#ought* to finish*

[journey-to-the-attic]

happy fnaf movie (uk) release day!

[sunnysssol]

ii

( comms open )

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 24

it is time once again for my accidental streak of Redrawing Aradiabot On Day 24. i swear i literally don't even set an alert for this or anything, it just works out like this every year. i hit january 24th and smth in my brain goes "huh what were we doing this time last year, anything good to revisit?" and i check the day 24 tag and im like OH YEAH. THE SAME DAMN ARADIABOT DRAWING I'VE DONE THE PAST HOWEVER MANY YEARS!!!

[bloobydabloob]

When you answered the ask asking about your art style (which is a post I keep looking back on bc what you have to say is very interesting) in one of your screenshots of you talking you mention something about how most if not all of your symbolism is self referent and I was wondering what you meant by that!

Hellloooo. I’m glad you found my ranting interesting. Here is some Dirk art I’m probably never going to finish for your troubles.

What I meant by that when talking about any symbolism in my art is that it doesn’t reference outside sources - e.g. where some art might use something like religious concepts, animals, real life events to represent ideas, I tend to use things more like colors, contrasting objects, composition. That sort of thing. So things that are inherently a part of the work itself rather than connections to the real world. If I ever do use symbolism otherwise, it’s usually comic related even still. Although I have done pieces with religious symbolism before too, haha.

I don’t know how to describe it other than “self referential” because I’m not really sure what else to classify that sort of symbolism as. Just… artistic maybe? Non literal? I couldn’t say. I think it all basically just goes along with the majority of my art nowadays being more figurative than literal. Sorry if this doesn’t explain it very well. It’s also funny to think that anyone is “Looking back” on any of my texts posts though, haha. To me I feel like I am just dumping my words on my poor followers. Surprising. Thank you for reading.

[rcmclachlan]

what if i put my life in your hands? what if i took your life in mine?

[andreasvanburgsvendsen]

Having a secret (not rly) plan to draw Frau Eva and Sinclair at some point. So, I ended up trying to draw her.

[artificial-absinthe]

Oh, no, B D ⛓️SM sparring got out of hand!

They're waiting there for the medic to repair Megatron, Soundwave already got a patch.

[witcheryen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Characters: Xie Lian (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Hua Cheng (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Body Image, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Mentioned Yin Yu (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Hua Cheng Has Self-Esteem Issues (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Age Regression/De-Aging, there's no reason for yin yu to be here but I love him. so Summary:

Hua Cheng pulls himself back together and returns to Xie Lian.

Mostly.

[relicsongmel]

hi! i was reading your pinned post and it made me think - what color(s) are each of the aa main characters' theme songs! :0

Synesthesia question yippee!!!!! Here are all main character themes from the games I’ve played <3 so far I’ve done AA1 through AA4 as well as both Investigations games~

Phoenix Wright (Objection! 2001): G minor—dark green

Phoenix Wright (Objection! 2002): F minor—gray-blue

Phoenix Wright (Objection! 2004): D minor—sea green

Maya Fey (Turnabout Sisters 2001/2002): A♭ major—purple (roughly the same shade as her haori <3)

Miles Edgeworth (Great Revival): F minor—gray-blue

Franziska von Karma (Great Revival): G minor—dark green (though it’s worth noting that the Great Revival themes despite being in minor use a lot of borrowed harmonies from the major mode that end up brightening the overall color a little)

Dick Gumshoe (It’s Detective Gumshoe/I can do it when it counts, pal!): C minor—sea blue

Ema Skye (Turnabout Sisters 2005): C major—yellow

Ema Skye (Scientific Detective): G major—pink

Pearl Fey (Pearly Questioning): F major—cerulean

Godot (The Fragrance of Black Coffee): D major—green

Larry Butz (When Something Smells, It’s Usually Me): G mixolydian—yellow (but some sections sound blue due to borrowed flat harmonies)

Apollo Justice (Objection! 2007): G# minor—dark magenta

Trucy Wright (Child of Magic): D major—green

Klavier Gavin (Guilty Love): E♭ major—royal blue

Kay Faraday (The Great Truth Burglar): A minor—light gray

Shi-Long Lang (Speak Up, Pup!): E minor—gold

Raymond Shields (Joking Motive): A minor—light gray (with additional analysis available here if you’re interested :3)

Justine Courtney (Goddess of Law): F minor—gray-blue

Gregory Edgeworth (A Defense Attorney’s Knowledge): C major -> C minor—yellow -> sea blue

Sebastian Debeste (First-Class Reasoning): C major -> F major -> G major—yellow -> cerulean -> pink

Sebastian Debeste (A First-Class Farewell): G minor—dark green

You'll notice that not all colors necessarily match the character's color schemes. This is because while sometimes a character design can influence my synesthetic experiences (which is a whole other conversation in and of itself), they are still primarily based on the key of the theme itself—so a character theme in C major, for example, will always sound yellow regardless of which character it's meant to represent. This is both a blessing and a curse as sometimes the synesthetic color/mood will match a character perfectly whereas other times it will be completely off the mark. But it is still a very fun thing regardless—thank you for the ask!

[kingmakerpod]

An official design for Mirielle Lavigne for Trans Day of Visibility.

[2impostors]

celebrating 2023 with an evil stick

[pain-in-the-butler]

Dadbastian Week Day 6/7: Needed Advice and Setting Sun

Happy final day of Dadbastian week, my fellow fans. This was a wild ride, and I had so much fun seeing all the creations everyone came up with to celebrate! It may be the end of the seven days, but you can certainly expect more Dadbastian content from me in the future regardless. Let's keep the party going 😎

This "drabble" was better intended for yesterday's prompt, but I sort of shoehorned in a sunset so that I could post this on the final day. I would have liked to craft a story for each day of Dadbastian week, but sometimes that's life! And at 5.2k, this one's length is basically worth two prompts anyway.

No major warnings needed, but perhaps a small note that this story takes place when Ciel is still only ten years old. He engages in some regressive behavior as a way of coping with his trauma, and Sebastian handles the situation very Sebastianly. So it feels weird to say enjoy but uh... enjoy!

How many souls had Sebastian devoured in the centuries before he met this one?

Two or three hundred, approximately. But how many of them had stood out as especially worthy? Perhaps one or two – and those experiences were not so remarkable. Merely different from the norm. Ask a human every meal they’d eaten over the course of their measly lifetime. Even they would laugh. Impossible! They could scarcely remember what they’d eaten last week. Perhaps a particularly delectable trifle or perfectly roasted guinea fowl would stand out. But would even a hundred meals? Of course not. Don’t be silly.

How old was Sebastian? Perhaps as old as the universe; perhaps as old as the wheel. He was amorphous. Time did not mark him with crow’s feet and gray hair. Time had no power over him at all, and Sebastian did not need to consider it. It was a concept built for mortals. And though Sebastian had a vague idea of how long he had been a greater demon, of the moment he had stopped lapping up other demons’ scraps and began forming contracts of his own, such knowledge didn’t intrigue him. The only span of time that had ever mattered was “soon.” When was his next meal? Soon. Always soon, because humans were easy to please and easy to trick, and Sebastian was well-suited for pleasure and trickery.

It had been over a month since Sebastian had thought the word “soon.”

Today marked the hundredth day of his contract with “Ciel” Phantomhive, a ten-year-old boy who was, without question, the youngest person Sebastian had ever played the shadow of. Ten years old: why, ten years was nothing to a demon. In the amount of time it had taken Ciel to merely exist, Sebastian had done nothing but sit patiently waiting for the right moment to strike, to bargain with just the right human. A hundred days ago, he and his future meal at last crossed paths.

This is the most curious and enticing soul I have found so far, Sebastian remembered thinking that day, and it will be mine in mere moments. For how could a frail, wounded, sniveling orphan possibly take longer to cultivate than a monarch, or a prodigy, or a megalomaniac?

Sebastian denounced them all. They were games, comparatively, to this real test of will he was engaged in now. For yesterday’s orphan was today’s earl, and the guidelines of this contract would not allow for a swift victory. Though Sebastian had never known hunger so intimately before this contract, now he was also getting to know patience – and hunger and patience would work together to transform this soul into a dining experience Sebastian had never known the likes of before.

And yet... often Sebastian found himself thinking, This is the soul clever enough to test my cunning? This is the one?

For the boy was still just that: a boy. And the boy’s childish habits were still so wildly out of control, it was a wonder he had ever been a noble’s son.

“You’ve been picking at your skin again,” Sebastian scolded at bathtime when he noticed the little pink marks freckling those skinny arms. “You mustn’t do that. The areas could become infected.”

“Young master. Are you listening to me?” Ciel’s gaze would often drift to the window in the middle of a lesson. “Repeat what I just said. …Yes, that’s what I thought. Pay attention.”

“Leave that alone,” Sebastian said when Ciel would play with the string of his eye patch.

“You must sit still,” Sebastian said at dinnertime and teatime and any time Ciel was in a chair.

“Rings stay on your fingers, unless you’re sealing an envelope.”

“Look me in the eye.”

“Stop tapping your foot.”

“Sit up straight.”

“No fidgeting.”

“Smaller bites.”

“Don’t yawn.”

“Don’t scratch.”

“And take that out of your mouth this instant.”

That last sentiment was by far the most awful one to consider, and, alas, the most persistent. In the privacy of his own home, Ciel chewed on things relentlessly: his fingers, his nails, his own hair, a pen he might be holding. His teeth, still a subtle mismatch of adult and milk teeth, longed to keep busy. When he wasn’t eating, they sought out other objects to masticate and weren’t picky about what that object happened to be.

“Are you a rodent?” Sebastian asked him one afternoon when he caught Ciel nibbling at his own sleeve.

Ciel blinked at him. “What?”

“Or a teething puppy?”

Ciel blushed angrily. “No.”

“Then I can think of no reason why you should be unable to keep your clothing out of your mouth,” Sebastian said distastefully.

Ciel glowered at him and stopped in the meantime. But the chewing was incessant. He always went back to it as soon as he thought Sebastian’s back was turned.

“I struggle to comprehend,” Sebastian confided to Tanaka one evening, “how the young master got away with such deplorable behaviors while he was growing up.”

Tanaka looked at Sebastian sadly from the servant’s table. The two were in the kitchen, Tanaka drinking green tea while Sebastian stood at the counter, polishing silver. “The young master did not have such persistent habits before you knew him… I believe this developed during that month he spent alone. That month we know so little about.” Tanaka pressed his fingers into the warm ceramic of the yunomi cup, staring into its depths. “There are three empty spaces in his heart now… and for a boy so young, it’s hard to know how to fill such space except with distraction. We must be gentle with him.”

But “gentle” took patience, and gentle took time, and there was no reason to spend it when a smart rap on the wrist would do just as well at a fraction of the speed.

Most of Ciel’s habits had been defeated with a rap on the wrist. The chewing was not so easily thwarted. What was worse, after a week of testing various objects in his mouth, Ciel seemed to have decided that the hems of his sleeves were his top choice. Sebastian’s irritation grew when he saw the state of Ciel’s shirt one evening before bed, the sleeves crimped and wrinkled from what seemed to be a whole day’s worth of suckling.

“This is flagrantly infantile,” he hissed lightly as he gripped his charge by the forearm. Ciel was looking hard at the floor and flushing with defiance. “What should anyone think of an earl with such deplorable attire? You’d do better without teeth than with sleeves like this.”

“It’s not like I do it in front of anyone!” Ciel argued with a heat that came from embarrassment.

Sebastian’s frown quirked. “It is pathetic to defend this behavior. You will stop, or there will be consequences.”

Ciel snorted, smirking now. “Consequences? What are you going to do? Hit my palms with a ruler till they bleed?” It was clear the boy wanted to recover some dignity. “You can’t stop me. I might have a bad habit, but I bet you don’t really know how to stop me from doing this.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

“Well then, what are you going to do about it?” Ciel shot back.

The butler hesitated, then started unbuttoning the young master’s shirt up by its rounded collar. “Continue this charade, and perhaps I shall have to decide.”

“When we were younger and Edward would do something wrong, I remember Aunt Francis would take away his pocket money,” Ciel continued matter-of-factly as Sebastian slipped the nightgown over his master’s small head. “But you can’t take my money away from me. And you can’t force me to stay in my room until I repent, like my parents would.”

“No, perhaps not,” was Sebastian’s even answer.

“Well, good luck, then!” Ciel challenged, and Sebastian could swear that just before he extinguished the candle and turned to leave, the rotten brat was bringing his sleeve toward his mouth for a repeat performance.

It was clear Ciel thought he had won. Let him think that. It would only make the consequences of his actions all the more shocking.

▬▬▬▬▬ι═════════════ ☼ ═════════════ι▬▬▬▬▬

In England, the bird pepper was best known for its importance in making the highest quality cayenne. It was a thin, red capsicum that shone as bright as a warning. The human stomach knew no particulars: surely this coloration was nature’s way of advertising danger, but humans were the one species that delighted in spice, cultivated it, and celebrated the flavor of this irritating chemical. Sebastian was not sure if he found this act unnaturally stupid or minutely impressive. But it meant he would have easy access to the drought that would curb his master’s behavior.

Once delivered to the manor, the capsicums promptly had their piths removed and jarred in water to soak for a few days. The water took on a slightly orange quality, but was diluted with a bit more water until it was nearly clear. Finally, that water was painted on the sleeves of one of Ciel’s nightshirts using a basting brush and left hanging for another day until perfectly dry and unassuming.

Between the night Sebastian had decided on his plan and the evening he was able to execute it, Ciel’s habit had somewhat abated, but only somewhat. Sebastian’s warnings had grown sharper, and thus Ciel’s emotions towards the warnings had become more dramatic in response. He would grow absentminded, his eyes glossing over in the middle of a lesson, and then he’d automatically fall into his old pattern. Sebastian would rebuke, “Stop that,” whenever he caught the young master in the act, and Ciel would startle back to reality with a fleeting look of bewilderment. Then the shame and contempt would take over, and Ciel would shoot his butler such a scathing glare that Sebastian felt no sympathy whatsoever for what would soon come to pass.

“I must advise you, young master, not to go about biting your sleeves after I leave the room tonight,” Sebastian said at bedtime as the hands were threaded through the innocuous, soft pajama sleeves with perhaps only the slightest aroma of scarlet truth. “I will know if you have disobeyed; I have my ways. You must understand that it’s for your own good that I do whatever it takes to stop you.”

Ciel’s watchful eyes fell to the floor, and his shoulders slumped. For a moment, he looked just like the child that he was. “I’m trying, all right? It’s hard.”

“Ridiculous,” Sebastian huffed, planting his hands on his hips. “If your sleeve is in your mouth, take it out. This is all that you have to do. You would really have me believe such a thing is hard?”

“As if a damn demon would understand!” Ciel whined, though his face looked red again. “It’s not… Ugh, never mind! I’m trying, so you can stop treating me as if I’m not already!”

“If you really are trying, then I have faith that tonight will be different,” Sebastian said, with just a single thread of slyness stringing together his words as he pulled away the covers and draped them back over the curled-up troublemaker. “And who knows, you may just be rewarded if you manage to follow through.”

“... What kind of reward will I get?” Ciel asked.

Sebastian paused briefly at Ciel’s look of earnest curiosity. The ‘reward’ he’d meant was really ‘a lack of punishment.’ Would a reward actually be a worthy incentive when the boy was misbehaving? “We shall discuss it in the morning, but only if you manage to keep your sleeves away from your teeth all night. That is the first obstacle. Now then, will you be needing anything else before bed?”

Ciel stuffed his hands beneath his pillow. “No.”

“Very good. Then… I wish you luck, and goodnight.”

The light in the room was snuffed out. Sebastian left and went immediately to the kitchen to prepare the glass of milk. He had no faith the sleeves would remain untouched for very long. Mortals were driven by instinct, even to their own detriment. It was any wonder they managed to exist as a species. They could not go without their little vices. Even Ciel, who was too young and too coddled to have ever been introduced to alcohol or tobacco, had come up with a crutch all on his own. Sebastian snickered under his breath as he poured the cold milk into the teacup from the bottle he’d kept cool in the pantry. A human struggling to escape his own nature, also made to feel guilty for his own nature… Sebastian couldn’t lie and tell himself it wasn’t a positively delicious notion.

And yet… a full hour passed by with no outcry. Sebastian was minutely surprised. He had kept the cup of milk ready to deliver as he went about tidying up the kitchen for the end of the day. But eventually he had to admit to himself that the young master must have fallen asleep without indulging in his habit. Sebastian tutted as he poured the undrunk milk back into its bottle. He hadn’t meant to look forward to it, but it was a little boring to consider that his plan wouldn’t unfold after all… Oh well. Perhaps now was the time for some of the more encompassing chores Tanaka had warned him came with spring. Apparently replacing all of the winter curtains in the manor with a muslin set was only one such nuisance to consider…

It was two a.m. that brought the scream.

Sebastian knew this scream well. It was not the disgusted surprise of a boy who had tasted something unappealing, but the anguish of a soul bursting free from a nightmare. It was a sound all too familiar in this household. Sebastian dropped what he was doing to attend it at once. But perhaps he had been too unhurried all the same, because along the way, an actual summons was issued as well, then again, with all the persistence of a lost little lamb.

The lamps in their sconces flared to life as Sebastian entered the sitting area of the master bedroom. “I am here, young master. There is no need to call for me twice. I can guarantee you will be heard no matter how quiet you must be.”

Sebastian strode to the bedside casually nonetheless. He was never too harried in these cases. They were nearly always the same. Ciel would be hiding in a cave of his own blankets. Sebastian would produce a few whimsical promises for closeness, for security. Ciel would eventually drift back off and never mention their encounter in the morning. But tonight, the script was not being followed.

Ciel was sitting outside of the covers. He was bolt upright and rubbing at his face abrasively with his sleeves. “My eyes,” he said in a voice that was liquid and hollow. “S-Something is wrong with my eyes.”

Sebastian felt his insides give a lurch. Suddenly this was serious.

“Drop your hands at once.” He didn’t wait for the command to be followed. He snagged the little wrists and pulled them away. Ciel stared at him with wide, blinking eyes that were fringed pink with irritation. Sebastian clucked his tongue, disapproving. “Ah, look at this mess… What ever were you doing this for?”

Ciel’s face lit with the terror of an innocent. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything! My eyes just started burning, and they won’t stop no matter what I do!” Ciel struggled in his butler’s grip, desperate to touch and rub and unwittingly worsen the situation. “It hurts, let me go—”

“Settle yourself down. Or am I unable to leave you alone for even a mere moment to retrieve the antidote for your suffering?” Sebastian said sternly. Exasperated, he freed one hand to pull the handkerchief from his lapel pocket. “If you must touch your eyes, do so with this. Your sleeves are the issue, so do not return to them. Do you understand me?”

Ciel was already busy grinding the clean cloth into his eye sockets. When Sebastian repeated himself, the young master immediately whined, “Yes, I get it, just help me already!”

To be so ungrateful when he’s at the mercy of whoever will come to his aid… Sebastian snorted a breath as he returned to fetch the milk from the kitchen. It was serving a different purpose than Sebastian had expected… and though it wasn’t as perfect a solution here as it was for taste buds, it certainly had to be better than that horrid paste of lead sugar and rainwater that other humans seemed to think was an acceptable cure for ocular inflammation. He returned with it and a clean cloth in less than a minute.

Ciel was still pressing the handkerchief into his eyes with both palms as if it would do any good. “Allow me to see now.” Sebastian pulled the child's hands away from his face without waiting. Ciel made a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat and swatted off the manhandling. There was a brief tussle of arms as both fought for control of the situation, but when the cold relief of the milk-soaked cloth touched his lids, Ciel froze beneath his butler's hand. The tantrum became a forgotten thing. All at once, Ciel sat as still and silent as a fawn while Sebastian dabbed at his eyes with salve.

Finally. Sebastian sighed loudly in relief. “There, there we are. Isn’t that better?”

“... What’s wrong with me…?” Ciel’s voice was thin and exhausted, the tension of a crisis at last flooding out of him.

Sebastian put on a wry grin. “If you hadn’t been indulging in your chewing habit, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said as he continued to tend to the site. “I soaked your sleeves in capsicum water a few days ago, so that if you tried putting them in your mouth when I had my back turned, the taste would repel you and I would know what you had done.”

“H-Huh…?” Ciel was half-awake and still working through his fear. “You… You did this?”

“You did this,” Sebastian corrected. “I was only trying to help you with your habit, and now here we are… Ah, but what were you rubbing your face for? This was not supposed to end up in your eyes.” A new, clean section of the cloth was selected and dipped in the milk.

Ciel stared at Sebastian, puzzled, bewildered. “This happened because of you?” His voice was picking up understanding, alongside volume.

“How could I expect that you would touch your eyes?” Sebastian huffed in exasperation. Ciel leaned away when he came at him with the cloth this time. “Young master, honestly…”

“Let me do it myself!” Ciel snatched the fabric away and began treating his own eyes, which were still rimmed in pink and watering in the aftermath. Sebastian watched him, narrowing his gaze. What a pathetic scene. The boy looked as miserable as a child who hadn’t gotten his way at a game and, in a show of disapproval at the injustice of life, let out a great bout of crocodile…

… tears.

“... The young master was having a bad dream before all of this, yes?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel had the entire upper half of his face hidden in the cloth now. “What do you care?”

“You were touching your eyes with your sleeves because you were crying.” No need to ask this time.

Ciel’s shoulders seized up. “Wh-What does it matter why I did it! It’s my clothing! I can do whatever I want with it! I don’t need to explain myself to you…” Then, with his eyes still covered by the cloth, Ciel dug down with his chin, slipped it beneath the collar of his pajamas, and clenched the material between his teeth to begin chewing.

Even after all this drama, he hasn’t given it up.

With nothing left in his arsenal, Sebastian simply observed for a moment in defeat. The boy was pressing a milk-soaked cloth to his face while gnawing the front of his nightclothes and sniveling relentlessly. It was no proud moment for either of them. Right now, they were not Earl and butler at all. They were again rendered the child and demon of their earliest days.

What was left to be done? Shaming his charge hadn’t done any good in destroying the habit, nor had this punishment. It was forcing Sebastian to assess if shame had really ever been useful to him beyond acting as a seasoning for a soul. It hadn’t changed this situation at all. Nothing Sebastian had tried so far had. If he wanted something to change, he had to try a different method. But what method would that even be? And how would that method serve to flavor the soul?

Sebastian did not have a clue. This was entirely new ground.

… Hmm. Something new.

Interesting.

“Let me take a look at your eyes now.” Sebastian nudged Ciel’s hands until they were finally lowered. The irritation was ebbing. Fortunate, but it made sense too: there couldn’t have been very much dried capsicum juice in those sleeves, really. “The skin looks improved. We should flush with water now instead.”

Ciel’s own personal irritation hadn’t gone anywhere. He said nothing, but he radiated anger and humiliation in equal measure from his person. Sebastian rinsed the cloth in the bathroom sink and returned with it still damp to press into the young master’s eyes next. Ciel sat and received this treatment like a kitten with raised hackles being bathed by his mother. This thought warmed Sebastian to the caretaking quite astoundingly.

Ciel let the collar of his shirt fall from his mouth to speak. “You can never do something like this to me again. Such tricks are barbaric and unacceptable for a butler.” His fingers were spread wide and nails clenching into the mattress as his pain was tended to.

Sebastian hummed a laugh. “So I will not. But surely this habit of yours must come to an end either way. How would you suggest I help you if not with force?”

Ciel grit his teeth. “If you don’t know what to do, then don’t do anything! Just leave me alone! If I just do this in private, who am I hurting anyway?”

“Your clothing and your reputation, certainly…” Sebastian mumbled. Ah, right; no more shame. “However, I have noticed that you only do this when no one but myself is watching. Thus, you clearly understand that this isn’t acceptable behavior.”

Ciel lowered his chin. “O-Of course I know… I just keep doing it without thinking about it…”

That was surprising. Sebastian took the towel away. “Really. It is involuntary?”

Ciel blinked starrily in the lamplight. He glanced down at the bed. “Sort of.”

“You do not mean to do it, nor want to?” 

“I don’t mean to start…” Ciel furrowed his brow. “But when I notice I’m doing it, I don’t stop either.”

Hmm. “Why do you want to do this?” Sebastian had trouble keeping confusion out of his voice. “It is very unlike you and it is quite unseemly. Lady Midford would have a fit if she knew.”

Mortification washed over Ciel’s expression at the mention of aunt. “I don’t want to do this,” he explained hastily. “It’s just that I can’t stop. It feels good for some reason.” And then Ciel nearly put his sleeve in his mouth again, but flinched away at Sebastian’s warning. “See! I don’t mean to!” he cried, blushing again. He looked at Sebastian helplessly, indignantly, from the tops of his eyes. “I don’t mean to, all right… I don’t mean to…”

Sebastian was very surprised. All this time, the two of them were on the same page. Ciel didn’t like the behavior either. He was simply at its mercy. Was that why shaming him had had no effect? Because it was already a matter of shame, not a matter of pride?

And — granted the previous was the case — if shame removed pride, then would pride remove shame?

There was only one way to find out.

“Let us get you into a new nightshirt,” Sebastian said. Ciel opened his mouth, and Sebastian interjected, “There will be no tricks this time. It is late, and the important thing now is getting you back to sleep so that tomorrow’s schedule isn’t a wreck. If you chew your sleeves tonight, then so be it. We will work out a new strategy in the morning.”

The boy’s posture slumped. “… Mmn. Fine.”

Ciel was subdued as the pajamas were swapped out. He kept touching his eyes, which were improved but likely rather dried out from their ordeal. He looked like he wanted to be angry still but wasn’t sure how to go about expressing it in this circumstance. As usual, he had no choice but to rely on the being that would one day claim his soul, and it likely left him feeling disturbed. Sebastian at least knew that much from prior contracts. What he didn’t know was what their ‘new strategy’ for stopping the sleeve-biting was going to be.

“Would you still want me to stay here until you fall asleep?” Sebastian offered as he walked his charge back to bed.

Ciel climbed delicately onto the enormous mattress that was meant for a married couple, not a single small child. He rubbed his contract eye and glared at Sebastian with the blue one. “Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy with you,” he said at last. “You’re going to make up for this stupid prank. It was cruel. It goes completely against a ‘butler’s aesthetic,’ or however it is you put it.”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze but decided to concede. They shouldn’t fight anymore right now. “… Perhaps you are right. I went too far today.” 

“You definitely went too far.” The boy might’ve meant to sound angry but it came out as more of a plea.

Sebastian stood against the wall and waited for Ciel to tuck himself back into bed before extinguishing the light from the room. “Tomorrow, we will discuss a plan. Until then… I hope you are able to dream pleasantly. Goodnight, young master.”

Ciel curled up in bed. He stayed awake for longer than usual, nearly half an hour. But eventually there was a very careful shifting sound, and Sebastian registered that Ciel must be chewing his sleeves again. As promised, Sebastian did not put an end to the behavior, and very soon after the habit started up, the young master slipped off to sleep.

This proved that the action soothed him. It wasn’t just mindless incivility: it served a purpose, even for a half-grown child. How fascinating… and yet, it certainly could not continue. The soul of a wretched little orphan was no worthy meal. If Sebastian wanted to dine on the soul of a confident earl who left childhood behind him and never looked back, it meant Sebastian had to do whatever it took to instill that confidence. Even if that included being kind and understanding — temporarily, of course.

So then: where to begin?

▬▬▬▬▬ι═════════════ ☼ ═════════════ι▬▬▬▬▬

“Oh, goodness… Young master, do hold still for a moment. You’ve just managed to sully your right cuff with frosting.”

At the prompting of his butler, thirteen-year-old Ciel Phantomhive did not hold still. He instead curved his wrist around to analyze the situation for himself. “Oh, blast. Well, I had better not waste perfectly good chocolate.” Assessment complete, the boy unceremoniously opened his mouth and lipped the swath of frosting right off.

Sebastian could not refrain from grimacing. “Young master, must you forget your manners…”

Ciel was undaunted, smug even. “It’s my clothing, so I can do as I like.” He then held out his arm for Sebastian to have a chance at the remaining smear. “Here.”

There was nothing that could be done now though. “I’m afraid yellow soap and a turn at the washboard is the cure for this. We shall have to return to the bedroom and get you a new shirt.”

Ciel waved him off and continued with his dessert. “It’s already after dinnertime, so who cares. The servants won’t. And now I don’t have to worry about eating so carefully either…” Ciel licked the end of his finger almost cheerfully and helped himself to a heaping forkful of amandine cake.

Sebastian wanted to show more disapproval, but a memory stirred that turned one corner of his mouth up instead of down. “Young master, do you recall when chewing on your sleeves used to be a habit for you?”

Ciel swallowed and pinkened slightly with either embarrassment or disdain (probably both). “Are you seriously asking if I remember the night you put a spicy substance on my pajamas and allowed me to burn my eyes with it?”

Sebastian’s smile became sheepish. “Yes, that was the event, wasn't it… I still had plenty left to learn about how to treat children back then. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you also remember how we came about helping you with your habit?”

Ciel lapped the prongs of his fork as if he were holding a lollipop. “Now I do. You asked me what I thought would be the way to handle it, and I said that you should reward me with dessert for breakfast if I stopped chewing whenever you asked me to.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, affirmatively. “To your credit, it did do the trick. It only took a few weeks for you to give up your habit altogether after that.”

“But there’s no chance you would ever let me have dessert for breakfast now,” Ciel snickered.

Sebastian followed with a chuckle of his own. “As I said, I had plenty yet to learn about how to treat children.” Ciel rolled his eyes, probably sour about being referred to as a child. Sebastian was in opposite spirits. “I don’t believe I ever properly apologized for the way I treated you back then.”

Ciel stared. Behind him through the window, the sun spangled through the tree limbs on its slow descent below the horizon. “You mean to tell me that you’re actually sorry about it?”

“What pride is there to be found, in tricking someone so young and vulnerable?” Sebastian bowed his conciliation. “It was a shameful display. I should like to do better in the future.”

“...” Ciel glanced away after a few moments. “Apologies don’t become you. They only make you look all the more twisted for the things you don’t apologize for.”

“Ah, well, that is probably true.” Sebastian straightened up, feeling a strange sort of fondness.

“Besides,” Ciel made a mischievous expression, all too comfortable heckling a demon, for better or worse, “the old Sebastian was much smarter than the current Sebastian in one way.”

‘Current Sebastian’ tilted his chin inquiringly. “Oh? And dare I ask what way that is?”

Ciel scraped the last bit of cake off of his plate with his fork. “The old you knew that the best way to apologize is with chocolate.”

After a moment, Sebastian raised both eyebrows high. “Hmm, is that so? What a relief it is, then, that you have stated that apologies don’t become me.”

“W-Wait, wait, I only meant verbal apologies. Cake apologies are another matter.”

“Very good. Then I shall be sure to learn a recipe with semolina and chard for next time.”

“Chard? In a cake? Ugh, what a revolting idea. Surely your butler aesthetic would never let you serve that. Especially not as an apology.”

“Then perhaps the young master should not request any further ‘cake apologies’ lest he want to find out for certain. Now, let me clear your plate, and then it’s back to your vocabulary textbooks for a little evening practice. There are only three days remaining until we head out for Germany, and the young master’s pronunciation yet leaves something to be desired…”

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

The Healthy band remind me of a stereotypical fucked up 60s family mixed with the sawyer family from Texas chainsaw massacre

[sneakobee]

-☔️🌧️💫-

[bookshelf-in-progress]

In Chains: A Short Story

Crowds filled the village square for market day—at least two dozen black-cloaked Oprien soldiers among them—but Vallen placed his bag on the ground and settled easily onto his stool beneath the tree, confident in his disguise. He wore none of the marks of his priestly office—no robes, no chains, no visible tattoos. To unknowing eyes, he was simply an old man in shepherd’s garb whiling away his day with whittling and idle chatter. Only those who had been directed to seek his help would notice that he was carving a wedding chain.

No one spared Vallen a glance all morning, which was both relief and sorrow. The Oprien emperor had banned Rioven weddings since the invasion; all who disobeyed the decree were publicly executed. Early on, the people had been eager to defy the emperor, but now most Riovens thought the rites too dangerous to risk. Ground down by the occupation, they were forgetting the habits of freedom. All rumors of the royal family’s return had faded into childish legend. The emperor’s oppression grew ever more cruel. Why try to fight when there was no hope of success? As long as Vallen lived, he would try to preserve the Rioven ways, but what if he died? Would others continue his crusade, or would Rioven rites—Rioven life—die with him?

As the sun rose higher, Vallen lost the tree’s shade. He was beginning to contemplate a rest in a tavern when he became aware of eyes upon him. A young man with dark hair and a square face, wearing garb much like his own. A Rioven peasant down to his bones and, by the look of it, a pious one.

But appearances could be deceiving.

Vallen kept his eyes on his chain, smoothing the wooden links with careful strokes of the knife.

The man stepped forward. “You sit idle on such a day?”

Vallen responded casually, “I’ve had many years of labor.”

“We have need of you now. The laborers are few.”

Accurate down to the last syllable. The man had learned the signs from a trusted source. Vallen dared a closer look.

The young man was solemn, assured. A bit too assured; a bridegroom seeking an illegal wedding usually showed some sign of nerves. His garb was ill-fitting—a sign of poverty or disguise? He seemed not even to notice the soldiers passing by—a sign he was in league with them?

Vallen gathered his bag and rose to follow. He put the chain in his pocket, but kept the knife in his hand.

The man led him through the market crowds, passing up a dozen opportunities to hand him over to the Opriens, but passing up just as many places that could hide a marriage ceremony. Bridegrooms usually wanted the ceremony done quietly nearby, limiting the chances of detection and keeping the priest near his post so other couples could find him. Was there a wedding at all, or had Vallen walked into a trap? There were other groups that would rejoice in the elimination of a priest.

They passed beyond the edges of the village and went far into the countryside with no explanation from the groom.

On an isolated stretch of road, Vallen dared a comment. “It seems you keep your bride well-hidden.”

The man graced Vallen with a smile that did much to calm his doubts. “These days, all treasures must be.”

At last, they came upon a small cottage surrounded by garden plots at the edge of the forest. A silent young woman emerged, wearing the robes of a hermitess.

For a moment, Vallen was puzzled—a hermitess could allow no others into her tiny abode—but then the woman placed her hand upon the man’s arm and gave him a look of devotion so pure that it was clear the only vows she planned to make were to him.

Hiding the wedding was expected, but what reason could they have to disguise the bride? The young woman was tall and slender, with pale skin and black hair, and moved with fluid grace. The very picture of beauty and innocence. Vallen couldn’t picture her as an outlaw.

The woman spoke quietly to the young man, but Vallen could just make out her words. “He is truly a priest?”

The woman’s flowing, musical accent made the reason for secrecy clear. The costume of a silent hermitess kept others from speaking to her and revealing that incriminating voice. The robes hid the tattoos of her heritage. When the woman moved, Vallen caught just a glimpse of a black-ink swirl of vines and leaves beneath her collar--the mark of a highborn Taina.

That tiny little duchy had thrown up such fierce resistance that the emperor had decreed they were to be wiped from existence. It said much about the girl’s courage that she was alive today. It said much about the man’s devotion that he was willing to wed her.

What dangers the young were driven to these days. Hidden heroism, never known to the world. No doubt there were a million such stories all across Rioven—and not one had thrown off the Opriens.

Had Oprien ground Vallen down, too? He had been doing this work for years now, always watching, always hiding. And for what? In the lair of the Oprien monster, would one more wedding really make a difference?

A voice that seemed to come from somewhere outside himself reminded him—it will make all the difference in the world to the bride and groom.

“Are you sure we can trust him?” the woman asked her bridegroom.

Vallen raised his hand in holy greeting. In Tainu, he said, “I am your devoted servant, my lady.”

The woman brightened at the sound of her native tongue, and a tremulous anxiety faded from her.

Vallen looked toward the groom and patted his bag. “I have the herbs and water for the marriage rite.” He started toward the cottage. “We can begin the ceremony inside.”

The man stopped Vallen with a hand on his arm. “We are not far from the Innocent River.”

Vallen pulled away. “The cottage is ideal. Much safer.”

“The ceremony must be completed in the waters.”

This was why Vallen’s work was important. So many were losing the nuances of the rites. “It’s a common tradition, but not a requirement of the ceremony.”

“I’m afraid it’s necessary in this case.”

Necessary? To a man hiding a Taina bride? There was devotion to tradition and then there was recklessness. Yet the man spoke with authority that would not be disobeyed.

Vallen met the young man’s eyes and explained as calmly as possible, “I admire your devotion, but the river is only strictly required in the marriage rite—”

Of kings.

The words caught in Vallen’s throat, lit up his mind. Before his eyes, the man in the shepherd’s robes gained a king’s bearing. Vallen had seen it in the old king who resembled this young man, had recalled it often in the days since the invasion. The king stood tall, not to look down upon his kingdom as the Oprien did, but to hold it up with his own strength.

The line of kings had survived.

Vallen nearly fell to his knees, but the man grasped his hand and lifted him up. With a smile, the man said, “I am glad you understand the rites.”

He handed Vallen a tarnished golden chain set with small sapphires—a wedding chain older than the Oprien empire, last seen in a burning cathedral in the king’s city.

Vallen grasped the chain, then seized upon his priestly training. He had served kings in palaces; he could serve one in the forest.

The ceremony took place in the headwaters, a short walk away from the cottage. Hidden witnesses—the king’s supporters—watched silently from perches among the trees. Shallow, crystal waters flowed over the bare feet of the king and his bride as Vallen took between them binding their hands with the marriage chain.

The rite had never felt so alive. The bride and groom took up their own chains, not of oppression, but of love. Not enslaving, but serving.

Even in the shadows, life would go on.

[kalloway]

tumblr’s feeling pretty dead for me (in terms of engagement) anymore so i don’t feel so shy about sharing this dumb Bloodborne art i did back in november im never gonna actually finish lmao

it’s for a fic i haven’t finished (or even posted) yet... there is a trend here 🙈

anyway Micolash is the slug man, change my mind