#introduction to d&d

[madamejadex]

I close the folder on the table, the one we spent the last few days carefully filling with your limits, your boundaries, your needs, and your safewords. Everything we’ve built so far… written, signed, and agreed upon.

I look over at you, to find you already watching me with those wide, eager eyes that haven’t quite learned how to settle yet. You’re fidgeting, like your body hasn’t yet learned where to rest when you’re waiting for me.

Good. That’s what tonight is for.

"Take a deep breath for me, sweet girl."

You do, and I hum softly in approval.

"Tonight, I’m going to teach you how I want you to kneel for me."

I watch your lips part on a soft breath.

"Not just once, but every time you offer yourself to me. This is where it begins, my darling. This is where you show me who you belong to. Are you ready?"

You nod eagerly. "Yes, Madame. I'm ready."

"Excellent, then let's begin," I purr, as I circle you slowly, my fingertips trailing across your shoulders as I come to stand behind you.

"I want you to start by standing tall, feet together, hands at your sides."

I wait until you do, and only then do I step in front of you again. My voice drops, low and steady.

"Now… lower yourself slowly, down onto your knees. Take your time, feel the movement."

You start to move, a little unsure, and I stop you with just the gentle lift of my hand.

"No rushing. Again. Slower."

You take a shaky breath, and I watch as you compose yourself before sinking down once more, this time slower, more intentional.

You look up at me for reassurance and I offer you a proud nod.

"That's better. Good girl."

I smile at your endearing reaction before I move to circle behind you, my hand ghosting over your shoulder.

"Spread your knees wider for me. That’s it… a little more… there."

I press my palm lightly between your shoulder blades.

"Back straight."

I watch as your spine adjusts, a soft breath shaking through you. You shift, trying to find the posture, and I hum softly in approval before I crouch down beside you now. My hand reaches to guide your thigh, spreading you just a little further until you’re open... offered.

"Sit back on your heels, darling. Hands… open, resting on your thighs, palms up. Ready to receive. Ready to serve."

I lean in closer, so you feel my breath on your skin when I speak again.

"Remember you breathe for me. You stay still for me. You hold yourself in this shape for me… because this isn’t just kneeling, my darling. It’s a gift. And I expect you to offer it like one."

Your breath shivers past your lips. You nod, but I grasp your hair, tipping your head back just slightly.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madame."

I tap your cheek twice, with a pleased hum. "Good girl."

I stand up and move around you, letting my fingertips graze your back, your arms, your jaw, testing and feeling, as I watch the way your body fights to stay still under my touch. You’re learning already, and it makes my lips curl into something dangerously soft.

I stop in front of you again, lowering my hand to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. A reminder.

"Feel that?" I let my hand caress down over your heart. "That’s where your submission lives, right there in the way you choose to stay open for me."

"Yes, Madame."

I pause, letting you breathe, watching you drop into a more focused stillness.

"Look at me."

Your eyes flutter up, soft and full of something raw and beautiful.

I smile proudly, and tilt my head.

"You’re going to stay like this until I tell you otherwise. And if it hurts, if something doesn’t feel right, you will speak up. Understood?"

"Yes, Madame."

I circle you again, taking my time as I let you feel my attention pressing into your skin like a second set of hands. After letting you sit still in the same position for a few minutes, I stop behind you, leaning in just close enough to let my breath ghost over your neck before I trail my fingers slowly down the line of your spine. You shiver, exactly as I knew you would.

"I have to say, you look absolutely exquisite like this, my sweet one. And the more you practice, the more your body will remember what it means to be mine.”

You lower your head, like you're sinking into something deeper. I press a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Now… show me again."

We practice until every movement you make carries quiet reverence, and by the time I crouch down in front of you again, your eyes are heavy, hooded, and waiting… and I can’t help but smile slow and indulgent at what I’ve made of you.

"This is how I want you to kneel for me every time when you present yourself to me. Open. Still. Obedient. And ready."

I lean in and cradle your face in both hands, my thumbs brushing your cheeks.

"You did so well, my darling. You listened. You learned. And you gave me nothing but perfection."

I press my lips to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment, letting you feel the steady hum of my breath, my control, my pride.

"This is where you belong. Do you feel it?"

*picture from Pinterest

[cryingpariah]

Thinking about Usopp and how he’s the only Strawhat that didn’t have someone looking after/looking out for him as a kid..

After Bachina passed he was literally all alone. We don’t see a single flashback of any adult in that village taking him in after he was literally orphaned or checking in on him, they just..left him all alone?? How did he afford food back then? He certainly couldn’t have a job. What happened if something broke in that suddenly way too big and empty house, was it expected for him to fix it himself? Did someone comfort him in his times of grief, when it was late at night and nightmares creeped into his mind??

When he goes around town, hollering about pirates coming, none of them take it as the obvious cry for help that it was. No they decided he’s annoying, that he’s a nuisance, that he deserves to be chased out of town every morning by an angry mob with pitchforks.

(And yes before anyone says it, I know it’s played in the anime for laughs or whatever but that doesn’t make it any less fucked up.)

In fact, we’ve seen Usopp being the caretaker for other people in that bitch ass village: the Usopp Pirates and Kaya, the former he was looking after WHEN HE WAS STILL A CHILD HIMSELF!!!

(And yes Kaya didn’t believe him about Kuro and slapped him I remember but she also apologized and pulled up with a glock so I forgive her personally.)

But Usopp never hates them, he doesn’t even consider it. Not when they chase him out of town everyday, not when they choose to believe a random man they’ve known for 3 years over him and tell him they might have believed him if he was more like Kuro bitch ass and then when the battle at the hill they were all waiting around with their torches and shit liek “where’s Usopp?? 🧐🧐 he’s usually here for us to run outta town by now??”

In conclusion Fuck Syrup Village (minus the Usopp pirates and Kaya obvs), Fuck Captain Kuro fake ass cat, and Especially FUCK YASSOP.

[nb-n0v4]

my computer broke AGAIN and my laptop can't run Veilguard so now I have to WAIT for my computer to get back from the shop before I can get back to my quest of smooching this old man. And saving Thedas too or whatever I guess

[oretskov]

𝜗𝜚 you won't lose me to thunder or lightning ࿔

since my followers of absolutely zero, a.k.a, no one, asked — here's everything you need to know about bat from this mediocre reality !

wow! a blog where i can openly talk about myself and all my others lives and be neurodivergent-ly free? *holding butterfly* is this a sanctuary?

so — who am i? i go by bat here but i may reveal some of my other dr names here and there. there's a trend of having names beginning with T, R or A in my drs since i feel like they're all variations of my cr name. i'm nineteen and a desi girl. pronouns are she/they but honestly my gender is 'pls see me for me and not what's under my pants'. i am a writer (if anyone wants, i can share my fanfic blog) and also been part of the editing community since 2018!

i'm a proud and almost stereotypical intj, though i don't know chess as well as beth harmon. i'm a ravenclaw (shocker) and if i were in camp half-blood, i'd be an ares kid who disowns that side of her to become a hunter of artemis. scorpio sun, cancer moon and aquarius rising — GOD i'm a caricature of a brooding weird girl in a film probably well loved by incels. yes, i have ocd.

my holy trinity is vivienne westwood, shelley duvall and stevie nicks — don't ask me how i was doing on december 29th, 2022 and july 11th, 2024. the only men i truly like are kurt cobain, jeff buckley, gerard way and tobias forge.

okay rapid fire round ! here's majority of every piece of media that i like.

wallows. fleetwood mac. nct. ghost. ethel cain. nirvana. the cure. hozier. fiona apple. sturniolo triplets. dylan is in trouble. sinjin drowning. slushy noobz. danny, kurtis, drew. brittany broski. hthaze. watcher. daisy jones & the six. harry potter. narnia. alchemy of souls. titans. x-men. avatar. assassination classroom. extraordinary you. scream. spiderverse. the maze runner. tokyo revengers. the queen's gambit. alien stage. five nights at freddy's. resident evil. a good girl's guide to murder. dc comics. grishaverse. the last of us. hadestown. heathers. mobile legends: bang bang. babel. wicked.

i know i already mentioned the grishaverse in there but i love it so much that it needs its own paragraph. my favourite ship ever is alina & mal. my username is a combination of their surnames. this account was originally a side blog for them. i quote the shadow and bone trilogy like it's the bible. it's so perfect to me that i don't dare shift there — it doesn't need a single bit of change. rain ghoul is my mal <3

𝜗𝜚 but you could to crowded rooms ࿔

my top four on letterboxd are easy a (2010), about time (2013), real steal (2011) & before sunset (2004). here are some characters i relate to heavily —

✶ malia tate. teen wolf.

✶ violet harmon. american horror story.

✶ jo march. little women.

✶ beth harmon. the queen's gambit.

✶ harry potter. harry potter.

✶ karen sirko. daisy jones & the six.

✶ stephen strange. marvel cinematic universe.

✶ ian gallagher. shameless.

✶ laura kinney. marvel.

✶ rue bennett. euphoria.

yeayea i said i was a writer but this intro was ass. i didn't say i was a good one! okay no honestly i'm just bad at talking about myself. also, english is not my mother tongue i swear.

[sentientstump]

i have a (very evil) question to ask... who's your favorite miracle mask character? favorite to draw, favorite to think about, favorite in general? :)

i will let the images speak.....

thank you for the ask! (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠)⁠~

[escelia]

DP x DC PROMPT/FIC

Gotham Portal

(If you get the notif for this post like 2 days ago, no you didn't! I wasn't done yet! You were imagining things!)

Where the story takes place in Gotham instead of Amity Park, the Fentons having moved before the construction and testing of the Ghost portal due to the high saturation of ectoplasm in Gotham. So, Danny's accident ALSO happens in Gotham, except he has no support system at all.

Enter the Bats stage left!

Danny couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. His parents had uprooted their whole life to move to Gotham. They said they'd need all the ambient ectoplasm there for when they built their portal. Jazz had been thrilled! After all, Arkham was a shining beacon of mentally ill people, and Jazz was like a psychology moth to a flame; it would be the perfect place for her internship after college.

His parents had wasted no time assembling the portal from their blueprints in the basement of the run-down apartment building they'd bought outright just on the edge of Crime Alley, complete with the Ops Center parked right on top. They'd gutted the place and completely redone it before they moved in. (Danny had no idea when they accomplished that. Maybe they'd been planning it for a while and only thought to tell their children two weeks before moving day.) He was genuinely surprised the local vigilantes hadn't stopped by yet to ask questions.

But anyway, back to how he was royally screwed! He'd just wanted a cool picture for Sam and Tucker now that he'd moved away. His parents weren't home (they'd gone back to the hardware store after their last test), Jazz had stayed after school to try and butter up her new teachers by running a study group, and he'd been alone. He'd even followed all the safety precautions his parents had told him about! He'd put on the hazmat suit and tried not to touch anything. But he'd tripped.

Through the whirling of green and the static buzzing in his ears, he remembered screaming, though he hadn't recognized it as his own. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he just wanted it to stop. Stop, please stop, why won't someone save me, please!

He woke up to the smell of burning flesh, but he woke up. He was okay! Disoriented, a little disgusted by the smell and throat a little raw, but okay!

At least he'd thought so at first.

He'd begun to... change colors? And float, he floated sometimes, too. But the most irritating of all was that he would go through things. Forks and glasses slipping, quite literally, right through his fingers.

He hadn't told his parents. He'd been fine, after all. A little shaken up, but they'd been so excited he'd gotten the portal to work, who was he to put a damper on the mood when he was fine?

That brought him to now, staring at the mirror in the school bathroom in horror. He'd fought his first real ghost that morning around breakfast. He'd kept it together fairly well, in his opinion. Got through three whole classes before making an excuse to the teacher, slipping off into the blessedly empty restroom.

He'd been getting better and better at controlling his form, and he transformed in front of the mirror, taking stock of his appearance.

Odd colored hair: check.

Bright glowing eyes: check.

Floaty hair: check.

Could walk through walls, disappear, and fly: check.

He raised his finger to his pulse point and felt... nothing.

"I died," he whispered to himself in shock. "I... died," he repeated, this time in despair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne was not usually one to keep tabs on his classmates. They weren't his friends, therefore he saw no point. However, the new kid, Daniel Fenton, had begun to act strange.

When Daniel Fenton enrolled in Gotham Academy it hadn't been anything special. He'd started the year a little last due to his family moving, but families moved for all sorts of reasons. He hadn't tried to immediately make friends with Damian like so many others had, much to his relief. But he hadn't tried to make friends with anyone else, either. Maybe he liked to be alone? It really wasn't his business.

But then the boy started getting skittish and clumsy. Clumsier than he had been when he started school. He'd developed a miniscule tremor in his left hand, so he'd probably sustained an injury. He began dropping things in Chemistry. So often, in fact, that he'd been banned from doing practical labs and was instead assigned extra book work.

If Damian had been anyone else, if he hadn't been raised by assassins or had his night work as Robin, he wouldn't have noticed. He wouldn't have followed Fenton to the bathroom under the guise of needing to see the school nurse for a headache. Perhaps if he were anyone else, Fenton might have noticed him following.

There was an alarming flash of light as Damian peered carefully around the corner. Fenton had changed forms. Something had happened to him.

"I died," he heard him say. Damian thought he was being dramatic until he watched him raise his fingers to his pulse point. His glowing eyes dilated in panic, and he repeated himself. He watched as his classmate, looking fragile and lost, curled in on himself floating in the air, and sobbed.

Damian didn't confront him that day. He watched, waited, and researched. He found the research of Dr's Fenton on ghosts and ectoplasm, most of which he was skeptical of up until actual ghosts started to torment them during patrols.

Ghosts were real, it appeared.

He also concluded that their findings on ectoplasmic entities being non-sentient and inherently malevolent was incorrect, having met the ghost of a little girl caught up in a rouge attack that killed her and her family.

Damian watched Daniel Fenton for about a week while he ditched class in a poorly hidden effort to fight and contain the ghosts that he and his family were having such a hard time dealing with. His father was even nearly considering contacting John Constantine, which was never his ideal solution. Damian had been rolling an idea around in his head for a while and he decided now would be the time to bring it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner at the manor was more of a full table than Damian had expected. Not everyone was there, Jason's relationship with them was still a bit strained, so he was not in attendance, and neither was Stephanie. But Duke was home, and Dick was actually there early for patrol later. Tim was there, and so was Cass, so almost everyone.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat politely. "Father, I wish to recruit a new member."

The chatter around the room came to a halt, the clatter of silverware ceasing.

"What exactly do you mean, chum?" Bruce asked carefully.

"I have a classmate I believe would be a valuable asset in light of our trouble with ghosts recently. However, he has no training or support, so I'm asking for your assistance."

"Did... demon brat make a friend?" Tim asked bewildered and a little bit terrified.

"Tt. No, I've never even spoken to him." Damian rolled his eyes. "My classmate, Daniel Fenton, transferred to Gotham Academy about a month ago and started acting strange soon after. He came to school with a tremor and a Lichtenberg figure you can just barely see starting on his left hand and traveling up his arm. I believed he'd been in an accident, and my suspicions were proven when I saw him use meta abilities to ditch class and fight a ghost in the courtyard of the school. From my observations, they are newly acquired, but he has decent instincts and an inclination toward heroism. I believe it would be safer for everyone involved if we approached him first."

"What?" Tim muttered. Dick was smiling gently at him, though, as if he were doing something he was proud of.

"Do his parents know?" Duke asked. Damian scoffed.

"I highly doubt it."

"Wait, Fenton as in the ectobiologists?" Bruce asked. The ex-assassin nodded.

"And considering their research is not reflected in our own interactions with ghosts thus far, I do not believe we should tell them."

"Not safe?" Cass signed. Her brother shook his head.

"The abilities I've observed resemble that of a ghost. He even has an alternate ghostly form."

The implication that they'd be endangering him hung heavy in the air. They'd all seen the Fentons' research. It mostly consisted of theoretical analysis and blatant biases with a long list of proposed experiments they'd run if they ever caught one. They'd all agreed that the Fenton ghost hunters were not a viable option for their ghost problem, especially after seeing how they drove, which in itself nearly put them on the Bat's rogue list.

"We've been meaning to investigate the Fentons properly anyways," Dick pointed out.

Bruce attempted to massage a headache out of his temples. The stuff his kids stumbled into, really. But Damian was right. If his classmate was a new meta with no support, it was only a matter of time before the rogues zeroed in on him, and since his family lived there, he couldn't tell the kid to leave.

"I'm not saying yes just yet, but talk to him. Find out any more that you can."

"Of course, Father."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny finally felt like he was getting the hang of his ghost powers. He was pleasantly surprised, and also mildly horrified, that his parents' inventions actually worked on the ghosts he was now beginning to fight regularly. His favorite was by far the thermos, which did no ghost mutilating whatsoever.

He discovered he had a ghost sense and enhanced hearing and vision, which was cool and all, but now he could hear all the shitty things his classmates said about him behind his back. Which, rude! He didn't even talk to them, what did they have to be shitty about?

He also noticed that one of them, Damian Wayne, had been watching him. From what Danny had heard, Damian was the richest kid in school, a Wayne. Son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, to be exact. And his attitude reflected that. His standoffish, holier than thou rich guy attitude made Dash and Paulina look like they lived below the poverty line. Apparently, he generally didn't talk to anyone at school unless it pertained to class, so Danny saw no point in introducing himself.

That made it extra weird that Damian was following him.

It was right after lunch when a hiccup had a cold breath tumbling from his lips. He raised his hand and asked his teacher if he could use the restroom. He made his way to the bathroom on the other side of the building this time, hoping it would be too out of the way for Damian to follow. But soft rustling of his classmate's school uniform gave him away, no matter how imperceptible his footsteps were.

When he entered the restroom, he made his way to the sink instead, splashing some cold water on his face as Damian walked in behind him loudly as if announcing his presence.

"I know what you've been doing," he said confidently, crossing his arms and standing in front of the door so Danny couldn't leave.

"Oh, hey! Damian, right? I'm in most of your classes, but I don't think I've ever introduced myself. I'm-"

"Daniel Fenton, I know. You've been fighting ghosts." Damian had to give him at least a little credit; he'd become a great actor over the last week. Though, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he probably didn't feel safe at home anymore.

"My parents are ghost hunters, but I don't think shooting a ghost in the face with a lipstick laser then running for my life counts as 'fighting ghosts'."

"Tt. You are lying."

"Dude, what are-?" Danny cut himself off when his words came with another misty breath. Crap! He'd taken too long!

The ghost of the day, an ugly, mutated, bird looking thing with claws at the ends of its wings and a full set of dangerous, pointed teeth, phased through the door behind Damian, poised to strike.

Without warning, Danny grabbed Damian's wrist and whipped him out of the way, throwing himself between the two. A green shield formed in front of him just as the bird slashed at them with one of its wings.

"Well, that's new," he said startled as the bird geared up for another attack.

Danny groaned at his miserable luck before throwing caution to the wind and transforming. He'd just have to force friendship upon one Damian Wayne in an attempt to keep him from telling anyone about his whole magical girl transformation. He tried to activate his shield again, but when nothing happened, he was flung across the room into the wall. God, this was embarrassing.

The next time the ghost tried to attack him, Damian yanked him aside in a dodge and bolted out of the bathroom with Danny in tow. He was dragged through the winding halls to one of the side exits of the school. In costume or not, Damian's priority was luring the ghost away from the other students.

"Hey, so uh, you won't say anything about this," he gestured wildly to himself, "will you?"

"Tt. Of course not, but I believe you have more important concerns at the moment."

“Right!” Danny patted at the sides of his hazmat suit. “Crap, I left my thermos in my locker!” He dodged another attack and retaliated with an ectoblast, trying to keep the ghost's attention off of Damian as much as possible.

"Your lunch? Really?" Damian shouted. Dang, Danny must have been doing a decent job if Damian had the spare time and attention to be exasperated with him.

"No! It's a containment device! Besides, ghosts are basically soup anyway!"

"Distract it," Damian instructed, "I'll retrieve the device." The boy took off. Danny had to wonder how he even knew where his locker was. The ghost tried to follow him, but Danny shot another blast at it.

"Hey ugly, auditioning to be one of Gotham's Birds? Sorry, but you don't really look the part." He had no idea if the creature could even understand him, but the way it turned to him and lunged again suggested it had done the trick. This time, his shield did work!

Danny could have cried tears of joy at finally having some consistency with it. The next few minutes of the fight felt like an eternity while he dodged and shot ectoblasts at it. The creature wasn't really that strong, and it didn't seem to have super dangerous abilities like some of the other ghosts he'd fought like Skulker or Technus. It ended up being a great opportunity to practice his new shield ability, actually. But he knew the longer he took, the more danger his classmates would be in.

The bird ghost slammed into his shield with a particularly vicious strike, slamming him into the ground and creating a small crater.

"Note to self, remember intangibility," Danny groaned.

In that moment he noticed a door opening on the school building. It was Damian! He was finally back with thermos in hand! Unfortunately, the other ghost noticed too.

"Oh no you don't!" Danny yelled, latching onto one of its feet as it tried to fly toward his classmate. He dug his fingers in hard and sunk into the ground partway to anchor himself.

"Big green button by the lid then the button immediately below it!"

Damian wasted no time popping the lid open and sucking the ghost into the device, the lid closing with a quiet pop. He had to admit, though the design was questionable, it was sturdy, light, and very clearly effective. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking off with this one to have drake examine later.

"That was some incredible timing, thanks." The ghostly form of his classmate floated over to him, taking the thermos from his hand. Damian did not pout.

"We should probably get out of here before the Fenton's show up." He could already hear the screech of tires and his dad's voice over the megaphone tearing through the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't worry honey, we'll catch that nasty ghost boy next time," Jack Fenton comforted his wife. True to form, the Fenton's had arrived to the scene late, and most of the damage to the school yard had been from their vehicle crashing into things upon their arrival. Parents had been called and classes ended for the day, which was how one Bruce Wayne found himself at Gotham Academy trying to help the teachers talk the two down from storming and searching the school.

His son was standing off to the side with one of his classmates. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, lanky frame; Bruce could have mistaken the child for one of his own, but looking between the hulking man in front of him and the kid standing next to Damian, the resemblance was obvious. That had to be Daniel Fenton, the meta his son had told him about. Which meant he'd been the one to deal with the ghost before anyone else had gotten there. The classmate Damian had suggested they recruit for his safety.

"Danno, did you see where that spook went? When I get my hands on him, I'll rip him apart molecule by molecule for even thinking of attacking your school!" Bruce saw Daniel's breath hitch with fear.

"Sorry, no. I was coming back from the bathroom when I saw him fighting another ghost through the window. I was scared so I hid," he lied, gripping his left wrist while he spoke.

Bruce was impressed. The boy's fear was real, and he used that to his advantage to really sell the lie to his parents. His heart ached for him. He couldn't imagine seeing any of his boys looking at him like that, with such fear and distrust.

"That's okay sweetie, we'll get him next time. We're just happy you're alright. Let's get you home," his mother comforted, though Bruce knew it wasn't very comforting at all.

"Yeah, we'll teach you to use the Fenton Bazooka," well that was horrifying, "that way next time you can just blast him!" Danny wanted literally anything else.

"Actually," Damian interrupted politely. "We were assigned a project in class earlier on the history of Gotham. As Daniel is relatively new to town, I offered to assist him with the assignment. Father, would it be acceptable for him to join us for dinner?"

Bruce would have been incredibly surprised his son was inviting someone over for dinner if he didn't see exactly what he was doing. Daniel wasn't safe at home. And he clearly wasn't comfortable with the way his parents spoke of the 'ghost boy'. If his defeated expression was anything to go by, it hadn't been the first time they'd said something like that, nor would it be the last.

"What do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? We'd love if Daniel could join us for dinner."

"Please, call us Maddie and Jack. That sounds wonderful Mr..."

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne, I'm Damian's father," he introduced. If the two recognized the name, they didn't show it. It worked out rather well in his favor.

"Mr. Wayne. If its not too much trouble, that would be wonderful. It's about time he made a new friend, he's been sulking since the move. Now, we have a ghost to catch!" Maddie planted a kiss on Danny's forehead, leaning her blaster on her shoulder as her and her husband made their way back to the homemade assault vehicle parked haphazardly on the lawn of the school.

"Be sure to call us if you plan on staying the night! We'll let Jazz know she doesn't have to worry about dinner for you! We love you, have fun sweetie!"

"Are they always like that?" Damian asked after the two had pulled away. How had those two even gotten their driver's license? It was truly abysmal, he dreaded the thought of anyone getting into a vehicle with them. And then there was the speed in which they'd dumped their son into their laps, even suggesting they'd be okay with him not coming home that night.

"They mean well, but yeah," Danny replied, heaving a sad and defeated sigh. "Thank you, by the way. For inviting me over, even if you didn't mean it. They can be a bit much."

"Clearly," Damian mused back.

Bruce watched the two interact and felt pride well up in his chest. Meeting the Fenton parents just once was enough to convince him that their son needed help, maybe even their daughter too. That Damian had taken the initiative to bring this to his attention, that he had stood up for Danny and offered his home as a sanctuary for him, made him so incredibly proud as a father. He wasn't as prickly with Danny the way he was with other people, even his own siblings. That was a very good thing indeed, considering it was looking more and more likely this would end with another adoption.

Maybe Clark was right, he did have an adoption problem.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

tags below!

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@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

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@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie

[getinthefuckingcarkitten]

PC REFS DONE...

I was going to do nsft refs too, but considering i spent almost a full day combined on those, maybe another time.

[backpackevil]

AHHH what do we think about Hiyoko Saionji?

Imma be real, when I first played sdr2 like 1.5+ years ago I REALLY didn't like her but like now? I don't know what happened other than Time Passed but I enjoy her character now

She silly

I find her funny

[xogrossgirlox]

Thought I'd do an introduction.

So my names Veronica and I'm 18!

I'm still in highschool(a Junior/11th grade) since I got held back. I don't send nudes at all, don't give out any other socials and I'm a total virgin!

I love to read, bake, cook and write. I dream of becoming a novel writer. I also love shopping!(but I'm always brokeee)

I'm 5'3 and have a bunch of kinks and am open to more.

Kinks:

Fauxcest

BDSM

S&M

Ageplay

Pet play

[aecholapis]

[elderwisp]

still gotta add in more skin details but :))

[someonesbride]

hello, heellooo! i'm making this post as an introduction for my lads mc, he-he.

caleb is mentioned a few little times!

there's a surprise question at the end (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Nathalia Agcaoili

' Nathalia ' originates from the Latin word "natalis," meaning "birth" or "born".

' Agcaoili ' the last name— primarily Filipino, comes from the Ilocano verb "kawili," meaning "to return" or "to hold on".

( pls feel free to ask questions about her in my ask box, replies, or dms! ‹3)

growing up with Nathalia must've been interesting.

ever since she was young, she has always been stubborn and a bit of a hot-headed.

like do you have any idea how many times she's tried to deny Caleb's help when she tripped and hurt her knee? (it was futile btw he always ended up carrying a grumbling Nathalia home) or how about the amounts of times she's nearly punched that one kid in class for being an ass towards her and her friends? yeaaaaah. she doesn't like meanies, so she won't tolerate with meanies.

even so, no one can deny her enthusiasm and kindness. she was always that one girl with a smile on her face, the one who always tries and cheer another up with her silliness, or the one running around and trying to gather other kids to play with her and Caleb. she can be a natural born leader.

however . .

the lights seems to dim a little when she grew to her teens— it's not like she wasn't happy, she had a loving grandma and a best friend to always lean on when she needed it. Nathalia just grew up, it seems. physically, and mentally.

no problem, as long as she's alright. she still hung around Caleb (not like she had a choice there /j) and they were still close.

Nathalia's stubbornness shifted to determination, her enthusiasm now reserved for people she's close to, and her hot-headedness?

oh, no, that hasn't changed. well, at least she expresses it very differently now. instead of being very expressive about it, it became more subtle and she grows quiet, always staring at the person she's frustrated at— she's just waiting for an opportunity to rant about this to her friends later. definitely competitive.

as stated, with her friends, she can be enthusiastic than normal, but with others..she can be quiet and calm, nearly an eery contrast of the two.

whenever she's with someone she doesn't like as they happen to approach her? they'll talk to one another for a bit (bregrudingly so for her), but Nathalia will quickly make an excuse to get outta there if the chance shows itself.

she began to get more creative. long gone those childish, stickmen drawing or sun in the corners she used to do, she's actually learning art and buying proper tools for it!

it grew to the point of learning how to write, listen to music almost everyday, and even singing.

however she was more on the follower, or the leader-if-needed™ now though. it's pretty clear to her more loved ones that she's grown insecure of her socializing, but is still willing to help out if needed.

at her adulthood (college & after graduation/becoming a hunter basically)— she remained somewhat the same, but her determination is now mixed with stubbornness in a way. she's getting a more and more confident, allowing herself to be more open again, starting to crack jokes.

she's grown more confrontational, and is willing to become the leader if asked.

although, she's unlocked a certain personality trait during battle or training, uh..

she can be quite loud, and aggressive. at least at first during the battle/training, she's quiet and deadly, but when she's hurt..it's like seeing a different person.

she rarely has time for her hobbies, which is sad, but if that's how life is..then, you know, what else can she do?

THE SURPRISE QUESTION

[ossy-serenity]

wdym this is how the arc was handled

[lotostar]

◆ ART REQUESTS ◆ Status: CLOSED [20.05.25]

• Please read before submitting: I'm open to propositions BUT I don't really draw OCs and stuff from fandoms I'm not a part of. I don't gurantee your request being drawn. I'm also not comfortable drawing some ships, so please be understanding if I refuse. Ask requests aren't my main focus so they may take some time to be finished, please be patient🙏

• Current average wait time for request response: 2 months (I have a lot of asks >.<)

◆ ASKS ◆ Status: OPEN

I try to answer as soon as possible but I don't check my inbox everyday so sorry if it takes a while for me to respond ( ´◡` )

◆ ABOUT ME ◆

Hello! I'm Nikodem, welcome to my ART blog :] ⬩ he/they ⬩ ↑21yo ⬩ 🏳️‍🌈 ⬩ PL/ENG

• I have anxiety and I’m scared of interactions but I’m trying my best to be more social, please don’t get mad/sad if I don’t respond sometimes ₍^. .^₎⟆

➜ I mostly draw multi-fandom fanarts and OCs art

➜ Sometimes I post 16+ content. My blog is not child friendly and I never intended it to be, just a warning if that makes you uncomfortable :]

• Side Blog for other stuff: @lotostar-sb

◆ CURRENT BRAINROT ◆

➜ Object shows (BFDI (mostly), CFMOT, ITFT, HfjONE, Animatic Battle...) 

◆ COMMISSIONS ◆ [CLOSED]

◆ TAGS ◆

• ART: My art: #my art ⬩ Fanarts: #fanart ⬩ Art requests: #art request

• POSTS: Text posts: #post ⬩ Asks: #ask

• OTHER: Art for me :D #for me ⬩ Reblogs: #reblog ⬩ Others art: #not my art

◆ OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA ◆

⬩ Carrd.co ⬩ Bluesky: lotostar.bsky.social ⬩ Instagram: lotostar_art 

◆ MORE & FAQ ◆

• What I use for digital drawing: I use HP spectre x360 laptop and Clip Studio Paint. Sometimes I draw in Ibis Paint

• Use of my art: I'm fine with using my art for profile pictures. If you want to use my art for anything else please ask me for permission and credit me!

[Last updated: 06.2025]

[thrpr0phetuseek]

ＩＮＴＲＯＤＵＣＴＩＯＮ

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓭 𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰

~ 𝐻𝑒𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝐻𝒜𝒟𝐸𝒮𝒯𝒪𝒲𝒩

. . . . . ╰──╮╭──╯ . . . . .

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛɪʀᴇꜱɪᴀꜱ ʀᴘ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ!

✦ ᴛɪʀ ɪꜱ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀꜰʟᴜɪᴅ & ᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴʏ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✦ ᴍᴏᴅ ᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴʏ, ᴛᴏᴏ =D

✦ ᴍʏ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴏᴛꜱ/ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ

✦ ɪ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱᴏ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇᴋ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ɪᴛ; ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ

✦ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ: ʜᴏᴍᴏ/ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘʜᴏʙɪᴄ, ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴛ, ᴀʙʟᴇɪꜱᴛ, ᴇᴛᴄ. (ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ)

✦ ɴᴏ ɴꜱꜰᴡ, ɪɴɴᴜᴇɴᴅᴏꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴇ

✦ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴘ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛꜱ ᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴅ ᴀʀᴇ: @mightyheroes-tragictales @the-greater-one @oh-old-king

✦ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ!

✦ @op3n-arms | Uᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴅᴜᴏ | ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ɪɴ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇꜱ

✦ @just-a-mer | "ʟᴏᴠᴇ" | ᴛʜᴇ "ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ" ᴅᴜᴏ

✦ @the-warrior-of-the-mind | ᴀᴅᴏᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

✦ @frayna-of-the-hollow | ᴀᴅᴏᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ

✦ 💫 ᴀɴᴏɴ

✦ 🧊 ᴀɴᴏɴ

✦ 🍉 ᴀɴᴏɴ

✦ 🦜 ᴀɴᴏɴ

✦ ☀️ ᴀɴᴏɴ

✦ 🎠 ᴀɴᴏɴ

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

𝐿𝒪𝑅𝐸

✧ ᴛɪʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀʀʀɪᴠɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

✧ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴʏᴍᴘʜ ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴄʟᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴇᴘʜᴇʀᴅ-ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀᴇꜱ

✧ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴʏᴍᴘʜ ʜᴇʀɪᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇᴍʙᴀʀʀᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ ʜᴀʙɪᴛꜱ

✧ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ʙᴀꜱɪᴄ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛɪʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛʏ ᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴀꜱ ɴʏᴍᴘʜꜱ ᴅᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʟɪᴍʙꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰʟᴇꜱʜ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴇ ʙᴏɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢ (ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜɢᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴀᴋ!)

✧ ᴀ ʙɪɢ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ɴʏᴍᴘʜꜱ ɪꜱ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ꜱɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛɪʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ (ᴍᴀɪɴʟʏ ꜱɪɴɢɪɴɢ); ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴇꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ, ᴛᴏᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴀꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

✧ ɴʏᴍᴘʜꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇ ʜᴜɢꜱ ᴏʀ, ᴀʟɪɢɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ

✧ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱᴀɪᴅ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴜꜱᴛɪɴɢ, ᴠᴇɴɢᴇꜰᴜʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴋᴇᴇɴ; ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ

✧ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪꜱ (+ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ) ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴛɪʀ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇᴍʙᴀʀʀᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ, ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴇɴɢʀᴀᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ

✧ ᴛɪʀᴇꜱɪᴀꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ-ᴍᴀɴᴛᴏ-ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴀɴᴅꜱᴏɴ-ᴍᴏᴘꜱᴜꜱ

✧ ᴍᴏᴘꜱᴜꜱ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀɢᴏɴᴀᴜᴛꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜱᴇᴇʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴍ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪᴇꜱᴛᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴘᴏʟʟᴏ; ʙᴏᴛʜ ɪɴʜᴇʀɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴄʏ

✧ ᴛɪʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ

✧ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪᴅᴀꜱ, ᴛᴀɴᴛᴀʟᴜꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪꜱʏᴘʜᴜꜱ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴏʟᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀɢᴏɴᴀᴜᴛꜱ ʀᴏʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴅʏꜱꜱᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɪʟɪᴀᴅ

✧ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏᴅʏꜱꜱᴇᴜꜱ' ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀᴛʜᴇɴᴀ, ᴛɪʀ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴛᴏᴏ (ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇꜱꜱ), ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ-ʜɪʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴡᴇ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ

✧ ᴛɪʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

✧ ᴜɴᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢʟʏ, ᴛɪʀ ɪꜱ ᴛɪᴄᴋʟɪꜱʜ ʙᴀꜱɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜɪᴘꜱ, ꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ, ꜱᴘɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴇᴄᴋ (ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴜꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɢᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴀᴋ!)

✧ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴛʜᴇ (ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏᴄᴏʟᴜꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴀᴅᴇꜱ, ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ; ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴜʀʏ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ)

✧ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴏʀᴜꜱ [ᴍᴏᴅ] ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋᴇᴇᴘꜱ ᴀɴ ᴇʏᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝