#so this is a companion piece to one I made back in October with my 1st daughter Nela

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body. 

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is. 

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to. 

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes. 

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod. 

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts. 

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down. 

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?” 

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems. 

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed. 

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom. 

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone. 

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.” 

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches. 

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort. 

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show. 

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements. 

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front. 

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way. 

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed. 

“We’re finally alone, baby…” 

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.” 

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily. 

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said. 

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate. 

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran. 

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks. 

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you. 

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing. 

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side. 

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom. 

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring. 

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips. 

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door. 

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.” 

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast. 

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm. 

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read. 

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you. 

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway. 

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground. 

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well. 

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you. 

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth. 

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away. 

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend. 

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed. 

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked. 

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her. 

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own. 

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune." 

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?" 

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously. 

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound. 

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home. 

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal. 

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up. 

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage. 

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do. 

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself. 

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.” 

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he? 

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you. 

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.” 

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better. 

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.” 

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.” 

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day. 

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?” 

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off. 

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.” 

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore. #ultraviolet. #author aya

[hawkland]

Art Masterpost: Solitudes

Story by: ilovehowyouletmefall (@angelinthefire) Art by: sidewidner (@hawkland)

It's October and that means it's @deancasbigbang season once again! This year makes for my third time around for the event, although this year I only managed to participate as an artist (I'm still in a bit of writer's burnout since the summer). But, that meant I could put all of my focus and time into doing these four pieces for @angelinthefire's wonderful story "Solitudes." I'm gonna talk a little bit about my ideas and process and share some progress pictures behind the cut in a way that might be kind of spoilery, so if you want, just go read the story now! And then you come back here later to find out more if you wish. All works were completed in watercolor with some digital effects and filtering after completion.

I was really drawn to the imagery of the architectural elements of where the story takes place (an abandoned brutalist mansion) vs. nature and decay...plus the way light and shadow seemed to play such important roles in the visual descriptions. Dean and Cas spend so much of the story separated by supernatural forces even when they are in the same room I wanted to focus on that as well: being so near yet so far apart, not quite connecting or even able to look at each other without barriers.

I started on the banner art right away, thinking of Dean in despair (for reasons in the story) and Cas yearning/wishing he could reach him. Behind them both is the concrete wall covered in mold and moss (which was a LOT of fun to paint). The actual final watercolor painting came out as so:

(This is one of my favorite Deans that I've painted. His face can be SO hard to get right!)

Working with angelinthefire's suggestions I ran some different digital filters on the photo to desaturate/emphasize the light and dark for the final banner, and then with that in mind tried to keep the other pieces in a similar color scheme and tonal range.

The atrium painting was the biggest challenge. I knew I wanted to do a piece to capture the feeling of the house, the light coming in from an open skylight falling on brambles growing out of an old fountain spot. I was thinking of the Roman villa ruins I've visited combined with some actual Brutalist/modern homes I looked up. My original drawing plan was a bit more complicated and simplifying/taking out some elements definitely makes it more creepy/mysterious looking and less like a funky modern home.

You can see the vanishing/perspective point is right where Dean is looking at Cas.

The light falling down from above was partially painted with some interference/shimmer watercolors, but I amplified it (along with the shadows) with some digital effects at the end. This was before doing any digital magic:

Dean reaching for Cas: I made myself so sad working on that piece! It was also quite the challenge to get the likeness right at that angle and do the lighting the way I wanted, so again I used some digital effects at the end to really intensify it. Painting before filters:

I think my favorite part of that one is how I dry-brushed the ash wings in one shot and they came out just how I wanted! My main reference was, heh, that old classic shot of unconscious Cas being poked with a stick. I used my own hand for Dean's reaching out to what he sees through the harsh angled light.

The final piece is a direct companion to the one above it, and one I'd been thinking about for weeks, trying to map it out mentally before tackling it. Dean's face can be so much more challenging for me to try to capture well compared to Cas's and I really wanted to get his shock and horror in that moment while also being able to show (the real) Cas in the background/shadows...this was the third drawing pass before I finally started painting it. There's only a light bit of filtering over the final piece to push Cas back in the shadows (I didn't want to do with the paints for fear of muddying the colors...plus I was already painting Cas so small any wrong brush stroke could shift his likeness/expression.)

Overall I really like how unified these pieces all ended up feeling and I hope they manage to complement the story in a way that it deserves!

#dcbb #dcbb2023 #sidewinder art #hawkland art #my art #destiel art #dean winchester #castiel #spn fanart #watercolor #art masterpost

[mystique-6]

Kinktober Day 2: Bath/Shower

Hello! My hyperfixation on Astarion has got me in the writing mood so I will be participating in Kinktober using @flightlessangelwings Kinktober list. The pieces may be part of a bigger fic(s) that I'll be getting too when I have more time or they may be standalones. Either way, I hope you enjoy. I do plan on completing the 31 prompts though it will take me past October. The first fic I am listing below. I also have posted on AO3.

Warning: Anyone under 18 do not interact. Please pay attention to the tag warnings below.

Tag Warnings: Bathing/Washing, Nudity, Naked Cuddling. NSFW

Additional Note: This fic involves Spawn Astarion.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from BG3.

Summary: Ailis and Astarion enjoy some down time after a long day.

            Ailis sighed in relief as the door to her room at the Last Light Inn closed shut behind her, blocking out all noise from the outside.  After hours of discussion, her traveling companions and their new acquaintances, the Harpers, had finally agreed on a strategy to reach Moonrise Towers.  Her nerves were shot and she was looking forward to some alone time.  She had requested a maid draw a bath for her, and she was relieved to find it ready for her now.  She walked over to the tub and undressed, hanging her clothes over the partition that blocked the view of the tub from the rest of the room.  She unpinned her hair and let the thick, black-brown tresses fall to rest a few inches above her hips. 

            She dipped a toe in the water and sighed.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hot bath.  For weeks now, she’d made do with the cold water of any lake, river, or stream she found on her journey.  Content with the water temperature, she stepped into the tub and slid down until she was submerged to the shoulders.  She rested her head back against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes as she relaxed.  She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she woke up, she felt her face submerged in water. 

            Before she could panic, she felt strong hands grip her beneath her arms and pull her back up above the water.  She coughed and sputtered on reflex, though she hadn’t been under long enough to breathe in much water.  When her heartrate began to even out, she noticed that one of the same hands that had pulled her up was now rubbing her back.  She glanced over the side of the tub and relaxed completely as she saw it was Astarion. 

            “I believe that’s why you aren’t supposed to sleep in the bath, darling,” he said in a gentle tone of admonishment.

            “The water is so warm.  I guess it made me sleepy,” she said.  “When did you come in?”

            “Just as you were slipping under,” he replied, brushing a wet strand of hair out of her face.

            “Hmm, my hero,” she hummed and then laughed at the scowl that immediately crossed his face.  “Thank you for saving me.”  She tilted her head towards him for a kiss.  He smiled and kissed her gently.  When he broke away, she gave him a sultry smile.  “The water is still warm if you’d like to join me.”

            “Well, I guess I’d better join you.  We don’t want you to slip under the water again,” Astarion teased, standing up as he slipped off his shirt.  Ailis watched him as he slowly peeled off his clothes.  He was clearly teasing her, keeping his body turned to angles meant to arouse her, but hid the whole package.  She watched with a lustful gaze as he finally turned around to give her the full view.  The performance hadn’t just left her aroused.  His cock was half hard already. 

            She leaned forward in the tub so he could slide in behind her.  She expected him to immediately begin to entice her into sex, but instead he pulled her back against his chest, his hands then slid to her waist so that he held her in a loose hug.  After a minute she relaxed against him and enjoyed the contrast between the warm water and his cool skin.  They stayed like that for a moment and then she felt his hands leave her waist and fiddle around with something before settling back on her, this time lathering soap through her hair.

            “You’re obsessed,” she said with a smile.  He loved to play with her hair.

            “I do so love your hair,” he murmured, gently massaging soap through the dark lochs.  She laughed and grabbed the soap bar to wash her body.  They passed the soap back and forth as needed.  When he finished washing her hair and back, he gently tipped her head back so she faced the ceiling and then used a tin cup to rinse the soap from her hair.  He was careful to keep the water out of her face.  When he finished, he put the cup down and pulled her back against him. 

            She turned her head to look up at him and pressed a kiss to his jaw.  “Do you want me to wash your hair and back?”  He tensed and his expression became strained.  She knew he was thinking about his scars.  He didn’t always like her attention on them or to have them touched. 

            He shook his head after a minute and stamped a kiss to her forehead.  “I’ll wash later.”  She smiled and then closed her eyes as she rested against him.  She enjoyed the sensation of him gently running his hands along her body.  However, when his hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers sliding along the slit of her core, she found she didn’t want to continue further towards sex, regardless of original intent.  She inched back, away from the contact, and Astarion’s hands immediately lifted off her.

            “Is something wrong, love?” he asked, a note of concern in his tone.

            “No,” Ailis replied quickly.  “I just…can we skip sex tonight?  I just want to naked cuddle in bed.”

            “Of course, darling,” he replied without the teasing or sarcastic response she had expected.  He helped her stand up and step out of the tub.  They both helped the other dry off with a towel.  It wasn’t sexual at all, but it was no less intimate.  They maneuvered over to their bed and slid under the covers.  Astarion pulled her against his chest and began to stroke her back, tracing her spine.  She kept her hands pressed against his chest so he didn’t need to worry about her accidentally brushing his scars.  They shared lazy, long, and languorous kisses, but never moved forward to anything more sensual.

            After a while, Ailis felt sleep calling for her and she yawned.  Astarion pulled her in tighter against him.  “Sleep, Ailis.”

            “Will you still be here in the morning,” she asked, thinking of Astarion’s tendency to slip away at some point during the night.

            “If you want me to be,” he replied.

            “Yes,” she said through a yawn.  “I want you to stay.”

            “Then I’ll stay, darling,” Astarion said and kissed her forehead.  “Sleep now, Ailis.”  She let her eyes close and pressed her face against his chest.  She let herself be soothed to sleep by his hands stroking her back and his promise to stay.

#bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin

[wesawbears]

This is my fic for @thatlosernoonelikes for the @aftgexchange. Proof that I am still alive and making things for this fandom. They asked for Jean/Jeremy, Magic AU and pumpkin patches and I hope I delivered!

Enjoy! Also posted on A03

--

Jean stuck his staff through a pumpkin, watching as it split apart, spreading seeds and strings of pumpkin guts across the ground. To a passerby, it could look like a mere casualty of some stray feet, children excited as they ran through the patch in search of the perfect jack o’ lantern, but Jean just wanted to see how it would look. HIs season was a season of decay, of enjoying the elusive moment before life burnt out. To others that may seem morbid, but there was beauty in the display at his feet, even if Jean was the only one to see it. With a flick of his hand, some of the seeds traveled in a line across the field, scattering away from him. A tap of his staff ensured they would take root in the soil, feeding it for the season to come.

“That was a perfect pumpkin, you know,” said a voice behind him, a familiar playful lilt to it.

“Jeremy,” he answered calmly, not turning to greet his companion.

“Seems a shame to waste it,” the voice continued, unencumbered. Jean looked up when he saw a patch of frost stop at his feet.

“It isn’t a waste. There are plenty others here. Besides- the seeds will help fertilize the ground. It’ll probably make four more pumpkins.”

“Your magic could make this entire field sprout for a whole season, and you know it,” the man said, creating a piece of frost to sit on with a flourish. “You’re just choosing to be grumpy.”

Jean sighed, tapping his staff on the ground and watching the pumpkin piece itself back together. “I am not being grumpy. I am doing my job. Which reminds me- what could Jack Frost be doing here, in October?”

Jeremy shrugged. “First frost could be any time now. Just a dusting, nothing that would stick, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to ruin your crops.” He smirked and leaned back on his hands. “But is it so unrealistic that I’d just want to see my favorite grumpy fall sprite?”

Jean didn’t know how to answer. He’d never truly understood Jeremy’s connection with him. They’d developed something of a…friendly rivalry in the hundreds of years they’d been around. “I won’t be very entertaining company.”

“And what’s got you in a mood then?”

“As you said, I’m a fall sprite. It is in our nature.” Jean smirked. “Or maybe I truly am just grumpy, as you said. Also in my nature.”

Jeremy laughed and snow burst up from the ground in a flurry around his face. “Oh Jean. You’re teasing me.” He sprung up then, holding a hand out for Jean to take. “But you forget I know you. Which means I know that you and I see the beauty in all this. Come, take a walk with me.”

Jean looked at Jeremy’s hand, pale and sparkling with frost, and placed his withered, scarred hand in his. Jeremy swung their hands as they made their way down the path. “You know, I’ve always loved fall. The cider, the leaves falling. Sitting around a fire telling scary stories.” He nudged his shoulder against Jean’s and grinned. “Would you keep me warm, Jean? If we were two mortals sitting around a fire?”

Jean smiled faintly. “I thought you liked the cold.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, eyes glittering, “but it’s so much nicer being cold when there’s someone to warm you up.”

He glanced over at Jeremy and wondered for the hundredth time at how Jeremy surprised him. At first glance, you’d think he was a summer sprite, all sunshine and golden hair. But his hidden depths lay in the fact that he saw the beauty in everything. He saw the joy in snow, in cold, in a world at its most barren. 

He saw the beauty in Jean, a sprite whose main concern lay in dead and dying things.

With a flick of his fingers, a swirl of leaves gathered around them. He pulled a golden one to his hand and tucked it behind Jeremy’s ear.

“It suits you,” he said, scattering the rest of the leaves in the wind.

“Why do I feel more successfully wooed from a leaf than if you’d given me a bouquet of flowers?”

“Because if I’d given you flowers, it would freeze.”

“You know me so well,” Jeremy answered, “Are there already ice crystals on the leaf?”

There were, but Jean didn’t need to tell him that. “Besides, flowers are easy to love. And you-” his courage faltered, but he leaned on his staff for support. “You have always seen the beauty in the hard to love things. It's what I like about you.”

Jeremy stopped, reaching his hands out to cup Jeremy’s scarred face. His hands were cool where they touched his cheeks, power radiating through them in a way he knew was hard for Jeremy to control.  “Oh, my darling. You are so easy to love.”

He brought his lips to Jeremy’s, cool and sparking with magic, as Jean’s hands came to rest on his waist. A flurry of leaves came up to meet them and they stayed there, encased in each other’s magic for a moment before Jeremy pulled away, eyes wide with adoration and mirth.

“I’ll make a romantic of you yet, I think.”

Jean hummed. “As you said. Fall can be romantic. I rather liked all those gothic poets two hundred years ago.”

“Yes. That Shelley character was quite something. You were almost smitten, if I remember right.”

“I was not smitten,” he said. “I just thought Frankenstein was interesting.”

Jeremy smiled and looked across the field. “If you say so.”

Jean kept walking, watching the way the field was bathed in the autumn glow. He felt the energy of the ground beneath him, spreading his magic through the field. He was the sovereign of a season of dying, yes, but maybe Jeremy was right, and that autumn was so beautiful because it was so temporary. There was joy to be found, and Jean could feel the energy flowing through him, the magic of a world holding on to joy, fighting for life in the most hostile conditions.

“Look at that.”

He turned to find what Jeremy was looking at. 

“I guess you were right.”

In the place of the pumpkin from earlier, four new plants had sprouted from the pumpkin in the center.

Jeremy rose up to kiss Jean’s cheek. “It appears you can make life after all.”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“The sun is going down soon,” Jeremy said, a flurry of snowflakes in his wake as he frolicked ahead of Jean. “And I’d quite like to visit a bonfire. Care to come along?”

“I know just the place,” Jean answered, ambling along after him, vines sprouting from his staff.

And so it went, Autumn and Winter along together in tandem, finding joy in the strangest of places, frostbitten leaves in their wake.

#aftg #aftgexchange #jerejean #jeremy knox #jean moreau

[jade-everstone]

Art Summary 2023

(this post is a mirror of the original on my website - Link)

It's that time of year again.

Another design-y layout. Noticed this year I ended up using a lot more light color schemes than last year. I guess it's because this year I wasn't really feeling the same level of 'edge' and 'excitement'. But that's a point for later on. Before that, let's talk about each piece from this year.

January - Io, meets Io!

The first finished pic of the year. Demonic Io meets Reploid Io! This was made as piece to show off both versions of Io together, and reploid! Io ended up being my PFP on other sites for most of the year.

-

February - XZA hangout

This was part of a Secret Valentines exchange for ssshrimpie on Twitter, featuring X, Zero, and Axl together in a group hangout

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March - Io Lounge

Render of Io lounging. This was originally a companion piece to my business card design, originally made to be a postcard design that'd serve a similar purpose. But the idea ended up getting canned & this render stuck around as a page header

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April - Battle with the Lake Demon

This one's a complete reimagining of an older piece of mine for a personal worldbuilding project of mine, spotlighting the main focus of androids hunting demons. Widow, the hunter featured, is about to land the final blow

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May - PC-Mania!

Highlighting since this was the release of my first webseries, PC-Mania! The story of Jade and Iri, two girlfriends where after their computer breaks in a freak accident they have to get a new one... everything goes wrong. This project has had it's ups and downs since then, mostly suffering from post-graduation fatigue + being unable to rebuild a buffer in time. But It's still ongoing & at the time of writing is looking to be finished in 2024.

Available to read on Comic Fury!

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June - MECHA-CHUSSETTS MENTIONED

I'm pretty sure this is the only thing I drew during June because I couldn't find anything else other than this pic of Io as your average New Englander. (for the record, Reploid!Io is from Mecha-chussetts… or Mecha-Chuchets as it's spelled in canon)

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July - Autumn Travels

This year also marks my return to entering zines (the first ones I entered were way back in 2020). I was in two this year; Window to Worlds 2023, and Good Eats: An OC Zine. The one spotlighted is from Window to Worlds & was inspired by fall train trips I did during my time in college.

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August - Me and Io

A self-indulgent pic of me with Reploid! Io. This was more of a test drive for my set-up at home, since my workspace during college was completely different from what I have at home (even with the upgrades I've made since then).

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September - Skibidi-IO

brrr skibidi dum dum dum yes YES

Or in other words I joined a Skibidi toilet collab over on Newgrounds & now I have a pic of Io as an evil toilet hellbent on world domination

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October - Rocket Render

Another snippet from that personal worldbuilding project, this time featuring Rocket, an old android who was built as part of a demon-fighting army, but has since retired to work on a farm and help the surviving populace that way

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November - 9:15 Slushie

5 shorts about the surreal experience of getting a slushie from the convenience store at night, inspired by surreal experiences of my own. It was a black and white comic that was designed to be a something I could easily run copies of at home.

Available to download on Itch.Io, and read on Newgrounds

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December - Hornet!

And finally, my piece for the Newgrounds Secret Santa featuring Blaznthekid's OC, Hornet!

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So, 2023 huh...

Speaking from a personal standpoint, I feel like one hand there was a lot of good that came out of this year for me. I graduated college, I tabled at my first event, I entered 2 zines, I did plenty of comic stuff, and I got back into a hobby after 3 years. But also this year was extremely stressful and demoralizing on many fronts. There's witnessing the industry I went to college for beginning to go under (thanks a lot AI techbros) that started to weigh on me, as well as witnessing & getting reaffirmations on how draconic the art industry is (infact, reading through #comicsbrokeme on twitter reaffirmed my choice to stay indie). But I think a rough post-college transition and struggling to get back on my feet afterwards might've been one of the biggest hurdles in the end.

Think of it like, going from having a studio space and semi-independence & being in contact with IRLs, and then going back home to somewhere better suited to where I was 5+ years ago. Maybe it's because my area's unwalkable, or relationships with my parents have been, wonky to say the least. Or maybe it's the uncertainty of it all. There's a lot.

This year compared to even the rougher parts of 2022 I feel like I've gotten, sadder? & having a lot lower energy. As I hinted at earlier, I think it even shows in my art. I noticed while editing my galleries mid-year that I think I lost some of the 'edge' that my 2022 artwork had. Doesn't mean it's worse, but I do feel it shows the change of energy from past years to now from high-energy to just needing a break.

Last year, I ended on a note about pulling out of pursuing full-time art. Mostly due to realizing how terrible the art world currently is in terms of treating art as "content with value measured by numbers" (ugh...). Though since then, I've decided instead of fully withdrawing from art as a career I'd rather continue to pursue it as a part-time indie artist. Hey, art has always been a dream job after all. Even if I don't want to break into the industry as of now and things are pretty scuffed, I don't think I'd be happy with completely backing out either.

The bigger question now is... what now? I've made loose plans & goals for myself going forward, art-wise I still want to do comics pursue part-time work. But also, I don't really know what the future holds, and that terrifies me. And like last year & the year before it, I don't want to jinx it for myself. Most of my goals for next year are personal & more about continuing to get back on my feet post-college after scrambling and sinking. Some art related, some life related. I don't have to be shooting for the most perfect outcome, I just need to make sure I don't drown.

#art summary #art summary 2023 #2023 #2023 summary of art #summary of art #everstone art #rambles #also this layout was supposed to be jubeat-inspired but I gave up on the theming halfway through tbh

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK! There is a madness deep in the dark catacombs of Castle Clarkenstein. For years these claustrophobic corridors have been the home of the ghoulish giraffe himself, watching as the world passes by. He prefers it this way. It gives him more time alone with the voices. The voices tell him many strange things. Yet they always come back to one: make more monsters! Everyday they tell him this. Everyday he is unable to comply. Hey, being a mad scientist on a budget means he can’t afford the fancy scientific equipment needed to breathe life into newborn abominations. Guy’s gotta afford pizza somehow. Luckily, he has discovered a way of sorts to please the voices. During all those years of watching, Dr. Clarkenstein noticed a particular pattern. Every night during October saw artists posting new pictures based on peculiar prompts. Many of them based on children of the night. While the spotted specter might not be able to craft new zombies, he can sure as heck sketch’m! As such, I provide this friendly warning to you all now: Be afraid. Few people can survive the horrors that are DUDELZ of the Damned!

By that I mean I decided to do my own take on Sketchtober this year just minus the prompts. Anybody gotta problem with that? Tough, cuz I already drew this crap so you might as well check it out.

Octoberfair has returned to Clarksburg! Based on the German festival of a similar name, adults are invited to partake in food and beer sampling while the kids run around and play. Since this is an Americanized version of the event, naturally the events lean heavily on Halloween theming more than fall itself. Hence carnival attractions like The Haunted House, Down the Zombie, a FEARis Wheel, and of course the Creepy Corn Maze! It’s here we find Bumper and Xena, the two out to have fun as Crocie feeds on pumpkin-spiced funnel cake in the main tent. Bumper would’ve stayed with his fat friend for it not for Xena presenting her pal with a wager. Should he escape the corn maze before her, without the aid of any of his phantom powers, he may pick their Halloween costumes for this year. Having the perfect costumes in mind, Bumper accepted his alien friend’s terms, thinking this would be a piece of pumpkin pie. About a minute in was enough to prove the little ghoul wrong. He was constantly set upon by scare actors whenever he wasn’t lost in the paths of corn. Just as the floating marshmallow was about to throw in the towel, a rustling noise made its way through the stalks. His fear was immediately replaced by interest when the source of the noise turned out to be a black cat named Kiki. Like always, it didn’t take long for Bumper to befriend the feline, who led Bumper out of the maze. Xena followed close behind, congratulating her best buddy on a job well done. When asked how he did it, the ghost revealed he had some help. Yet when he turned to introduce Xena to Kiki, the cat was gone. What happened to her?

Who knows, cuz she’s not gonna be a recurring character. Sorry folks, the Samp Gang doesn’t need a pet. Their quota of mostly silent, largely adorable companions has already been met by the giggling lil’ ghouly himself. Adding a cat to the mix would just complicate things and draw attention away from our main four heroes. If I’m feeling nice I’ll have Kiki pop up in future Halloween pictures, but for now I just wanted to draw Bumper being friendly to a black cat. Personally I’ve always thought it was weird how they were associated with bad luck when they’re such adorable fuzzballs. Considering Crocie’s stories are about finding kindred spirits in the most peculiar places, I figured a black cat would fit the bill nicely. Of course I had to name it after one of my favorite cartoon witches, but I had trouble deciding on either Luz or Kiki. Only after I ran the names and sketch by my friend @the-pale-servant did I settle for Kiki. I hope you all enjoy her and this DUDEL!

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

#clarktoons #clarktooncrossing #Halloween #original art #original character #ai art sucks #dudelz #dudelz of the damned #halloween art #inktober #orange #say no to ai art #black cat #witch #witch cat #Kiki #Bumper #ghost #floating marshmallow #corn maze #Crocs Swamp Gang

[swordbreakerz]

Day 15: time is long

I wrote a love letter about my weird timeline listening to friends at the table that is very rambly and doesn't have much of a point and is a little personal and I'm putting it under a readmore because I'm shy and going to throw my phone into the ocean after this posts

This July marks a full year since I got back into friends at the table. I watched the NNAF stream live, the first day at work since it was my last day (what were they gonna do, fire me?), and the second day at home, half dozing through the first three hours because I wasn't used to being up at 9am on a Monday. The Marielda one shot and stretch reward of a Hieron epilogue finally piqued my interest in that campaign, and I started Autumn in Hieron the next day.

It had been probably a year and a half since I'd listened to any day at that point, back in October 2020 (the 23rd, to be exact, according to my discord DMs) a friend of mine got me interested and I started listening to COUNTER/weight. I blew through it in a couple weeks, finishing it on November 17th, and it has the high honor of being one of the only pieces of media to make me cry after finishing it before I was medicated. I jumped straight into Twilight Mirage, but only made it about halfway before I quit the job I'd been working, and fell off of it, because I'd been using my 8hr shifts to burn through episodes. Despite quitting my job Again just as I was getting back on though, last year it stuck and I caught up with the entire backlog of podcast, including Bluff City, in maybe… four or five months if I remember right? It truly caught me by the throat.

Now, I'm fully caught up and staying on top of weekly releases better, being employed helps so I have a dedicated task to do while listening. It's become a regular fixture of my life and I've been thinking about voices defining a time in your life, and how summer 2022 will forever be my summer of friends at the table. The friends were my constant companion, I listened to the least amount of music that year than I maybe ever have, my spotify wrapped minutes on music were dwarfed by the nearly ~700 hours of podcast (spotify is easier to binge with at work, and I like stats).

This podcast reignited my creativity and drive after an art slump and brought me closer with one of my cherished friends, it taught me things about storytelling and political theory, it forced me to process old grief while sobbing for two hours straight after finishing Marielda. I could probably keep going, but being vulnerable makes me want to dig a very deep hole and lie in it forever, and honestly if any of the cast does see this I think I might die if I put anything too personal in it.

I'm not sure where the point I was leading to went. This podcast is like a reliable clock (hah) to me. It's my Friday work treat when seasons are live, Animal Out of Context can lull me to sleep in less than 30 minutes, Orbital made me laugh so hard I nearly cried in front of my coworker. Having something become such a north star in your life, especially something close to the ground like this, is fun and weird and scary all at the same time. I went from barely paying attention to ttrpg news to The PBTA Guy in my friendgroup in a matter of months. I still cry if I think about The Chime or Hella or Maelgwyn or Fero or Lem too hard. I'm getting a tattoo based on C/W at some point for gods sake.

Anyway. It's amazing how time and passion can worm it's way into your heart. Keep telling stories, keep loving eachother, I'm going to go dig a deep hole now, mwah

#15daysoffatt #15 days of fatt #fatt #f@tt #friends at the table #and z speaks #almost didnt tag this bc talking about my feelings gives me hives but i love it here a lot so. u all can see it a little i guess

[sublimecatgalaxy]

✨Art Posts✨

Below you will find the updated Art posts that I will post every Wednesday. I will provide links of my weekly favorites and give the creator or the OP, along with a comment. This is the second out of two of them since I had to many in the original post.

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Wednesday, October 5th:

Halloween Kitty: I love this gif of this cat mostly because I love Halloween more than anything because it's my birthday! So I just wanted to share this kitty with every posted by @winslowat3am.

Companion: This is a really wholesome piece made by the lovely @mjulmjul who is so extremely talented. I just really like the Halloween vibes and the spooky vibes!

Creepy Yet Beautiful: This piece by @loish hit home since I actually live near a really big factory that sort of looks like this at night. Though it's terrible for the environment, it is really haunting and creepy looking.

Wednesday, October 19th:

Happy Meowlloween: I love that Halloween, aka my birthday, is coming up so I figured I'd throw this one in here since I also am obsessed with cats. This was created by the lovely and talented @zandramims!

Sanctuary: This piece by @8pxl offers me an unbelievable amount of comfort, like just looking out over the city- I'd love to live up on a hill where I can see this.

Frogs and Mushrooms: I love frogs and I'm obsessed with mushrooms so here's this piece by @lemon-illustrations. I love fall and everything to do with fall, except the mold on the leaves that I'm allergic to lol.

Wednesday, October 26th:

Cat Witch Party: You guys know the drill, Halloween is my birthday and I love cats so it would be silly of me to not post this digital art piece by @libbyframe.

Lantern Plants: This is just so cute. So wholesome. Nothing more to say. Created by the wholesome and wonderful @maruti-bitamin.

Wednesday, November 2nd:

In The Grass: There's something just so pretty and soothing about this piece of art created by @wormbus-art. It's just really pretty and I spent like an hour just going through their page.

Cozy Season: You guys know me cozy vibes, books and cats. This piece literally spoke to me lol. And the creator, @yuumei-art, is just so lovely and all of their work is so beautiful.

Wednesday, December 7th:

Waves: This is just so aesthetically pleasing and I just love the soft colors. This was posted by @thecollectibles, go check out their account, it's awesome!

Fairy Houses: This is just remarkable and looks like something straight out of a fantasy novel. I just love the choices in detail and I think it's just beautiful. Posted and created by the wonderful @gulistan-blog.

Wednesday, January 18th:

Cat Cow: I just think this is possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen. As you all know, I'm a big cat (and dog) person but I also adore cows with my whole heart. When I was a kid I used to scream 'friends!' out the window whenever I saw them in a field. Thank you for this post, @camilicy.

Extra Round: All I'm gonna say; look at how fat they are. Thank you @asmeesh for this post, it truly made my whole day so much better, it's so friggin cute.

Wednesday, January 25th:

Moo Moo: I love cows more than anything else in this whole world. If you go back through both of my art posts, you'll see how many art works with cows I have. I love it and I love @rosefinchie for creating this work of art!!

Ellie: So I've loved the Last of Us for years and now, in honor of the new amazing show, I thought I'd use my platform to show off some of @zoemar-son work! This is wonderful, I love Ellie with my whole heart.

Wednesday, February 8th:

Larkspur and Lilies: This beautiful piece was done by @libbyframe and I just think it's beautiful. They're an amazing artist, go give their stuff a look!

Pixie Cup Lichen: GUYS!!! You know me and my microbiological loving ass, I love mushrooms, I love fungi, I'm making a whole career out of loving microbiology so I had to share this with you guys, it was created by @fairydropart.

Wednesday, February 15th:

Froggie: I just thought this piece done by @titsay is so wholesome and cute and I LOVE frogs.

Hearts Day: This other piece done by the wonderful @titsay is so wholesome, especially because I have a kitty who looks just like this!

Wednesday, February 22nd:

On A Date: THIS IS SO CUTE NO WORDS I HAVE NO WORDS. This was created by the wholesome @spicymochi who's whole blog is just awesome.

Bouquet: This looks like the flowers that my love gave me for Valentines day so I thought it would be nice to add to this. This was made by the lovely @libbyframe, go give them a look!

[cagliostrohq]

                                    BEGIN QUEST 001: TO TOPPLE A GUARDIAN

i. The monster hordes finally overwhelm Selphia’s defenses. They roam the streets unchecked, creating enough damage that families are advised to shelter indoors until the threat can be vanquished. Princess Calista decrees that the three houses of Spirit Warriors put aside their differences to temporarily function as one. With their combined gifts, they can put an end to this surge in monsters by defeating The Marionettist on Whale Island. The community comes together to prepare for the battle. Days are spent enchanting magical weaponry, practicing coordinated attacks, and rounding up supplies for the inevitable medic bay. Research conducted by the Wizard of Whale Island identifies the creature’s weak points:

The Marionettist is extremely vulnerable to physical attacks -- a slash of a sword, any elemental gift from House Fraser, and so forth. However, the monster throws up a magical barrier called an aura that is impervious to physical attacks.

Only magical spells and psychic energy typically found among House Beltran can cause the aura to shatter. Once its defenses are down, stun The Marionettist with hard-hitting physical attacks.

While it’s stunned, sever the four stitches on its mouth to defeat it. They are too dense for normal weaponry, but a splash of House Vanitas’ corrosive blood should dissolve it quickly.

The Marionettist will fight by lobbing psychic blasts with intense knockback. Each blast has a chance of imbuing you with a magical effect, such as instant sleep or being frozen on the spot. More common is its ability to cause an overwhelming surge of a single emotion: humor so intense you cannot stop laughing, sadness so severe you simply lay down on the battlefield to sob, happiness so extreme that you lose your sense of self-preservation, and more. One-way portals where monsters emerge are still active on the island, with the creatures’ abilities being magically amplified by The Marionettist’s presence.

ii. The Marionettist is slayed by the united warrior houses on October 20th. Onlookers watch with relief as the monster portals scattered across the island seal shut and the titan topples over with a final, dying roar. All await for the defeated monster to transform into a dreamstone, but their patience is in vain. Sudden movement near the creature’s corpse causes everyone to stand on edge. A small seemingly friendly puppet monster crawls from the Marionettist’s mouth. So startled by the crowd, it immediately dives back inside the fallen titan.

           Only to be thrown out by another figure emerging from the giant’s corpse.

Alvar Beltran, the founder of House Beltran, climbs out of the titan’s mouth. At first, he appears no different than the day he was last seen over six hundred years ago. As he stands, the crowd gasps at the sight of his entire body marked by golden veins. “There is no need for alarm,” he says. The smaller puppet monster scurries to hide behind him.

         “Many years ago, my monster companion and myself sacrificed ourselves by absorbing a small part of The Boundary’s essence,” he says. “We hoped that severing and containing even a fraction of its magic would help weaken it, if only temporarily. Our plan worked, but we became a monstrous vessel until you all freed us. While a piece of The Boundary lived within me, I was able to extract this core memory from it.”

          Alvar presents an obsidian-like memory sphere to the crowd.

         "I cannot aid you on your quest to defeat it, as I sacrificed my ability to do magic. But here, take this memory sphere."

iii. The skies darken before the memory sphere can exchange hands. An infernal, ear-splitting shriek of agony forces the crowd to buckle and cover their ears. Like a tapestry of shadows, it shrouds everyone present in a blanket of absolute darkness. The Boundary has made its appearance. Weaponry helplessly phases through it, and no magical gift or spell can touch it. But, you make out the oblong sag of its spineless head and vacant, soulless eyes as its oozing maw cracks open.

                                               “That...belongs...to me.”                                                            “To...me.”                                                            ̵͓̓ ̵̖̒“̴̱̾T̸͍̕Ǒ̵͈ ̸̡͐M̶̭̈́E̸̗̍.̵̠͗"̴̞̊

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2...

OOC: For a refresher on the monster portals appearing on Whale Island and The Marionettist’s appearance, take a look at the end of our first event HERE !!! There is no time limit to this event, so you’re free to post content related to it at any point in time so long as it’s tagged!

#cag: event #cag: event 002 #cag: to topple a guardian #fantasy rp #appless rp

[betsy-jones]

Tomuween 2021 Drawing Challenge

The first Tomuween challenge I did after my friends suggested it when I couldn't pick which October/Halloween art challenge to go with. Making my own around Tomu, my Pandaren Pol in WoW's companion, was a good idea and I created a collection of small cool, a little creepy or funny art pieces. Also allowed me to mess around with some different art styles and tools. Link to the full collection of Tomuweens on my DeviantArt.

Drawings:

This is the very first Tomuween drawing, so it had to be something to get things going so went with something very popular for Halloween.

If anyone played WoW around mid to late 2021 you know what this is. lol My friend picked the title to go with this clear drawing of a fruit bowl... and she also apparently printed out a little framed version and hung it near her monitor. xD

Inspired by the Dead by Daylight Oni. Only it's Tomu's spin on it. :D I really liked this one since I played with a sort of ink style and made my own watercolour brushes to go with.

The last two. Monk on the left, perhaps he took after Pol in this case and picked up some monk skills of his own. Icly he has shown the ability to pick up sticks as staves and was gifted a training sword months back. On the right is his "true form" wether or not him having a true form is truth or not is up to you. xD

#Tomu #Tomuween #Art #2d art #Art Challenge #october art prompts #drawing #october art challenge #Digital Art #Snowy Panda #Red Panda #world of warcraft #WoW #OC #original character #Betsy #Pol #Halloween #cute #fluffy #pumpkin #vampire #scream #oni #dbd #monk #fruitbowl #fruit bowl

[mr-no-life]

History and Music.

HI! Wow it feels like forever since I made a new post here. I had a whole elaborate idea of reviewing my favorite things for the month of August, but life had other plans. So, Fall is finally upon us and to the general U.S that means Halloween is around the corner (even though in my mind October is the spooky season). So, now that being said, let’s discuss something a bit different, Bards and War. 

Back in June one of the albums I had reviewed (and quite liked) was The War to End all Wars by Sabaton and it got me thinking. Throughout history there has always been “the Bard '' someone to sing a song about events long past. Wherever there is a story to tell, big or small, someone is there to record it for future generations. As long as humans could speak, we have sought out ways to preserve our history. Whether you are William Shakespeare or you just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time, there have been (and always will be) people writing history. Events in history have often been a driving force for a lot of artists. Let’s look at the 60s through the 80s for instance. The political climate (and the fallout thereof) has given light to a lot of classic pieces we know and love today (Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival comes to mind with this). The difference with this and bands like Sabaton is that those songs are made in the moment and are made in reflection of the time, but what about the events that happened before “The Modern Era”? The allure of bygone eras and the mystery shrouded  events that leave us wondering “So what actually happened?” have always been a siren call for artists and musicians. The ups and downs of human history are essentially ripe for the picking when  it comes to interpretations. Books, poems, news articles and more have always been a healthy starting spot for those who wish to draw inspiration from them. 

Now, you are probably wondering, “Why and how does a tangent about Bards and war have to do with music and sound design??” Well, the way I see it, music is just poetry with a musical arrangement. Music is a very effective and flexible storytelling mechanism. Not only is it a creative way to explain something that could be absolutely boring to some people, but you also ignite curiosity in those who wish to dive deeper. Or can make an excellent companion piece for a much bigger project. But, the point of this long-winded tangent is that a lot of music today really started out as ways to share stories of days past or to express one’s opinion on a current event that will grab someone’s attention. 

Now it would be very easy to dive into character designs of Bards from the media (I'm thinking of one Jaskier from the Witcher comes to mind) but that is not my place to talk. Instead, I am going to explain how a Power metal band from Sweden and a Black metal band from Ukraine (honestly at this point if I mention anything about Ukraine it is nothing political) have in common when it comes to sharing history. 

Let’s start with a brief explanation of the bands in question. Hailing from Sweden and with bangers like “To Hell and Back” and “Primo Victoria” you’ve by no doubt heard of Sabaton. Amassing a nice little niche of metal-heads and history nerds (of which I am both) albeit they do cover some deep topics (such as everyone’s favorite angry mustachio man) it is largely in a lively entertaining fashion. When compared to Ukrainian based Black/Death metal band 1914, shit gets HEAVY. 1914 is actually a more recent discovery and the main inspiration behind this piece. They mainly focus on the atrocities of World War 1 (hence the name) and whew boy, if their goal was to make you uncomfortable, well congrats, they did it in spades.  The Great War (released in 2019) and the 2022 follow up The War to End all Wars are not Sabaton’s first dip into WW1 history. These two albums focus primarily on bringing to light some small details that most people may not have known about a war largely forgotten about. The effectiveness is almost hard to describe because I often find myself digging deeper into these events. This leads back to what I mentioned earlier, music is an effective delivery system to have a nice summary about something, even if the event is tragic and depressing. Speaking of depression, the band 1914 is essentially (the way I like to describe it) “Sabaton but more gritty.” Tone also affects a song’s delivery as well and they nail the dark horrors of war to a T.  Hell, the  lead singer  has a bayonetted  rifle as a microphone stand  (nothing to nit pick,  just aesthetically on point). I have not  heard a  whole lot  about  them, but I have heard  bits from their latest album Where Fear and Weapons Meet and woof it’s a hard  listen to. I'm not a Black metal fan by default, but I can see where fans may like this. 

So what is the overall conclusion? Well, in short , if it were not for History, we would not have people (like Bards) to sing about them. 

This was an odd topic to try and write out, so if it seems all over the place and a bit short I apologize, next month (which is soon yikes) will be more on par with  the technical side of music. This month I wanted  to experiment  with  a little more freeform history. Maybe down the road we will revisit this topic again. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this and  I hope to see you again next time. If  you have any questions or care to  support me click the  like  HERE for  links to social media and donations.

Stay Safe 😊

#music #audio engineering #audio music #audio production #live music #design #music history #War #1914 #Bard #History

[maria-tries]

happy 1st of december to all winter witches ❄️

#illustration #art #witch #original art #original character #winter #witch art #OC #mariatries OC #mariart #so this is a companion piece to one I made back in October with my 1st daughter Nela #this is my 2nd daughter Ingrid #who is terrible and I love her

[undercoveravenger]

Capitol Costume Parties

Written for my 2021 Halloween event.

Pairing: Cato x Male!Reader

Prompt: Cato + “You have a tail. And ears. Please tell me those aren’t real.”

A/N: This was the tenth prompt for my 2021 Halloween event! The next piece will be posted on Saturday, October 23rd.

-----

In the time since Cato had won the Hunger Games, he had started to get used to the specific brand of extremism that came with a visit to the Capitol. He’d grown… not comfortable, but accustomed to the dyed skin and hair that was popular with the Capitol’s citizens. The odd beings had always made him a little uncomfortable, but with the discomfort of their presence came the blessing of yours.

You’d been the escort sent by the Capitol to accompany Cato and Clove on their way to the Games and in the days leading up to entering the Arena and in the weeks on the Victory Tour, Cato had grown close to you. You’d been a breath of fresh air; virtually untouched by the all-around weirdness of the Capitol- normal, despite having lived your whole life in the city.

Cato supposed that was the reason that seeing you across the room at a crowded Capitol party was so shocking. Well, seeing you wasn’t so surprising, he mused, Those were.

Emerging from your (h/c) locks were a pair of pointed wolf ears, which flicked and jolted at the varying noises of the party. At one point, you turned to speak to someone behind you and Cato caught a glimpse of a matching tail swishing behind you.

Eventually Cato managed to catch you when you were on your own, over near the bar lining one edge of the room.

“Oh,” you’d said, eyes widening as you turned to head back to your companions and came face to face with Cato. Your expression brightened as you recognized him, “Cato! It’s been ages since you’ve come to visit! How have you been?”

Your pleased reaction had a small smile teasing at the edge of Cato’s lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything but your new… appendages. “You… have a tail. And ears. Please tell me those aren’t real?”

A bright laugh bubbled out of you, eventually settling into a fond grin, “No, Cato, they’re not real. A stylist friend of mine made them; they’re programmed to respond to sound. You realize this was meant to be a costume party, right?”

Cato blinked, and then again, turning to look around him. After a moment, he shrugged and turned back to you, “If I’m being honest, everyone here looks just as weird as they always do.”

“Do you think I’m weird too?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye as you looked up at him.

He blanched, trying to figure out how to respond in a way that wouldn’t completely blow his chances with you.

You laughed, waving off his silence and setting a hand on his shoulder, “Look, I chose to live in the Capitol instead of taking a residentially stationed job in one of the districts. I know I’m not normal.” You trailed your hand down his arm until you could lace your fingers with his and tug him after you onto the dance floor, “Let me show you that being strange isn’t so bad?”

With you looking up at him like that, Cato was sure that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t get him to do.

#male reader x cato #cato x male!reader #cato x male reader #reader x cato #cato x reader #male!reader x hunger games #male reader x hunger games #hunger games x male reader #reader x hunger games #hunger games x reader #male reader insert #male!reader #male reader #male!reader insert #x male reader #x male!reader #male reader x #halloween event

[kueble]

2021 Year in Review

I wanted to do a fic roundup for the year. I posted a total of 271,996 words to Ao3 this year! That's crazy to me! Below you'll find my two favorite fics from each month (one sfw and one nsfw). Some months were harder to pick than others, but I'm very proud of everything I've accomplished this year. Let's hope 2022 goes just as well!

I am well aware that the majority of these are Geraskier, but that's my bread and butter, so it is what it is lol.

My overall favorite is the Geraskier Big Bang I wrote and posted in July: It's a Hungry World, Explicit, 25,000 words, Prophecy claims to have a lot in store for Fae Prince Julian. As the younger prince, he's not destined to rule, but is meant to lead his mother's troops to victory. He wants no part of it, and finds himself enamored with the human realm instead of his own. He doesn't mean to fall in love with one of them, especially one who doesn't love him back, but it turns out no one can escape their destiny...or love.

January

Bit of a Mess - Geraskier, Teen, 1300 words, Jaskier helps Geralt take care of a new scar.

All Dolled Up - Geraskier, Explicit, 2700 words, Jaskier gets dressed up for himself.

February

Imagined Flaws and All - Geraskier, Teen, 1200 words, Geralt has a rough day and Jaskier can't help making him feel better.

Glowing - Geraskier, Explicit, 2500 words, Jaskier accidentally finds out Geralt has a thing for being spanked.

March

Perfect Pair - Geraskier, Gen, 1100 words, Jaskier is hurt on a hunt, and Geralt thinks this is how he loses him.

Like Vines, We Intertwined - Geraskier/Leshen, Explicit, 1500 words, A leshen comes across Geralt and Jaskier while they're going at it. Everyone has a good time.

April

Guilty Pleasure - Geraskier, Teen, 2800 words, Ciri begs Geralt to take her to see a local band and the singer is really something else.

Let's Use Them Up 'til Every Little Piece Is Gone - Geraskier, Explicit, Mass Effect Crossover, 6200 words, Jaskier knows the minute Geralt Rivia steps foot on Omega.

(mer)May

Rubies in the Sun - Lambden, Teen, 2100 words, Aiden had made him promise that if he ever got seriously hurt, he’d get him into the nearest body of water.

Indulgent - Geraskier, Explicit, 3500words, Jaskier books an afternoon at the private baths in the hopes that he can convince Geralt to transform for him.

June

If You'll Let Me - Jaskel, Teen, 1400 words, Jaskier is quite taken by the shy witcher.

I Wanna Live a Life From a New Perspective - Geraskier, Explicit, words, Jaskier can't help admiring Geralt's body while he bathes after a contract gone wrong.

July

Stars in His Eyes - Jaskier/Dandelion, Teen, 1500 words, Jaskier has been secretive all day and Dandelion is heartbroken over it.

I'm Trying to Keep From Going Under - Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, Explicit, 3800 words, Incubus!Jaskier goes into heat and Geralt knows he needs help riding it out.

August

Drenched - Geraskier, Teen, 800 words, Geralt tries to cheer Jaskier up after he gets dumped.

No Matter How Lovely - Geraskier, Explicit, 6700 words, Geralt does his best to ignore the growing feelings his has for his pint sized companion. Spoiler: it doesn't work.

September

Just Kitten Around - Geraskier, Mature, 2000 words, Jaskier isn't sure how Geralt will react when he brings up kitten play.

I Wanna Hear You Sing the Praise - Geraskier, Explicit, 3200 words, Jaskier wants a mating bite, but Geralt can only do that in his werewolf form. Thankfully, nobody minds.

October

Out of Commission - Geralt/Eskel, Teen, 1100 words, Eskel wakes up in a bed, not quite sure how he got there.

Hold My Hand (Oh Baby, it's a Long Way Down) - Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, 4200 words, “You need to mate?” Geralt asks, and he can practically feel Eskel vibrating next to him. How does he end up in these situations?

November

So Easy - Geraskier, Teen, 1100 words, Jaskier has a bad day and Geralt helps him relax afterwards.

Forget Me Knot - Geraskier, Explicit, 1500 words, Jaskier has a new toy and an afternoon to himself...or so he thinks.

December

Tactile - Geraskier, Teen, 1600 words, Jaskier has always been a very tactile person, and the lack of casual touches has started to eat away at him.

Stay - Geraskier, Explicit, 2400 words, Instead of hugs or apologies, they fuck.

#year end fic roundup #my fic #some of these were SO hard to pick #I wrote a lot of things I like my dudes #Geraskier #lambden #jaskel #the witcher

[rocorambles]

Trapped

Pairing: Sakusa x Reader

Prompt: Fantasy

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationship, NSFW, Fantasy AU, Sorcerer Sakusa, Rape/Non-Con, Mind Control, Manipulation, Obsessive and Posessive Behavior, Degradation

Summary: You should have trusted your gut instincts, the lessons you had learned the hard way about just how cruel powerful men could be. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Friday, October 30th 11:00pm U.K. time!)  

You splutter awake, laughing, but also groaning as a wet tongue slobbers all over your face and you lightly shove the fox that’s currently standing beside your resting head, intent on waking you up to play. Blearily you blink your eyes, trying to gauge what time it is based on the light seeping into the cave you’ve come to call your home. Judging by the bright rays of sunlight, it’s already mid-morning and you stretch your arms above your head, petting your furry companion behind its ears before standing up and treading out into the forest, your friend walking right beside you, its tail brushing against your leg. 

The familiar peace and quiet of the wind rustling past branches and the faint chirping of birds wafts through the air and you smile as you continue making your way to the nearby waterfall, various four-legged animals that have come to be your family and friends popping their heads out of grassy patches and from behind trees in greeting. You can’t even remember the last time you’d seen another human being and you grimace at the thought of your last encounter. 

Orphans, especially female orphans like you, rarely survive for long and you bitterly remember the years of being a street urchin, never knowing when your next bite of food would come, never knowing who to trust in a world full of both humans and magical creatures who’d do horrible things to an unclaimed child and you shiver at the thought of possibly being eaten or harvested for ingredients for countless dark magic spells. But life had only gotten harder the older you became and as a single, vulnerable woman, you began to attract a different attention, no longer able to blend as seamlessly as you once had with predatory eyes trailing after you, resting too long on parts of your body that you desperately wanted to hide from the world. 

You tried sticking it out, finding ad hoc jobs here and there as a maid, as a seamstress, as a waitress. But corruption ran deep wherever you went and disgust makes you recoil when you remember all the times you’d been cornered by all types of men and creatures, received unwanted touches in hidden corners and degrading remarks of what your only purpose in life was. And after being left to sob, pain lancing between your legs, your clothes ripped to shreds, knowing no one would ever take your side, knowing that this would just continue happening over and over again, you vowed to never have anything to do with another sentient being ever again. 

You’d heard rumors of the forest, about its enchantment, about the stories of terrible things hiding away in its heart, but you couldn’t imagine any monster worse than the ones you’ve already encountered and you determinedly march forward, never turning back to look at the city you’re leaving behind. And as you step past the border of trees, even you, someone who’s never had anything to do with magic, can feel the surge of power, feel the crackling energy as you delve deeper and deeper. But maybe the forest could sense that you meant it no harm, maybe it knew that you were just a lonely, helpless soul, maybe it felt generous, felt pity for the damaged woman seeking refuge. Whatever the case was, it left you alone and in all the years you’d made a home in its lush vegetation, not once had you met any of the ghastly creatures you’d heard so many horror stories of. And maybe that’s why you let your guard down when you meet him, finding a false security in the wood and grass-filled world you now live in. 

You don’t bother being quiet or stealthy as you walk. Why would you when there’s never been anyone else around? So imagine your shock when black human eyes are staring at you as you round the corner and reach the water’s edge and panic laces through you when you see how masculine and strong he looks, overwhelming fear making you tremble when you take in the staff you see laying next to him. 

A sorcerer. 

You’d learned the hard way that men were never to be trusted and that men with power and wealth were the ones to be even more wary of. Fortunately you’d only dealt with vile wealthy men and as awful as they had been, you know men gifted with an affinity for magic make those nobles seem as harmless as kittens in comparison. You’d seen firsthand the havoc sorcerors could wreak, seen the charred, mutilated, disfigured bodies put on display at the city gates as an example of the fate for anyone who rebels against the crown. To your knowledge, all sorcerors worked for the royal family, rarely leaving the walled fortress unless sent on a mission or task, but never in a place like this so-called cursed forest. So what was he doing here? 

The urge to flee thrums through your veins, but when he makes no move to stand or get any closer to you, curiosity gets the better of you and you stay rooted to your spot and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself asking the first question that comes to mind. 

“Who are you?” 

When Sakusa had ventured outside of the castle walls for a break from the irritating humans inside the cramped corridors and bustling courtrooms, he had purposefully chosen a place where no other soul would be. His hand had immediately wrapped around his staff as the sound of approaching rustling interrupted his thoughts, but when you had made your presence known, he could only stare in awe, staff forgotten as he took you in. 

You’re different from the usual noble women he sees on a daily basis. For one, you’re barely wearing anything, a makeshift dress of strung together leaves, flowers, and grass the only thing covering you and he can feel his face grow hot as he tries not to blatantly stare at your bare legs and arms. But as he really regards you, he can’t help but feel something wild, something primal in you and he blinks in shock when he realizes that you have the same energy as the forest, as if the forest has claimed you as one of its own and he’s so entranced by his realization that he’s startled by the sound of your voice.

From anyone else, he would have scowled at the forwardness and bluntness of the question, but for some reason, coming from you, he finds himself easily answering. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi” 

People, conversations, human interaction. Those are all things Sakusa abhors and yet, as you tentatively draw closer to him, staring at him in wide eyed curiosity while the two of you exchange words, he thinks he doesn’t mind any of those things when you’re involved. He comes to visit you as often as he can, something warm blooming inside of him as he sees your hackles relax, notices how you inch closer and closer to him every time he arrives, and he can’t help but compare you to a wild animal and behind the warmth in his chest, something darker lurks, and he wonders what it would be like to tame you, claim you back from the wooded forest that had taken you in, mark you as his own. 

And that thought festers and grows inside of him. 

He does his best to keep it at bay, play it off as just a fleeting idea, but when your eyes and body begin to seep into his dreams, into his every waking thought, he can’t keep the desire down any longer and when he strides towards you once more, he drops to one knee in front of you, asking for your hand in marriage. 

In hindsight it probably was foolish to think that you were as smitten with him, foolish to think that someone who had been scarred enough to escape from civilization would easily just return to the place full of painful memories, and yet red hot anger blazes through him when you turn him down. It doesn’t matter how sweet and kind you are about it, gently letting him down and telling him you’re sure he’d find someone much better suited to being his wife, someone prim and proper, someone educated and knowledgeable of court intricacies. 

Humiliation only fuels his rage as he rises back to his feet and he can feel his magic churning, waiting to be used, dancing at his fingertips, and he has half a mind to forcefully drag you back with him, but he retracts it, pushes it down deep inside of him as he takes a deep breath. No, he wants you to come back and grovel at his feet, beg him to take you in, to help you. He wants you to feel the same need for him that he feels for you and he bites his tongue and restrains himself as his mind begins to plan and strategize. 

He tries to remain as normal as possible, still going to visit you as often as before, but his nails dig into the palm of his hands at the pity in your eyes and he clenches his teeth at the way that you tread around him like he’s a wounded animal. But he takes those feelings and lets them drive him late through the night as he chants strange words, flips through old scrolls, experiments with different spells and ingredients and a rare smile stretches across his face when the pieces finally come together. 

It’s time to take set his plan in motion and in the middle of the night while most of the city is fast asleep, there’s a strange flashing light, a rush of something sinister in the air, and the murmurs of masculine chanting swirling in the air, lingering, and foreshadowing the dark days ahead. But you remain asleep, peacefully ignorant of the shift in the atmosphere, naive to just how much your life will change.  

 You wake up, surprised by the lack of a warm furry body or tongue lapping at your face, and you vaguely wonder if you’d woken up in the middle of the night, but the sunlight filtering through tells you a different story. You feel strange, warning bells beginning to faintly clamor in your head, and you gingerly step outside of your lair only to freeze at the dead silence surrounding you. It’s always quiet and calm in the forest, but where there is usually the sound of nature and creatures, now there is only a deathly silence and you stare in horror as the forest seems to decay right in front of your eyes. What used to be green grass is wilting and brown. The trees you’d spent years climbing and picking fruit from are completely bare. But what makes a choked sob get caught in your throat is the corpses of the animals who’d you come to be so fond of littered around you and your slow stuttered amble becomes a frenzied run, as you race through your dying home, hoping to see any sign of life left. 

But days pass and the state of your home only gets worse. Your throat is parched without clean water to drink, all the water sources near you murky and littered with fish corpses indicating just how toxic they’ve become. Your stomach aches with hunger, no vegetation, fruits, or animals nearby for you to ingest. And a deep loneliness churns inside of you and once again you feel as alone as you did when you were just a dirty street urchin trying to scrape together a living off the streets. 

So when Sakusa comes for his regular visit and finds your weakened body slumped on the floor of your cave, it just makes sense to you, survival instincts kicking in, to drag yourself over to his feet, fling your arms around him when he finally bends down, and sob into his chest. You don’t question the way he’s slow to crouch down to your level and comfort you. You don’t see the cruel smile on his face when he sees you pathetically laying at his feet. You don’t notice the glee in his eyes as you beg him to take you with him. And when he asks you if you’d like to come and be his assistant, you eagerly nod your head and cling tighter to him, burying your face in his comforting and familiar presence as he teleports the two of you back to his living quarters. 

Months pass and despite your initial wariness of returning to live among other beings, you find that Sakusa seems to dislike being around others just as much as you, and the two of you find a comfortable way of life mostly holed up in his living quarters with only the other as company. You’d never really been exposed or taught anything about magic growing up, so you’re genuinely fascinated as you watch Sakusa chant, attentively listening as he tells you what each ingredient is, eagerly following his every step as he shows you firsthand how to mix different potions. And Sakusa thinks that your aptitude for learning, the perfect synchronization the two of you have as you seamlessly work your way into his rhythm, preparing and setting things up before he even needs to tell you, speaks volumes of just how perfect the two of you are together, speaks volumes of how you were meant to be together. 

He continues strategizing, gaining your trust, letting you grow accustomed to his presence, smiling at the way you don’t even bat an eye when his hands linger on yours a bit longer than normal when he hands you something, at the way you don’t tense up anymore when he presses his body against you from behind as he physically guides and shows you how to do something. And he knows he’s on the right track when you take the initiative to swipe a strand of his hair behind his ear as he concentrates on a task at hand, when you perch your chin on his shoulder, peeking over his shoulder as he jots down notes. 

But even the greatest minds make mistakes and when he sends you off to find a certain piece of text for him from the bookshelf in the corner of his room, he forgets to clarify where on the shelf to look and not wanting to bother him, you meticulously comb through every book, forehead scrunching in curiosity when you find a notebook tucked behind, as if it was meant to be hidden. You consider just passing it over, not wanting to intrude on Sakusa’s privacy, but having gone through most of the books and not finding what you need, you wonder if perhaps the thing he’s looking for is in here and that this had just been misplaced or accidentally pushed towards the back of the shelf. 

As you flip through the pages you quickly realize this is a book of Sakusa’s own spells and you stare in awe at how much work he’d done, how extensive his own self-created spell repertoire is, but suddenly your heart freezes when you flip to the last few filled pages. You’re not as fluent as Sakusa is when it comes to the ancient magical language, but you know enough after the time you’ve spent with him, the lessons he’s taught you, to recognize ‘plague’ and ‘forest’ and your throat and heart feel both heavy and panicked when you realize the implication of what you’d found. And suddenly you remember the day he had proposed to you vividly, ice cold shock and realization making you shudder when you remember a flash of something dark in his eyes when you had rejected him. And your hands tremble when you see the very last page, taking note of the phrase ‘mind control’. But before you can dwell on it, you squeal in surprise when the book is plucked from your hands and you’re rooted to the spot by dark eyes pinning you down. 

You want to scream angry words at him. You want to escape. And yet, you do neither, frozen with fear when you remember exactly what happened to the victims who’d defied sorcerers.

“Hmm. This spell’s not quite ready yet, but I guess we can test it out early.” 

And before you can even register what’s happening, a firm hand is placed on the top of your head, the other wrapped around your throat to keep you still as magic surges through the air and you vaguely hear yourself pleading for him to stop, until suddenly you feel trapped in your own body, the connection between your conscience and physical figure severed and you stare in horror as your body goes limp and docile in his arms. 

Sakusa peers into your eyes in interest, humming in thought as he scrawls a few more notes in his notebook. 

“The end goal of this spell is for me to be able to completely control your mind, but right now it looks like I only have control of the section that handles your physical functions if that ugly hate-filled look in your eyes is any indication. But let’s test my theory shall we?”

And it feels like a bad dream as your body submissively makes its way to his bed, seductively swaying your hips as you sprawl out on his bedsheets, eagerly wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he joins you, bringing him down for a kiss. He’s rough and invasive as he tears your clothes off, calloused hands touching and contaminating every inch of you and you feel disgust as he examines you like you’re a piece of prime meat he’s purchased, coldly and meticulously pinching and prodding you as he observes what makes your body react. And for once, you hate how observant he is, how in tune to your smallest shifts he is, how sensitive your body is as your nipples perk up, as little moans escape past your traitorous lips when he pinpoints your weak spots. 

But what you hate most is the triumphant grin on his face when his dexterous fingers swipe against your lower lips and you internally flinch at the glistening slick that coats his fingers when he holds it to your face, evidence of the heavy arousal mixing with your humiliation and hate. And you try to think of anything else, imagine you’re anywhere but here as he begins to wonder out loud while his fingers twist and turn inside of you, reaching and touching places you’d never been able to explore yourself, if he even needs to tweak his spell anymore seeing how you’re a slave to your body’s natural desire for pleasure. Maybe there wasn't a need to completely control your thoughts and emotions as well.

He hadn’t realized what a slut you are, getting off to anyone using your body, and he leers down at you while he continues questioning you, knowing full well you can’t answer or retort to his crude remarks. And he idly wonders if your mind would naturally break without additional magic if he pleasured you enough, transformed you into a warm body that constantly seeks and craves his touch.

The fear in your eyes at his words only fuels his need to completely dominate you and he grits his teeth as he slides into your drenched hole, eyes closing shut as he just stays still and revels in how tight you are, how perfectly you wrap around him. And when he opens his eyes and sees the glassy-eyed lustful look on your face from being filled, he finally releases himself from the controlled facade he so carefully always wears and lets himself dive headfirst into the sultry, dizzying, primal embrace of lust as he pistons his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace, dark eyes never straying from your face as your eyes begin to roll back and your wanton mewls fill the air. 

He can feel his end approaching, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make you fall apart with him, drown you in inescapable pleasure, and his hand slips between the two of you, fingers finding your aroused clit and all it takes is a few rubs and thrusts before your body is tensing up, back arching, mouth opening in a silent scream, body convulsing and writhing underneath him, your cunt milking him as you’re forcefully brought to your peak. And he joins you over that edge, thick white spurts coating your twitching walls. 

You pray that he’s done, that he’ll release you now that he’s thoroughly tasted and had you, now that you’re just sloppy seconds, used goods. But you’re startled when he lovingly kisses you and tenderly strokes your hair, and your stomach churns at the genuine affection you see in his eyes. And your heart drops, any last bit of hope you had extinguished as he holds your body close to him in a mockery of a loving embrace and whispers in your ear about the future he has planned for both of you, a future where you stay by his side as an obedient, submissive housewife, a future where you’re willing and eager to please him, to love him. 

That was always his goal for the both of you, he insists, and a flame of anger burns inside of you at the exasperated and patronizing sigh he directs your way as he blames you for forcing his hands, for forcing him to do this the hard way, for forcing him to resort to magic when you could have saved everyone the hassle by just accepting his proposal all those months ago. 

Hate and anger twist and coil inside of you and yet, when he kisses you once more, your body instinctively leans into the soft touch before obediently going lax as he tells you to sleep, eyes automatically closing at the command, and Sakusa smiles at your slumbering figure. It’s not exactly how he had planned to go about this, the mind control spell being more of a back-up option he had been trying to avoid, but you’re finally irrevocably his and that’s all that matters.  

#yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere #haikyuu smut #yandere sakusa #sakusa x reader #tw: yandere #tw: rape #tw: noncon

[sapphic-yearning-lesbian]

Animal Companion (RATLD-October Prompt)

Another AU where Namaari didn't try to steal the dragon gem.

I will upload it to A03 eventually.

Timeline: Still 12 years old

Warnings: None

"Pleaseeeee," Raya pouted as she sat at the end of her Ba's bed, clutching a letter close to her chest.

"Dewdrop, it's too early for this," Benja huffed as he shifted onto his side, maintaining his eyes closed. He knew the moment he opened his eyes and looked at his daughter, she would win. "I can't just drop everything and accompany you to Fang today."

"BUT--" Raya pouted as she jerked her body up and down, making the whole bed shake.

"What's so important that you woke me up before the sunrise? Only to ask me to take you to Fang?" He asked as he frowned his eyebrows at Raya's tantrum.

"Namaari is choosing her serlot cub today, and I just really want to be there for her" Raya cut herself off, scared of the personal information she accidentally shared, "I MEAN I want to meet the cub." 

Benja yawned as one eyelid blinked open. Raya looking directly at him, with a pout on her lips, puppy dog eyes, and both hands clasped together at her chest, pleading with him. 

"Tuk Tuk needs a friend! Look at his sad face," Raya said, then pointing to her lap.

Benja finally allowed both his eyelids to open as his gaze fell to Raya's lap. The pill bug also looking up at him with pleading eyes as he silently grunted. "UGHHH," He growled as he shifted to laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. 

Raya knew her Ba was caving; he just needed a little push. "I realllyyyy think traveling to Fang will give us more time to bound, as the trip there and back is somewhat long by foot..." She grinned as she watched her Ba close his eyes, gulping. "I get to met a serlot cub, and you make up for all the bonding time we've missed this week BECAUSE of your busy schedule."

Benja sat up, a broad grin on his face. "Ohhh, you're good." He chuckled as he nodded yes, Raya screaming in her joy, "I'll take you, but I have to arrange a few things before we go."

Raya nodded her head happily as she threw herself onto her Ba, planting a massive kiss on his cheek.

---

"Are you excited, Morning Mist?" Virana asked, reaching out and brushing her daughters hair out of her face. Namaari only looking back at her with such excitement.

"So excited!" She purred

"Princess Namaari" Atitaya voice announced, "Cheif Virana, You have vistors."  

Namaari had her back towards the General, but she watched as a wide grin appeared on her mother's face. "Ohh Chief Benja, and Raya! Welcome! It's a pleasure to see you both!"

No sooner had Namaari heard Raya's name had she fallen face down onto the floor, Raya having tackled her from behind. Everywhere Raya was touching, pulsing with a warmness that made Namaari's heart smile.

Raya lifted herself off Namaari, sitting off to the side, smiling as the other sat up looking at her. 

"Dep La! You came?" Namaari asked in disblief. 

Raya only smirked as her most trusted companion rolled off her shoulder onto Namaari's lap. 

Namaari using one hand to gently scratch his forehead as the other massaged his shell tenderly. "Of course! I couldn't miss the day you met your second best friend" Namaari's smile turned into a smirk as her eyebrows went up, challenging Raya's words.

"Who's my first?" Raya gasped as she let a hand fall against her heart.

"I'll just walk back home then," Raya taunted, but she had no intention of leaving.

"Kidding!" They sat on the floor, looking at each other, just smiling at the other. They've been communicating through letters for weeks, so now being able to see each other in person felt like the first sip of ice-cold water on a hot day.

"Princess," Atitaya announced once again, "It's time."

Both girls squealed as Namaari scooped Tuk Tuk into the palms of her hands, standing up. Once Raya was on their feet, she allowed Tuk Tuk to roll onto her shoulder again. Both of them grinning from ear to ear. "I bet I can get there faster than you," Raya stated with a bobbed eyebrow.

"Challenge accepted," Each of them exchanging a glare as they got into their running stance. "1...2...GO," both girls zooming off in opposite directions, as they didn't know where they were headed. 

After realizing none would win, they slowly jogged back to, Atitaya, Virana, and Benja. Who were engaged in conversation, patiently awaiting the return of the silly princesses.

---

"Aren't you a cutie," Raya purred as she held a female serlot up to her face, rubbing her nose against the kittens.

Namaari was happy; she was having a blast sitting on the floor, surrounded by several kittens, but she couldn't feel a connection. Or a spark. And the longer she sat there petting them, taking in their kitten breath, the more guilty she became. "I can't do this." She exclaimed as she lightly pushed three kittens off her lap, standing up running towards the door.

"Morning, Mist! What's wrong?" Virana said, beginning to chase behind her daughter only to be stopped by Benja gently gripping her arm. Virana raising her eyebrows at him as he motioned with his head towards Raya. Virana instantly understating to allow Raya to handle the outburst.

Raya had instantly placed the kitten down, running after Namaari. Yet as she was about to leave the nursery, she spotted a separate room with even younger serlots. She smiled as she instead walked into the room, looking at the four kittens, her eyes landing on the runt of the litter. 

Raya watched as the other siblings tried to gang up on it, only for the runt to hiss and protect herself. That's when Raya knew that kitten was meant to be Namaari's. So without thinking, she scooped up the kitten and ran for the door. She knew she would be in deep trouble for catnapping the kitten, but Raya had to do this for Namaari.

When Namaari exited the nursery, she walked over to a bench and sat down, throwing her head in her hands. She was overwhelmed by the cuteness, but nothing was clicking into place. She thought that she would feel something within her when she saw a kitten or even held it. Yet, she felt like she was cuddling and playing with someones else pets.

"The Namaari I know never runs away! What happened" Raya announced behind Namaari, watching her shoulders go up and down with every breath. 

Namaari shrugged as she exhaled loudly, disappointed in herself.

Raya chuckled as she stood right behind the other, lowering her voice. "You missed a couple of faces on your way out." Raya gently brought the kitten down on Namaari's head, who seemed startled. "She wanted to meet you, but you left so fast she couldn't say hi," Raya whispered as she brought the cat back up.

After having felt tiny paws on her head, Namaari quickly turned around, finding Raya holding the most petite kitten in her hands. The kitten wasn't very happy with Raya, hissing and scratching her hands as if the cat didn't want to be held.

Suddenly the kitten looked at her, and she felt a desire to hold it and keep it safe. So she reached out, grabbing it from Raya's hands. 

The moment she held the cat within her grasp, the serlot sprung into action, scratching her across the cheek. Instead of getting mad, Namaari chuckled. The kitten didn't attempt to strike her again but did continue to hiss. Even so, Namaari watched the kitten with understanding eyes, realizing the kitten was acting in self-defense, scared that Namaari was going to hurt her.

That's when the pieces made sense. This kitten was no older than a month, but she was extremely small, meaning she was the runt of the pack. Being so tiny makes her a target to her siblings, resulting in her being forced to protect herself from danger.

"It's okay! I'm not going to hurt you," Namaari whispered as she slowly pet the kitten. Its hissing increasing as its back arched, yet Namaari wasn't about to give up.

As the slow movements weren't working, Namaari placed the serlot on her lap. The kitten now tugging and biting on her clothing. She knew this should upset her, but she couldn't help but smile, thinking the whole exchange was adorable.

"Hmmm," she thought out loud as she clicked her tongue. "Of course," she thought as she brought her fingers behind the cat's ear, scratching it with her long nails. Within seconds the serlot had stopped hissing and tugging at her clothes, only purring in contentment. Finally, Namaari had connected with her new companion. 

Raya had watched the whole exchange and had just decided to sit beside the other, her hands occupied by petting Tuk Tuk, "So what are you naming your feisty kitten?" 

Namaari was okay with the rest of the world, seeing this kitten as feistily, maybe a little rude, but Namaari knew that there was a softness in this cat that she was going to enjoy unveiling over time: A softness that would only exist for her. And that was enough. "Thuy"

"That's beautiful," Raya comments as she reaches for the kitten. She was half expecting the serlot to hiss, bite or even starch her but instead, Thuy licked her, "You are gentle, making the name perfect for you." 

The princesses having no knowledge that Thuy would grow to be ice cold to everyone besides Namaari, Raya, and Tuk Tuk, while only tolerating Virana. So to the rest of Kumandra, the name Thuy was unfitting. 

--

I don't feel strongly about this piece, as I wrote it with a massive headache; even so, I'm just happy I completed it!

#ratld October #day 3 #ratld prompt #ratld #ratld raya #ratld Namaari #ratld incorrect quotes #raya and the last dragon #raya namaari #namaari raya #raya x namaari #Namaari x Raya #namaari #raya #rayamaari #raymaari #rayaari #chief benja #chief virana #general atitaya