#otherwise the darkness is just.. there. it's flat and it's monotonous

[pheedraws]

Anyway. Sharing one of my favourite articles for no reason whatsoever. Because I love this genre dearly and it hits the nail on the head Re: my own personal approach to WH40k art & fic 🖤

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 3 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Sebastian, while sassy and demanding as ever, is being nice. Too nice. It's confusing as hell.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, emotional turmoil

Chapter 3 now up here on Ao3

The days rolled by in a hazy blur.

At least, you were pretty sure it had been days. Sebastian hadn’t been lying when he’d said you were allowed anywhere but outside the house– seeing as you’d been stopped by the Ashwinders scattered throughout the halls anytime you so much as glanced at the exits. The oppressive, hateful stares of the dark wizards made your skin crawl, so instead of suffering under their bitter gazes day after day, you’d opted to stay in your room. There wasn’t much else to do aside from sleep the hours away, though you realistically didn’t sleep much at all. 

You were sheep in a den of wolves. Every sound had you waking with your heart lodged firmly in your throat, and even after barricading the door with every available piece of furniture in the room, your unease lingered.

 During your first full day in captivity, you’d been woken up by the sound of the dresser screeching across the floorboards as an Ashwinder you’d never seen before pushed the door open. Your eyes had narrowed at him upon realizing that the lock to the bedroom really was just for show, and despite the mask that covered the bottom half of his face, you could tell he was scowling at your makeshift blockade. He had let you know that Sebastian was waiting for you downstairs for breakfast and to make your way there when you were ready. 

Out of sheer spite, you didn’t go. 

No one came to fetch you and force you to attend, much to your relief. Instead, you had taken advantage of the spacious bathroom at your disposal and filled the tub with water hot enough to melt your skin off, but you relished in it all the same. After being so tense for the last forty-eight hours, the bone-deep ache in your limbs diminished some, and you’d stayed submerged in the water for close to an hour. Climbing out was more difficult than you cared to admit, if only because being locked away in the bathroom felt like an added layer of security between you and the strangers beyond the door. Afterwards as you’d combed through your damp hair with your fingers, you found that the reflection that stared back at you in the mirror was unrecognizable to you.

You looked sickly. Years of living your impoverished lifestyle had left you skinnier than you’d ever been, and the sharp, contouring lines of your face were a testament to that fact. Shadows rimmed your eyes and gave you something of a haunted appearance, which was magnified by the dull, lifeless glint in your irises. While your hair was longer after a few years of forgoing trimming it, it was dry, brittle, and fell into an unmanageable heap over your shoulders. You wondered if getting your hands on any styling products would improve the state of the otherwise unremarkable mop on top of your head, but you refused to ask Sebastian for anything. 

Even though he was responsible for kidnapping you, he clearly hadn’t put much thought into having a woman staying in his house. Hell, you didn’t even have a change of clothes at your disposal since your belongings were still missing. 

With that somber thought in mind, you were left with no choice but to slip back into your flimsy nightgown before padding out of the bathroom. Not even fifteen minutes had gone by after fixing your barricade and slithering back under the covers when the telling sound of the dresser screeching across the floorboards greeted you. The same Ashwinder from the morning poked his head through, his tone flat and monotonous as he let you know that lunch would be ready for you in the dining room shortly. 

Once again, you adamantly stayed put in bed. Your stomach voiced its disapproval at you loudly, but if there was one thing about you that had remained consistent into your adulthood, it was your stubbornness and willingness to hold a grudge. 

By dinner time, you’d anticipated for the usual to happen; the dresser screeching as it was shoved out of the way, a head poking through the crack in the door, and your inevitable refusal to go downstairs. You wondered briefly how long you could keep this up before you’d collapse from malnourishment, but as it turned out, you wouldn’t have to. The tiny clock on the mantle read seven o’clock exactly when the bedroom door was pushed open, but instead of seeing a person, you saw a tray of food being levitated through the crack in the entrance. It came to rest on top of the dresser before the door shut, and you held out for a minute before the smell of roasted meat pulled you from the depths of the covers. 

If only to prolong your life and better plan your escape, you ate in contemplative silence. 

Two more days passed by exactly like that. You were no longer being invited to mealtimes with Sebastian, instead being hand delivered food on a tray within the sanctity of your very nice, very commodious cell. Despite the space to move and the amenities that came with the regal seeming chamber, you refused to view it as anything other than that– a gilded cage. The majority of your time was spent pacing the length of the room while you munched on bread, trying and failing to formulate a scheme that would result in you breaking out without anyone noticing. 

Since you refused to set foot outside your bedroom, you knew sorely little about the layout of the house. There were at least two stories, the second of which you were currently holed up on. The main floor contained the dining room with two conjoining sets of doors that led… somewhere, and a long hallway that also led to a place not yet discovered. From the massive wall of windows that lined the side of your room, you could make out some sort of a garden located either in the front of the house or in the back of it, but it was hard to tell with the towering hedges encasing it. 

In short, your planning was going quite poorly. 

As if not knowing the structure of the house wasn’t bad enough, you didn’t even have the necessary tools at your disposal to survive an escape attempt. No shoes, no additional clothing, no wand. Maybe being denied those basic essentials had been intentional for this very reason. The thought made your blood boil at the indignity of it all, and you contemplated just how long you could last before the magic from the repository would start fighting to be let loose. 

Early in the morning of the third day, you were beginning to go stir crazy. Even though there was no proof to back up the claim, you were positive you’d worn a path in the hardwood floor from your nonstop pacing. The buzzing in the back of your head was your only companion, growing louder and louder day by day as Isidora’s magic grew restless in your veins. All of your nails had been effectively chewed into nubs, the sheets on the bed were half strewn about the floor, and the panes of the windows were looking very breakable. You were considering ripping off the vertical columns of the four-poster bed to smash a hole through the glass to throw yourself from, the two story drop be damned. 

Your brow furrowed as you brought your thumb to your mouth to gnaw absentmindedly at the nonexistent nail there, and in the midst of your pondering, you heard the bedroom door open and bang into the dresser. Without turning to check, you remained facing the windows, assuming that the noise was simply due to another breakfast delivery. You’d hardly touched the last one, but you were definitely thirstier than usual, and you were honestly looking forward to the glass of juice that always came with your modest morning meals. 

“If you wanted to redecorate the room, all you had to do was ask, princess.” 

Your hackles raised and your spine stiffened instantly at the sound of Sebastian’s voice, and it was then you realized that you hadn’t actually heard anyone speak words to you in the past two days. As exposed as you felt leaving your back to him, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence, so you dutifully ignored him both verbally and physically. 

A resolute sigh sounded from him, and you listened warily as Sebastian entered the room and shut the door, his heavy footsteps reverberating through the floorboards as he planted himself somewhere near the bed. “I told you you weren’t a prisoner here, yet you insist on treating yourself like one. It’s mind boggling, honestly.”

“Is there some other way you expect me to behave aside from staying the hell away from you and your cronies?” In the reflection of the glass, you could see Sebastian turn to stare at the back of your head, and you knew why. Your voice sounded rough– raspy from days of not being used. 

“Touché,” he relented after a short moment. “But I don’t see where starving yourself factors into that line of thinking.” 

If there had been anything within arms reach for you to throw at him, you would have done it in a heartbeat. Instead you had to settle for crossing your arms stiffly over your chest as you addressed the window once more. “Leave. Me. Alone.” 

“Not until you agree to stop acting like a brat,” Sebastian chided, throwing himself down on your bed and tucking his arms behind his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re all skin and bones. Keep this up and you’ll be dead by the end of the week.” 

Your magic stirred beneath your skin, the comment leaving you aggrieved in the worst of ways, and you felt the wards of the house working to smother the power that yearned to boil over and lash at him. He of all people wasn’t allowed to criticize your appearance. For him to so much as think he had the right to tell you what to do made your heart thrum wildly in your ears, and you spun on your heel to fix your icy glare directly on the brunet. 

“Fuck off, Sebastian. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do. You honestly want me to just blindly trust a single word that comes out of your mouth? To ignorantly assume that I won’t be harmed if I set foot outside this room when all I was met with when I tried was your stupid harem of dark wizards shadowing me everywhere I went? You kidnapped me, you’re forcing me to stay here, and now you have the audacity to tell me how to cope with it? Go to hell.” 

He rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow to better meet your scrutinizing gaze, and his fingers tapped thoughtfully against the mattress. “Alright, fine. I’ll tell everyone to stay posted at the exits and quit following you if it makes you that uncomfortable. But I meant it when I told you no one under this roof will hurt you. Even if you trust nothing else out of my mouth, trust that. Have I ever lied to you?” 

“Oh, I can remember several occasions,” an accusatory finger was jabbed in his direction, trembling with barely contained rage as you took in his infuriating level headedness. “How about we start with when you lied about laying off the dark arts? Or when you stole my Herbology homework and told me that Leander had done it and I ended up cursing him out in front of the whole school? Or, wait– I know– how about the time you disappeared all day without a word to anyone, only to show up in the catacombs controlling a horde of Inferi with an ancient relic?” 

His brows drew together at the last statement, but otherwise he seemed wholly unfazed by your monologue. “Technically I never lied then, I just didn’t tell you what I was planning.” 

“That is literally the textbook definition of lying by omission, you ass!” 

Being unable to utilize your magic in such an emotional state made you twitchy, so you took to running your hands through your unkempt hair as you began pacing in front of the window yet again. Sebastian watched you curiously, taking in your agitated appearance with something strikingly like amusement twinkling in his eyes. It pissed you off that he could remain so composed in the wake of your fury, but more than anything, it confused you. He should hate you– loathe you, even. After standing back and letting him be turned over to the Ministry, there was no sensible reason for him to be anything other than cold towards you, even if he did need your help. The snarky, tolerant persona he had displayed since speaking with you the first time made no sense to you. 

Finally, Sebastian looked away, letting his head fall back against his shoulder as he set his sights on the canopy overhead. “I think I miss the old you. She was never so rude to me.” 

You decided not to mention that the ‘old you’ had been the one complacent in his arrest, “Well, I don’t. She was a coward– too afraid of hurting your feelings to tell you what a prick you were turning into.” 

Dreamily, he muttered, “You have such a way with words.” 

“Shut up.”

“You need to eat something,” he urged you again, and one of your eyes started twitching.

“I. Don’t. Care. Leave me alone, I liked you better when you were staying the hell away from me.”

Sebastian scoffed, running his fingers through the front part of his hair as he chewed his lip thoughtfully. You hoped to the gods that he was on the brink of giving up– that he would leave again and allow you to stew in your anger in solitude– but of course that was too much to hope for. He sat up on the edge of the bed a split second later, letting his long arms dangle between his legs as he craned his neck back in your direction. “Let’s make a deal; if you leave this room and come downstairs to eat a full meal, I’ll give you a tour of the gardens. Just me, no Ashwinders included.” 

You paused, looking out the wall of windows as you swallowed thickly. Of course you had wanted to go outside since the day you’d arrived, but to suddenly have the option dangled right in front of your face almost felt like a trap. “Why would you let me go outside?” 

Sebastian flashed you an easy smile, and the sight was like a punch to the gut when you realized how young it made him look. His mature features shifted before your eyes, leaving you face to face with the boy you’d called a friend during your fifth-year instead of the twenty-something year old dark wizard that had kidnapped you. It was easy to forget everything he’d done when he looked at you like that. Too easy, in fact. So you stared down at the floor instead. 

He sighed as he stood up, then you heard the creaking of the dresser as it was levitated back over to its original resting place against the wall. You knew it would be moved back in front of the doorway later, but he didn’t need to know that. Sebastian strode for the exit, casting a coy look at you over his shoulder. “Because it’ll be easier for you to plan your grand escape if you can scout the grounds,” he joked, warranting a frown from you. “And because you’re withering away in here out of pure spite. It’s not the easiest thing to overlook, so what do you say? Do we have a deal?” 

Sebastian opened the door, beckoning you towards it invitingly as you fisted your hands in the hem of your nightgown. As distrustful as you still were of the man, he did have a point. You were rotting away in here, and the chance to set foot outside and breathe some fresh air was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

Wordlessly, you shuffled towards the open door and waited for Sebastian to close it behind him before following him down the stairs. Nothing had changed in the three days you’d spent locked inside the bedroom; the walls were still mostly void of any decor, and the smell of dust continued to tickle the back of your throat as you made your way into the dining room. You saw two Ashwinders stationed beside one of the doorways you hadn’t been privy to going near, and with a wave of his hand, Sebastian dismissed them. They looked at one another cautiously before obeying, leaving the two of you alone to feast on the decedent spread of food that covered the table. 

Your eyes lingered on Sebastian’s back as he walked to the same seat you’d occupied days prior, your brows disappearing into your hairline as he pulled the chair out and gestured for you to sit. How… chivalrous? What exactly was he playing at? Despite your reservations, you sat down and allowed him to push your chair in, watching guardedly as he sat down directly beside you instead at the other end of the table like you’d expected. It all seemed so much more intimate given the close proximity, and you couldn’t help but shift uneasily in your seat at the thought. 

While Sebastian set to serving you some of the eggs and sausages that lined the table, you thought back to his earlier comment in the bedroom. “You know, with all your teasing on the subject, you don’t sound at all worried that I’ll find a way to get out of here.” 

He shrugged, setting the serving spoon down before picking up a spatula to plop two pancakes onto your plate. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I have every intention of making it hard for you, though.” 

The laugh you huffed out was dry and devoid of any humor, “What, are you planning on booby trapping my room or something?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of making you fall irrevocably in love with me so you don’t want to leave.” 

He had to be joking. There had to be a jibe hidden away in that statement somewhere, but the longer you stared at him, the less certain you became. Sebastian looked relatively serious as he picked up a bottle of syrup and drizzled it over the top of your breakfast, not bothering to look at you as you openly gaped at him. 

You were fairly positive you had been in love with Sebastian during your fifth-year. His consistent acts of service and toe-curling praises had understandably paved the way for a sort of crush to form, but that was all it had amounted to in the end. A crush. How else could you explain your blatant disregard for his poor decision making back then? Love is blind, as they say, but even Ominis had called out Sebastian’s steady descent into madness whereas you had made countless excuses to justify his actions. What was that, if not love? 

Towards the end, your infatuation had evaporated rather quickly once you’d realized how far under Sebastian’s manipulations you had fallen. Somewhere along the way he had taken advantage of your kindness and willingness to help, and it had been his undoing. Falling in love with him was such a far off concept to you now, it was almost laughable. 

“What, nothing to say?” He goaded you with a lazy smile. “No ‘shut up, Sebastian’ or secret declarations of love that spanned across the last five years?” 

Forcing your face to remain impassive, you evenly retorted with, “I wouldn’t fall in love with you if you paid me to do it. I’d sooner elope with a Dugbog.” 

You were startled by Sebastian’s booming laughter, the sound rich and belly-deep and entirely genuine. His head tipped back and his hair fell away from his forehead, revealing more of the sun kissed, freckled skin you’d failed to notice the last time you spoke with him. When he caught his breath and wiped a nonexistent tear away from his eye, he turned back to you with that youthful smile gracing his features once more. “Whatever you say, princess. I’ll take the loss in exchange for getting to see something like that.” 

In the next half hour that followed, you were surprised to admit that you’d ended up scarfing down two whole plates. When the trays delivered to your room often arrived, the food was warm but not hot, and something about digging into a steaming, freshly cooked meal in its entirety after so long was too enticing an opportunity to pass up. The buzzing in the back of your skull lessened some, and you found yourself relaxing into your seat more and more over time. Sebastian had simply watched quietly as you gorged yourself with gusto, looking strangely content by the time you set your fork down and pushed the plate away from yourself. 

Your cheeks flushed as you took notice of his unwavering focus on you, and you attempted to hide the redness of your face with your napkin as you wiped your mouth. “Sorry… guess I was hungry.” 

Instead of teasing you or boasting about being right like you thought he would, Sebastian simply shook his head and stood from his seat before charming away the dirty dishes. “Don’t apologize, I’m glad you ate something,” he admitted softly. “Come on, let’s go. A deal is a deal.”

Sebastian didn’t wait for you as he strode towards one of the sets of doors in the massive dining room, and your eagerness to get outside again overpowered any reservations you might have had about following him. Without a word, you hurried after him, stopping a few feet short as he produced his wand to cast a simple unlocking charm before throwing the grand oak slabs open. 

Even though you knew you’d been heading to the garden, you hadn’t expected it to look so colorful. 

While the house’s interior seemed to take gothic architecture to a new level, the exterior was something straight out of a children’s book. Cobblestone walls lined with moss and ivy loomed overhead, towering at least fifteen feet tall, and the hedges you had previously spied through your bedroom window took up the entirety of the far side of the backyard. Clusters of wildflowers decorated the ground, running right up to the edge of a small pond that sat in the middle of the enclosed space, and the body of water was surrounded by intricate stone carved benches. It looked like the kind of place you would find alongside a cottage in the woods, not the dreary, colossal manor you found yourself inhabiting. 

As soon as you stepped out barefooted into the lawn, the brisk, autumn breeze was blowing your hair off of your shoulders and caressing your cheeks. Your eyelids fluttered as you took in the earthy scents that met you; the pollen from the flowers, the bark from the trees, the damp dirt beneath the grass. In that brief moment of tranquility, you felt lighter than you had in days. 

The feeling was fleeting, however, seeing as you were immediately stifled by the wards that evidently stretched outside. Your magic strained against the invisible, oppressive force that worked to smother your abilities, and the sense of peace you’d barely been able to enjoy for a full minute evaporated into nothing. You shuddered at the loss, letting your head dip towards the ground as you wiggled your toes in the dew covered grass, and you became acutely aware of Sebastian’s prying eyes fixing on you. 

He wordlessly shrugged off the wool overcoat he had on and stepped behind you, ignoring the way you tensed as he draped the warm, thick attire over your shoulders. 

“I’m fine, you don’t have to–”

“You’re still in a nightgown with no shoes on,” he muttered quietly, as though he was only just now realizing it. He adjusted the flipped collar of the coat, letting his fingers linger against the skin of your neck for a moment longer than necessary, and the contact had your stomach churning. It was the first time he’d touched you since bringing you here. “I’ll have Nora bring you some new clothes later. She should have some things that fit.” 

Sebastian stepped away from you rather suddenly and shoved his hands in his pockets as he casually moved further into the garden, leaving you frozen with confusion as you watched his retreating form. Your chilled hands clasped the woolen collar of the coat tighter around your neck, your brows furrowing and your heart clenching in your chest as you contemplated why the man was being so tolerant of you– so nice, even. On his orders, his Ashwinders had stolen you from your room in Bainburgh and brought you to him, stripping you of your magic and your freedom. He had taunted you and told you to your face that you would help him obtain the relic he needed whether you liked it or not. In doing so he was jeopardizing his safety and yours, all because of the dark power within you that would inevitably consume you without the aid of the ancient magic sites or your wand. For all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone you should let your guard down around, much less trust. 

But then there was you. The girl– now woman– who had stood back and let him be taken to Azkaban all those years ago. Back then, you had been afraid of what it would mean to not speak up– too anxious at the prospect of doing nothing about Sebastian’s infatuation with the dark arts, only to regret your complacency later on. Ominis had said as much to you in the Undercroft that day. He had thrown your feelings for your mutual friend in your face and told you that your blind loyalty would only enable him, and that as much as he didn’t want to, turning him in was the only option. 

You had been running on fumes at that time, too overwhelmed with Ranrok, the Keepers, and Sebsatian’s antics to state your case and dissuade Ominis from making a decision that he would grow to regret. Your cowardice had resulted in Sebastian’s expulsion and inevitable incarceration within Azkaban, and the guilt you felt had inevitably transformed into a deep resentment towards Ominis that you were never able to shake in the years that followed. Guilt could never unmake those choices, however, and you had been prepared to live with that lingering feeling for the rest of your life.  

But despite all of those things, the man before you was being gracious towards you. Alarmingly so. 

Sebastian stood at the edge of the pond, gazing down into the murky water and looking like he was wound tighter than a spring. You shifted uncomfortably in place, torn between moving closer to him or staying where you were. The latter choice ultimately won out, and you called to him from where you stood mere feet beyond the door. “Why are you doing all of this?” 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to elaborate. Sebastian turned slightly to glance at you through the corner of his eye, his expression blank and unreadable. Then he looked away to direct his reply to his boots, “I told you already, you’re no good to me dead.”

You couldn’t have held back your outburst if you tried, “Then force feed me! Throw a blanket at me, shove my feet in a pair of ratty slippers or something instead of offering me a whole new wardrobe and being so patient all the time. Why be so hospitable?” 

“Would you rather I be cruel?” Sebastian turned to face you this time, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he stared you down. “Do you want me to treat you like crap– to be the villain you think I am? The one you thought I was five years ago? Would it make it easier for you to cope with your decision to condemn me to a lifetime in Azkaban? Is that honestly what would make you feel better?” 

“I–” you stammered, at a loss for words as you averted your eyes to spare yourself from his critical stare. Instinctively, you pulled his coat tighter around you as you attempted to shrink in on yourself. It was the first time he had openly acknowledged what you’d done. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole rather than be faced with the painstaking remorse that came with his declaration. He waited for you, though. He waited for you to say something to counter the accusation he’d hurled at you, and in the end you settled with, “You should hate me.” 

“Should I?” 

“I let Ominis turn you in,” you practically whispered, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back the biting sting of tears forming. 

Sebastian paused, then said, “You did.” 

“I don’t know how you can stand to look at me. I don’t know why you’re able to crack jokes and pretend like everything is fine, or act like nothing happened. I don’t understand, Sebastian.” 

“…I don’t know either,” he reluctantly divulged. Your eyes snapped open to meet his dark gaze, a new kind of mask settling over his face. One that was cold, unyielding, and distant. “But know this; I did hate you. For what time I did spend in Azkaban, I felt nothing but hatred. For you, for Ominis, even for myself. It was the only thing that kept me going.” 

Your next breath caught in your throat as your grip on his coat turned white knuckled. “And now? After you use me to get your relic, what then? Will you kill me?” 

A crack formed in his mask then, barely noticeable beyond the slight softening of his eyes, but you saw it all the same. “I don’t think I could kill you if I tried, princess.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” you countered, ignoring the tender way he said the nickname. “There are worse things than death.” 

“There are. But none that I’m intent on submitting you to. As for what comes after you help me get the relic, well… I suppose that remains to be seen.”

Before you had the chance to press him further, you were yelping in alarm as a figure dashed outside from within the dining room, their arms pinwheeling as they dug their heels in the grass to avoid colliding into you. Bowler hat was already staring at you incredulously when you turned to face him, and you were surprised to find that he was without his face mask this time around. His jaw was lined with salt and pepper stubble, the same color as his hair, and the weathered look to his face confirmed your previous assumptions that he was well into his fifties. If he hadn’t been sneering at you with his icy blue eyes narrowed in distaste, you would have almost said he was relatively attractive. 

He jabbed a finger at you as he addressed Sebastian, the former Slytherin lazily making his way towards the two of you. “I thought she wasn’t allowed outside.” 

“Relax Devlin,” Sebastian waved off the older man, planting himself protectively beside you, and you immediately realized that he was at least six inches taller than his associate. “I brought her out here. She needed some fresh air.” 

“Careful being alone with this one for too long,” Devlin side-eyed you attentively, presumably thinking back to the last time he had been in a room with you. “She’s a hellcat straight out of the fiery pits of the Underworld if I’ve ever seen one.”

“If you don’t know how to talk to women, just say that,” Sebastian said antagonistically. 

Devlin swore softly under his breath and rolled his eyes, then tapped the empty space on his wrist where a watch was meant to go. “We need to get going,” he said, his gaze momentarily returning to you as he contemplated how much of the discussion you were privy to hearing. “You’re needed in London.”

Whatever was waiting for Sebastian in London must not have been anything good, because the mere mention of the city made him go rigid. His demeanor changed completely, and when he glanced down to meet your shrewd gaze, you could have sworn he looked worried. You wanted nothing more than to ask him what was in the city– to get a sliver of information out of him to shed some light on what he was up to– but you already knew he wouldn’t tell you. 

He sucked in a slow, steadying breath before exhaling roughly. “I know it’s wishful thinking to hope you’ll listen to me, but go back to your room and stay there.” 

So much for being allowed to walk freely through the house. “When will you be back?” 

Sebastian grinned smugly, cocking his head to the side and causing his grown out bangs to brush across his forehead playfully. “Going to miss me already, princess?” 

Devlin groaned, mockingly gagging at the unabashed flirting the brunet displayed, and you frowned at the thought of locking yourself back up in that cold, empty room. You still needed to escape, but that plan would remain a working progress without your belongings on hand– and if you had to choose, you would much rather linger in the garden and enjoy the outdoors. 

Sebastian must have somehow read your dour thoughts plainly on your face, because his tone softened as he insisted, “Just go inside, I’ll be back later tonight to chaperone your explorations. Don’t wander far,” he added jokingly. 

Prick. 

With a hefty sigh, you turned to make your way to the door, shooting Devlin a dangerous look as you passed him. His blue eyes made a full trip around their sockets, but he otherwise said nothing. The grass disappeared from under your feet, replaced by the cool, hardwood floors of the house that sent a chill up your spine, and as you turned around to watch the two men depart, the double doors were already sliding shut with a soft click. A resounding crack came from the garden– a telltale sign that they had apparated– and you were left standing alone in the dining room with Sebastian’s jacket still draped over your shoulders. 

You don’t know why you did it. You would deny it until the day you died, but as you ascended the wide staircase leading to the second floor, you shamelessly brought the collar of the woolen coat to your nose. You were met with the familiar scent of cedar wood and worn parchment that was so uniquely Sebastian, it made your heart flutter. 

[hepbaestus]

The light is what guides you home, the warmth is what keeps you there - 03/05/24

Day 3 of Hideduo Kiss Week Event by LazyCat

Day 3 prompt: Smol Peck

1.0k words|stardew valley au| no TW's apply| ao3 link|

Pac's late for work and he doesn't want to leave the warmth of his bed where he and his husband sleep. But he has to. There's a small shake up in the monotonous cycle of his work; a couple visitors pop in to see him and they brighten up his day.

fic underneath the read more

Faint rays of light illuminated the otherwise dark room, two figures lay sleeping on the bed, not disturbed by the light. A harsh sound coming from a phone on the left bedside table causes one of them to rouse slightly, having been jolted out of the comfort of his sleep by the alarm. Shifting on the bed, Pac lifts his head up from Fit’s chest and moves his arm, reaching out to stop the sound, only to realise that he’s late for work. Fit mumbles slightly as the loss of weight on his chest, before rolling over onto his front and falling back into the depths of sleep.

He falls almost comically out of bed and onto the floor, disturbing his husband Fit and newborn child Rosa who were sleeping in the same room. He stays flat on the floor before coming to the same conclusion that he had had just moments ago and rises quickly once more, grabbing his work uniform and rushing to the ensuite bathroom to get ready for his double shift at Joja Mart.

Fit mumbles once more as the warmth of Pac’s body leaves the bed, trying to burrow deeper into the pillow, arm reaching out in an attempt to find Pac. Pac returns to see Fit’s reaction, before sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes. Fit wakes slightly once more, turns his head towards Pac.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Bom dia, Fitch, I’ve got to go to work so I’ll see you later, yeah?” Pac, having checked that he’d buttoned his shirt correctly, kisses Fit quickly on his lips, not lingering for any moment as he knows that if he did, he’d want to call in and feign being sick.

It’s in the middle of his hectic but still monotonous shift when Fit walks into Joja Mart with their Rosita in a baby sling across his chest, being all handsome that it causes Pac to freeze. The baby sling was new. Usually, if Fit were to come to the corporation’s shop he’d have Rosa in her pram.

Fit walks over to where Pac is stocking the shelves, clearly grabbing an item randomly and shows it to Rosa as if asking her opinion on whether they should buy it or not. She babbles slightly before Fit shakes his head, murmuring to himself that it wasn’t the right brand.

“Oi Fitch, is there anything, you know, that I can help you with?” Pac walks over to his family, thankful for the unofficial break.

“Oi Pac, fancy seeing you here,” Fit chuckles, “yes, I was looking for a new pasta sauce to try for dinner tonight but Joja seems to only have the usual brand that Rosa’s gone off.”

“Anyways, maybe Pierre’s has it. He does, after all, have the superior stock.” Fit leans in, closer to where Pac was standing, kisses him quickly before getting Rosa to wave at her Pai and leaving the store. Pac stands there for a moment, still not quite used to Fit showing affection in public, before getting back to work.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

It’s late once Pac finishes work, having to work a double shift as Shane hadn’t been able to make it to his shift due to travelling for therapy in Zuzu City. He didn’t mind it; if it meant that his friend was getting help for his mental wellbeing he’d do it all over again. He leaves, locking the door behind him, and walks home, greeting everyone that he sees heading to the town Saloon Gus owned, wanting to see all of his family before it’s Rosa’s bedtime.

By the time he gets back, having checked the coop and barns for any stray animal products that they can sell, he walks into the house to see Fit and Rosa sitting in the armchair, Rosa cradled in Fit’s arm as if she was something so precious that she would break if dropped. She’s clutching a small, hand-crocheted Saturn. It was a gift from Emily when she had heard that Rosa was fascinated by her planet crib mobile more than her animal one.

Pac smiles to himself, before lifting Rosa out of Fit’s arms, cradling her to his chest so as to not disturb her greatly. He walks to their room, where her crib lies, and places her in her bed. She makes a little sound before settling once more, falling back into dreamland. He stares at his daughter for a moment, wondering just how he managed to succeed in life so much to a point where he has a happy, healthy relationship and a daughter.

If time travel was invented miraculously during his lifetime and he was given an opportunity to tell his past self about his future life, his younger self would not have believed him. Him? An ex-juvie having a husband and child? He had never thought himself worthy enough to even think about getting married. But he was living that life, and he couldn’t be happier. He pecks Rosa’s forehead before heading back to the living room where Fit still sat sleeping.

He pressed a kiss to Fit’s lips, knowing that as soon as he’d taken Rosa out of his arms, he was more awake than previously. Fit stirred, eyelids still heavy, before realising that it was Pac in front of him.

“Oi big boy, you know, your back isn’t what it used to be, Fit,” Pac teases, “let’s go to bed. Yeah?”

Fit nods his head, eyes still closed. He sits there for a minute before realising that he’s being bridal carried to the bedroom. He’s not used to Pac showing his true strength so his face flushes while he burrows his head into the junction of Pac’s neck and shoulder, enjoying the short moment as they get from the living room to the bedroom.

He’s placed gently on the bed and Pac turns around to grab both of them some clothes to sleep in, which they drowsily change into before getting under the duvet covers. With Fit resting his head on Pac’s chest, a not so common sleeping position for the two, they both fall into a dreaming state; of an island far away from the rest of civilisation. Where they have two sons but not a daughter. Where life is much more dangerous and they both smile in their sleep, happy that they’re not living that life.

[ardentcuttle]

"Death's a silent brigade, a solemn march,

It's the only way the weary find their peace.

To escape from this hell, this echoing cage."

"If we can't decide, if our hands are tied,

We can only cry, our voices lost to the wind.

Let's greet the other side... and find what silence brings."

Chapter 1: The Summons

London, 2002.

A rain so punctual it felt less like weather and more like a liturgical ritual, each drop a chime.

8:04 a.m.

Every single day, the city held its breath.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The droplets struck the academy's ancient, leaded glass like a clock counting down – always preceded by a soft static in the air, the ghost of a frequency fading, like a cassette reel rewinding a little too far, catching a phantom echo.

The usual cacophony of students – whispers, sudden bursts of laughter, the annoying scrape of soles on polished stone as classes ended – seemed to swirl around, deliberately clouding the sharp edges of one particular mind.

Lloyd had his head buried in his arms, his voice a low hum, a current beneath the surface noise. A poem? Perhaps, or a private incantation one couldn't quite decipher.

"Lloyd!"

A feminine voice, sharp as cut glass, sliced through the air. Lloyd stopped his recitation abruptly, his head snapping up.

"You've been summoned. Would you please come with me?"

A sudden hush fell over the room, the collective breath of dozens of teenagers held. Lloyd looked around, the quiet itself a heavy weight. His gaze landed on the girl standing at the hallway door. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun, bangs framing a face that was both composed and watchful. Her uniform, while adhering to the school's black and red, had a subtle flair of Victorian elegance – a hint of a bygone era in the crisp lines of her collar, the slight puff of her sleeves.

A flicker of something – recognition, resignation – passed through Lloyd's otherwise monotonous eyes, his face, already stark, becoming almost entirely blank. How was that possible? How could he feel so little, yet know this was bad?

"It seems like you enjoy disturbing my beauty sleep, bloody Marceline."

"I'd appreciate you refrain from placing my name in one of your swear words, Lloyd."

The girl, Marceline, replied to Lloyd's sharp tongue, the two students walking down the hallway, a path clearing before them as other students gave way. Lloyd grew conscious; the whispers from the students became more noticeable now, a low hum of curiosity and fear.

"Is it that bad?" Lloyd whispered.

Marceline didn't reply, her pace steady and unwavering.

Climbing the grand, winding staircase down to the courtyard, Lloyd was struck again by the sheer scale of the school grounds, a sprawling gothic beast of stone and history.

The eerie atmosphere wasn't just melodramatic; it hummed with an undercurrent of something deeply unsettling, clashing beautifully with the thematic feel of a classic 1980s prep school film – all polished brass and whispered secrets. Hazy rays of sun, thin as stretched silk, peeled through the perpetual London clouds, the patter of raindrops on the ground a strangely reassuring whisper, a steady pulse beneath the growing tension.

Lloyd shivered, not just from the inherent chill of the London air, but from a prickle of unease. He tugged his black blazer tighter, seeking comfort from the damp cold.

Marceline, however, seemed entirely unfazed, her movements precise as she opened the umbrella she held close, its dark canopy blooming like a morbid flower.

"Care to join me?" she offered, her tone flat.

"What if people think we're a coupl–" Lloyd started, a nervous habit of deflection.

Marceline merely arched an eyebrow, her expression utterly devoid of amusement or interest.

"I guess not," Lloyd muttered, shrinking into his own space.

Navigating their way through the main district of the Third Sanctuary – a moniker that now felt less quaint and more ominous – they were met by a thick cordon of police personnel. Every officer was armed and tensed, their state of alert palpable, like a stretched wire about to snap.

The perimeter covered Los Duos Park, typically a vibrant hub for school activities and clubs. Now, it was a forbidden zone, a silent testament to something profoundly amiss. Lloyd gulped, a knot tightening in his stomach. He glanced at Marceline, whose face remained a mask of practiced indifference, as she continued her deliberate stroll towards the grim sight. Lloyd, legs heavy, reluctantly followed, his fingers absently scratching his thigh.

One of the officers, a burly figure hunched beneath a standard-issue umbrella, squinted at them.

"You young'uns shouldn't be here," he rumbled, his hand instinctively hovering near his belt buckle.

"Yes, I'm aware," Marceline replied, her voice cool and composed. "But we are part of the Students' Council. I've been asked to bring him over."

The surrounding officers looked to their superior, who, after a moment of wary hesitation, nodded. "This way," he conceded, ushering them through a gap in the tape.

Lloyd dragged his feet across the damp grass of the park, each step feeling heavier than the last. "Well, that was easy," he mumbled, half to himself.

"You'd be surprised by the power this school holds," Marceline stated, without inflection. "The Students' Council included."

Marceline and the officer stopped at the entrance to the taped-off area, the air suddenly thick with a metallic tang. This wasn't just a crime scene; it felt like a sacred, violated space. But how bad could it be?

Lloyd's question was answered the moment he saw it. A grotesque tableau of his fellow students, arrayed in a precise, chilling circle, gathered not around a victim, but what could only be described as a ritual.

"What in the bloody—" Lloyd began, his murmur cut short, his scratching turning into a frantic, unconscious clawing at his thigh.

"Stand back," Marceline ordered, her tone sharper now. "Martha, I've brought him."

Lloyd's pupils dilated, his eyes widening to impossible saucers. "Martha? As in the Martha?" The name was a whispered legend, a force to be reckoned with even among the elite of the academy.

The girl in question stood at the center, motionless, two students holding an umbrella for her, shielding her from the relentless drizzle.

Her pale blonde hair, almost translucent, blended with the depressing atmosphere, reflecting the dull light of the day. Lloyd had never met her in person, but the aura she exuded, even from a distance, confirmed every unsettling rumor: she was something else entirely.

Her uniform was drastically different from Marceline's – a pure, unblemished black, with only the subtlest lining of deep red, a composition so stark it evoked the image of a creature from a gothic tale, a Dracula-esque figure. It covered every inch of her skin, including her neck, adding to the illusion. Yet, the flush of her visible ears betrayed a human pallor beneath the severe fabric.

Lloyd instinctively recoiled a step, a primal instinct against an unknown threat. Her voice, when it came, was a calm, almost musical whisper that cut through the silence.

"Good morning, Lloyd."

She turned, slowly, with a smile that was not warm but utterly eerie, her eyes, like shards of ice, calmly, unsettlingly, fixing on him.

Lloyd stood frozen, his lips barely parting, his voice a strangled wheeze.

[gainesha]

BSG rewatch notes, cont'd (spoilers, obviously):

season 3 is very, very messy, due to the constant on-the-fly story changes (big planned plots nixed, but bits and pieces of them still ending up in finished episodes; some characters yanked left and right without clear explanation - just how many positions can Helo fill in during a season of BSG? :D), and a couple of subplots fell flat this time around (Baltar's time on the basestar is too monotone and the dissolve-heavy direction is more numbing than dreamlike), but most of my favorite episodes are also from this season, so...

I love the character-centric standalone episodes, and I love the idea of showing us the daily life of the fleet from the viewpoint of the common people, or even just secondary players, instead of our main heroes, the leaders. when the writers fail with this idea, those episodes are awful (you know, The Woman King), but when they are successful, those episodes sing. Dirty Hands is a great example of this, and The Passage is tremendously effective - my only quibble is the drug runner guy, who is a walking cliché, but otherwise, this is how longer-running shows can excel at building moving character arcs for supporting characters such as Kat throughout the seasons. the last ten minutes are devastating.

you know what else is devastating? Maelstrom. I was wondering how this episode would land now, knowing where it eventually leads to with Starbuck's destiny. it's even better. there is no bait and switch that would lessen its impact, or the emotional and psychological journey of Kara: she dies, and even though she comes back, that version is her and not her at the same time, and I am very impressed how RDM and the writers were able to thread that needle. her death here still feels final, brutal, tragic, painful, but not meaningless. the writing is personal, Weddle & Thompson mining some of their childhood traumas and family issues; the acting is tender and raw - Jamie Bamber during the scene under the wings, Callum Keith Rennie's unnerving presence turning into softness, and obviously everything Katee Sackhoff does. Michael Nankin handles everything with such great care, the hallucinations never feel like cheap jump scares (when Leoben's dark silhouette flashes in the cockpit, my soul just leaves my body), the Viper scenes look and sound like nothing else before with the rain patterns, the clouds, the silence, eerie and haunting and so, so sad.

Crossroads is fun and exciting and all that, but man, it's kind of crazy that the show got away with that whole All Along the Watchtower bit. it is so silly! people hearing a song, reciting the lines from the lyrics as the earth-shattering turning point in their lives, the greatest revelation via Bob Dylan... it's really bananas.

Adama and Roslin are the cutest together

[loosesodamarble]

The Heartless Witch and the Captain of the Black Bulls

Summary: With the paperwork finalized, Yami decides on his first recruit. Yami goes to tell Josele and makes a promise to take care of those close to him. Genre: general, slight angst? Word count: ~1500

..........

“Mm-hm… The Black Bulls, as you said earlier. Oh and the final version of your emblem turned out marvelously!” Julius remarked as he looked over Yami’s formal submission to start his own squad. “You vice captain is… Nacht Faust?” His eyes shot up to meet Yami’s. “That’s quite a choice considering that he’s not established in the ranks at all. And there’s the matter of the house’s current standing.”

“Eh, you know me,” Yami said with a shrug. “Can’t really say I care about what other people think.”

“Right, right,” Julius chuckled. He finished reviewing the paper and looked at Yami again. “Everything’s in order. What comes next is establishing a base and finding squad members. The entrance exam isn’t for a while but you can still recruit outside of that setting.”

“That’s good,” Yami answered, “because I already have a recruit in mind.” He spoke firmly. With resolve. “Julius, I want to make Josele a Black Bull.”

At that, Julius’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open.

“Yami, I know that you’re good friends with her but…” Julius rested his hands flat on the desk. “Can you handle the responsibility of having her in your squad? Her dealing with Forbidden Magic has only been overlooked so far by the Magic Parliament because I’ve vouched for her.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll just tell ‘em to stick their rulebook up their ass,” Yami replied. His smug grin melted away to a serious frown. “Julius, Jo isn’t going to get better by staying here.” He felt a sting behind his eyes but blinked it away as much as he could. “I gotta help her as much as I can. So please…”

Julius’s stern eyes softened. He rose from his seat, rounded the desk, and walked to stand in front of Yami. After placing his hands on the newly appointed captain’s shoulders, he said, “You two best take care of each other, got it?”

Yami nodded. Doing otherwise would have defeated the purpose of Yami’s plan.

…

The ruins of House Faust.

It felt like some sick joke knowing Josele started living in the abandoned manor with Nacht after Thomas had died. Then again, she wasn’t wanted anywhere else. Her soulless expression and lifeless aura scared not only the neighbors near her childhood home but also the members of the Grey Deer. Really, House Faust was the only place where she could go. She came back to it, even after the tragedy.

Yami shook his head free of his depressing thoughts and knocked on the front door. He waited a minute with no answer. He knocked again. And after another minute, the door opened.

“Oh, so it’s you, Dark Mage,” Josele greeted with an empty voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed to talk to you,” Yami answered. “Care to let me in?”

Josele stepped aside and Yami walked in.

The foyer was bathed in a dim atmosphere. Less to do with the lighting and more to do with the state of disrepair the place was left in. Despite Josele and Nacht inhabiting the space, it wasn’t a home. There was no comfort. There was no warmth.

“What did you need to talk about?” Josele asked, also without warmth.

“Not even gonna offer me a drink? Poor host behavior,” Yami muttered, trying to shrug off her coldness. The old you woulda said “How about I get you something to drink before we chat?”

“Did you want a drink?” Josele’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest.

“Nah. I won’t overstay my welcome.” Yami fished through his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. “You mind if I smoke?”

“I do mind.”

Yami almost didn’t catch it but Josele’s monotonous voice softened when she said that. Even now, she could care. Just barely.

“Right then…” Yami removed his hand from his pocket and adjusted his stance. “Anyways. Came here to let you know that I got my squad approved.”

“That must be an honor.”

C’mon, Jo. Not even a “congratulations”? “Yup. You said it. And now that I’ve got a squad, I need squad members.” Yami reached into the bag he brought with him and pulled out two black robes. “Nacht is gonna be my vice captain. And you, well, you get to be a regular Knight on the squad.”

“I…” Josele stared at the robes then up at Yami. “Don’t understand.”

“What don’t you get? Nacht’s gonna be my second-in-command. And you’re gonna be a cool senior squad member,” Yami said before extending his arm further towards Josele. “Go on. They’re for you and Nacht.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want me,” Josele stated, her gaze lowering. “I’ve stopped being dead weight but there’s still other Magic Knights with more accomplishments than me. I mainly use my weapons because the magic I do use can’t be wielded freely. And people say I’m difficult to work with. Logically speaking, I’d be a detriment to your squad instead of an asset.”

Josele didn’t look defeated or sorry for herself. She stopped looking like anything affected her years ago. But even when she spoke of “logic,” her words betrayed feelings that should’ve been choked by her curse. Deep down inside, Josele was still unsure and scared. She still looked down on herself as the woman who failed to save someone immeasurably precious to her.

Because of that, Yami made his choice.

Yami threw one of the two robes over Josele’s head. The fabric fluttered down and rested on her left shoulder. The same way she wore her Grey Deer robe.

Josele blinked. Again, her expression didn’t change. Yami could still tell that she had to take a second to register what he’d done though.

“Don’t sweat the details, Jo,” Yami chuckled as he watched Josele grasp at the fabric. “I don’t care about accomplishments. What matters is that you kick plenty of ass and I like having you around. Oh, and you agree to go out drinking with me whenever I ask. Haha…”

“I still don’t get it,” Josele whispered. However, she clutched the black robe she’d been gifted. “But if you insist then I see no point in arguing.”

“Good to hear. You’re officially a Black Bull now,” Yami said with a grin, one that was hard to pull off, and a nod. He passed the cloak meant for Nacht to Josele. “Make sure that shady bastard gets this. Wrestle it onto him if you have to. He’s my vice captain whether he likes it or not.”

“Okay.”

With the conversation basically over, Yami moved to leave.

But he stopped at the door. He glanced over his shoulder. Josele had begun walking away, deeper into the manor. Deeper into a gloomy shell of a house, like herself.

Without thinking, Yami ran up behind Josele and tugged her into a hug. For a moment, he felt the firmness of her muscles as she tensed in surprise. She relaxed after a few seconds, having registered that there was no threat, only Yami hugging her with one arm. She didn’t return the embrace, merely stood still.

A shaking exhale was heard.

Yami wasn’t sure if it came from him or Josele. Not that it mattered.

He felt the urge to hug Josele tighter but Yami couldn’t bring himself to. Josele already felt so fragile. He feared even a brief squeeze might shatter her.

So he just held her.

“Oniichan…” A quiet voice whispered as a small figure clung to Yami’s shirt. “Itsumo-itsumo… Soba ni ite, mamotte… Onegai…”

Gomen… Yami bit his cheek. Kimi o mamorenakatta, ore wa… Kedo. Konkai, daijina hito o mamorou. “Don’t worry, Jo,” Yami whispered as he continued to hold her. “This squad will be a place where you can belong. Things will get better. I swear.”

Yami let Josele go.

When Josele looked up at him, her eyes were damp.

“I will do my best for your squad, Dark Mage. And good luck with recruiting others,” Josele still had a hollow voice. The wish of good luck, though, had a softness that felt like the person Josele used to be.

“Heh, a guy like me doesn’t need luck,” Yami bluffed and gave a smirk. “I’ve got good judgment instead.” He clapped Josele on the shoulder.

Then, he walked out the front door as he’d intended to a moment ago.

Yami walked through the forest surrounding the mansion alone, head down and thoughts stewing.

The squad that Yami was going to pull together would be for people like himself. People like Nacht. And like Josele.

One day, Yami would find people who could accept Josele for who she truly was. Who would feel her caring warmth through the ice she’d sealed her heart in. Who would see through the mask she’d put on. There had to be people out there who could make her smile again. Maybe not the same grin that Morgen brought to her face. But any smile would be better than that passionless gaze Josele had since she cursed herself.

It wasn’t only Josele’s happiness that Yami hoped to see restored. But everything. Her anger at injustice. Her playfulness with friends. Gratitude for her weapons being repaired. Annoyance at strange noble customs. Sorrow for lost loved ones.

Loved ones whose names and faces she couldn’t recall anymore.

All the emotions that were part of Josele… They would come back to her.

Yami had to believe.

[wolf-among-mechs]

Major Asuka Hoshi

Current Assignment: Warsong Corps. Hellscream Lance, first company.

Current Mech: Marauder II (custom)

Asuka is the child of two mech techs in the Wolf's Dragoons who at an early age developed very highly aggressive tendencies. Noting that she had gotten into a knife fight at the age of twelve. Doctors concluded that had she had significantly higher pain tolerance and prone irrational anger by the same hormones, she also developed muscles at quicker rate than usual. Internally among the dragoons they were certain this was due elemental genes in her heritage.

Which in continuation has given her an exceedingly aggressive piloting style. She is known for diving recklessly into enemies and is often described as simply appearing among them and attacking with intense ferocity. Often known to cause panic or crippling coordination within a lance or star.

In person, Asuka appears very tall, by normal human standards anyway she is not near an elemental, with dark brown hair that she has coloured purple ends. Sometimes shifting the exact shade back and forth. She has multiple scars all over her body, several cutting scars in her face that have mostly healed made from knives or shrapnel.

She has been mercenary for a few years save for a few very intense years she was a member of Clan Wolf that she was technically born into but had not had the chance to join them. Regardless that came to an end when her old mercenary unit, the Warsong Corps captured her and claimed her as a bondswoman.

While she and her company has held something of a loyalty towards the Federated Suns, Rasalhague and the Lyran Commonwealth, they rarely enjoy staying for very long in the employ of one. They and she in particular have held a long standing animosity to the Draconis combine despite the fact that Asuka as taken in many teachings of Bushido and buddhist philosophy. She originally claimed that it was part of understanding her enemy. It is now certainly part of her. Her Japanese pronounciation has always been terrible and will likely continue to be. Most who can speak it have asked her to just speak english instead.

She is known to paint mechs in the mercenary company as a hobby, helping and actively making individual colour schemes for members to express their personality. When she is not doing that she sometimes paints with oil colours. Despite fire hazard of the heat her mechs she often brings colours, brushes, cloth, a canvas and an easel with her in the mech if the cockpit allows for luggage. Otherwise she sometimes just takes trips on hapitable planets to find a landscape to paint.

In addition to that she enjoys tinkering with mechanical parts which she often puts effort into working on a car or motorbike for her own amusement. As mechs are not ideal to 'tinker' with in the same way as a car. Not that it has stopped her from sometimes fine tuning it.

Her speech is slow and deliberate more often than not. While she is clearly influnced or even taught Clan styled English once upon a time and often such towards a clanner. She tends to loosen up when among spheroids and using contractions of longer words but maintains choices such as "do not" or "cannot" rather than "don't" or "can't". Her voice tends also to be very flat and monotone. Some people have called it robotic and void of emotions.

[skell3]

RP Muse: Oliver Banks

Ollie was probably one of the first ones I actually decided I wanted to write, and I love him dearly. Somehow I feel like I don't have as much to write about him, but we'll see Oliver's pre-S5, but I don't think I have anyone who's S5 or after.

As an End Avatar, Oliver is the Inevitable. There is no escaping Death, and while one might have the rare opportunity to gamble for their lives, the End will still claim them in some way or another. I imagine there might be others similar to Oliver in what he does, because he can only traverse so far to follow the roots that lead him to those who die. He is an observer, taking in that last breath before moving onto the next in line.

Oliver Banks is a tall, dark-skinned young man probably stuck in an eternal early 30's stage. He has dreadlocks that come down to about mid-back, deep brown at the roots and fading into a bone white at the very tips, of which he usually keeps pulled back into a ponytail. The worry lines etched into his features make him look a little bit older than he was when he became an Avatar, but he's still nowhere near as aged as some of the older avatars. His eyes are strange, with black sclera and a white iris, of which Oliver jokes are just contact lenses to those who end up staring too much or ask about them. An earring in each ear and a septum ring, Ollie wears a couple other pieces of jewelry, as well as a touch of makeup. The black lipstick and eyeliner stand out in stark contrast to the pale skull mask that almost seems tattooed into his skin- of which can only be seen by those who have been touched by death (or the End) in some way.

Oliver's 'sleep' ability is pretty much astral projection, and while it recovers the body, he can only go so far away from it before he starts to feel a strain. He is also affected by his Fear in that his emotions are fairly apathetic, speaking relatively monotone for the most part. He cannot allow the deaths of others affect him, nor do they since becoming an avatar.

Wearing- for the most part- fairly casual clothing, Oliver does tend to keep a jacket on him at all times. Likely a long trench coat, though he does have one or two shorter coats with fur-lined hoods to them. It seems moot point for him to be 'keeping warm' as his natural body temperature is almost corpselike. Other than the jackets, he does wear a lot of black, suited to a more gothlike template.

As far as home-life goes, Oliver was homeless for a while, just wandering about London following roots and observing. He would find spots to nap in, give the body a chance to do a bit of recovery while he continued to his task. Not that it helps him feel any more rested, but he does get a little bit from 'sleep' so he refuses to give up trying at it. At some point in time, I have him renting a little one-bedroom flat, though he hasn't really needed to furnish it much. It gives him a safer spot to 'sleep', and he has a pretty okay couch to do that on.

Since I also write an iteration of Nathaniel Thorp, I have Ollie somewhat closely connected to him. Sort-of like a boss or overbearing parent, Nate is sort-of like the End sugar-daddy and Oliver gets help from him and has to settle in to play any new card games or otherwise that Nate wants to try out or play. Oliver also keeps in contact with Jonathan Sims, very occasionally exchanging texts but for the most part just on friendly terms.

[krowspiracyanon]

The more I look at my most recent art the more the flaws pop out. It looks amateurish in a way even my really old stuff never did. Not helped by the new-to-me manga style.

The size of the head could be brushed off as perspective (viewer is standing slightly above, and Dorian is leaning forward) but no.

It was simply made too large and was not resized when I had the chance. His face was also made too wide for the three quarter angle, which in reality should slim a face.

I even think the angle was a bit off in an unflattering way, making the face appear as flat and wide as possible. Remind me to check out some guides on photography blogs to work out wtf I did there.

Putting his muzzle on him made it worse. I'm thinking that the horizontal bars drew the eyes sideways.

Also the black parts securing it at the sides of his face were high visual weight, being large, solid, and very dark. I quote the definition of high visual weight - your eyes will be drawn to the parts that are "bigger in size, simpler in shape, use dark colors, or have high contrast." Those parts of the muzzle are all of the above and at the bad angle both sides were shown.

So yes, obviously your eyes will be further drawn from side to side emphasising the width. Mental reminder to take this into account next time.

Packing more hair on the other side of his face in an attempt to cover up some of the width only made his head look larger and disrupted the diagonal created by his body and hair. It messed with the composition.

Also with the position of his features (especially mouth) and the angle of the muzzle the chin should have been angled further up, blunted and foreshortened. Otherwise the features should have been lowered and the muzzle angle less severe.

As a tall adult man he also needed to be longer and sturdier in the body and limbs. I was trying to make him strong without being bulky but he looks too compact and delicate.

I also need to study and practice the curve of fringes (bangs) at different angles.

The grey of his hair and PJs were different and had different finishes but a bit monotonous.

Dorian's hair was also too cool and dark grey. He's an albino with pale peachy white hair. Maybe very pale greige. I keep giving him iron grey because I haven't yet chosen or mixed the right colour. I skipped the highlights and it looked very flat compared to his shiny pyjamas. It's also too straight and not fluffy.

The picture does have its charm though.

Dorian's expression is less soft and dreamy than the original inspiration but he looks giddy and lovestruck. Cute. I originally wanted to have his face and hair illuminated by pink light streaming through the window, and call it 'Pink In the Night' after the Mitski song.

My favourite bit is his shoulders and his hands. I was making educated guesses at anatomy from the shoulders and underarms (I haven't studied that yet) but I did put some thought and work in there. The hand and fingers are a little simple but I'm pleased with them. (Going back I would have coloured that little gap as flesh though, to show his thumb. It actually was flesh coloured and I went and absent mindedly screwed it up.)

I did learn a lot of new things doing it by the book. Especially with the inking, which made me change some brushes to suit my needs.

I'm very happy with actually doing the figure drawing from scratch rather than chicken scratching or guessing the strokes by eye, and using the grid method was a good guide.

Dividing the canvas into a grid of thirds ('the rule of thirds') will also be good for original composition if I get to that.

And at least I'm working out why I'm not satisfied with my work so I can break down each part, rather than just hating it.

I was initially trying a manga style due to being intimidated by fine art tutes and hoping it would help me work more efficiently. (Rather than getting stuck on detail and never finishing, or attempting things too advanced and getting frustrated.)

But it seems a little of what I've read and seen has soaked in. Perhaps I should get back to the fine art angle more because it seems I'm decent at rendering but also literally never learned the fundamentals.

There's a video by Stephen Bauman called "I wish I knew this when I was an art student" where he brings up something called 'blocking in'. Other videos on the sidebar refer to this as a quick method and maybe it'll work for me better than the unfamiliar manga style that results in fat heads.

He also talks about the fear factor and intimidation that can put someone off from art, which is very relevant to me. It was reassuring to hear that it's normal and there are ways to manage it.

[redrobinhoods]

made to watch | Febuwhump 2023

CW: Character Death, Torture

Summary: A familiar face awaits Obi-Wan in Vader’s clutches

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

He’d felt it then.

That short scream on Utapau. The one that vanished so quickly it left Obi-Wan wondering if he had imagined it.

One millisecond of shear panic that was swiftly hushed over, leaving a silence so dead that he’d nearly halted, turned Boga around then and there. But he didn’t have to. Not as that missile had torn her to shreds beneath him. That missile meant for him. Sent by his own men.

There was nothing of that scream now, not from the man sitting before the dark throne.

He was relaxed, his head leaning back against the black stone as he watched Obi-Wan with an uninterested look. His face was devoid of emotion, devoid of anything. As was his mind. When Obi-Wan had reached out in the Force, trying to find anything to connect to, he had found nothing but silence, an abyss.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan said, as if that would bring the man back from the darkness.

The man’s head tilted to the side, examining him, before it straightened and fell back against the throne. How often before had that head been tilted into Obi-Wan’s touch, into the caress of his fingers.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan said again, pleading with the empty shell.

Cody blinked slowly at him, nothing stirring within him.

“Do you recognize me?” He dared to ask.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan felt his heart drop down to his stomach at that response. But still the clone didn’t stir, his expression unchanging, as flat as his voice.

“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Cody continued in that monotone voice. “Traitor to the Empire. Lord Vader has been looking for you.”

That was true, that was why he was here. Because Vader had kept looking, despite what appeared to be clear orders otherwise, and he had found him.

“And who are you?” Obi-Wan dared to ask.

Cody didn’t answer, meeting his gaze with that dull stare.

“He is whatever I require him to be.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes as the footsteps approached, taking in a deep breath before he watched Vader pass him, seating himself on the throne with Cody at his feet.

“Hold out your hand, Commander.”

Cody obliged, holding out his right arm before him, still meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Obi-Wan bit back a shout of surprise at the five pops, one after the other, before Cody’s hand folded like rubber. Still the man met his gaze, still his face and mind remained as empty as they had before.

Obi-Wan forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sight, towards Vader. “What do you want?”

Vader didn’t hesitate to answer. “I want you to suffer as I have suffered.”

“This won’t bring her back, Padmé-” Obi-Wan stopped in horror as a crack resounded across the room.

Cody lowered his arm to his lap. If Obi-Wan hadn’t known him, hadn’t spent countless hours watching him, the way he moved, the way he sat, he would have missed the reluctance in the motion. The way his muscles seemed to hesitate. But still nothing stirred in his mind.

It was in that moment that Obi-Wan realized where this would end. Perhaps he should have finished that statement, goaded Vader into lashing out and ending it. But Vader had the patience that Anakin had lacked, so he kept silent.

But Vader would not be pleased with his silence either.

Obi-Wan felt his heart break as another crack rang out, louder than the first, and Cody let out the faintest whimper. His face remained still, impassive, but he raised his left arm to touch the right one, fingers pulling back the moment they had prodded the skin.

“Don’t do this.” Obi-Wan begged.

“What?” Vader’s helmet tilted, those black lenses staring straight into Obi-Wan’s soul. “This?”

Cody’s arm twisted backwards, limbs bending where they should not have bent as he let out a scream, his body trying to curl up on itself against the power of the Force holding his shoulder in place. For a moment, just one moment, their eyes met and Obi-Wan felt the flash of recognition, true recognition, run through Cody’s mind before the abyss reached up to drag it back down.

Vader released his hold on Cody’s arm, allowing the man to collapse forward with a whimper, his body shaking.

And that was it.

That was the final break in Obi-Wan’s heart.

He didn’t know from where it came, from what well of his connection to the Force it had been drawn from, but the raw power flung out across the room, sending Vader’s throne flying backwards through where the transparisteel had once been. Before it had vaporized.

Only Cody was left in its wake, crumpled over on the floor.

Obi-Wan rushed to his side, pulling him up. “He’s gone, he’s gone.”

Cody looked up, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes as something new flashed across his face, a look beyond pain or recognition. “You need to leave.” And his voice was his own, shaking, but his.

“Not without you.” Obi-Wan said, wrapping his arm around Cody’s waist to pull him to his feet.

But Cody moved first, wrapping his remaining arm around Obi-Wan’s neck to draw him in, to press his lips to those of his former general. Obi-Wan moved to meet Cody without thinking, tugging on his waist and wrapping an arm around the back of his neck to pull him in deeper.

Cody was the one to pull away, resting his left hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek as he begged. “Run.”

“Together.” Obi-Wan rose to his feet, pulling the injured clone up with him. “You still have both your legs.”

Cody gave him a smile, one laced with pain and sadness, but still a smile.

“Come on.”

Obi-Wan didn’t want to guess how long it might be before Vader caught up to them. He didn’t dare think he’d killed the man. It would take far more than he had to kill his former padawan.

Vader hadn’t taken his lightsaber, placing his bets on his own control of the situation, and so Obi-Wan fought, keeping Cody at his side as he repelled the stormtroopers. Whatever well of the Force he had drawn from was silent, but his hands were still quick, cutting down the stormtroopers in their way until they had reached the hangar.

“There.” Cody panted, angling his head towards the nearest craft.

Obi-Wan took a sick delight in noting Vader’s personal vessel as they ran towards it.

“Get the boarding ramp.” Obi-Wan instructed, slipping away from Cody as he dashed towards the cockpit. The controls flickered to life in his hands and long before the anti-aircraft arsenal could be deployed the blur of hyperspace came into view before him.

Once they were safe, once he was certain they were safe, he turned to see Cody standing in the doorway.

“You’re alive.” He breathed, a light smile tugging at his lips. “You’re safe.”

“We’re safe.” Obi-Wan said, rising from the pilot’s seat.

Cody’s smile shifted and he looked down.

Obi-Wan followed his gaze to the hand clasped to Cody’s chest, where his fingers rested over a burning hole in his armor.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan rushed forward to catch him as his knees buckled, bringing them both to the floor. “You need bacta.”

Cody took in a shuddering breath. “We both know we’re far past that, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, no, there has to be a medical droid on board.” He rose to his feet rapidly. “Vader has to have a medical droid.”

But before he could take a step, Cody was clasping the back of his knee. “Don’t leave me to die alone.”

Obi-Wan sank slowly back to his knees before Cody, who leaned into his chest with a shudder as Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his hair.

“You know, at least you didn’t lose your lightsaber, this time.”

Obi-Wan let out a sad chuckle, tears slowly falling into Cody’s hair. “I knew you’d be mad if I dropped it again.” He brought up a hand to stroke the back of Cody’s head, careful not to touch the shattered arm. “I love you.”

But Cody didn’t respond, leaving Obi-Wan to reach out for a bond that was no longer there. But neither was the scream, neither was the abyss, only silence as Obi-Wan clasped Cody’s body to his chest. Alone.

[omnigiris]

Why does Junji Ito's work turn into bad anime adaptations

Over the years, several anime adaptations have been made to the works of the master of horror, and all of them turned out underwhelming, acquiring pretty mediocre reviews. However, it's not like the source material is bad, we all know of Junji Ito's incredible storytelling and impressive artwork. This raises a question: why doesn't Junji Ito's work translate well into anime adaptations?

To answer this, let's dive more specifically into two factors: art style and the genre of his works.

Art Style

Junji Ito has a very unique art style that fits perfectly with the horror stories he creates. Take a look at a panel from his short story, Lovesick Dead (or Undying Love) of a mysterious boy who appears during foggy days.

Ito skillfully uses shading and the contrast between light and dark to create an ominous atmosphere, and the fact that the manga is drawn in monotone colors only further enhances this effect.

Furthermore, he uses a lot of lines and hatching to create detail, giving his artwork a grotesque look and an uneasy feeling. You can see this in the following scene from Uzumaki, where the protagonist's dad curls himself up in a barrel, forming the spiral shape.

Both of these features are difficult to translate into anime, as it would take too long to draw each frame (we know that the anime industry is very harsh and demanding). As a result of the flat colors and simplified designs, the story loses part of its charm. You can see by the comparison between the manga and the anime in this scene from Tomie.

Genre

This is more of me talking in general, but horror anime usually don't compare to the manga (of course, there are exceptions). In my opinion, the best way to enjoy horror manga is late at night, alone, in complete silence. Anime takes away a lot of the suspense. In the case of the Junji Ito Collection, not only did they use a j-rock song for the opening song, the background music is often inappropriately used, destroying the otherwise ominous atmosphere. This makes the overall experience of watching the show less enjoyable and could be a reason why many people disliked the series.

Final Thoughts

The reason why I decided to make this post is that I recently found out there's going to be an anime adaptation for Uzumaki, coming out in October 2022 (it was actually announced a long time ago, I was just out of the loop for some reason). I was pretty skeptical about this at first, however after watching the trailer (click here) and the teaser (click here), it is safe to say I have faith that the final product will turn out good. The music is perfectly sinister and creepy, and the art could not be closer to the original. The fact that they decided to keep the show monochrome means that it can truly capture the essence of the original work, so I look forward to watching it when it comes out.

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Girl, imagine Sukuna when he finds out that his girl is super kinky😌 like they're making out and he's roughly pulling at her hair and she lets a moan slip because she secretly likes pain or he smacks her ass while walking past her, somehow he forgot his strength and the slap was a lot harsher than usual, but then she moans and he's ready to the nasty in an instant😌 honestly, lovemarks, choking, spanking I'm all in for it😂

omfg FINALLY some Sukuna smut😩👌👌👌 you have no idea how long I've been waiting to get to business with him so thank you for this request~ I do hope you enjoy it, hun, 'cause I sure as hell did😏 -mesu. warnings: not sfw, reader gets penetrated, unsafe intercourse (pls don’t do this), rough, biting, some hair pulling, spanking, is Sukuna a warning himself? 'cause I feel like I have to include him in this.. Ryōmen Sukuna x f!reader

The human body was not compatible with the strength and stamina of a special grade curse. Sukuna had learnt this the hard way. The more powerful he grew, the more cautious he had to be in order not to just break his current partner or plaything, whatever was more accurate. It was no fun tearing his counterpart into shreds within mere seconds after all, and quite unfulfilling to say the least.

At times Sukuna had found someone somewhat more… durable. Not as easily broken. But eventually he had always ruined them. And then, there was you. You were the most precious thing in his life and he really didn’t want to risk losing you. So, he had been holding back this reckless side of his the best he could ever since you were with him. Still, he couldn’t help this certain itch he had whenever you looked at him. He longed to ruin you.

Sukuna snapped back to reality when your hand brushed through his hair. You had just taken a shower and were heading to get dressed, wrapped merely in a towel, when you passed him sitting on the couch. A low growl escaped Sukuna’s throat as he took you in and more out of reflex than anything else his hand found its way to your jiggly arse.

Smack!

Your eyes widened at the impact and your hand reached for your mouth to muffle the sound that unwillingly tried to escape your lips, but it didn’t cover them in time. The lewd moan sounded all but obscene and for a long moment you didn’t dare to move. When you finally gathered the courage to turn to Sukuna nothing of his formerly neutral expression remained.

He looked feral.

“Who would’ve thought that you’re such a bad bad girl, (Y/N),” he smirked when he easily jumped on his feet and took his sweet time to circle around the furniture, when all you could do was take steps back until you could feel the cool wall of your flat behind your back. You knew there was no way to escape what was to follow and the wetness that spread between your folds was the very proof that you didn’t even want to.

“Sukuna..,” you whispered but you shut up instantly when he crashed his hand against the wall beside your head and immediately let it sink into your hair, yanking your head in your nape. You whimpered softly in response and bit your lower lip to suppress another moan when you felt his lips at your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin.

While he was busy marking your neck, his free hand wandered to your hands which desperately held your towel in place. When you denied his first tug on the fabric, Sukuna pulled back to look at you, his lips swiftly being replaced by his other hand which tightened around your neck just enough to make you feel a certain restriction on your airflow.

“Now, for how long were you planning to keep this hidden from me?” Sukuna’s voice was monotone, almost disinterested but the burning in his dark eyes told you otherwise.

“I.. didn’t mean to hi-aahh~” You pressed your eyes shut when you felt his knee against your crotch.

“Didn’t mean to hide that you get off of pain and nasty shit?” Sukuna snorted as he simply ripped the towel away from your body, leaving you bare in front of him, “You’re already soaked and I didn’t even do anything to you… yet.”

The heat rose in your cheeks due to the sudden humiliation and you felt your very own juices slowly leaking down your thighs. You turned your head to the side, trying your best not to have to look at Sukuna but his thumb and index finger relentlessly grabbed your chin and made you face him.

“I will tell you how this is gonna go down, (Y/N),” Sukuna cooed, his eyes piercing into yours, “I will let go of you now and take my place back on the couch.”

Your eyebrows arched upwards in disbelief and a low chuckle escaped Sukuna’s throat, “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll follow me of course, good little girl that you are, and bend over my lap nicely, so I can properly punish you for keeping this juicy little secret of yours from me for so long.”

A shiver ran down your spine as he spoke and you couldn’t help but nod in response. You knew better than to defy this. To defy him.

“Splendid.”

Sukuna brushed an uncharacteristically sweet kiss on your lips and lowered his head to swirl his tongue around each of your nipples shortly before he turned to settle down on the couch. When you didn’t follow suit, he lifted his index finger to motion for you to approach without even granting you another glance and said in a sing-song voice, “You better not make me wait now, doll.”

You nibbled your lip contemplating for a split second before you stepped to Sukuna who patted his thighs for you to bend over, the bulge in his pants more prominent than you had ever seen it before.

As soon as you got into position on his thighs, Sukuna’s hand mercilessly connected to your bare buttock with a loud thud, making you jerk up and moan again which was followed by Sukuna’s own thrilled laughter.

“I adore your voice like that, sweet cheeks!”

You managed to have a peak at Sukuna’s expression that clearly showed how much he was enjoying this, before his hand came down onto your arse again. You huffed at the pain mixing with pleasure and clawed your hands in his thigh when you suddenly felt his fingers circling at your entrance. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind your nails in his flesh.

“My aren’t you soaked and ready for me, (Y/N). Want me badly?”

Before you managed to answer, he smacked your arse again, making you yelp out, “Aahh- Yes! Yes I want you bad, Sukuna!”

You wiggled on his thighs and soon felt his free hand grab your nape like a kitten that couldn’t behave to hold you in place. His fingers slipped into your wet folds cheekily, rubbing against your walls while he leaned down to murmur into your ear, “Let’s see how much of me you can take then, shall we? On your knees and arse up, darlin’.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your body already way too sensitive to his touch. Sukuna waited for you to shakily get on the floor and assume position, legs trembling under your own weight, and then stepped in front of you, calmly taking off his clothes. If not for his intense gaze that gave away his hunger for you, he looked rather unbothered.

Your mouth watered and you swallowed heavily when he took off his underwear, the tip of his large member twitching on sight. A wicked grin emerged on Sukuna’s features, “Bet you’d like to suck me off now, wouldn’t you.”

You lowered your gaze knowing your eyes would betray you and soon felt his hand pat your hair as he positioned himself behind you, grabbing your hips tightly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you taste my dick once I’m done with your tight pussy.”

Sukuna barely gave you a moment to comprehend his words, when he already slammed his entire length deeply into you, making you scream at the sudden intrusion. Up until now he had always taken his time to at least let you grow accustomed to his considerable size but now he started moving deep within you almost immediately.

You pressed your palms desperately against the floor, trying your best to hold balance while Sukuna kept thrusting into you at a merciless pace, hitting that sweet spot that only he seemed to know with every other thrust. His size spread you to your very limits and with each thrust you felt more like bursting.

More and more lewd noises escaped your mouth and seemed to motivate Sukuna to add even more strength to his movements, striving to push you to the edge. Just when your arms were about to give in, Sukuna moved his hands from your hips; one to your torso to cup your boob and hold you up at the same time; the other to the sensitive knot between your folds to finally finish you off.

“Cum for me, doll,” Sukuna growled lowly and when you felt his rough thumb brush over your clit the very moment his tip prodded your sweet spot, you did just that, accompanied by a scream of Sukuna’s name that you didn’t quite make out to be yours.

“Fuuuck,” Sukuna moaned as you contracted around him, making him fill you with his sticky seed. He continued to move in you for a couple more thrusts before he smoothly pulled out of you, letting you down on the floor while he spread your buttocks to watch his cum drip out of you while you caught your breath.

“Aren’t you a fine piece of nasty ass, (Y/N),” Sukuna chuckled after a while and carefully pulled you up so you could rest against his broad chest.

You gazed in his eyes and smirked while you let your hand innocently move to his crotch, “Maybe… so about that offer of yours…~”

[ahatintimepieces]

Fabric Hearts

Remember the first part of that build-a-bear au I wrote for @smieska-draws? It’s back! But now the au name makes sense! Imagine!

Luka, known as the Snatcher to most of the mall locals, runs the Kraft-a-Kid while his daughter, Hattie, runs around with her friends. There’s definitely nothing suspicious about Luka. The rumors that he snatches the souls of children and stuffs them into the dolls are completely unfounded. Probably. Most likely. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s fine.

This is, of course, another au that Smieska and I both developed and like to swap ideas for SO send her your love and adulation because I couldn’t have written this without her ;o; <333 Here’s the link to the piece she did for first part if you haven’t seen it yet (which u should because it’s fabulous and incredible). Without further ado, here it is!

Words: 4,131

The door squeaked open as Luka recorded the number of tiny, elastic collars with bright bells in the back.

“Dimitri can’t make it today,” he warned without looking up from his clipboard. His golden gaze flickered up towards the boxes filled with cotton stuffing and he quickly counted them as footsteps approached. “If you get a sudden influx of customers, come grab me.”

“It’s me, Dad,” Hattie’s voice came from right beside him.

“Did I stutter?” He glanced down without missing a beat. She gave him a deadpan stare as he grinned. His sharp canines glinted in the unnaturally bright florescent lights. “Come on, kiddo. How about you help me with my business endeavors instead of frittering away your summer romping around the mall?”

She readjusted the brim of the top hat she made from her millinery lessons at the fabric store. Why his child fixated on hat-making out of everything she could have taken an interest in was beyond him but even he had to admit her royal purple top hat was well crafted.

“I’m going with Belle and the others to get lunch at the food court,” she said, ignoring his jesting. “Can I have money?”

“You know if you had a job you wouldn’t need to be asking me,” he lamented dramatically before wedging the clipboard between his arm and side. He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks.

“I’m not even twelve.” She blinked up at him with large blue eyes. “There are child labor laws.”

“Excellent.” He nodded, opening his wallet. “Don’t let anyone in the mall convince you otherwise. But,” he slipped out a bill and gave her a pointed look, “if you accept this, you have to do me a favor.”

“I already cleaned the bathrooms last weekend,” she whined.

His grin widened.

“Tough luck, kiddo.” He twisted the bill in the air, watching her nose scrunch as she seriously weighed her options. After a second of letting her think that she was going to have to do her least favorite chore, he extended the bill towards her. “Just bring me back a coffee and I’ll consider us even.”

Relief instantly flooded her features as she took the bill.

“I can do that! Your usual?” She headed towards the door.

“That’ll work,” he said, tucking away his wallet and grabbing the clipboard again.

“Thanks, Dad!” she chirped before moving to open the door.

Just as she reached for it, the door swung open, and she stumbled back. Luka immediately dropped the clipboard and slipped behind her with the speed of shadows dodging the light. She smacked into his legs, and he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as Alex walked in with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry, kid! I didn’t see you there.” Alex winced, looking from Hattie to Luka’s hard glare.

“I’m fine!” Hattie promised, giving a bright smile until she placed her hand over Luka’s fingers. She jolted and twisted around. “Dad, are you okay? You’re really warm.”

“It is hot in here.” Alex tugged at their collar, wincing.

“The thermostat dial was probably nudged,” Luka dismissed, pulling away and stooping to grab the clipboard. “I’ll take a look.”

“Should I get you water?” Hattie asked.

“I have water. Now go have fun.” He shooed her towards the door. “The sooner you leave the sooner you can run my errand.”

Hattie hesitated but when he returned to his task of recording inventory, he heard her retreating footsteps.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered as they crossed over to the table for the employees. They dropped their backpack before grabbing the light purple apron with their nametag.

“Let’s just be careful with how forcefully we open doors, hm? I don’t want to deal with any workplace liability cases. They’re a pain.” Luka shot the teen a toothy grin. Glancing back down to the clipboard, he added in a more monotone cadence, “Anyway, Dimitri can’t come today, so once Ember leaves, it’ll just be you and me for the rest of the day. If it gets too crowded on the floor and I’m not around, come find me.”

“Right.” They nodded firmly. While wiping back their bangs and smearing the beads of sweat on their brow, they hurried out. Once the door closed behind them and Luka was alone, he let out a sigh.

The flame that had flared when Hattie nearly got hit crackled noisily in his otherwise empty chest. Luka placed one of his pale hands over the flame and counted out the seconds between metered inhales and exhales. The snap and pop of embers faded and when he glanced towards the thermostat, the temperature in the room lowered back to a comfortable range.

Not that he was bothered by the heat, but he didn’t need his employees passing out.

Ember’s shift ended as he got to counting the unstuffed plush shells. As she hung her apron over the hook, she informed him that two separate groups had just entered the store. Luka nodded, finishing his current count before getting ready to help Alex on the floor.

He brushed back his long, spiky hair into a ponytail. Stray strands the color of soot fluttered against his cheek, and he tucked them behind his ear.

They reflected a warm violet when they caught the light.

With his hair as contained as he could manage, he grabbed his own amethyst apron with the Kraft-a-Kid’s signature logo; a stylized baby goat and parent goat waving a friendly greeting. After draping it over his black suit and making sure it didn’t displace his dark purple tie, he tied the apron with nimble fingers, clawed at the tips. He double-checked that the pocket had extra thread and a compact sewing kit before he clipped on his name tag and headed out into the workshop.

Alex snapped their head up from one of the stuffing stations, looking relieved when they spotted Luka rounding the counter. Alex returned their full attention to the small girl and her mother while Luka smiled at the two teens with a younger child hovering by the bins of unstuffed shells by the entrance.

While he didn’t know them personally, he recognized Brooke and her younger sister Hali, who worked (or in Hali’s case just hovered around in the back when not at daycare) at their uncle’s travel agency, and then Makoto, who worked at the jewelry store. Judging from their uniforms, the teens were probably using their breaks to accompany Hali. Since he often heard good things about their work ethic and Hali’s sweet nature from Mari, he assumed he had an easy session ahead. He waved them over.

Brooke and Makoto shared a nervous look while Hali bounded over with a bright smile.

“Why, hello there!” Luka pasted on his most vibrant customer service smile as he lowered onto the seat by the stuffing station. Cotton and soft fibers filled the glass tank decorated to look like hearty trees and branches climbed around the edges. The machine itself matched the lilac walls and brown and bronze gears that decorated them. The bins and shelves that held the merchandise throughout the store were all structured to look like spools of golden thread.

Holding an unstuffed goat with dark brown fuzz and silver horns, Hali shyly smiled up at Luka as Brooke and Makoto slowly joined.

“I see you’ve picked your new friend!” Luka held out his hands and Hali gingerly lowered the flat goat into his palms. “Before we bring them to life, how stuffed do you want them to be?”

“Um?” Hali tilted her head with a blank expression.

“Do you want them to be firm or squishy?” Luka clarified, fitting the goat around the nozzle and getting his foot ready over the pedal.

“Fiwm, pwease!” Hali declared in a cutesy voice.

“Excellent choice!” Luka set to work, pumping the pedal as he filled out the head of the goat plush. The machine roared to life, blowing air and fluff with the force of a vacuum. Though, his ears perked when he caught Brooke and Makoto in an intense discussion as they remained a couple steps back. What he couldn’t hear over the machine, he pieced together easily enough.

He knew the rumors and could guess what was on their mind when they mentioned the Snatcher and stolen souls.

Luka smirked as he pulled his foot from the pedal and the machine hushed.

“Now it’s time for my favorite part.” He beamed, pulling off the firmly stuffed goat and then reaching for a bucket full of small felt hearts. “The soul ceremony! Go ahead and pick the heart that most resonates with you.”

“If it’s just a heart, why is it called a soul ceremony?” Brooke asked, her voice quivering as she pressed closer to Makoto.

Hali, meanwhile, was completely enraptured with picking out the right fabric heart.

“Hearts, souls, same thing, really,” Luka soothed with a toothy grin, giving the teens a considering look.

Makoto’s gaze flickered down to his fangs. She lifted her chin, trying to project an air of confidence. But her furrowed brows wavered.

“Souws awe heawts?” Hali gasped, looking up with awe.

“Absolutely!” Luka kept his voice cheerful, gesturing to the bucket. “It’s what gives your new friend life! I imagine without one, they would feel pretty empty and hollow.” Keeping his chin tilted down, he lifted his eyes towards the teens and lowered his voice just a touch. “Wouldn’t you feel pretty soulless without a heart?”

The two stiffened.

“Pwobabwy!” Hali chirped, completely unaware of their increasing unease. She dug around the hearts and pursed her lips. “How do woo know which heawt is the best?”

“That’s up to you!” Luka bounced effortlessly back into an upbeat cadence. He pinched a heart with a checkerboard pattern in red and white. “The nice thing about these hearts is that they’re blank slates. They’ll be filled with whatever you put into them. But don’t put in too much!” he added with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want your new friend to be more you than you!”

Brooke squeaked in fright and his grin stretched.

“I wiwl take this one, then!” Hali held up a solid red heart.

“Great! Hold on to it, now.” Luka placed the tub back down. “First, why don’t you rub the heart on your hair so your little buddy will always have soft fur!”

Hali beamed at that and rubbed the fabric heart on her hair. When she pulled it back down, some of the blond strands followed the heart while the strands too far away stuck up from the lingering static.

“Well done! Now, rub it against your funny bone so your friend has a sense of humor.” Luka tapped his elbow when Hali crinkled her nose for a moment. Her eyes lit up in understanding and once the heart was granted good humor, Luka added, “and why don’t you strike a superhero pose, so that your pal will hold courage.”

Hali giggled as she placed her hands on her hips and preened.

“Fantastic. Lastly, I want you to rub the heart between your palms!” Luka motioned for her to mimic him as he demonstrated. “Now, when it’s nice and warm, give it a clap to start its heartbeat!”

The clap resounded through the workshop and the teens jolted behind her.

“That should do it,” Luka praised, holding out his palm. Hali handed the heart over, and he slipped it into the goat, tucking it snuggly away in the cotton and fluff.

He then set to filling out the rest of the plush. Once it was stiff and sturdy, he handed it to her, asking if she was content with it. When he received an enthusiastic nod, he took it back and sealed the hole. He snipped the extra thread with the scissors in his apron and then passed the goat back to Hali.

“Here’s your new friend! Be sure to visit our shop in the back! We have plenty of accessories and outfits for the newest member of your family,” Luka recited the same sales pitch as always. “Once you’re ready, head over to an open kiosk so you can fill out the adoption papers. If you need any help, Alex or I will be overjoyed to assist.”

“Thank woo!” Hali hurried over to the accessories, hugging the goat to her chest.

Luka clasped his hands and turned to the teens. When his gaze flickered to the floppy hooded doll in Makoto’s arms, her embrace tightened.

“Ready?” He motioned for her to hand it over so that he could stuff it.

She looked to Brooke, who shrugged with uncertainty. Makoto stepped forward.  

Keeping his tone light, he went through the same script as always. He asked if she wanted the doll to be firm or squishy and, in an effort to loosen her up a bit, offered to add any fun sound boxes or scents to the plush. She remained on edge until he asked about the nametag on her uniform as the machine roared to life again. She explained how her boss liked to give everyone themed nicknames and she was saddled with “Makoneko.” When he asked if she appreciated the nickname, she pointedly rolled her eyes as he removed his foot from the machine pedal again. Her shoulders relaxed when he chuckled.

“Your turn to pick a heart,” Luka twittered in an overly cheerful voice as he held out the bucket.

“Do I have to do the ceremony?” Makoto hesitated, plucking the first heart she saw. Rather than scared, her bored expression mirrored that of many teens who wanted to skip the step.

Perfect.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He shrugged casually. “What is a heart without a heartbeat? A soul without a person behind the personality?”

“What?” She faltered, shoulders slowly stiffening again as Brooke’s eyes widened.

“I only mean it’ll be a sorry existence for this little friend.” Luka waved the stubby hands of the purple plush toy. “And you get out what you put in.” Her brows dipped in slight confusion, and he smirked. “You have to at least start its heartbeat. You don’t want to bring a ghost home, do you?”  

“Just do the ceremony!” Brooke hissed through clenched teeth.

“F-fine,” Makoto said, slowly lifting the heart to her long black locks. “So, hair for soft fur?”

“Does it look like this one has fur?” Luka gestured to the doll with the yellow spiral in its hood. He scoffed, turning up his nose. “Of course not! No. First, why don’t you rub the heart against your belly so that it’s full of laughter.”

“I thought that was the elbow.” Makoto crinkled her nose. Though she rubbed the heart against her stomach, eager to get it over with.

“There is a difference between telling good jokes and laughing at them, kiddo,” Luka offered with a smirk. “Now, how about you jump up and down a few times? I’m sure your friend would love to share some of your energy.”

“What does that mean?” She jolted.

“Just that exercise keeps the heart healthy,” Luka said placidly.

Her eyes narrowed but she eventually gave a sluggish skip.  

“Then, rub it against your ear, so it will always listen.” He smiled brightly, being sure to bare his teeth. Once she complied, he clasped his hands together. “I’m sure you know what to do now! Warm it between your palms and then clap to start the heartbeat!”

She let out the breath that she had been holding, relieved it was finally over. She gave a small clap before passing the heart back. He slipped it into the doll.

“Any names in mind for your friend?” Luka prompted as his foot tapped the pedal.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled curtly, purposefully trying to let the whirling air in the stuffing machine drown out her answer.

“How’s this feel?” he asked a few seconds later when the machine hushed again. He pulled the doll from the nozzle and passed it back to her.

“Good.” She returned it after assessing the squishiness.

“If you haven’t got any names, I always thought these particular dolls looked like minions,” he prattled, closing the seam. When she didn’t respond, he continued lightly, “so Minion might be a good name.” He glanced up to meet her gaze and lowered his tone. “You did make sure it’ll listen. It’ll be an obedient little kiddo.”

Her breath hitched.

“Obedient to who?” she challenged, maintaining a fragile glare.

“All done!” Luka snapped upright after snipping the excess thread, pretending he hadn’t heard her question. “Welcome your friend into the world!”

Makoto accepted the doll, her gaze flickering between it and Luka with uncertainty.

“Same as always,” he droned in his peppy, customer service voice. “Browse to your contentment. My daughter recommends the plush purple cherries. You want to keep your buddy happy and fed! Make sure to finalize the adoption and meet Alex or I by the counter.” He glanced over to find the other young girl with her mother already at the cash register. “Looks like it’ll be Alex!”

Makoto nodded numbly as Brooke stepped forward and looped her arm through hers, rescuing Makoto by tugging her away.

“One more thing,” Luka began, keeping his eyes on his clean-up routine. The teens’ footsteps paused as they hovered. Though his smile laced his voice, his enunciation was sharp. “I’m sure the Snatcher doesn’t have to tell you but be sure to treat your new friend as you would yourself. You put your soul into bringing them to life, after all.”

The teens gasped.

“Have a good day, kids.” Laughter laced his voice.

They rushed away as he chuckled.

While he finished cleaning up, Hattie returned with her friends. As soon as she spotted him behind the stuffing machine, she rushed across the tiles decorated to look vaguely like a forest path.

“Here’s your coffee,” she chirped, holding up the cup.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asked, pushing to his feet and picking stray fluff from his apron. Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he accepted the drink. He held it towards his lips, pausing to quirk a brow at young Muriel and Timmy as they passed the stuffing machines to check out all the colorful outfits. Belle, meanwhile, joined Hattie with her azure bow bouncing in her dark coils.

“We’re going to head to the bookstore.” Hattie shrugged. “Tim’s friend is hosting a card game tournament.”

“Remember to be back by six,” he instructed. “Don’t go snacking after four or you’ll spoil your dinner.”

“I know, Dad,” she huffed dramatically.

“Also, Mom says hi, Mr. Kingsley,” Belle pipped in.

“Tell Mari I return the sentiment. Now get your friends to stop loitering.” He turned back towards Hattie and rose his voice so Timmy and Mu could hear. “They scare away customers.”

“Says the Snatcher,” Timmy whispered to Mu.

Luka covered his smirk with the coffee cup. His gaze shifted over Hattie and Belle and he watched as Makoto and Brooke fled the store at a brisk pace. Hali struggled to keep up, but she managed to meet his eyes and offered a cheerful wave.

“Fine,” Hattie sighed. “Come on, guys!”

“I need to stop by Mom’s before we head to the bookstore,” Belle mentioned as she and Hattie turned to leave. “I left my cards with my backpack.”

As the girls left, Luka turned to head back towards the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. He immediately winced.

“Ugh, tepid,” he grumbled as Timmy and Mu ran past, hurrying out to follow Hattie and Belle.

After making sure the kids all had their backs turned and Alex was busy with something on the counter, Luka summoned a gentle ember to his hand. While the flame harmlessly licked the cup, the coffee warmed inside until steam wafted from the hole in the lid. He took a tentative sip and swallowed the scalding liquid.

The flames in his chest crackled and popped, and the knots in his shoulders eased.

He snuffed out the ember in his hand as he lowered the cup. Mist trailed from the lid as the coffee maintained its heat.

“I think you scarred those two for life,” Alex muttered as Luka returned to the counter.

“Which two?” he asked, mind still on Hattie and her friends.

“Brooke and Makoto.” Alex glanced up, shaking their head with a scolding expression.

“I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Luka said calmly. He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee during his momentary break. “If those hooligans are letting their imaginations run wild, it’s not on my conscience.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex gave him an unimpressed look. “Also, I think we’re running low on the beach ball accessories.”

“I noticed,” Luka muttered, swirling his cup pensively. “Those aren’t particularly popular, and we are getting near the end of the season…”

While they discussed whether they needed to send out an order or if they would make it until the fall selection came out, Hattie rolled on the balls of her feet as she, Timmy, and Mu waited for Belle to return from her mom’s flower shop just across from Kraft-a-Kid. Hattie idly watched all the mallgoers, thoughts blank, but Timmy and Mu had their eyes locked on Kraft-a-Kid, thoughts whirling noisier than the stuffing machines.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Belle announced as she bounced out with her deck of cards.

“Hattie.” Timmy whirled around. “Your dad’s magic!”

“Timmy, he doesn’t steal souls, we’ve been over this,” Hattie whined, crossing her arms.

“If he doesn’t steal souls, then what’s with his coffee?” Mu snapped, nodding her head towards the display window where Luka could be seen leaning against the counter inside the workshop.

Hattie squinted, trying to figure out what was out of place with the steaming coffee cup. After a moment, she turned to Belle, who shrugged.

“It’s hot!” Mu gestured wildly, causing her blond mustache to bob with her movement. “Look at that steam!”

Hattie blinked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Belle supplied dryly. “Because Hattie ordered it hot.”

“But he said it was tepid!” Timmy argued. “We heard him!”

“He probably thinks it is,” Hattie said, knitting her brows together. “He likes his coffee hot enough to burn his tastebuds.”

“You aren’t getting it!” Mu huffed. “It wasn’t steaming when he said it was cold!”

“Okay, but even if he somehow heated it up, that didn’t have anything to do with stealing souls,” Belle appeased.

“That’s what we mean!” Timmy urged. “If he can use one type of magic, he can use others!”

“I regret the day I told you about those rumors,” Hattie grumbled.

It didn’t matter as much when strangers said it, but instead of laughing with Hattie when she told them that people thought her dad was some kind of heartless, soul-snatching monster, Mu and Timmy had latched onto the conspiracy and ever since refused to let go. She couldn’t talk about new product plushies or designs around them anymore because they would just start a debate about which shell would best hold the souls of children.

“Look can we just get going?” She started walking in the direction of the bookstore and Belle matched her pace. Mu hurried to catch up as Timmy trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye on Kraft-a-Kid.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything weird?” Mu insisted. “Heard any screams of children he caught? Seen any dolls move in the corner of your eye?”

“You know he laughs like a cartoon villain?” Timmy added.

“The store is literally called Kraft-a-Kid!” Mu continued. “Open your eyes, Hattie!”

“Kid is just another word for baby goat!” Belle argued. “It’s cute!”

“We aren’t talking about this anymore!” Hattie snapped, tugging down on the brim of her hat. She turned away from them and focused on Belle. “So, what deck are you using? The one with fairy types? Or your cat themed one?”

“Both!” She grinned mischievously as she happily helped to redirect the conversation. “I combined them because I wanted to use all my favorites. How about you?”

“Going with the forest deck.” Hattie glanced up, where her deck was safely tucked away in the hidden compartment she stitched into the top hat.

Timmy and Mu huffed, letting their argument go as they pipped in with talking about their own decks. But it was only a matter of time before they started back on their theories about her dad’s supposed magic. Trying not to deflate too much, she kept her eyes forward. She swallowed her frustration and focused on the upcoming tournament.

Besides, even if her dad did have magic and only used it for heating up coffee, it hardly seemed something a heartless monster would do.

Right?

[dragonsareourfuture]

Death Note/GN!Reader — Pick Up Lines

A quick little scenario in which your Death Note sweetheart uses a terrible pick up line on you! I feel as though these all kinda suck since I write this a while ago but it’s fine. It’s fine.

Mello

Staying up late every night and watching security footage was not fairing well for Mello. Dark circles started to form underneath his eyes, and you pointed out that he was turning into L, all he needed was black hair and a haircut. He simply responded “The day I cut my hair short is the day the world ends.”

Usually when Mello got tired he would turn into a grumpy, adorable gremlin but, mixed with the excessive amount of chocolate he consumed due to boredom, he had turned loopy. Matt had relied on his headphones to keep him sane, whereas you were left with no escape from the babbling blond.

Mello rambled on and on about how he was going to beat Near with every fiber of his being, slowly getting sidetracked into a conversation about sheep.

“They’re so fucking fluffy. Standing around, eating grass, taunting me.” The blond mumbled, his head resting on your lap as you stroked his hair, listening with genuine interest.

“Mhmm, how do they taunt you?” you inquired, wanting to know more before your boyfriend fell asleep and you never got to find out why he felt so threatened by white, fluffy animals.

“They just...do  .”

“Well, I’ll always keep you safe from the mean, mean sheep.”

Mello shifted so that he was gazing up at you. He lifted his hand to your face and gently smacked your cheek with his palm, rubbing his tired eyes with the other hand.

“Aw, babe you’re so sweet when you talk like that... You make me melt like chocolate in the summer~ ”

“I do what?”

Before Mello could answer, unconsciousness grasped him and pulled him down into the dimension of sleep. You sighed, disappointed that you wouldn’t get to hear more, yet also relieved that Mello could finally get the sleep that he needed.

“G’night, Mels,” You whispered, brushing his bangs to the side and kissing his forehead, “You make me melt, too.”

Matt

Matt’s been acting strangely clingy all day. As soon as you noticed this fact, you immediately figured that it was an anniversary or either one of your birthdays and it had slipped your mind. However, upon further inspection of your phone calendar, today appeared to be nothing special.

You were seated on the couch, watching a bit of television while Matt washed the dishes. You had insisted that you could handle that task yourself, but the goggle-wearing sweetheart had insisted that you relax.

Suddenly you heard the sink turn off and footsteps lead up to the couch. You turned around to see the redhead wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind.

“Hey, I lost my phone number...can I have yours? ” He asked with a sly smile.

“Matt, you have my number. Is that a pickup line? You know we’re already dating, right? Is my number not working?” You interrogated, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and calling your cell from it to ensure that your phone number still worked.

“No- it’s... you’re supposed to go along with it!”

“Well, come up with a better one next time, dumb ass,” You tossed Matt’s phone back at him, the device landing in his lap. He pouted and shoved it into his jacket pocket, getting up to return to the kitchen.

“You’re no fun.”

L

The room grew dim and increasingly empty as the hours ran further into the day, eventually turning to night. Despite the signs that you should be on your way home, you stayed with the only detective who thought it appropriate to work into the ungodly hours of the night.

You glanced over at L, back turned to you with his nose practically pressed against the computer screen. You rolled your eyes and switched on the main light of the room, saying, “You’re gonna ruin your eyes reading in the dark like that.”

L did not respond but, at the looks of it, kept on reading the minuscule words on his screen with intent.

“Do you need anything? Water? Maybe some cake?” You asked, giggling at the end of your words for no other reason than the tiredness getting to your brain.

“No, thank you.  I already have you, and you’re sweeter than cake, anyway,” L droned matter of factly, not even tearing his eyes away from the luminescent screen.

“Awww! Oh my god, L!” You squealed, running up to L and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Ah...(name), I c-can’t breathe...”

Near

You could practically hear the blood flow to your brain as you spun around in a desk chair at painful hours of the night. The screens that filled the SPK headquarters shone in your eyes, keeping you awake along with the unhealthy amounts of caffeine you had consumed.

Your white haired boyfriend sat crouched on the floor by your feet. The clicking of building blocks rang throughout the otherwise empty room as he stacked them on top of one another, paying no mind to anything else.

You sighed, placing your chin on the palm of your hand and deflating on the spot. No amount of caffeine could keep you here as late as Near always stayed, no matter how much you wanted it to. You hated that he was here alone all the time and, even though he always tried to convince you that he didn’t care, you knew it took a toll on his mental state.

You shifted in your chair, about to heave your body up when Near’s monotonous voice kept you still.

“(Name).”

You waited for him to continue, and spoke up when he stayed silent, “What’s up, babe?”

“Do you like LEGO ?” Near inquired. His eyes finally met yours as he twirled a LEGO piece in between his fingers.

“Uh, I guess—“

“Because I want to build a world with you... ”

You froze, wondering if the caffeine was getting to your head or if Near had actually used a pickup line on you — and a goddamn adorable one at that.

A weak smile tugged at your lips. You slid off the office chair and dropped to your knees on the cold tile beside Near, throwing your arms around the boy without another word.

Though he stiffened at first, Near melted under your embrace. He buried his face into your shoulder and wrapped his noodle arms around your torso. You stayed like this for either a minute, or an hour. It was so quiet that you could hear your hearts beating in sync. Everything was so perfect, so loving, so-

“ARE YOU GUYS STILL HERE!?”

Your heart nearly burst from your chest at the sound of a door banging against metal and the rough tone of Rester calling out to you.

Near grumbled and shoved his face into your neck, trying and failing to escape the booming echo of footsteps that approached your little heap on the floor.

“Yeah,” your voice came out ragged and small, but enough for Rester to hear and follow, “right here.”

“You both look exhausted! Come on, let’s get you to sleep.”

When Near barely moved a muscle, you took it upon yourself to pick up his limp body from the floor bridal style and carry him to bed. Though you almost dropped the poor boy more than once, you’d say you did a fairly good job. And, once you were both snuggled up in bed, you got a good nights rest of a solid three hours of sleep. It was the most Near’s gotten in weeks, so you were not complaining.

Light

Though you were already in a relationship with Light, the cheesy lines and swooning from him never ceased. You wouldn’t have to fend him off with a stick but he loved to be all over you even when he already won you over, and you loved that about him.

This was mainly exhibited when you two were alone together, him finding public displays of affection to be childish and overall unnecessary as everyone you hung around with at school respected your relationship quite nicely.

The two of you were strolling on the sidewalk after a headache inducing day of school. His arm was resting lazily over your neck as you walked while all attention was focused on you and you alone. You ranted about the difficulties of the day and, although they were mostly all minor inconveniences, they really got under your skin once all added up.

When you had finished, you huffed and rubbed at your temple.

Breaking the silence that followed, Light blurted,  “How would you like to be the goddess of the new world?  You wouldn’t have to deal with that crap anymore.”

You laughed, reaching up to lace your fingers with the hand that dangled by your shoulder. “Dude, I barely know what taxes are. I don’t think I can handle being a goddess.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Light pouted jokingly.

The two of you came to a stop in front of his house, him pulling you flush against him and just staring wistfully (up/down) at you. “Do you want to come in? I’m sure Sayu will be delighted to see you.”

“Oh, I’d love to but I don’t want to intrude—“

“Nonsense. Come on.”

And so, Light guided you into his home, his mother and Sayu cheerfully greeting you at the door and whisking you away into a night of wonderful conversation and a lovely dinner.

Matsuda

You took advantage of the daylight, working nonstop so that you wouldn’t have to stay after hours to get your unfinished work done.

Through your tireless efforts, you failed to notice a pair of familiar eyes glancing back at you every so often. You only noticed a change in your boyfriend’s behavior when he came rolling up to your desk in his wheely chair, resting his chin on his elbows and looking at you expectantly.

“Hey, what’s up, Teddy Bear?” You greeted, barely tearing your eyes from the papers splayed out all across your desk.

Matsuda grinned from ear to ear every time he heard that nickname. It made him feel wanted and loved whenever he was around you. Sometimes, this caused the filter between his brain and his mouth to thin, allowing whatever he’s thinking in that moment to slip out.

“Do you have a map? Because I’m getting lost in your eyes... ” he said dreamily.

Your head shot up in an instant, puzzled by the seemingly random affection, only to see Matsuda covering his lips as a dark blush began to rise on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Th-that’s not...I-“

“Honey...” you shook your head and sighed, placing your pen down flat on the desk, “That is the literal worst line ever but it sounds wonderful coming from you.”

“O-oh. Thanks?” He chuckled nervously, massaging the back of his neck as his skin became slick with sweat.

You leaned over the desk and pecked his lips before collecting your paperwork in a neat stack, placing it all carefully in your shoulder bag, careful not to bend any corners. “Why don’t I finish my work in that nice little coffee shop across the street. Join me?”

“Y-yes! I’d love to. It’s getting a little stuffy in here, anyway.”

Misa

“Ughhhhh I’m so tired! What a day!” Misa exclaimed, stretching out her arms above her head as she walked over to her folding chair. The white, feathery wings fastened to her back smacked people and equipment as she passed them, but you saw her as nothing but elegant.

Your girlfriend plopped her butt down into the fragile chair, giving Matsuda a scare when it nearly toppled over. With beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, he handed the girl her coffee.

“Aw, thanks, Matsu! And you too, (Name)! I wouldn’t be able to do any of my scenes without you guys cheering me on!”

You chuckled, cheeks turning a dusted shade of pink at Misa’s praise. “Dont give us all the credit, babe. You’re the one giving your all up there.”

Misa twisted in her chair to grab at your hand and intertwine her fingers with yours. “You’re too sweet, honey! Y’know, if it were up to me, you’d be the one wearing these wings!”

“Oh, I don’t know, I couldn’t take your place!” You said, gesturing to the fountain where Misa’s scene had just been filmed.

The blonde giggled and brought your fingers to her lips, giving them a couple kisses before shaking her head. “I meant I’d have you in these wings because you’re an absolute Angel , silly!”

Before you could even begin to respond, Matsuda beat you to it. “Aww my gosh, you guys! Could I be the best man at your wedding?”

“Hmm...” you pretended to ponder while tapping your chin with your index finger. “How do you feel about being the flower boy?”

“Done!”

[narrators-journal]

A small alteration

So! This part is the...second or third to last part, so we’re getting to the end bois. After this, I’ll likely die, or at least not post daily like I have been, so if you guys want more content after this, remember to send in an ask for me to answer! Request stuff, ask me questions, joke around with me, whatever yall want. It’ll hold this blog over until I finish this second fic and can start posting/editting it here!

cw: lightly goes into detail on torture, hisoka, that’s about it I think!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Thankfully, Hisoka didn't stop by after his phone call, but Illumi still took no chances when he went onto jobs. Along with Milluki using the spy cameras Illumi had placed earlier, the long haired assassin made sure at least three butlers were keeping an eye on you whenever he couldn't.

That precaution kept you far away from the blood hungry magician for a week, much to Illumi's relief. Hisoka was a pest, a thorn in Illumi's side through and through, so the last thing the assassin wanted was for him to meet his future wife. Especially now, when you were just too desperate for human contact, and he couldn't risk you getting attacked or manipulated by Hisoka and forcing the assassin to kill such a useful nen user. Or worse, risk you meeting him and growing to love the magician instead of him, so he was dead set on never letting you two meet.

So, instead of risking it, he made sure to keep you as secret as possible, at most giving vague answers to keep the violent hunter at bay when he found him on jobs or something and asked, but confirming or denying little to nothing. Aside from that, Illumi also let the man help him on missions a bit more, both because the assassin could hide things better than his butlers when questioned, and because, though annoying, the vibrantly colored man offered some sort of entertainment on otherwise painfully boring jobs like assassinating businessmen, ex-lovers, or runaway spouses. Though, Hisoka simply popped up sometimes too, either being in the right place at the right time to join on kills, or somehow seeking Illumi out, like a risky, aggravating jack-in-the-box. That habit had gotten him a trip to the Zoldyck basement and torture rooms recently, though it was also a reason Illumi humored the magician when he got bored and asked for help more.

        "Please make this simple and tell me where you put the money taken from Mr. Mori." Illumi told his target, a rather pretty young woman he'd been tasked to interrogate, torture, and kill by her ex-sugar daddy.         "Is she under-aged, is that why you won't tell me about her?" Hisoka asked, sitting on the table of menacing torture tools in a dungeon of the Zoldyck estate, having talked the assassin into letting him out to help in this little chat. Illumi was beginning to regret his decision to humor the magician though. The tall assassin glared at the other man for his interruption, only getting an innocent smile in return,         "No, she is not under-aged." He said curtly, and his companion snickered,         "Well, when can I meet her? I'm dying to know what type of woman a Zoldyck lusts after~"         "Never." Hisoka pouted at his flat refusal, but the assassin simply returned to questioning his captive, only turning back to the pink-haired man to grab some pliers from the table,  "Now, I will ask this once more, if I don't get an answer I'll tear out your finger nails until I do. Where is your ex's money?" he warned the woman, who was sobbing and pleading to be freed from the cold, dark room. When she didn't answer his question though, he kept true to his word, gripping one of her nails with the pliers and pulling until it came away from the nail bed. The monotone assassin continued pulling out his target's crimson-painted fingernails while she tried to lie and say she had no idea where his client's money was. No matter, when he ran out of fingernails, he could always move to toenails or teeth.

Hisoka held a metal bowl that Illumi put the dislocated fingernails in, adding a soft clattering noise to the soundtrack of the woman's sobs, screams, and the lazy buzz of the one lantern that hung from the stone wall until he stood up in the partially lit cell to get another tool from the table.          "mmm, she seems quite fun to torture~" Hisoka observed, getting a twisted grin across his face as he looked down at the restrained woman,          "She's unbearably loud," Illumi sighed, looking around on the table of tools until he found a rather simple salt shaker, ignoring when Hisoka leaned a bit too close,          "Y'know, I bet I could get your girlfriend to be just as loud~" he hummed, and something inside of Illumi seemed to snap for a moment. His aloof air instantly changed to palpable malice and he whirled around on the magician, punching him in the face hard enough to send him sprawling across the cold stone floor. The assassin didn't even give him a chance to react once he landed though, in a flash he was on top of him, holding him down by his throat while his knee pressed down on his ribs,           "if you so much as look at my wife, Hisoka, I will fucking kill you before your heart gives another beat." he snarled, tightening his grip on the man's neck until he was gasping and wheezing for air. The pink-haired man gave a nod, a  smirk tugging at his lips still, but the feral murderer didn't let him breath until that coy look finally left and he saw panic replace Hisoka's usual mischievous glint in his gold eyes. When Illumi did finally let him up, the magician was gulping down air and glaring at him instead of his usual knowing, coy glance,           "Jesus Christ Illumi, learn to take a joke. You know my humor can be perverted, there was no need to nearly kill me!" he snapped, the magician's flirty act falling away, but Illumi didn't respond, he simply checked on the woman he'd been tasked to torture. Sadly though, she was now dead from the amount of malevolence  in his nen,          "Great, because of your 'joke' my job just got harder." Illumi said, his voice back to being cold,          "That wasn't my fault, you were the one who didn't just use one of your needles on her to begin with." he pointed out testily, getting glared at by the man,         "The client wanted me to specifically torture her, my needles would have been redundant and not what the client asked for. Of course, I didn't know you were going to be this annoying, or else I would've gotten the information from her at the start." he hummed, and while his voice stayed flat and his face stayed rather aloof, Illumi was boiling with wrath on the inside. Being a pest was one thing, but now Hisoka had actually crossed an important line. So, Illumi simply found the woman's phone in her purse and than called in some butlers. He gave one the cellphone, sending it to Milluki to make use of himself and scour through, than he turned to Hisoka, who was standing in a dark corner across the small cell glaring at them, mostly Illumi.  "Now, I will say this nicely only once," the man said, though his words held no kindness, "please return to your cell with the butlers without a fight, or else I will be forced to call my family and drag you back." The two men stood there for a moment in a heavy silence that seemed to bring down the temperature of the already cold cell further. Illumi wasn't very expressive, he purposely added inflections and overt body language to himself when speaking to you, but Hisoka didn't get that sort of kindness, he simply got stared down by bottomless eyes and a deadpan assassin he knew very well was competent enough to stand up to him. So, he simply grinned a predatory grin at the long haired murderer,        "Fine, I'll go back to my cell peacefully," he relented, putting his hands up with a mischievous smirk. One of these days Morrow, I'm going to finally kill you. Illumi thought as at least three butlers escorted the magician back to where he'd been held, but he didn't say or show the annoyance as they passed.       "Oh, and Illumi, dear? Do tell (y/n) hello for me~" Illumi's aura became malevolent again at that, but the butlers and flamboyant pain in the ass were able to avoid dying from it thanks to their training. Instead, all it did was let slip just how fart Hisoka was under Illumi's skin, making the hunter laugh as he was herded away down the dark hallway, leaving the assassin to simmer in his temper before stalking out of the basement. His first stop once upstairs was Milluki's bedroom.        "How did Hisoka find out anything about (y/n)?" he asked, his voice's flat, monotonous tone coming off as more menacing when paired with how he slammed his brother's face into his trash-littered desk,        "I don't know! Why are you asking me?" the pudgy man hissed out, barring his teeth at his older sibling when he tightened his grip on his hair,       "You are the only person on this mountain aside from Mother who knows about (y/n), and unlike mother, you are the type to tell that bastard about her for a cookie." he pointed out, and Milluki couldn't argue, he did have pretty flippant loyalties when it came to secrets like this.        "Alright, fine, but I promise I didn't. I haven't been in the basement since Hisoka got here." he explained, and after a moment of harsh scrutiny, Illumi let him go and left his nasty, anime-littered room. The tall man then went to his wing of the home, thinking of what to do now. Hisoka knowing (y/n)'s name is bad. If he can figure it out, more people could. He mused, a wave of possessive anxiety washing away his rage for the time being. I can't leave her alone anymore. He finally decided as he reached his rooms and turned around to instead find his mother.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

(Here, have a hells studio fic idea: Sammy's reaction and frustration to getting sweetvoice thanks to Benrey)

For the record I’m calling this crossover: Hell’s Life Studio, VR but the AI are causing supernatural bullshit.

Honestly, Sammy Lawrence could rationalize why Joey would hire a security guard.

In fact, if he did hire Benry, the music director might consider it one of Joey’s more logical and reasonable ideas, he even wondered why the animator didn’t do it much sooner.

In addition to the normal reasons why an animation studio or other work place in general would hire security guards, due to the magical nature of the studio and some of it’s inhabitants, if any average Joe walked off the street into the building, everything would turn to chaos.

Newspaper reporters would come at the studio like vultures to a fresh kill, Joey would be demonized as some sort of Satan worshiping lunatic who'd happily sacrifice his employees' humanity for the sake of his success, the toons would get captured by the government and probably get dissected... And heaven forbid what would happen if by accident, someone who wasn't that familiar with the studio and it's magical ink got caught in the ‘splash zone’.

So when Mr. BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENR... came up to him and his coworkers asking to see their passports, Sammy was mildly annoyed by this new guard's rude demeanor, but didn't think much of him other than 'Oh fuck, I guess I'll have to carry my passport to work now, I guess'.

Except, there was one problem; Joey didn’t hire Benry at all. He was just some random guy in a guard uniform (that didn't even have the studio's logo on it at all) who showed up one day and the studio was so weird that people just either didn't care much for another weird thing going on or had came to the same logic-based conclusion that Sammy did.

Scratch that, there were two problems: Benry wasn't exactly human and while he looked like he was, any normal person off the street who wasn't unfazed by the supernatural could automatically tell that he wasn't. As the guard wasn't particularly interested at hiding his otherworldly nature.

Now, in a place like the studio where people experience magical shenanigans almost weekly and have an honest to god living cartoon character as a boss, a dimension-hopping, skeleton summoning, security guard who shits in urinals and may or may not be an eldritch horror god is completely... well, not exactly normal per say, but it's not like the employees would scream and clutch their pearls at the slightest signs of abnormality in their line of work.

The studio had a tendency to dismiss pretty much anything in their workplace that they knew for a fact was not a normal thing as the Ink's fault.

New security guard is phasing through the walls? Must've gotten caught in an ink shower. He hasn't talked to Joey about it? Well, phasing through the walls at will could be useful for his job, nobody's really planning on nagging him about making Joey 'change him back'.

Said guard is hovering in the middle of the break room with his legs and arms rimrod straight and the latter outstretched (in a pose the man had described as 'T-posing' later.)? Must've walked into a ritual by accident and is having fun with it. Some people are just better sports about the weirdness of the studio than others are.

Benry's ...singing? And multicolored orbs are flying out of his mouth? And the blue orbs have the ability to calm people down when they hit them? Again, weird, nobody's really sure why or how the ink did THAT to him. But then again nobody also knew why or how the ink could turn people into cartoon animals and brought inanimate objects to life other than "it's magic".

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here."

The monotone voice of the security guard droned as Sammy opened the door to his own office.

"Son of a-" The musician took in a sharp inhale and turned to face Benry. "Good morning Benry, are you here to check my passport again for the forty-eighth time in a row or just to cause problems?"

"Wha? I'm not causing any problems. Are you trying to cause problems? Because I'll have to escort you off the premises if you do."

"I WORK here Benry, you saw me conducting the band five minutes ago."

"Yeah... that kinda sounds like bullshit bro. I'm gonna need to check your passport just to make sure."

"Ugh, fine.."

Sammy rifled through his pockets as the ceiling above the pair creaked ominously, making Sammy rifle through his pockets faster as he knew what that meant.

"Not gonna lie, you're looking kinda... you're looking kinda suspicious rn. You got something to hide? What are you trying to hide?"

"BENRY! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT THE CEILING IS ABOUT TO-"

Before Sammy could finish what he was saying, the ceiling crashed down on both of them.

"Ugh... Shit..." Benry emerged from the rubble and fished out the limp music director out of it as well. "You ok there bro?"

As Sammy was unconscious, he didn't respond.

"Fuck, you don't look ok at all... Looks like you need some CPR there, good thing I'm trained by professionals, hang tight."

Benry laid the musician flat on a piece of the floor that wasn't obscured by rubble and opened Sammy's mouth while firing a teal-green heal beam into it with the Black Mesa Sweet Voice. What? He knew better than to cheat on Feetman by smooching a married man, especially while he was in the dark ages where PS4s don't exist and being gay is illegal and pretty much punishable by death.

Sammy lurched back to life coughing his lungs out as the inside of his throat felt like it was oiled, set on fire, and extinguished with sand. Luckily for him, he otherwise felt perfectly fine albeit shaken up by almost being crushed to death.

"Oh cool, you're not dead. So, about that passport..."

"Benry, what the FuuuAAAAAAaAAAaAAAaaaAAaAAaaAaaaaaaaAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAAaAAAaaAAAA!"

Both men jumped back in surprise as a beam of brightly colored orbs flew out of Sammy's mouth starting of in teal (usually means 'need meal' but here Benry was certain that in this context it meant surprise), teal-to-white (I'm struck with fright), white-to-red (filled with dread.), and red-to-dark blue (I FUCKING HATE YOU!).

"Uh.. Wow, rude." Benry smacked his lips. "I just, I just saved your life back there, there's no need to talk to me like that."

Sammy's eye twitched as he stared at him dead in the eyes and chucked his passport in Benry's face before heading up to Joey's office to ask him where he found this guy and why the fuck did he hire this guy.