible!! Just enjoy the process and never be afraid to ask for advice or help if you need it!! The cosplay community is for skillsharing and having a great time!

I really hope this helps!!

Let me know if you need anything else, I’m always here if you ever need advice or help with your cosplay! :D

I’ve also pictured below how I draw out a cosplay before I make it!!

#starlight express #stex #cosplay #musical fandom #costume making #cosplay tips #cosplay advice #cosplayer #cosplay help

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lottielovelace · 7 months ago

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die prinzessin

(PLATONIC könig & sister!reader)

summary: So... turns out your mystery half-brother is a giant Austrian special forces operator. What now? (Catching up on two decades of sibling bonding, that's what)

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: main version 3.1k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Platonic König & Reader, König/Horangi

Ao3 Tags: Brother-Sister Relationships / Sibling Bonding / Long Lost/Secret Relatives / reader is konig's half sister / Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (reader has scars implied to be from SH but it's ultimately left up to interpretation) / Deutsch | German / Author speaks German (as a second language) / Historical References / reading the prior installment is recommended but not required

this is a part of a series

Notes:

Possible triggers: - König teaches MC to shoot. No violence, but he gives her semi-detailed instructions on how to handle a sniper rifle. - MC talks about past mental health struggles, and König notices old scars of her. These are implied to be from SH, but I tried to leave it open-ended for anyone who doesn't want that in their reading. - König implied to have previously experienced homophobia.

Prior context: I recommend reading the previous installment in the series, but if you really don't wanna here are the truly crucial parts: Your name is Elisabeth "Elise" Linh Veidt, a medical student. You were kidnapped to serve as hostage for a half-brother (König) you've never met before, who ended up rescuing you. There's more, but it's not directly tied to this fic so I'll leave it unspoiled in case you do become interested in reading the first work in the series. I do not use Y/N. I sometimes do use "Elise" & other specific details (you'll see why it's unavoidable in this fic) but I try to—when possible—keep things vague so you can freely project onto her (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

About the German: I speak German as a second language. I like to assess my skill level as "I know what Genitive is, but I don't always remember to use it." As Hochdeutsch-speaking foreign civilian, my speech patterns/vocabulary are going to be pretty similar to Elise's but very different to König, a native Austrian and a hardened soldier. I tried translate as accurately as possible (lots of LEO usage), but besides maybe a "servus" or two, I made and will make no attempt to mimic the Austrian dialect because it's frankly a lost cause for me. That being said, if you are a native speaker and notice any grammatical/syntactical mistakes (or even any sentences where you go "he would not fucking say that" [ex: a term being super formal or old fashioned] please let me know!

About the legibility: This is the primary iteration of the fic. If the German really does make it impossible to read, here's a version devoid of foreign language, but if possible, I highly recommend reading this version for the fullest experience. This version is the most proofread edition and even if you don't speak the language there was linguistic nuances you can still pick up on. If there are any cultural references you don't get, I have an explanation post linked at the bottom. (also available here)

"Können wir jetzt sprechen?” [ Can we speak now? ]

“Fast,” [ Almost ], your brother answered as he continued to guide you through the complex’s winding halls. His refusal to answer questions until your surroundings were secure made the flight over to the KorTac base feel endless.

Finally he stopped at a door-lined hallway. Approaching the second on the left, he punched a combination into its keypad. It swung open, revealing a modest bedroom.

“Großes Bett” [ Big bed ], you noted. His cot was large, even for someone of his rank.

“Ich habe ein Verzicht erhalten” [ I got a waiver ], he lazily indicated at his height. You were once again reminded of your stark height difference.

You looked at him—or at least what you could see of him with the mask—again. Drawing from your bio classes, you knew you shared 25% of your DNA. Clearly none of it manifested in height. Your father had been tall, but even at his peak he was nowhere near as lofty as your brother.

“Deine Mutter muss riesig sein.” [ Your mother must be giant .]

“Sie war.” [ She was. ]

You mentally winced. Way to get off on the wrong foot.

“Meine Mutter ist auch verstorben. Früher dieses Jahres.” [ My mother also passed. Earlier this year. ]

“Entschuldigung.” [ My condolences ].

“Du weißt, dass unser Vater schon ein paar Jahren gestorben ist.” [ You know that our father died a few years ago. ]

You really hoped you weren’t the one to break the news to him.

“Ja, ich weiß. Wir haben einen Brief bekommen.” [ Yes, I know. We received a letter .]

“Gut.” [ Good .]

“Dein Name ist Elisabeth, ja?” [ Your name is Elisabeth, correct? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

You’re not surprised he knows. There’s gotta be a file on you somewhere packed with everything you’ve ever even sniffed at.

“Magst du deinen Namen?” [ Do you like your name? ]

“Wie bitte?” [ Pardon? ]

“Benutzen Sie Elisabeth oder etwas anderes?" [ Do you go by Elisabeth or something else? ]

“Elise. Und du musst nicht ‘Sie’ benutzen. Wir sind Blut.” [ Elise. And you don’t need to be so formal. We’re blood .] A beat passed. “Wie heißt du?” [ And you? What is your name? ]

“Jeder nennt mich König.” [ Everyone calls me König. ]

“König? Ist das nicht ein wenig dramatisch?” [ King? Isn’t that a bit dramatic? ]

“Wenn du so groß wie ich bin, gibt es keinen Raum für Subtilität. Auch mag ich Geburtsnamens nicht.” [ When you’re as big as me, there is no room for subtlety. Plus I’m not the biggest fan of my birth name. ]

“Darf ich fragen?” [ May I ask? ]

“Ludwig.”

“Ludwig? Wie der König? Der Verrückte?” [ Ludwig? Like the king? The mad one? ]

“Genau. Ich mag es nicht, aber möchte es noch würdigen.” [ Exactly. I don’t like it, but I do enjoy paying tribute to it in my own way.]

“Elisabeth und Ludwig. Unser Vater mochte die Wittelsbacher, ja?” [ Elisabeth and Ludwig. Our father had a fondness for the Wittelsbachers. ]

“Wenn ich der Märchenkönig bin und du die Sisi bist, bist du Kaiserin?” [ If I’m the Fairy Tale King, and you’re Sisi… wouldn’t that make you the Empress? ]

“Dann wäre ich dir überlegen.” [ I would outrank you then. ]

“Gefällt dir das als mögliches Rufzeichen?” [ Would you like that as a callsign? ]

“Was? Kaiserin? Muss ich wirklich einen?” [ What, Empress? Do I even need one? ]

“Ja. Es würde mir ein Stein vom Herzen fallen. Dein Name ist kostbar. Verrate es nicht. Zumindest nicht hier.” [ I think so. It would ease my mind. Your name is a precious thing, I don’t want you to give it away. At least not while you’re on base. ]

Your stomach twisted.

“Du hast mir gesagt, dass dieser Ort sicher sei.” [ I thought you said this place was safe. ]

“Ja voll. Aber jeder kann mithören und hacken.” [ It is. But anyone can tap into radio comms or steal files .]

“Was meinst du damit?” [ What are you implying? ]

“Es ist zusätzlicher Schutz. Bitte. Es könnte irgendetwas. Ich brauche nur, dass du eines hast.” [ It’s an extra barrier of protection. Please. You can pick whatever it is, I just want you to have one. ]

You thought about it for a moment.

“Ich möchte nicht ‘Kaiserin’ sein. Das ist zu viel Macht und Anstrengung. Die Kaiserkrone hat die echte Sisi erwürgen.” [ I don’t want to be ‘Empress’. That’s too much power and pressure. The imperial crown strangled the original Sisi, after all. ]

A smile bloomed on your face.

“Vielleicht zulasse ich ‘Prinzessin’.” [ I might be amenable to ‘Princess’ though. ]

“Prinzessin? Ich kann damit leben. Sinn für kurz?” [ Princess? I can work with that. Sinn (meaning sense/reason/mind) for short? ]

You nodded with deep gravitas, “Einer von uns muss die Intelligenz sein.” [ Someone needs to be the brains around here. ]

Something about the faux-seriousness in your tone made the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter.

The moment is so beautiful, you almost don’t want to ruin it with the question you know you have to ask. Something ancient, the spirit of Orpheus or Pandora perhaps, urges you to look.

“Darf ich über der Maske fragen?” [ Can I ask about the mask? ]

He paused for a moment, hesitant. Then quietly he spoke:

“Ich kann es ausziehen. Du bist Familie.” [ I can take it off. For you. You’re family, after all. ]

There’s a reluctance in his voice that made your heart twinge.

“Du musst nicht wenn du nicht willst.” [ You don’t have to if you don’t want to. ]

“Nein.” [ No. ] This time his voice seems more resolved, “Ich möchte.” [ I want to. ]

He pulled off his hood. His face was ruddy, but it worked well with his light hair and eyes. You two both looked so similar yet so different.

“Du hast alle guten Gene geerbt,” [ You clearly got all the good genes, ] you joked.

He turned his head bashfully, accidentally revealing his battered side profile.

“Deine arme Nase! Was passiert?” [ Your poor nose! What happened to it? ]

“Zebrochen. Ein paarmal. Bisschen verwickelt medizinische Hilfe zu erkriegen wenn du deinem Gesicht verheimlichst.” [ Broke it. A few times. Bit hard to get medical attention when you refuse to show your face. ]

“Nächste Mal einfach ruf mich. Ich habe dein Gesicht schön gesehen.” [ Next time just come to me. I’ve already seen your face. ]

“Mit Verlaub zu sagen, wie viel kannst du hilf mit helfen?” [ No offense, but how much can you help? ]

“Ja leider. Was weiß ich?” [ You’re right. What do I know? ] you bit back. “Ich habe nur noch ein Viertel vom Medschule übrig.” [ I’m only a quarter out from graduating med school. ]

“Soll das ein Scherz sein?” [ You’re joking. ]

“Das war nicht im Bericht?” [ That didn’t make it into the file? ]

“Nein. Wann ist der Abschluss?” [ No. When’s graduation? ]

You tensed. He was beaming with pride. You hated to ruin it with the ugly truth.

“Ich weiß nicht ob ich graduiere.” [ I don’t know if I will graduate. ]

“Warum? Hast du schulische Probleme?” [ Why? Are you having troubles at school? ]

“Sozusagen. Meine Noten sind gut, aber heuer versuchte ich zu ausscheiden. Sie ließen mich nicht, so nahm ich Gewaltkur.” [ Sort of? My grades are fine but… I tried to drop out earlier this year. They wouldn’t let me so I took more… drastic measures. ]

König’s eyes drifted to your scars.

“Sie sind alt.” [ They’re old, ] you reassured. “Und danach dem ganze Entführungquatch, ich bin entschlossen zu überleben. Vetrau mir. Deshalb möchte ich nicht zurückkehren. Ich möchte leben, nicht in Schule sorgen.” [ Plus after the whole kidnapping ordeal, I’m more determined to live than ever. Trust me. That’s why I don’t want to go back. I want to live, not suffer more in school. ]

Your brother looked at you disapprovingly, “Du musst zurückgehen.” [ You need to go back. ]

“Kann ich einfach hier bleiben? Bei dir? Ich könnte Medizinerin sein.” [ Can’t I just stay here with you? I could be a medic. ]

"Medizinische Arbeit ist nicht leicht.” [ Being a medic is hard work. ]

“Fleiß ist kein fremd.” [ I’m no stranger to hard work.]

“Du wärst ein bessere Medizinerin, wenn du Schule fertigbringst.” [ You’d be a better medic if you finished school. ]

You stared at him with arms crossed, unyielding.

He tried again, “Wenn du dein Medizinstudium abschließt kannst du hier arbeiten. Und du erhältst eine besondere Belohnung von mir.” [ Look, if you graduate you can work here full time—and I’ll ensure you get a special reward. ]

“Was?” [ What? ]

“Eine Überraschung. Du wirst es schön wissen.” [ It’s a surprise. I won’t tell you. Yet. ]

You pursed your lips. Clearly this wasn’t an argument you were going to win.

“In Ordnung. Aber lass mich länger bleiben. Ich möchte dich kennenlernen.” [ Fine. But let me stay a little longer. I want to get to know you.]

“Natürlich.” [ Of course. ]

The tension dissipated.

“Du hast gesagt das du lasst Medical dein Gesicht nicht sehen. Erlaubst du irgendjemand?” [ You said you don’t let medical see your face. Do you let anyone else? ]

Your brother flushed. He really was quite pink under the hood.

“Einer.” [ One person .]

You mentally rolled up your sleeves. You had over two decades of little sister pestering to make up for.

“Echt?” [ Oh really? ]

“Ein Freund.” [ A friend. ]

“Ein Freund oder dein Freund?” [ A friend or your boyfriend? ]

“Ich liebe ihn.” [ I love him. ]

“Gefühl er gleichartig?” [ And does he feel the same?]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

“Na ja, ich muss sehen, ob er gut genug für dich ist.” [ Hmm. I’ll have to see if he’s good enough for you. ]

He slumped in relief. With a jolt you realized he was afraid of you… rejecting him. For what? Being in a relationship with another man? No, you of all people would never do that. You silently resolved to make sure he would never have to fear that ever again.

“Du kannst ihn heute Abend in der Kantine begegen.” [ You can meet him in the mess hall tonight. ]

----------

The mess hall is awash with activity. Even here amongst allies and coworkers, people gave König a wide berth.

“Welcher ist er?” [ Which one is he? ]

König pointed to a man sitting alone at a table.

“Dieser.” [ That one. ]

“Noch ein Maskenträger? Bisschen narzisstisch, ja?” [ Another mask? Bit narcissistic of you, isn’t it?]

You felt your brother roll his eyes under his hood. The sitting man’s head jerked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps. His mask already pulled up over his mouth to eat, the man broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Das ist der Horangi.” [ This is Horangi. ] König introduced. “Klarname Kim Hong-jin.” [ Real name Kim Hong-jin. ]

“Sprecht er Deutsch?” [ Does he speak German? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ] Horangi responded. “Er war mein Lehrer. So wurden wir unzertrennlich. Du bist seine Schwester, ja?” [ He has been my tutor. It’s actually how we got close. You’re his sister, right? ]

“Richtig.” [ Yes. ]

“Does she speak English?” Horangi asked your brother, switching languages. You knew it was just a way to test your skills, but it irked you.

“I’m American.”

“Just because you’re American doesn’t mean you speak English. I don’t even know if half the stuff that comes out of Graves’ mouth even qualifies as human speech.”

“Graves?” you looked to your brother for explanation.

“Er ist—wie sagt man das? Yee-haw?” [ He is… how do you say it? Yee-haw? ]

“Südstaatler?” [ Southern? ]

“Geneau.” [ Exactly. ]

You crossed your arms and gave Horangi a final thorough look-over.

“I approve under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Teach me how to fight. It’s great that I was able to meet my brother but I do not want a repeat of the kidnapping.”

Horangi cocked his head, “Wouldn’t you want to learn from your brother?”

“There are plenty of things I want to learn from him. This is not one of them. Based on size alone, we’re going to have very different strategies. I’m sure he’s a great fighter, but I have a feeling that using his technique with my frame would be… lackluster. No offense.”

“Kein Problem.” [ None taken. ]

“Very well,” Horangi relented. If this was all it took to be on the good side of his in-laws, it was a small price to pay. “I expect to see you at 7 sharp. I won’t go easy on you.”

“Perfect.”

----------

Horangi’s right. It’s not easy, but slowly and steadily—and with no small amount of tears and blood—you managed to win Horangi’s respect (and a nice set of abs).

About a week in, he makes a suggestion. You two were on a water break, your brother was sitting nearby. König had taken to watching your sparring, occasionally commentating or tagging in.

“Du verbesserst!” [ You’re improving! ] the Austrian complimented brightly.

“Und ich habe gar nichts mit es zu tun.” [ And I had absolutely nothing to do with the matter, ] Horangi muttered with mock resentment.

“Unsinn, du bist immer ein prima Lehrer.” [Nonsense, you are an excellent teacher.] König apologized with a kiss.

“Wirklich! Vielen Dank.” [ Definitely, thank you so much! ] you corroborated.

Horangi shifted. Even in training, he still wore the mask—at least while in the base’s general gym. He was more lackadaisical about it in private. Your “family dinners” with him and König had given you a good look at both of their faces.

You’d become well versed in his facial reactions. Even with his face covered you could feel his devilish smile.

“자기야, du solltest ihr deine erste Liebe vorstellen.” [You know babe, you should introduce her to your first love.]

Your head snapped to your brother. Sans Horangi, you were probably the person on base who he felt most comfortable talking about his past with, but even then it sometimes felt like pulling teeth. You quickly learned to treasure any lore you gleaned.

“Was? Warum habe ich noch nie von das gehört?” [ What? How have I not heard of this before? ]

König raised his hands in defense.

“Das stimmt nicht. Er verhohnepipelt mich.” [ It’s not like that. He’s making fun of me. ]

“Wer ist diese erste Liebe dann?” [ Who is this first love then? ]

“Scharfschützen.” [ Sniping, ] he replied bashfully.

----------

After much cajoling, you finally got König to teach you to snipe. You had a good feeling about it. You always had a steady hand and good hand-eye coordination. Before the kidnapping, you’d even been looking into specializing in surgery (though now—whenever you’d return—you’d be taking a hard turn into emergency medicine and the other subjects required for a combat medic). Plus maybe it ran in the family.

You met at the shooting range one early morning. Horangi had recently been deployed and your brother needed to stop stressing about it.

“Ich wollte ein Heckenschütze sein.” [ I wanted to be a sniper, ] he explained as he showed you the mechanics. The assembly of the gun soundtracked his words with rhythmic clicking.

“Du bist ein Insertionsspezialist, ja? Was passiert?” [ You’re an insertion specialist, right? What happened? ]

“Zu groß. Das wird kein Problem für dich.” [ Too tall. That won’t be an issue for you. ]

You crossed your arms. Cheap shot. König didn’t notice your disapproval, eyes now trained on the target.

“Auch ich zappele.” [ And I fidget .]

“Ich habe dein Scharfschießen gesehen. Du hast eine feste Hand.” [ I’ve seen you shoot. You have a steady hand. ]

“Hände kann ich ruhen. Alles anderes, nicht so viel. Problematisch, wenn man unauffindbar sein muss. Erinnern: Drück, nicht zieh.” [ I can keep my hands steady. The rest of me, not so much. A slight issue when trying to be undetectable. Remember, squeeze don’t pull. ]

BANG

Bullseye.

“Du bist dran.” [ Your turn. ]

You approached the marked spot. This seemed so much easier before you felt the gun in your hands and witnessed your brother’s expertise first hand.

“Hol drei tief Atemzüge. Großer letzter Ausatmen. Das ist der Moment. Beacht Folgemaßnahmen, Rückstoß ist eine knifflige, besonders bei deiner Größe.” [ Take three deep breaths. Big exhale on the last. That’s when you want to shoot. And remember to follow through, recoil can be a bitch, especially at your size. ]

Even with your nervousness, you still found it in yourself to retort.

“Nennst du mich kurz?” [ Are you calling me short? ]

“Für mich seid ihr alle kurz. Das ist nichts speziell. Schussbereit!” [ You’re all short to me. There’s nothing special about that. Position! ]

The gun was heavy, but thanks to your work with Horangi not unbearable.

One.

Two.

Three.

Even watching your brother’s demonstration hadn’t prepared you for just how loud the gunshot was.

You flinched. Hard.

The bullet went left, landing in the dirt with a small puff.

“Scheiße.” [ Shit. ]

“Gute Form. Ohne dein Zucken, wurdest du ins Schwarze treffen. Du musst nur an dem Krach passen. Probier es noch mal.” [ Good form. If it wasn’t for the flinch you would’ve got it dead on. You just need to get used to the noise. Try again. ]

You were still rattled, but your brother’s confidence in you steadied your hands.

You knew you could do it, you just had to…

Eins.

Zwei.

Drei.

There was no dust cloud this time. Only the noise of the round hitting something solid and your brother’s exhilarated whoop as he took you in his arms.

----------

Saying goodbye was rough. Both König and Horangi joined you on the ride to the airport, wanting to prolong goodbyes for as long as possible.

“Bis bald.” [ See you soon. ]

When your flight finally touched down and you returned to finish med school, it was with a few training bruises, an even steadier finger, and a determination to help your new family the only way you knew how.

An explanation of König & Reader's full names and the historical references behind them

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unforth · 8 months ago

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i don't know if you are still into 2ha? but what would you say if someone asked you what makes 2ha stand out? It's full of tropes that have been done before and there is nothing new. it's full of cliches according to some people. So, what makes it stand out?

I am still into 2ha, I'd consider it one of my top fandoms right now.

I'll own I find this whole ask rather odd? It implies that novelty is a. possible and b. what I'm looking for in a book.

For a... Name me a book that isn't full or tropes, name me a book that isn't full of "nothing new," name me a book that isn't full of cliches. Enjoyable books aren't ~original~, and imo original is a myth. It's about how the ideas are strung together, not about them being fresh and different and new.

For b... look. I'm almost 42 years old. I've been reading a ton since I was 8. I've read a l.o.t. over the years. And I've come to learn the things I love in characters and books.

Give me a main character (or, in 2ha, BOTH main characters) who thinks they're worthless and will give everything they have to save an innocent stranger. Give me archetypes of self-sacrifice and martyrdom and low self-esteem and adoration and obsession cooked so deep into their bones that it extends over multiple life times. Give me that adoration reciprocated but the pining, oh, it is mutual for these idiots who should be and will be lovers. I'll eat that up every time. Give me someone who thinks they're unlovable but loves the world anyway, and give me someone who loves them so much they'll tolerate the claws.

Give me epic length I can sink my teeth into. Make the plot sprawling, the side characters lush, the world developed. It's okay if some parts drag a little, it's hard to keep momentum over an epic, and one person's "that dragged" is another's "that rocked." Anyway, the slow bits makes the more exciting parts that much more thrilling.

Give me whump, and hurt/comfort, and pain that burns the soul. Make the characters deep and compelling and then confront them with nothing but bad choices, force them to pick... and then see them pick each other, everytime, even in the midst of the darkest night imaginable. Give me unreliable narrators and angst and characters with nobility that shines like the sun even when they're covered in shit.

I adored this kind of story when I was 12 and I started the Wheel of Time and fell in love with Rand al'Thor, and I adore this kind of story now, in Tian Guan Ci Fu and The Husky and His White Cat Shizun and Modu. The patterns in the kinds of books I enjoy most, the ones that make me feral and obsessed, are very consistent, and being Old means I know what those patterns are and I can seek out books that have them, and recognize them when I find them again. It's happening with the book I'm reading now, in fact, and I can feel the feral obsession growling in delight in my brain, lmao.

Ya know how some people go into fanfiction because they love a character and want to see iterations of them over and over a little to the left? Well, that's why I started fanfic, and through fic I found a genre of original fiction that does that for me. I want similar character archetypes in endless iterations of stories, and danmei gives that to me, and that's why I'm up to my nose in danmei fandoms, and why the specific ones I like best are my favorites.

What stands out about 2ha, for me, is that it fits my taste in character archetypes and plot type. If someone out there shares that taste, they'll probably also love it. If they don't share that taste, they may not, but they may, because it's a complex enough book to cater to more than just one specific type of taste. Someone who likes OP control fantasies will also probably like it, for example. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, and that's not a bad thing. Stories that appeal to everyone tend to be shallow and not attract deep obsession, having sacrificed the depth to draw a wider audience.

Anyway, anon...you phrased this like an anti. 80% of your ask is trashing the book on false premises about tropes and cliches. I genuinely can't tell if this is meant as a troll or if it's sincere, but I've answered as if it's sincere. But regardless, you'll be a lot happier as a reader if you forget originality. Books aren't original. Find an author, genre, series, whatever, that fits your taste, and frolic there. That's the route to happy reading.

I've found mine. I hope you find yours.

#unforth rambles #unforth replies #2ha

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charlieslowartsies · 1 year ago

Text

FINISHED MY TOOTHLESS PLUSH!!

Materials, info and some comments under the RM!

Toothless' Pattern I purchased

Materials: 6 yards of black minky 1 yard red minky 5 yards of Poly-Fil extra loft medium quilt batting 18 oz of poly pellets (4 oz in each foot) 2 Mainstay firm bed pillows for stuffing 1 spool of purple thread for the top stitching details on his tail, hip and main wings 2.5 spools of black thread Dark green, lime green, goldenrod and light yellow embroidery floss black acrylic paint white fabric paint Velcro one very old, small and cranky sewing machine who somehow survived this ordeal several comfort shows, podcasts, and music to listen to

This was my winter break project! Granted I started bits and pieces of the process in early December, but once my two weeks off hit he really started getting worked on lol.

I know it's hard to tell from photos, but he is A BIG CHONGUS. Toothless is 5.5 feet from head to tail tip, and has a 9 foot wingspan. He weighs about 8 lbs.

He took about 60ish hours and was very complex. My budget was $200 and he came in at $202! That includes things like the bulldog clips that I bought when he was being pinned because the minky was so slippery! This cost EXcludes a sewing machine, or things like an embroidery ring which my mom had, so I was very lucky in several areas—but he still was not cheap, either by expense or by time and sweat/tears!

Of course, the minky was by far the most of the cost, coming in at $122. I’d say the batting would be next, but I waited and snagged a good deal at my local craft store and got the batting for $18. I HIGHLY recommend buying bed pillows. The original maker of the pattern used IKEA pillows I believe.

I increased his size by 20%, so I printed him at 120% and guesstimated on the minky amount. My WORST mistake was forgetting to mirror the WINGS, which meant I had to recut two of the four pieces of fabric. (I should have marked it on the pattern, which I did mark well for things like number count.) Had I not done this, I would have used a lot less minky. I bought 7 yards and only needed 5.5 before my error.

(Now I’ve got scraps and a whole yard left sitting there whispering that it wants to be made into a Krobus plushie…who seems much less of a hurdle than Toothless.)

I stuffed Toothy’s hip fins and tail fins with one layer of quilt batting. His wings however, are double layered with the batting for extra plush, warmth, and durability. His eyes are hand embroidered (my first time!) but stitched on with the machine. Toothless has poly pellets in his feet to help support his bulk, but most of his weight is in his body, hips and start of his tail so he actually sits up really well.

He was a huge labor of love for sure! The pattern was great, the instructions were…less great. But my mom helped me figure out a lot of the troubling bits. Some parts were easy to follow and others were basically "bing bong fuck ya life." Despite that, I do suggest this pattern. But this is definitely an intermediate or advanced pattern. They also sell the eyes for those that have access to an embroidery machine.

I followed the pattern closely as I desired. I did omit the back spikes on his rear legs, and I couldn’t embroider his lil nose by hand ^^; I also did not make his blue alpha fins because of expense and mistrust in my own skills...also, I kinda wanted HTTYD1 Toothless haha. I love the series as a whole but the og movie is literally one of the reasons I went to college, and it went into my thesis as well.

I want to remake his prosthetic at some point when I have time and energy, but for now I’m pleased with 99% of him, especially since this is my first plushie I’ve ever made. I do not regret any of my personal changes and I’m totally in love with him.

#toothless #httyd #plush #plush making #arts and crafts #how to train your dragon #httyd2 #httyd3

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just-a-bean-babes · 1 year ago

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Not to engage in controversy, but let me defend my anti Edwin/Cat King stance for a moment.

Let me cut y’all off and say that I think the Cat King’s deal is an excellent plot point. It falls perfectly into classic fairy tale patterns; mess with a powerful being’s domain and receive a cunty little riddle on how to get out of your new life destabilizing curse. It’s wonderful, it’s fascinating, it has a distinctly Neil Gaiman spin despite him not writing the show, I love it.

However, that does not make it a cool moral premise to begin any sort of relationship with. There is an explicitly demonstrated power imbalance; the Cat King is shown to have powers way beyond Edwin, and is using his power to put him in danger. His offer to remove the curse if Edwin fucks him, then, is not an offer that could be truly consented to.

Even though we see that the Cat King cares for Edwin in many ways. Even though we know that Edwin is physically attracted to the Cat King. The offer is nonetheless made in a quid-pro-quo, tit-for-tat manner (sleep with me and you’ll get that promotion, your grades will improve, I’ll make a recommendation for you). Regardless of the presence of attraction or care on either side in any case like this, it is still exploitative because true, reliable consent cannot be given in the presence of coercive power imbalance.

Let me be clear again, I love the presence of this dynamic in the show. It adds enormous complexity to the Cat King’s character and to Edwin’s journey with his sexuality. It makes the offer all the more interesting as we learn about the Cat King’s care for Edwin’s well being. It makes it satisfying and offers an insight into Edwin when he gives the Cat King the accurate cat count in Port Townsend, even though he’s attracted to him and genuinely intrigued by his offer.

Narratively it is excellent. Morally it is still an exploitative relationship founded on power imbalance. This is something that could be worked through, if they so decided to! And I would be on board in that case (though my PayneLand heart would shatter). But it is something that would need to be worked through, and as of yet has not been.

TLDR; Cat King, it’s neat that you care about Edwin and that Edwin’s attracted to you, but the options “fuck me, or you and your friends will probably die while you try to complete an extremely difficult and tedious (though possible) task” is not a healthy starting point in a relationship.

#my hs English teachers are shaking rn. weeping that this is the only thing I use what they taught me for #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #edwin paine #cat king #the cat king #bean screams

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

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hi, thanks for all the tech tips! I hope this isn’t a silly question, but how are password managers secure? Isn’t there a risk of a data breach there?

Each individual account managed through a password management company is (or should be in any respectable product) individually encrypted.

When we see big breaches like the 2013 tumblr leak or similar leaks over the years, typically what you're seeing is either

A) One large collection of information that was stored under the same encryption umbrella and someone was able to use illicit credentials or some other nefarious method to access that information (very bad) or

B) Information that was never encrypted in the first place and was stored in plaintext (much, much worse).

With a good password manager any data that the company has is encrypted and your individual vault is encrypted separately using a key that the company doesn't have access to.

So imagine that you walk into a room and the floor is covered in dominoes arranged in a pattern. With no encryption (scenario B), imagine that the door is unlocked and you can simply open the door and knock over all the dominoes.

With one big encrypted bucket (scenario A), what happens is if you are able to open the main door, you can knock over all the dominoes but it takes some effort to get the door open.

With individually encrypted vaults you need to open the main door, then you see thousands and thousands of tiny safes, each with a combination that you need to guess to access the dominoes inside to knock them over. Each safe has a code that will take somewhere between two years and ten thousand years to guess, depending on the computer doing the guessing, and you can customize your safe to make it harder to guess the combination.

Good encryption is extremely secure, and a lot of the breaches that we see aren't failures of encryption, they are failures of other parts of the system security. What you are typically seeing with big breaches is either someone didn't bother to encrypt anything, or someone fucked up in a big way and people who weren't supposed to gain access were able to gain access.

But what you almost never see is someone genuinely cracking encryption of a secure system.

Password managers generally speaking have a better eye toward security than a lot of other products, and open source password managers tend to be rigorously tested by some tremendously intelligent and tremendously paranoid people who are VERY invested in security.

If you have a Bitwarden account (just using it as the example because it's my favorite and it's what I recommend), Bitwarden actually *can't* access your account. If you forget your password, that's it. You're locked out (this is why it's important to make a good password hint and to make your password manager password both complex AND memorable). They can't recover it for you because they simply do not have access to that data; it is encrypted and they can't crack the encryption and they don't have your key (they have a hash of your key, which means they can recognize your key but they can't reverse engineer it - it's complicated, look up cryptographic hashing, I'm bad at explaining it). So if anyone breaches that system, they ALSO don't have access to your vault or to your key and in order to access your passwords would need to brute force your main password by guessing until they landed on the correct one. If you have a sufficiently long and complex password, that is going to be so extremely difficult that it might as well be impossible.

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hinamie · 1 year ago

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CLOSED AS OF JUNE 2024!!! WILL ANNOUNCE IF/WHEN THEY ARE BACK OPEN, THANK YOU FOR YOUR INTEREST <3

I am happy to announce that after an extended hiatus, commissions are open until I burn out for the foreseeable future !! I know it's long but please read the information below carefully if you're interested in paying me to draw ur guys <3

[PRICING] ❖ bust (chest-up): $45 ❖ half (waist-up): $60 ❖ ¾ (knee-up): $75 ❖ fullbody: $95

each additional character is +80% of base price [maximum 3 characters per commission!]

I may charge up to +25% of base price for more complex props/designs

all finished pieces will be at 350dpi, but I will choose the final canvas size unless otherwise requested.

your choice of render style: lined & coloured, painted, or somewhere in between! I am comfortable with all three options and pricing is unaffected; this is purely an aesthetic choice. If you aren't sure/have no preference, I will take liberty based on what I think would suit the piece best. This cannot be changed once I have reached the colouring stage, so choose wisely!

RENDER STYLE OPTION DETAILS I. lined & coloured: think traditional anime illustration-style pieces. Lineart can be smooth or scratchy at your request but is clearly visible within the piece regardless. ❖ examples: x x x x II. painting: blocky, textured shapes with visible brush stokes. Lineart is integrated into the piece to provide structure, but is not the main focus. ❖ examples: x x x x III. hybrid: what it says on the tin ! varies from piece to piece but features elements of both my lined and painted styles. No hard-set conventions, however lineart is typically used for detailed areas such as hair, whereas clothes and skin tend to look more painterly. ❖ examples: x x x x

[WILL‌ ‌DRAW]‌ ❖ OCs‌ ‌ ‌ ❖ fanart‌ *while not mandatory, in order to ensure best results I recommend your commission feature characters from a fandom that I have previously drawn content for or have otherwise expressed interest in. ❖ light‌-moderate ‌blood/gore‌ ❖ backgrounds *all finished pieces will include a simple background (ie. a solid colour or minimally-patterned backdrop for some visual flavour). Detailed backgrounds will be priced on a case-by-case basis depending on what you are looking for but will have a MINIMUM cost of $40

‌[WON’T‌ ‌DRAW]‌ ‌ ❖ NSFW‌ ‌(suggestive‌ ‌stuff‌ ‌is‌ ‌ok‌ ‌but‌ ‌nothing‌ ‌explicit.‌ ‌Ask‌ ‌me‌ ‌in‌ ‌your‌ ‌email‌ ‌if‌ ‌you’re‌ ‌not‌ ‌sure‌ ‌and‌ ‌we‌ ‌can‌ ‌work‌ ‌something‌ ‌out!)‌ ‌ ‌ ❖ [char] x self-insert ❖ furry*/mecha/bara‌ ‌*regular animals or simplistic‌ ‌animal‌ ‌appendages‌ ‌(ears/tails)‌ ‌are‌ ‌ok I am a catboy advocate‌ ‌❖ heavy‌ ‌blood/gore/violence‌ ‌ ❖ ships that weird me out ❖ real‌ ‌people‌ ‌*please‌ ‌also‌ ‌avoid‌ ‌using‌ ‌photos‌ ‌of‌ ‌real‌ ‌people‌ ‌as‌ ‌reference‌ ‌(ie.‌ ‌for‌ ‌an‌ ‌OC’s‌ ‌appearance)‌ if possible! ❖ complex‌ metal/mechanical props (cars, vehicles, armor/weaponry, etc.)

✧ link to ordering form and general terms of use ✧

Please DO NOT submit any commission requests through tumblr; I will not accept any commission requests sent here. Instead please follow the link and use the form and template provided! Do however feel free to message me if you have any general questions/need clarification! I'm grateful for the time you took to read through all this, as well as your ongoing support <3

(((reblogs are appreciated also))))

#commissions #art commissions #artists on tumblr #commission info #do i b scummy and use jjk fandom tags..........#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #hehe

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film-in-my-soul · 3 months ago

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roasting like a hot july | 2,187 | ameizing_me3 / @ameizingme

Summary: Cait’s newcomer—coworker? Friend? Partner?—is radiant, to the point that Viktor is concerned about retina damage. His tanned cheeks are flushed from the cold. Slick black curls peek from beneath his beanie, his face composed of angular planes that Viktor wouldn’t mind exploring. A patterned sweater and slacks surface from his unbuttoned coat. Pure delight inhabits his face, strong eyebrows arching over his smiling eyes as he hugs Cait back, and Viktor wants—no, needs—something for Christmas for the first time in his life.

full of myself but still hungry | 3,539 | ameizing_me3 / @ameizingme

Summary: Without Viktor, he still has everything. Everything and more. And even then, it’s not enough. "Piltie greed," Viktor might have sneered. "You have to have the world in the palm of your hand." Jayce doesn’t care much for the world anymore. He thinks Viktor’s hand in his would do.

in every possibility | 3,779 | racoongal

Summary: This is real, he realizes, the whirring of his mind at once intact, thoughts sharp through the fuzz of the technicolor landscape. He’s younger, a lot younger. He can tell by the lightness in his shoulders, the uninjured strength in his knee. The hexcore, he thinks, before it was destroyed it must have shunted us to another world. It means many things and one thing: he’s been given a second chance. Viktor, his mind shouts.

flowers in a thin rain | 2,256 | SnailorBee / @snailor-bee

Summary: “What’s that smell?” Jayce’s voice breaks the quiet of the workroom and Viktor flinches, though he keeps writing, hoping Jayce hasn’t noticed. “Was there an omega in here?” He hears footsteps coming closer. “No,” Viktor answers, not looking away from the page, even as he mostly scribbles nonsense in the margins. “I had to go off my suppressants, it was interfering with my other medications.” “Oh.” Jayce’s voice comes from just over his shoulder and he takes a peek. Jayce’s face is open and serene; not angry or betrayed. Viktor let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “You’re an omega? You never said.”

(see more recommendations below!)

Started out with a kiss | 1,390 | Caspercryptid (FaiaHae)

Summary: ...and how DID it end up like this? Of all the lies Viktor could have told Jayce Talis, "Don't worry, kissing is a Zaun cultural tradition" was some mixture of brilliant and terrible that made Viktor want to go back in time and shake himself. But still, he could handle this. He could fix this. Right? It's been about six months and thus far the answer is "no".

Coordination Complex | 2,241 | Griombrioch / @griombrioch

Summary: On his best days, Viktor responds with quick wit and enough complicated words to make them stumble and stammer and go red with embarrassment. Those are Jayce’s favorite days. But other days, Viktor seems more candlelight than bonfire. Everyone has to break eventually. “You’re so fucking smart. So much smarter than me. The strongest person I know, and you’re going to change the whole damn world. And I think they know that.” He pauses. “Viktor, I think they’re terrified of you.”

Universal Constants. | 2,393 | Azurita25 / @madelynejpryor

Summary: “Yes, well… there is also the idea of constants, no? Universal constants. Gravity is always present, the Earth always spins around the sun–” “And we always end up doing laundry together?” “I do not think the laundry is the part that’s important,” Viktor stressed. “So what is?” Jayce replied, making Viktor laugh, shake his head. “You are.”

Other Versions Freed | 3,085 | navree / @navree

Summary: The concept of being in another world without Viktor is enough to make him stagger, and Jayce takes a step back before he does something stupid. He doesn't need to accidentally get himself killed, not now. He needs to get out of here and figure out if he's somewhere with a Viktor at all, let alone his. He needs to get out of here and probably find Heimerdinger too, if there's a version of him here, and tell him not to wait for tomorrow but to destroy all of his notes on Hextech now. He needs to get off this fucking ledge and — "Am I interrupting?"

congenial | 3,757 | aevallare / @aevallare

Summary: Jayce keeps talking, taking a step away from the window. “Look, someone just moved in downstairs, and they brought… bees.”

push, but i've got you | 4,029 | stellarshine / @pastellashine

Summary: Jayce looks almost sheepish, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Hey, sorry if this is weird, but I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been in here a lot recently, and I was wondering… uh..” Vi winces. Might as well just get this over with. “Sorry pretty boy, but I play for the other team.” “What?” He almost spits out his drink, “Oh god, I wasn’t coming onto you - I’m, uh, very much taken - I was going to ask if you wanted to work out together?”

Playing With Fire | 1,813 | BringtheKaos / @bringthekaos

Summary: “Um…” Jayce false-started, voice shaking terribly, and Viktor was glad Jayce couldn’t see the proud, character-breaking grin that spread his lips. “Well… the… the runes are correct, w-we know that much…” “Mm-hmm,” Viktor agreed in a rumbling hum, extending his arm out high over Jayce’s back and tipping the candle ever-so-slightly. The wooden wick crackled as the unburned portion was exposed, the honey colored flames dancing as a thin string of wax trickled over the edge. It was nearly translucent as it fell through dimly-lit space, but slowly morphed into a stunning, pearlescent white when it hit Jayce’s skin, just between the shoulder blades, and oozed down his spine, slowly cooling.

when it all falls down | 2,872 | kirkfall / @kirkfall

Summary: On days like these, Jayce doesn’t even bother trying to get out of bed in the morning. Jayce has dealt with migraines all his life—he’s fully prepared to suffer through it on his own, as he’s done plenty of times before, but his absence doesn’t go without notice.

insinuations | 3,267 | aevallare / @aevallare

Summary: Jayce very nearly chokes. “I had thought you’d be too busy for gossip.” “Just because I go out of my way not to be noticed doesn’t mean that I don’t have ears,” Viktor says dryly.

can we pretend that airplanes | 3,454 | ameizing_me3 / @ameizingme

Summary: As Viktor rolls his suitcase up the aisle of the plane, he’s almost afraid to see whether the window seat is empty. In an ideal universe, Viktor would have the whole row to himself, but he’ll settle for one empty seat. Just one. Alas, reality often disappoints. As he glances into his row, a burly man huddles in the window seat. The man sniffles wetly. Viktor realizes with a start that he’s crying. His own seat—next to the crying man—gapes up at him.

The Coffee Conundrum | 4,159 | CaptainHollow / @captainhollowstories

Summary: Viktor invites Jayce to his room one late night to have coffee, because if they’re going to finish their research before dawn they need the extra boost. Jayce misunderstands.

thickening streams of greed | 1,540 | TigerxFox

Summary: "Viktor what are you even...saying? That my cum is..." Jayce is so embarrassed about it that Viktor thinks he might as well cover his own chest in a fit of prudish self awareness. "...that the volume is...a lot?" "Yes, Jayce. That's precisely what I'm saying."

Shoulders of Men | 2,009 | lalazee / @lalazeewrites

Summary: Viktor knew how to climb, and when a man started at the bottom, he quickly learned that the shoulders of others were the best footholds. Jayce Talis had begun as no different. So it never failed that every time he ended up with his knees hiked over those same hefty shoulders, Viktor had to wonder where he’d gone wrong.

A New Era | 2,303 | spicedrobot / @spicedrobot

Summary: They toast. They toast again. To Piltover. To their partnership. To their dream. Viktor idly wonders how long they’ve been sitting so close, how long he’s been smiling, watching Jayce drink and talk, how easily he could get used to this.

Here He Comes (He's A Man-Eater) | 2,592 | kiddpall

Summary: "Fuck,” one of them says. They have the same rasped, distant voice, the same pounding desperation. It doesn't matter who talks. Viktor tugs more, grinding his cunt along Jayce's lips and chin, and he hardly believes himself. Hardly believes the sight. Hardly believes that patience led him here.

what fever you'll have of me soon | 3,224 | circulation

Summary: Jayce had sat there with Viktor’s notebook in his lap, staring at him unmoving and suspended in that fucking cocoon, pleading with whatever higher power was listening, willing him to just wake up, to just open his eyes and say something. Viktor’s eyes had not opened and he had said nothing, and Jayce had thought, deliriously, If he wakes up, I have to tell him. When he wakes up I’ll tell him. Viktor wakes up.

Honeywine | 3,791 | TheTrickyOwl

Summary: “You taste like heaven…” Viktor heard Jayce murmur, dark and deep. “Heaven and honeywine.”

A Lesson In Patience | 4,132 | TheTrickyOwl

Summary: Jayce needs a distraction. Viktor has a solution. The one where Viktor rewrites Jayce's Progress Day speech while Jayce sits pretty on his lap.

A Real Breakthrough | 4,326 | Hanatamago / @hollow-lime-green

Summary: Jayce finds him… attractive? Viktor turns back to his tea as heat creeps up his neck. “Well, I don’t want to ‘distract’ you,” Viktor says airily, like he doesn’t feel as if he’s been shocked with static at Jayce’s admission. Hextech comes first. It has to, with their merciless deadline. “If this is not conducive to our research, perhaps-” “We should just get it out of our systems?” Jayce blurts out. Well.

Down to the sound of a heartbeat | 4,667 | MGCraig

Summary: It seems a little selfish, the desire to fuck his partner awake. But it’s been weeks. And he smells so fucking good. At the very least, Jayce deserves to slip inside and stay there for a bit, maybe until Viktor wakes up. Viktor’s asked for it, after all. He’s described in excruciating detail just how much he’d like to wake up speared on Jayce’s cock, in fact. So that’s all Jayce will do for now.

Help Me Disassociate | 7,351 | tardigrape / @thetardigrape

Summary: The work of polishing the hexgem has unintended consequences. When Viktor realizes he can't resolve them alone, he goes to Jayce. Can he make it through the activities necessary for relief with his sanity intact, knowing these physical acts are just the result of exposure to the gemstone and not real feelings?

bah humbug | 10,993 | spqr

Summary: “Look,” Jinx says, trailing Viktor across campus the next morning, on the way to oversee their last final of the year, “I get how hard Christmas can be for us orphans — ” “You are a fake orphan,” Viktor tells her, without sympathy. “You have a sister.” “A sister’s not parents.” “And two fathers.” “Divorced fathers.” “Living divorced fathers, last I checked.” “My point,” Jinx huffs importantly, long-suffering, like she’s the one who’s stuck with Viktor instead of the other way around, “is that I get it. Whenever someone offers you something good, you get scared they’re gonna take it away.”

In the After | 11,618 | queercatfan / @lesbianherald

Summary: After waking up in a new reality, Jayce and Viktor must process their own survival.

Sunday Morning | 12,337 | SirCumference / @sir--cumference

Summary: “Fisting?” Jayce says, blinking a little more rapidly than usual. “I mean… I… have you seen my fists?” Viktor blinks. “What about them?” “I dunno… they’re big.” “Exactly,” Viktor replies easily, smiling now. Fucking hell, Jayce might die before Viktor does.

The Theory of Two | 14,407 | SageGreenSadness

Summary: If Viktor knows one thing for sure, it is that Jayce Talis is about as close to a sworn mortal enemy as he will find pursuing a Master’s in Engineering. The man in question has not actually done anything wrong, at least not on a personal level, but he is good-looking, intelligent, funny and in Viktor’s humble opinion an egotistical golden boy that could do with being taken down a peg or two. And if that sounds a tad resentful, so be it. Viktor hates Pilties, Jayce loves Viktor. They have to do a project together. That's the fic.

A New Knife | 19,758 | surveycorpsjean / @zanimez

Summary: The rune chews them up and spits them out. Jayce takes Viktor and runs.

Blog Info ☆ 2025 Reclists ☆ 2024 Reclists

#jayvik #jayvik reclist #arcane reclist #jayce/viktor #jayce x viktor #fanfic reclist #reclist

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homestuckreplay · 4 months ago

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Evolution of Homestuck’s Art Style, Pages 1-1550

[page 1, 1434]

Since Act 4 began, I’ve been blown away by the visual difference between this and the earlier comic – there’s been a big shift in style, and huge increase in the use of color. So, re-reading and just looking at the art style, here’s an overview of the changes so far.

[a short one – 2.8k words below the cut + some very beautiful panels. I was limited to 30 images in a post, so would recommend looking up page references for the ones tumblr wouldn't let me include <3]

[page 4, 16]

Act 1 mostly uses sprite art and clean, tidy images; the white background is the dominant color in most panels. Where John is drawn freehand, he’s drawn as close to his sprite as possible, with a thick black outline and blocky shapes. This is often done to give him a more complex pose or facial expression than a sprite would allow (for example, p.16). John’s house is relatively tidy, filled with discrete items that it’s easy to move around and manipulate to create new panels – these are mostly either imported photographs rendered in black and white, or line drawings similar to John’s sprite. Occasional items are drawn in color – some due to their importance (Sburb logos) but some due more to common sense (blood capsules).

John’s captchalogue and strife systems are colored overlays on panels that are still mostly black and white. Full color panels show up when John (or Rose) uses a computer, showing their desktop background, or when John looks or goes outside and observes his neighborhood. Here, his near monochrome, thick-lined sprite stands out against the lineless background (the car and mailbox help soften this for now).

[page 195, 246]

Over the next few acts, Homestuck will develop an art style typified by its lack of outlines and straights, abundance of curves and swirls, use of patterned blocks of solid color to create light and depth effects, and emphasis on motion. Act 1 has the earliest steps towards this – my favorite is page 195, where John looks through his telescope and sees the meteor heading towards him. These styles of sky, clouds, wind, and small animated elements that don’t dominate the panel are all still common techniques in Act 4. The final shot of the meteor cloud in the End of Act 1 flash animation (p.246) – which is almost entirely full color outdoors shots – is another great example.

Act 1 is definitely not dull or colorless, and there's a real charm to its style, but it is overall functional. Panels are designed to give information, show the results of commands, and communicate a change of state from the previous panel – it’s unlikely someone would look at them just for aesthetic value. Act 1 has the closest to an ‘adventure game’ look, as lots of John’s items look like they should be clicked on for more information, and rooms are often rendered in an isometric style. In a narrative comic, this also makes John feel boxed in and stifled by the imposing walls and lack of color. His world is stark, monotonous, and cut-and-paste, somewhere he has been placed instead of somewhere he naturally belongs.

[page 312, 363]

Act 2 stays primarily monochrome, but panels are busier on average. Dave’s room (p.312) has so much going on in comparison to John’s (p.4) that in a video game, it’d be hard to know what to click on first. John’s room has become much busier now that it’s been looted and smeared by imps, which makes it harder to keep the art consistent between different panels and angles. Like John and Rose, Dave’s computer, house exterior, and inventory systems are shown in color. Dave’s living room is monochrome but has a fair amount of color through his brothers’ puppets, while John’s now has imps in harlequin outfits, build grist, and Nannasprite.

Rose is unique among the kids for never being placed on a white background. When she’s first introduced, her room is shown in pale gray to indicate that it’s getting dark in her house. This color is unobtrusive, close to white, and doesn’t feel like it makes the panels more complex. As a wildfire creeps closer, the sky around Rose tints red – a slight burgundy on page 398, and a more dangerous wine red on page 985. The mausoleum is also gray, with a soft lineless background unlike other indoor spaces. Rose is the first beta kid to leave her house entirely and go to a secondary location, heading down to the Skaianet Laboratory on page 840 – a much more visually complex area in which she’s shown against a green background until she goes back to the fire. If there’s any examples of her in a white space, I missed them!

[page 444, 665]

The kids are still drawn close to their sprite style, with occasional variation. Dave’s sprite is shaded in red and yellow on page 444 to represent the ‘sick heat’ he’s trapped in, and he’s shown in red silhouette as he steps onto the roof on page 665. In ‘WV: Ascend’ (p.757), every frame is full color and more detailed than most previous panels, and the kids’ and guardians’ sprites stand out as the only cut and pasted element. The landscapes are changing faster than the characters, which creates a feeling of unfamiliarity and their struggle to keep up with their new circumstances.

[page 248, 558]

The Wayward Vagabond’s panels immediately look different from the kids’. Page 248 is easily the most complex still image up to that point, with the greatest color diversity (four shades in the sky, one in the city, and I think as many as eight in the sand). It’s very different from the blocky blue sky at John’s house. WV has a sprite too, but his is full color, meaning that when he’s drawn freehand he’s drawn without an outline. This makes him feel ‘part’ of the background instead of pasted on top of it, merged with his landscape while the kids are at odds with theirs. The 100-page Wayward Vagabond point of view section is the first extended sequence of full color panels, but by this point they’ve shown up enough that it doesn’t feel jarring.

Act 2 has the first panel where the art itself blows me away. Page 558, with its fiery boat sailing into the sunset, goes harder than any panel that’s come before it entirely in service of the Vaulthalla pun.

[page 760, 840]

Act 3 introduces Jade in the typical sprite style and monochrome interior, but she appears in her windowed garden atrium, so at least half of her first panel is in full color. The exterior of her house is more colorful and prominent than any kid before her, with various colors of clouds and plants; the same is true of her computer, which surrounds her in three-dimensional spinning colors instead of being a two-dimensional screen. Jade’s room is the biggest and messiest yet, as in just two acts the comic is already feeling limited by its ‘character stuck in a room’ format.

[page 225, 986]

This act shows the art style in transition, with even more color and complexity introduced into what are technically indoor panels of the kids, and more excuses found to draw in the softer, lineless style. On page 840, the tunnel Rose walks through is sketched like a sky, when an act earlier it might have been made of simpler, blockier shapes. Page 986 shows a very similar view to page 225, and the new version isn't necessarily more complex but it is more Homestuck, with increased texture and definition in the clouds and a fire moving through layered lines of color.

Just like in Act 2, ‘Years in the future…’ pages lead the charge with the changing art style. Pages 924, 1005 and 1035 provide lush post-apocalyptic landscapes with a beauty that isn’t seen on present-day Earth – even Jade’s island on page 1080, clearly designed to be visually interesting, doesn’t have quite the liveliness and definition of the post-apocalyptic pages (in my opinion).

[page 1051, 1147]

Act 3 also introduces the aesthetic vertical page. Previously, vertical pages are used occasionally for their aspect ratio, showing a book or the entirety of John’s house. Page 1051’s art isn’t giving information or showing a changed state, but stands out as an impressive visual and a pause for breath in between panels that do give information. Page 1147 is similar, and I believe it’s also the first time a beta kid is drawn in the lineless style (with detail to their form, not just a silhouette). This page comes right before the end of act flash, showing the final form the art has now achieved.

[page

Besides the monochrome sprite art associated with the kids’ houses and the lineless style associated with the outdoors, Act 3 introduces a couple more styles. One is the scribble style, first introduced with WV’s Can Town fantasies and murals, and then scattered throughout Jade and the exiles’ scenes in Act 3. Some panels in this style are explicitly intended to be drawn or imagined by an in-universe character, while other times they represent a strong emotion or sudden interruption.

The other new style is the color-adjusted jpeg, seen in Prospit (p.1029) and the dark kingdom (p.886), where the background is composed of externally-sourced images that have been manipulated and recolored. The over-saturation of a single color makes the location recognizable without need for its own distinctive art style – Prospit is entirely gold or yellow, the dark kingdom is entirely purple, and the Felt’s mansion is entirely green.

[page 1236, 1337]

The Intermission is made almost exclusively in this style, which adds a lot of detail to backgrounds while sacrificing some distinctiveness. While sprite art is used, the sprites themselves are entirely black or green, so they complement their environment the same way John complements his Act 1 house. By using images of a mansion’s interior as panel backgrounds, the Intermission is arguably more ‘realistic-looking’ than the representational art and medieval castles of the Acts, which ties into its grittier and more grounded tone.

With its goal of a fast production pace in advance of a more complex Act 4, there aren’t many artistic standout pages in the Intermission. A rare exception are the pre-city wasteland panels, such as page 1236, which blend the jpeg technique (for the stars and planets) with a lineless alien landscape of pleasantly rolling dunes. Pages 1188 and 1337 also blend these styles, but this is the extent of the lineless panels until Slick enters the safe.

[page 1358, 1407]

Act 4 introduces the Land of Wind and Shade (LOWAS) and the Land of Light and Rain (LOLAR), two planets with distinct designs in the lineless style where John and Rose’s scenes now exclusively take place. Both are stunning – LOWAS is mostly dark blue with gray clouds, and a focus on bioluminescence through its mushrooms and fireflies, while LOLAR is mostly white landmasses amid a sea of pastel blue, pink and yellow. Since Act 1, Homestuck has taken care to set its animated pages primarily outside the kids’ houses, with the notable exception of page 253’s walkaround. This is likely because color makes flash pages more interesting to watch and easier to interpret – but character or plot developments have still been the focus. Page 1407, which introduces LOLAR, is the first flash with a primarily aesthetic function.

[page 1446, 1457]

In Act 4, panels that might have been standouts in previous acts are now commonplace, such as John answering messages on page 1391-2. Use of brown and yellow keeps the exiles’ pages visually distinct from John and Rose’s, but they’re no longer a clear upgrade. This helps the comic skip back and forth between John, Rose and the exiles without a narrative transition, as the art change is less jarring. Pages that take place in Dave’s monochrome room are now the outliers, while Rose and John’s sprites (and Dad’s car) really feel like relics of previous acts. Even with John’s new full-color suit and Rose’s land including a lot of white, their stark lines and lack of shading don’t merge well with their landscapes and always become the focal point when these sprites are used.

As such, there’s more examples of John and Rose in a lineless style, which feels long overdue and catches them up with changes that have already happened. Fully lineless panels tend to be very well composed with clear artistic intent; easy to interpret and pleasing to look at. They often represent movement even when not animated, so work well for transitioning to or away from a character. Sprite panels, on the other hand, have much lazier composition. Messes don’t get cleaned up, and panels show irrelevant objects often half-inside the panel and half-outside, so even when they’re communicating clearly they’re often less pleasant to look at – I find this true of AR’s introduction in Act 3 (p.1100-1111) and all the Dave and Jade scenes in Act 4. Page 1446, for example, features the first prototyping of Dave’s sprite, but it’s hard to focus on the crow-sword’s move through the room with so much else in the way (in contrast with page 185, where the harlequin doll is clearly in focus for its prototyping).

[page 39, 1523]

As a final comparison to illustrate this change, let’s look at page 39 side by side with page 1523. In both cases, a character is typing in Pesterchum. The reader has already seen the kid’s location and nearby possessions, so the images do nothing more than illustrate that the character is on their computer, while the meat of the page is in the Pesterlog.

On page 39, this is situated between two John panels where he takes different actions (assigns Hammerkind and captchalogues a book), so page 39’s image feels necessary to the sequence. On page 1523, this is immediately followed up by another image of Rose, still on her computer, and one that feels far more dynamic. Rose gets a facial expression and sitting position that give her some character, the close-up shot feels intimate for an important conversation, and the background is still present through the ocean behind Rose and the shading from her umbrella. So while there’s nothing wrong with page 1523 (which does successfully re-establish Rose after some pages away from her) or with the sprite style in general, the upgrades to other areas of the art do make the sprite pages feel weaker by comparison.

[page 1524]

Whether intended or otherwise, the kids’ houses being the only monochrome, heavily outlined spaces while all other locations are full color and mostly lineless, is really evocative of the comic’s title. The first full-color panel is John’s desktop on page 24 featuring the Slimer background he made himself, and later his computer becomes a gateway to the Medium where he can access a whole world of color designed just for him. In contrast to being ‘stuck’ in defined dimensions and copied images, the kids are entering a world of beauty, motion and art for its own sake. The exiles’ panels introducing the lineless style and the kids’ following reflects the exiles guiding the kids into the Medium and towards their eventual quests. LOWAS and LOLAR’s fantastical designs add a sense of magic to the story, bringing it away from games and technology and towards more esoteric, unknowable forces. Their unique designs compared to the kids’ similar-styled houses recalls Rose and gallowsCalibrator’s mentions of Sburb’s ‘flexible mythological framework’ (p.440) or ‘HYP3R FL3XIBL3 MYTHOLOGY’ (p.1524), which apparently extends to the level of art style.

Personally, I think the swirling, lineless art style Homestuck has developed is very pretty, but does take away the ‘point and click game’ feeling of Act 1. It’s interesting that the art style develops alongside the reader-command format – Act 1 is almost entirely reader commands, while Acts 2 and 3 mix reader commands with author-driven exile commands and ==> pages, and Act 4 has already seen the reader suggestion boxes close for good. I think the question of ‘is Homestuck a game?’ is still relevant, but needs a different answer in Act 4 compared to Act 1. The level design of LOWAS, LOLAR, Prospit and the dark kingdom is excellent, but they’re for running around and fighting, not standing still and clicking. The genre has changed, and the characters’ roles in the game are being reconfigured alongside the players’ and narrators’ roles.

So, how will Homestuck’s art develop from here? My guess is that there will be a decrease in GIFs and an increase in still images, as the new style is likely harder to animate and better at conveying motion without animation. Act 4 is setting up to bring Dave and Jade into the Medium as quickly as possible, at which point there will be five planets (including post-apocalyptic Earth) each with their own distinctive designs. Once this happens, there will be no need for scenes inside the kids’ houses, and the comic will be able to eliminate the kids’ sprites altogether (or at least re-design them with more color and fewer stark lines, more similar to the trolls’, exiles’ or Felt members’ sprites). Dave and Jade’s sprites being prototyped may further affect the Medium, perhaps affecting the light and dark kingdoms as planets as well as just their agents. Finally, I think there will be a focus on how the kids’ actions physically change the landscape of their planets, as this has already been the case with their modifications to their houses.

[page 1395]

#homestuck #analysis #i like to look at it! it's a beautiful comic there's a whole bunch of panels id get framed for my wall #if i had money or a house!#act 3 also doesn't have a super defined identity so thinking abt it as a transitional act for the art is cool to me #also wish id thought a lil more abt facial expressions and emotions and how they are represented in sprites #but im trying to keep posts short and simple and not let them get away from me. so. i will stop here <3 #chrono

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