#this is just also reminding me that i have art i want done but i just cant find any energy to start on/continue them ack

[fuctacles]

<<😺😺😺😺😺😺😺

"Yes? Hello, officer? There's a man in my apartment." 

Eddie stirs awake, his surroundings coming back to him in hazy waves.

"What?" he slurs out, blinking to clear his vision.

"Oh, I was just telling the officer that I've found a man sleeping on my couch," Stephanie says with a troubled expression, hovering over him.

Over the couch that he fell asleep on.

He sits up so suddenly he loses his balance and falls back against the cushion.

"I'm so sorry, please don't call the cops—!"

Stephanie immediately shakes her hands, which are free of a phone.

"I was joking, I was joking!" she reassures him quickly. "I'm sorry." She smiles apologetically, taking a seat next to him. "I guess that wasn't the best way to wake up someone." 

"No," Eddie chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Especially not an ex-drug dealer," he huffs dryly. 

Steph cocks her head with a surprised "huh" and only then does Eddie realize what he has just blurted out. 

"Ah, shit. Am I ruining my good neighbor status?" he winces.

"Not at all," Steph shakes her head, and gently pats his knee. He zeroes his focus on her hand when she decides to rest it there on his jean-clad leg. 

"I know my nice neighbor Eddie, not the drug dealer one," she smiles reassuringly. "What made you turn around? If you don't mind me asking," she squeezes his knee and retrieves her hand to lean back more comfortably on the couch. One of her cats, Garfield, jumps on her lap for a greeting, and Eddie realizes she's still wearing her jacket. He looks at the clock on the wall and realizes it's almost midnight. 

"Sorry, I'm holding you back, you're clearly tired," she backtracks quickly, watching his eyes dart around. But Eddie shakes his head.

"Nah, I just took an invigorating nap." She laughs at that and he can't help but smile as well. "I'd assume you're tired after traveling."

"I took an invigorating nap on the bus," she smiles, petting her cat. Arwen finally decides she's not above greeting her human and jumps in next to her as well, occupying Stephanie's other hand. 

Eddie reminds himself not to get jealous of felines.

"I managed to graduate," he says and when Steph looks at him in confusion, he adds: "I dealt in high school to save money for my band, thought that was my only route. But then I did graduate, on my third try, and the art teacher pulled some strings, asked around, and told me I could go study music. The guys forced me to go for it," he smiles at the memory. "My band, I mean. They said at least one of us should know some theory," he chuckles. 

"That's very nice of them," Stephanie comments. 

"Yeah. The bastards followed me after high school too." He grins. 

"And I still haven't heard your music," she sighs wistfully. 

"I'll bring a tape next time," he promises. 

"You better."

They sit in silence for a while, only the cat's purring filling the night ambiance. 

"Want some tea?"

"I guess I should go."

They speak over each other, eyes wide when they meet awkwardly. They chuckle, and Eddie can feel his cheeks warm up.

"Or I can get us a beer? Since you're not an old lady," she offers, spotting the empty bottle on the table. "Unless you really need to go."

"Beer sounds good. Considering there are no old ladies here," he smiles charmingly, daring her to protest. 

Steph doesn't say anything, only rolls her eyes and gently nudges Garfield from her lap onto the couch cushions. She scratches Eddie's head when she passes, thankfully missing the way it causes his whole body to shiver. 

"Won't your uncle be worried where you are?" she asks from the kitchen, giving Eddie the space he needs to collect himself. 

"I told him I'd wait for you," he answers, scratching Garfield and trying to forget how good it felt when done to him. "Also, I don't have a curfew anymore. Never had, in fact. Not with Wayne."

"Lucky you." She steps back into the room, handing him a chilled bottle. "How long have you been living with him?"

"Since high school," he answers before taking a swig. "Spent a short time in a halfway house before that. My parents couldn't handle me anymore, but they managed to reach my uncle and he took me in."

"The hell do you mean 'couldn't handle you'?" Steph asks with a frown.

Eddie chuckles at her immediate offense.

"They got into legal trouble, and couldn't afford the house anymore, I think my dad spent some time in prison too. Tax fraud and shit, never cared enough to dig into it and Wayne doesn't like talking about them either. He's a better parent they'd ever be anyway."

"Yeah," Steph softens. "I'd love to have had someone like him back in the day." Then, she deflates with a sigh. "Though even the nicest people can turn out to be bigots. Not Wayne, of course!" she rushes to add. "He knows about Robin and he's really cool about it." 

Eddie sees his opening and feels comfortable enough to use it finally. 

"He better be, since his nephew is bisexual," he says with a little huff. 

"He is?" Steph picks up curiously. 

"Yeah," Eddie scratches his cheek, suddenly sheepish. "Turned out I wasn't watching Indiana Jones for the plot."

"I think that sweaty chest is plot enough," she says and they both laugh.

"Have you dated a guy, then?" Stephanie asks next. 

"Only one for real," Eddie admits. "But it's not like I've dated many girls either, though it is easier."

"A young bachelor like you?" Stephanie raises her eyebrows in surprise. "You should be swarming with marriage proposals, the way your uncle describes you."

Eddie groans, throwing his head back against the cushions. 

"What nonsense is he telling about me?"

"Only that he has a talented, smart boy in Indy, who's always helpful and protective of his friends and family. Also, he has really frizzy hair."

"Excuse me?"

Eddie picks up his head to look at Stephanie. She's suddenly closer than before, rubbing a lock of his hair between her fingers. 

"When was the last time you had your hair done?"

"Uh." He looks between her hand and her face like he'll find the answer there. "Never? Probably? At least not that I remember."

Stephanie's mouth purses with displeasure. 

"I can fix them for you. For taking care of my cats."

Eddie wants her hands in his hair so badly, but he raises his beer like a dumbass. 

"But I already got a beer," he points out. 

She shakes her head. 

"I share beers with friends for less. I'd usually buzz Wayne too, and you'd be doing me a favor because I can't focus with your split ends right in my face."

She's really playing it up, pout and all, and unfortunately, it's working on him. 

But he'd probably do anything she asked for. 

"Then, uh... Sure, I guess."

[kaidynsarell]

Sebastian Sallow and the Day his Daughter Abused her Library Privleges.

🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁

Pairings: Sebastian Sallow x Female OC, Female OC x Male OC.

Rating: Sexual content is referenced/implied

Tags: Seb is smart but also kind of dumb, cannot compute his child growing up, dating and *gasp* Book Violence (Seb insisted on that last one)

The full fic can be found below(5k words)

One shot (unless the gremlins force me to add more. I am at their mercy😅)

The “rug” had been yanked out from under Sebastian approximately three times in a matter of a few minutes. Each displacement worse than the last, and only compounded by the growing smirks plastered across both his wife’s and sister's faces. They'd not even done him the decency of trying to hide their satisfaction. Even Ominis had failed to stifle his mirth and now sat attempting to suppress waves of silent giggles Sebastian knew only too well came at his own expense.

The whole terrible ordeal had started only fifteen minutes prior when he’d Floo’d back home from his office at Hogwarts.

The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had come as a surprising offer nearly eight years prior.

Dinah had been stepping down from the post and had, to Sebastian’s surprise, felt he would be the most suited for the position. He'd almost wanted to decline it, given his own dalliances with the Dark Arts.

Really, he'd thought, he was the furthest thing from appropriate for that job.

If only they'd truly known the history he'd left behind in that catacomb. He couldn’t imagine any of them would be singing his praises if they caught a glimpse of the marks he’d raked through his soul. But his wife had always had this uncanny way of reminding him, convincing him really, that he was a better person than he gave himself credit for.

That, and she’d never been terribly infatuated with the secrecy required by his work with the Department of Mysteries. The “Unspeakable” job title came with about as much useful information outside of the department as the title offered, which is to say, nothing.

So, with his wife's less than secretive encouragement, he’d left his work with the Ministry and set foot in Hogwarts to assist his former DADA Professor for the remainder of that school year.

He’d have been lying if he'd said he’d never thought of teaching before. That he'd not nearly written that as one of his interests on his Career Advice form in his Fifth year and imagined the slight possibility of following in his parent’s footsteps.

Though, that particular thought had twisted in a far more vulnerable place than he ever cared to admit to.

Months later, the 1st of September had seen his official first day as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and his eleven-year-old daughter's first day as a student.

He'd watched her small frame perch on that stool at the center of the stage that day, her legs still too short to reach the ground as the sorting hat slid over her eyes and called out the name of his old house.

He'd known his Love would call him too sentimental when he blinked away tears as he'd watched his little girl with the wavy brown hair and the freckles that so matched his own hop down from the stool and scamper away to the Slytherin table without so much as a backward glance at him.

Professor Weasley had looked at him from down the staff table a little too long then, and he'd quickly swallowed several gulps of pumpkin juice in what he'd hoped was a convincing enough display to not let anyone think he'd just been crying over what was still his baby girl being sorted.

He'd deny it in any case.

Had it not been just yesterday, she'd been two years old and babbling incoherently while he balanced her on his shoulders?

Surely, she'd not actually been eleven yet.

Then, she'd joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Chaser in her third year, and his apprehension had tangled so closely with his pride it had been impossible to separate them. Each match had been met with both white-knuckled fear she'd be hurt and joy in seeing how she lit up with each goal she maneuvered past the Keeper.

Until the last game of that season had Slytherin facing Ravenclaw for the house cup.

He'd only just seen the Bludger before it hit her.

She'd not seen it at all, and there'd only been the collective gasp of the crowd as she'd crumpled the last twenty feet to the pitch below.

He would have bet galleons apparition couldn’t have moved him faster that day as he'd scooped her limp, unmoving form into his arms and carried her back to the Hospital Wing, ignoring the shouts of his wife and Nurse Blainey alike.

Hours later, she'd still not opened her eyes, and even the Hogwarts Matron’s reassurances that it was most likely due to the myriad of healing and calming spells placed over her had done nothing to stop the path he'd worn into the stone with the ferocity of his pacing.

She'd looked far too small and pale lying there.

Too much like...

But he'd shoved that particular thought away.

It had taken Anne, Ominis, and the witch he'd fallen for at sixteen to calm him enough to be convinced not to send his daughter to Saint Mungo's for further treatment.

"You need rest, Sebastian," his wife had said when she'd glanced up for what must have been the umpteenth time from her place in the squashy armchair she’d conjured beside their daughter’s bed to find him pacing again, book in hand. "You heard Nurse Blainey. It's a common Quidditch injury. She'll be good as new by morning."

Sebastian had only muttered a halfhearted acknowledgment before her fingers pulled through his, and she’d tugged him over to where their thirteen-year-old slept.

“This isn't like Anne, Seb.” She’d whispered so low he could just feel her breath along his cheek. “Little One is going to be okay. Her body just needs to rest.”

“I know that.” He had; it had done nothing to stop the icy lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

Somehow, he'd let her convince him to return to the large armchair. He’d pulled the woman down on top of him and buried his face into her neck.

Still, sleep never truly found him that night, and if his wife’s much too quiet breaths had been any indication, she'd slept about as well as he had.

Hadn't it only been a few days ago their daughter had turned seven and opened her first real broom--not one of those that skimmed a foot or so off the ground—but one slightly smaller than regulation that soared high into the tree tops? They’d spent hours above the back garden that day tossing an old Quaffle back and forth until the sun saw its last gold fade to ruby along the distant peaks and vanished below the skyline.

When she’d woken in the Hospital Wing the following day, the freckled girl had barely opened her eyes before asking about the match’s results. When Sebastian had gently suggested she might drop Quidditch to prevent further head injuries or, Merlin forbid, save her father a few sleepless nights, she'd looked so affronted one might have thought he'd asked her to kick a niffler.

Only two years ago had seen her sit her O.W.L.S and her career advice meeting.

With Aesop having retired at the end of the previous year, Sebastian had taken over as Head of Slytherin and sat with his little girl, for she would always be his little girl, while she'd prattled on about a list of careers she’d taken an interest in.

An Auror

A Curse Breaker

(And he’d made a mental note to have words with Poppy Sweeting, for this was clearly his daughter’s top choice for a career, and only the former ferocious little Magizoologist could have been behind this particular suggestion) A Magizoologist specializing in Dragons.

When Sebastian had dared offer the suggestion she might work for the Wizengamot or as an Archivist or study something as benign as Kneazles rather than Dragons or aim for a career with even a modicum of safety involved, the then fifteen-year-old had wrinkled her nose at him in that same way her mother always did.

"Ugh! Those are all boooorrring, Dad. I want to work with dragons."

"Absolutely not."

"But Mum and Aunt Poppy helped release a dragon from a poacher camp and returned its egg, and they were the same age as me.”

Sebastian had run a hand over face. "That was different."

That was when she'd settled back into her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and scowled at him in that way that reminded him too much of Anne, of himself if he were very honest about it. "I don't really see how."

She was more stubborn than both he and her mother combined, and Merlin help him; he'd be entirely grey before he was forty.

Hadn't she just been nine years old and still small enough to demand bedtime stories? Where had the time gone when she'd been satiated by the retelling of his and her mother’s adventures? Now, she craved adventure of her own, and he'd known he'd be a hypocrite if he stood too much in her way.

Still, the past fifteen minutes spent in the comfort of his own sitting room might have thrown him more than anything else he'd faced in the past seventeen years.

His first clue something was amiss had come only minutes before he'd taken the Floo home.

It wasn't often his daughter accompanied him back to their house in the evenings, but perks of having a parent as a professor, would occasionally return home with him once a month or so for ‘family weekends’. Sebastian would deny it if anyone suggested having his little girl home for the weekend was more for his own sanity than any amount of homesickness his daughter might have had.

Though, rather than finding her waiting for him in his office that day as he so often did, he'd found the room empty, and even a few minutes of waiting had not procured her.

It wasn’t terribly alarming. It wouldn’t even have been the first time she'd snuck home before him, ready to pounce out when he arrived home with some prank or another.

But when he’d stepped through the fireplace, she'd not been there either.

Anne, Ominis, and his wife had all been there, sitting in the living room. But there'd been no sign of his daughter.

He'd waited, still dusty from the fireplace, ready for whatever prank he was certain Anne was already in on, given the barely contained smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He must have stood there a beat too long because his wife had tilted her head at him. "She's not coming home this weekend, Seb. Matilda’s just written. She's gotten detention for sneaking into the restricted section and for being out of bed after curfew last night."

Sebastian blinked but made no move to sit. It might have been a point of pride for him—the idea of his child sneaking off to obtain restricted knowledge— had he not already permitted her what amounted to nearly unlimited access to the Library anyway.

To any Library, really.

"But she doesn’t need to sneak into the restricted section." Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, there was something he was missing, but whatever was had been proving frustratingly elusive. "She knows I'll write notes for whatever book she wants out of there."

That had been the deal they'd agreed to from the very first day their daughter had stepped foot into that school. Sebastian would sign for whatever book she wanted from the Restricted Section, so long as she kept him updated on what she was reading and, depending on the text, read the book at home or in his office where either he or her mother could keep supervision.

He’d never been one to limit his child’s knowledge.

Perhaps he'd taken that from his parents as well.

If his daughter had wanted to sneak anywhere, there were a plethora of other off-limits areas she could find. But the Library? That didn’t make sense.

Anne had giggled behind her hand. “She wasn't alone. She got caught there with a boy."

"What does she need a boy in the Restricted Section for?"

If his twin had meant to offer an explanation, she'd done nothing more than confuse him further.

His wife sighed. "I don't imagine they were there to study, Dear. Not books, in any case."

That had earned another round of barely contained giggles, and still, they'd all sat there looking at him like he was the butt of some great cosmic joke. Waiting for him to get it, but none of the information formed a logical conclusion. Even glancing at his twin had offered little in the way of answers, and he’d generally have been able to read her better than anyone.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Sallow." Ominis quipped from the place he'd perched next to Anne. “They let you teach? Merlin help the children."

That was when the pieces had snapped together.

"What?! No?!" He’d hated how high his voice had climbed and how much further it climbed as he’d held his hand out at his daughter's height, just about the height of his waist. “But…but she's only—"

Anne snorted. "Sebastian, she hasn't been that tall since she was about ten."

That was when he'd made his most devastating mistake. "Who?"

"I'm not certain it matters right now," His wife had started.

Sebastian whirled around. “It does if he's snogging our daughter."

"I think you mispronounced shagging" Anne chirped.

Sebastian had made an embarrassing, strangled, screeching sort of noise then.

Images had flooded behind his eyes of his little girl crowded against a bookshelf by some faceless man pressing lips against her neck in the throes of passion. Precious tomes toppled from their shelves; spines splayed unnaturally, pages creased. The faceless man's hands maneuvering into places Sebastian had never intended to let anyone near. Ever.

He’d be having nightmares for months.

"Who?" This had now become vitally important information. He needed to know whose fingers he would be breaking.

"Oh, he's sweet.” His wife had chirped. "He's one of your favorite students, you told me so just the other week—"

Sebastian had quickly run through a list of his students and immediately decided not one of them was worthy of his little girl. Not that anyone ever would be.

Really, now that he thought of it, touching his daughter should be tantamount to a life sentence in Azkaban. Did Onai still sit on the Wizengamot? Perhaps he could get it written into law.

"--Oliver Weasley."

"WEASLEY!?!?" His voice had climbed octaves into a territory that could only be described as screeching, but Sebastian had long since stopped caring.

His fingers had clutched around his wand so tightly it might have snapped had his wife not leaned forward and pulled it from his grip. Years since he'd used dark magic against another person, and fifteen minutes had him itching for unforgivables.

"Oh, aren't they adorable?" Anne, this time, and Sebastian had snapped his gaze to his twin. "You know, Poppy says they've been spending quite a lot of time together since she partnered them on that assignment with the Dirwicals a few months ago. That must have been when they started courting."

"Months!" It came out as a squeak. “This has been going on for months?!"

Make that the fourth rug.

He may as well stay on his ass while he was down here.

><><><><

The night was for stillness. Those quiet moments whispered between shooting stars or, in Sebastian's case, breathed against his wife’s hair as she sprawled across him. Her skin bare and tacky in the early summer heat against his own, her fingers tracing constellations between the freckles on his chest.

He tipped his head down to her again and brushed his nose against those soft strands still clinging to the scents of citrus and wildflowers. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"mmm?" The witch tipped her nose up to him.

"Why didn't she tell me she was seeing Weasley? I thought she told me everything." He'd whispered that last bit so quietly a part of him hoped she hadn't heard.

But the woman in his arms just slid her hand up his neck and into the short beard he'd kept for the past seven years. "Because she knows how much you worry, Seb.”

"I don't worry that much."

It was the second time she'd laughed at him that day.

"You stayed home from work for a week and threatened to send her to St. Mungo's when she had the flu last year."

"It was a bad case,” he muttered. Cool fingers stayed against his cheek. He closed his eyes and pushed his face against them. "What if Weasley’s pressuring her into things?"

"I really don't think he is.”

Sebastian scrunched his face at that. “How can you be sure?"

Another hand in his hair, and he thought he might melt into the mattress. "Because you've shown her how she deserves to be treated, Sebastian."

He wasn't prepared for his wife to be hovering over him when he blinked his eyes open again. Nor was he ready for her lips against his jaw

"Besides," she continued, “she's as brilliant and quick with a wand as you are, and I’ve already talked to her about it.” He was already brimming with a retort when his Love placed a single delicate finger over his half-parted lips. “Trust her.”

"She's still not old enough." It seemed the only thing he could manage.

"Sebastian," another trill of laughter, "She'll be eighteen next month, and she and Oliver will both have left school. We weren't so much older than them when we got engaged."

And that sent images of white dresses and vows and his little girl’s fingers on his arm as he walked her toward a tall redhead at the other end of a long aisle racing behind his eyelids.

And that

that.

He was not prepared for.

He wasn't sure he ever would be.

It was enough to pull his Love back against him and bury his face against her hair again. "She wasn't ever supposed to grow up."

He'd deny it if anyone said his voice broke.

><><><><

Now that he was aware of his daughter's relationship, he saw evidence of it in too many places. He'd curse himself for not noticing before, or maybe they'd just stopped being as secretive about it.

His daughter and Weasley holding hands in the corridors. His daughter and Weasley sitting together at meals. The two of them leaning over the same book in the library, Weasley attending all of her Quidditch practices. The both of them in the Astronomy tower, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate after curfew.

That last encounter had earned him such a ferocious glare from his daughter Sebastian was convinced she’d been trying to shoot fire from her eyes. His wife had floo'd into his office an hour later to drag him back home and demand that he ‘stop following them around.’ Whatever arguments he’d prepared about Weasely’s egregious crime of keeping their daughter out after hours had been brushed aside as she’d informed him the aforementioned would be joining them for dinner that coming Saturday.

Weasley.

His wife had been right. Oliver was ,surprisingly, one of Sebastian’s most gifted students. Where his father may have shone as a potions prodigy in their youth, Garreth's son had a remarkable talent and understanding of defensive magic. There was a natural cadence to his dueling Sebastian had seldom seen, and the creativity of his spell combinations had been nearly unmatched that year.

Sebastian, as much as it now pained him to admit to himself, had liked the boy.

Had being the operative word.

That was before Weasley had started running hands over his little girl.

><><><><

Saturday evening rolled around to slap him across the face before he’d managed to find a proper excuse to keep the young Weasley out of his house.

Sebastian had not missed how his wife had tugged his wand from his grip when he'd stepped out of the fireplace. Nor did he miss the conveniently rounded cutlery with their meal. A hearty beef stew with chunks of a thick golden bread she’d already sliced

No need for any sharp objects at the dinner table.

Pity.

Still, Sebastian prided himself on keeping his emotions level throughout the entire meal, even if it was partially owed to his wife digging her fingers into his knee with every twitch of his jaw.

Despite all of it, Weasley had been perfectly polite and respectful. Perhaps that irritated Sebastian more as it gave him less space to cling to his newfound dislike of the boy.

Weasley had held the door for his daughter and offered his arm over the doorstep. He'd dressed practically enough not to over-emphasize his pureblood origins–not that the Weasleys were known for holding quite the same ideologies–but intentionally enough to show he'd taken the dinner seriously. He'd brought flowers for Sebastian’s wife and complimented her cooking. He’d pulled out his little girl's chair but otherwise kept his hands a respectful distance from her. He'd kept engaging conversation throughout the entire ordeal.

And why couldn't the bloke mess up just once so Sebastian could have an excuse to scream at him?

And then,

and this might have been the worst of all.

When they’d all finished their meals and retired to the sitting room for a drink, Weasley made his daughter laugh.

Not the small polite flutter through her nose he would recognize had she been trying to be nice, but hysterics that had the both of them snorting and doubled over, clutching their bellies.

Laughter genuine enough, his daughter had forgotten all pretenses of decorum and dipped her head against the boy's shoulder.

Then Oliver had looked at her.

In that gentle way, Sebastian recognized all too well, like he might have found poetry written across his daughter's skin.

And Sebastian was not ready.

Not for anyone to look at his little girl like that.

He couldn't remember what excuse he muttered when he left the rest of them in the sitting room and climbed the stairs to the small balcony just off the Study.

><><><><

The summer night was calm. Long faded past the last remnants of sunset and jeweled with the wide expanse of starlight.

Sebastian had already downed the rest of whatever amber-colored liquid his wife had poured into his glass and leaned his arms against the wooden railing. Still, even the delightful tilting buzz did nothing to distract from the patter of footsteps behind him.

"Professor?...I mean..Sir?"

Could he not have a moment's peace?

"What do you want, Weasley?"

He'd be lying if he said he'd not taken some satisfaction in how the young Weasley had flinched at his brusque response. Maybe Sebastian was still at least a little intimidating.

Even if he had needed to curl his fingers around the railing, pressed them against the wood until they might have fractured purple across his fingertips to stop his hands from shaking.

"I...well, I'd just hoped to talk to you about your daughter and...um...my intentions with her and—"

"A bit late for that, don't you think." Sebastian snapped.

"I...erm...right–" He heard the boy shuffle his feet a bit, but Sebastian made no move to turn around. He couldn't have in any case with the way he was bracing himself against the railing and fighting the dark spots in his vision. “–We...I mean, I should have insisted we talk to you first and–"

Sebastian slammed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. He had to breathe.

“–I apologize for getting her into trouble," the boy continued. "I'd just like you to know that I care for her deeply. She...she's...well, she means quite a lot to me, and I promise I'll—”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“–and I wanted to formally ask your permission to–”

Fuck.

Not this.

He couldn't do this.

"Not...not right now, Oliver." He was certain he'd muttered something to that effect past the rush of blood in his ears, and still fighting his painfully blurred vision, he shouldered past the young man and back into his study.

><><><><

Sunday greeted late afternoon haze before Sebastian heard his daughter come up behind him.

He'd been given word that morning that she and Weasley would be spending several hours at the coast with his Wife and Anne. With that, Sebastian had suddenly felt the need to blister his hands over copious amounts of physical labor if only for the hope his aching muscles might be an adequate distraction from any thoughts of Weasley or his intentions.

She'd already settled herself on the grass beside him before Sebastian turned from the rose bush he'd been pruning. She hadn't even noticed he'd turned, engrossed as she was in plucking the wild daisies from the grass and stringing them together.

Less than five minutes and dirt had already smudged across her nose. She might have had his chestnut curls and sprinkling of freckles, but she looked so like her mother in every other way.

And that was his little girl

Except she wasn't really so little anymore, was she?

Not with her longer skirts and her hair artfully arranged on top of her head.

When had she started wearing her hair up?

As though he'd somehow given her permission to enter society and invite questions upon him about intentions, and courtings, and permissions. And hadn't she just been six years old and snarking at him because he’d plaited her hair the wrong way?

She twisted another daisy into place. "Oliver said he talked to you last night. Or tried to?"

"He did."

"He said you were angry–"

Sebastian tried not to look too pleased about it. So, the young Weasley had found him intimidating. The confirmation was good, given he'd only just managed to keep himself from collapsing on that balcony..

But Weasley didn't need to know that.

“–You shouldn't be mad at him," she added. "He wanted to talk to you a lot sooner but....but..I...."

Sebastian leaned over. "But what?"

Her fingers twisted against another white flower, but she didn't look at him. "I wanted to be sure he was worth telling you about."

"You know, you could have told me sooner."

A part of him wished she would have.

"Daaadd!" and that was when she looked up, her eyes alight with mirth. "I wasn't going to tell you about every single bloke I decided to–"

"There's been more than one?!" It was far too close to a squeak than anything else, and Sebastian decided his daughter was determined to send him to an early grave.

But when the laughter faded, her hands busied themselves against the little white flowers again. "It....it's different with Oliver, though."

Sebastian sighed. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, Dad. I really like him."

But her eyes spoke too clearly of another four-letter word, and Merlin help him; his daughter was in love with a fucking Weasley.

Another daisy twisted between her fingers. “He invited me to come with his family to the south of France this summer.”

“Oh?” It was the most noncommittal noise he could muster between clenching his fingers into the grass.

“Because of his dad. They…well, a lot of really good potioneers come out of Beauxbatons, so they travel there sometimes.” She paused a moment, and Sebastian could see the hesitation pinched in the corners of her face. “But I told Oliver I wouldn't go unless he got your permission first and—”

“Sweetheart, It’s not my permission he needs.”

It wasn’t, as much as he was loathed to admit it then.

It never had been.

“I know that it’s just—“

“Do you want to go to France with him?”

“I do!” Her fingers twisted the last white daisy of her crown into place. “But I won’t if you don't think I should.”

Was it that simple? Could he hold to the last of her kite strings? Keep her in this moment where the last of her childhood still clung to the daisies between her fingers and the smudges of dirt over her nose?

“The south of France is beautiful this time of year. You’re going to love it.”

She might have outshone the sun with how brightly she smiled at him.

“But,” Sebastian held up a finger, “ If I so much as think he’s hurt you–”

“Yeah, Dad, I know.” He wasn’t sure she could have rolled her eyes harder at him. “You’re well versed in magics that make the unforgivables look like something out of a children’s story, and there wouldn’t be enough left of the body to find.”

Sebastian couldn’t decide if he should be offended with how bored she sounded or proud she’d recited his threat so thoroughly.

He didn’t have much time to think about it before his daughter popped to her feet, dropped the crown of daisies onto his head, and bent to kiss his cheek.

There was only the softest. “Love you, Daddy”

breathed next to his ear before she was scampering off again.

And that was his little girl.

Always would be.

[revscarecrow]

hi rev i just wanted to come here and rant for a second because i feel like you'll understand. i hope you dont mind.

i'm really, REALLY frustrated that a lot of the current culture around artists complaining about ai is people being like "ugh artists are so sensitive, this use case isnt even that bad, its just funny, its just a meme, etc etc"

as an artist myself i feel like i cant even complain about it in my current online social circles because i will be met with people being like "its not that serious when its used to make memes"

i fucking hate seeing ai. period. it doesnt matter if its google gemini, or chat gpt, or some rancid ai meme, or an ai voice. i hate ALL of it because it reminds me that the ONE THING i thought couldn't be taken from me by robots (my ability to make art/video) is being taken from me in front of my eyes.

even my other artist friends partake in this culture. i seriously dont understand it. it is DEEPLY upsetting and makes me feel so hopeless and powerless.

maybe it's an "if i dont laugh, i'll cry" situation. i dont know. i want to hear your thoughts on it. much love

I talk about AI "art" on my art youtube channel. Suffice to say that generative AI and neural nets can be used for good things like mapping the human brain to help better understand the systems at work and how to help with dementia (this is a real thing that's being done and it's rad btw). While this tech does a lot of energy I think it's worth it to learn how to cure horrible diseases. The tasks that this can do helps solve problems that are either too complex or time intensive for humans to do. Art is about expression to some degree. Some people are just about the aesthics but for me personally I think that the process of coming to and finishing the idea is the art and the canvas is the record of the process happening. As such the spirit behind the creation of an object is core to the aesthic of the piece. If I make a painting out of shit or blood it's going to have a very different vibe than one done with paint. Why was that choice made? Artists make these choices at every step. Some just pick things as a default but that is in itself a choice. I use acrylic when I paint canvases because of the drying time and because I fear my cats will attempt to eat the sugary smelling liquin medium used with oil. The nature of my work area I have means the canvases I paint are smaller. These are choices that change how my work looks but also speak to who I am as a person. AI art does not consider this because how could it? It does not think. It's a disgusting similacrum of the human experience. Memes still gross me out I'll be honest.

[lj-lephemstar]

Progress Checkup! (Nov. 2024) | Scratchin' Melodii Devlog

​​Hey again guys! Sorry if it's been a bit since the last devlog. With how much I've been up to, it sure feels like it!

Let's get right into it. For starters, the 3rd rival battle of Act 2 is complete! I'll likely be showing a gameplay preview of it sometime soon. This is the first song to use the new framework that I'll be using for all the other stages going forward, which also means I've had to spend the past couple weeks getting the previous songs working with this new system too... Did you know that in the demo builds, if I wanted to change something about the gameplay, I'd have to manually go back and change it for EACH individual song one by one? Well now, imagine all the songs had like a peace treaty to just share one good, clean, and organized system that I can easily tweak and add to as I please. So development is gonna be smoother than ever from here! This is how most games are SUPPOSED to work, but I was a liiittle too stupid to figure out how to do this until recently!

While I was moving Cream Cheese Icing over to this new system, I took the opportunity to make the chart a bit more beginner-friendly! For example, the first line went from this...

To just this!

As you can see, it has less notes, therefore it is less scary for new players. Believe it or not, I actually never intended for Cream Cheese Icing to be so difficult for new players in the first place! Naturally, being too good at my own game can make gauging the difficulty curve a bit tricky at times, but I think I'm figuring it out!​

You may have also noticed that the characters have new UI icons too! I felt like the old ones were too flat and boring, so I did a new take on them, aiming for more dynamic shapes and angles, not to mention how my art style's just kinda grown a bit in general since I last drew the icons. I also ended up leaving out the circles behind them. I was a little worried I was gonna run out of unique colors for all of them at some point, plus SOME of these guys can have really big hair and/or hats that pretty much just cover up the whole circle anyway. (hi rensa)

Speaking of artwork, here's a little look at some of the updated animation I've done for Stir & Mix! (Try to imagine it in not highly-compressed-gif-form. I promise it looks better in-game!)

When working on Stir & Mix related stuff, I can't help but feel a bit of a sense of dread knowing how people may react to it... Honestly, sometimes I kinda wish it never got as popular as it did in 2022. But hey, doing my own thing regardless of what's expected of me is the most Scratchin' Melodii thing I could do!

Speaking of which, Mia learned a ton of new stuff while doing the VOCALOID tuning for the last rival battle we worked on, so we might revisit Stir & Mix's vocals again at some point before release to give it even more style! (By the way, Mia and 2cada are the same person! Sorry if I refer to both names interchangeably! She's been the one doing all the VOCALOID tuning and vocal mixing for the game since 2023.)

Well, I think that's all for now! Here's another friendly reminder that there will NOT be anymore demos of the game. Any new content will be saved for the full game's release. I know I've said it before, but I probably won't stop saying it until people stop getting confused about it LOL. Thanks for reading!! I appreciate you. - LJ

[randomthefox]

Why do so many Sonic fans hate the developers? Why do they think they are stupid? "Uuuh why is Chaos island here? It takes place in the future! Are they stupid!. Why are they trying to piss me off!?" Dude. These are Japanese people. The second country with the highest IQ in the world. Whatever the reason may be, it was was not done out of stupidity. At first, Sonic x Gen 'saved the franchise' but one week later it sucks because it didn't feature levels or elements that you SPECIFICALLY wanted to see? Wtf is wrong with you???

Oh but when Ian Flynn does something similar to this, it's not his fault. He's peak, and everyone that disagrees is stupid. Because SEGA ARE THE BAD GUYS

Wtf

"They're japanese people, they have a high IQ" is a bit much, but I understand where you're coming from and what you're trying to articulate. People have a bad habit of seeing something they don't like or agree with in a piece of art, and then jumping to the worst possible explanation they can think of for why it was included. Just being as bad faith as they possibly can, imposing malice or ignorance onto someone because of a personal subjective feeling they have to what was included in the artwork.

It's not unique to Sonic but since it's trendy to hate on the Sonic video games and Sonic Team and SEGA, it is amplified through that filter of culty mass hysteria.

I don't normally resort to doyalist explanations but in this case it really is the only one you can use - there weren't levels from Sonic Forces and Sonic Frontiers in the original Sonic Generations because those games hadn't been made yet. It's not like it makes any sense whatsoever to lump Sonic 2006, Sonic Unleashed, and Sonic Colors together as if they're a coherent era of Sonic. But that's a retroactive conclusion. Sonic Generations was made in 2011 (probably under a VERY short development time) and they worked with what they had. Shadow Generations was made in 2024 (also probably a short development time) and there were three whole new games worth to pull from in the time inbetween.

The idea of people being upset about its inclusion is so dumb and silly to me x3 For reference, this was my initial reaction to that level

When people ask why was Chaos Island included from Frontiers, they're asking the question wrong. They're asking "Why was a level from Frontiers included?" When the more interesting question is "why was THIS level from Frontiers included?" Why Chaos Island instead of any of the other Islands? There's probably multiple answers to that. I find it very conspicuous that they included the volcano erupting in the background during the level.

Meaning that during Shadow's level, Sonic was playing pinball. So the question of "why didn't Sonic see Shadow on Chaos Island?" is answered because we know where Sonic was during this part of Shadow's game. There's no lingering wonder about it. They didn't just throw Chaos Island into the game willy nilly, they spared the time to think about how they would make it make sense to say that Shadow was running around in that location during the events of Frontiers without causing a time paradox or contradicting what happened during that game. They didn't just throw an erupting volcano in as a set piece for no reason. They were not thoughtless in how they implemented this level.

The idea that Chaos Island being included took away a spot that could have gone to another level from Shadow 2005 or something like that is just silly. It reminds me of when people would get angry at Piranha Plant being added to Smash Bros. "THEY'RE TAKING AWAY A SLOT THAT COULD HAVE GONE TO DANTE!" That's not how it fucking works bro. This isn't the divine lottery. They're MAKING the game. Chaos Island being cut from Shadow Generations wouldn't mean that it would be replaced with a level from Shadow 2005 that you would want to be in the game. It would just mean the game woulda had one less level, lol.

But yeah I predicted people turning on Shadow Generations. I gave them too much time if anything, I predicted it would take at least a couple months. They didn't even make it one. Like I said and have said and will keep saying: these people HATE Sonic. The people who were saying "I've never been this excited for New Sonic stuff before! We are so back!" during the preview hype around Shadow Generations? They HATE Sonic. They are tourists. Scavengers who will pick daintily at the game and then leave it bleeding and gaping, unsatisfied.

And yeah naturally they are blatant hypocrites. More than half the reason they were initially so slavish about the game was because of Ian Flynn's name being in the credits. These people are absolute fucking cultists.

lunatics.

I have no doubt that the reason they're starting to sour on Shadow Generations is because Katie made a tweet which basically said "dude, this game isn't bloom fully formed from the singular mind of Ian Flynn alone" and then ABT had to latch on like a male anglerfish being absorbed into a disembodied pair of gonads saying that Ian Flynn didn't do nuffin and everything bad about the games writing is everyone elses fault and comparing Flynn to Jesus.

As soon as the memo started getting passed around that Shadow Generations isn't Ian Flynn's Sonic game after all, that's when the wave started to turn. It's very transparent.

They are a cult of haters pretending to be fans. Wolves in sheeps clothing. Naturally everything they say and do it insincere and psychotic.

[puppyeared]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........

[wacky-nameless-inventor-24]

Fully dressed, cry in the bath I’m still a child Pick me up, reuse me ‘til the glue melts apart From the heat of the argument

[defness]

→ drawing the same pose over and over again and feels cringe

→ realizes that these drawings are simply pre-ref drawings to figure out one's design so I can Draw Them

→ no longer feels cringe

[phobiaexists]

The pain of seeing an artist I like being open for nitro commissions but I don’t have up-to-date ref sheets done on any of my characters that I want them to draw

[kyouka-supremacy]

Honestly, i don't want a stormbringer anime adaptation, i love the light novel sm (chuuya stan here) and i'm afraid of an adaptation, what if they animate like shit an important scene? or one not so important but that I like a lot? :( and if they skip something? they would definitely skip something :(( But yk what i'd love? A stormbringer manga, if it's with hoshikawas art even better! :)

Oh OH I'D PAY MONEY TO READ AN HOSHIKAWA STORMBRINGER MANGA. It doesn't even feel *that* unlikely, I really hope they continue the trend of adapting light novels as manga because it's such a wonderful way to experience the stories (and I mean Hoshikawa's art style. c'mon. it's something else.). I do agree manga is the optimal medium for novels adaptations as it's often the most faithful to the original story and even leaves space for new interesting expansions!! Like how Fifteen gave us an insight of how Mori and Dazai met for the first time with the Fifteen manga, I found it such an interesting new puzzle piece to better understand what their relationship used to be like.

I do feel like they will adapt Storm Bringer to anime at some point; I mean, they already adapted Stormbringer in all the ways they could, and the anime production LOVES Chuuya fanservice. Anime-style Verlaine even appeared in the April Fools special, so you know. Also this. Maybe for the second half of this season if they're really going to divide it in two cours like people have speculated. But I hope not, looking at the length of the novel alone it's true it seems way too long of a story to adapt it within a season without cutting too many scenes... Maybe they'll make a movie out of it, but it's hard to tell if they'd invest on that. It's unheard of to me for anime movies adapt novels which are an uncertain investment, opposite to movies like Dead Apple that have the added value of being a brand new story people are curious to learn about. Then again Stormbringer is remarkably popular so! who knows!

I know it can get upsetting to get an unfaithful adaptation– trust me, I really get it! But I think a trimmed adaptation is still better than no adaptation at all? Like look at Untold Origins, it left out so many compelling details and aspects of Ranpo's characterization (and, by the look of it, a lot of Fukuzawa internal screaming lol). But would you rather have gone without it? As bad as the sb adaptation could be we'd still at least learn what Verlaine sounds like and watch him being fabulous in animation‚ which I guess is a win!! But maybe take my words with a grain of salt, I know very little about sb to begin with. Anyways shout-out to Stormbringer Chuuya in Hoshikawa's art style

[pepprs]

STILL wide awake! i did not put down my phone! and now im hungry. so i will not be sleeping tonight ♥️

[raininyourblackeyes]

I finished the art for my cousin's new poetry collection cover, I finished rewriting one chapter of my fantasy story and now it actually sounds kind of what I want it to sound like. That means I can go back to that figure skating au fanfic and finish the next chapter by the end of next week.

[revvywevvy]

i'd like to make an announcement me and pyrrha were talking and have decided pat/rok/los. u r disowned. sorry patty-cake but the next time u enter the line of sight of either of us you will be eradicated with the power of gay. mostly by pyrrha. sorry not sorry.

[rin-afananditshows]

Have a placeholder sketch until I can find a few references and actually get this to look decent...but I can not get this idea out of my head. Thank you

Thinking about Wade sitting on the couch watching tv with Al while sharpening all his knives/swords and just cassually calls Logan over and starts sharpening his claws as if sharpening your room mates knife hands is normal.

"Hold still, will ya?"

"Careful! The bases are sensitive!"

"Oh ARE they now? 😏"

"I-... I walked into that one.."

"Oh, you so did."

"Will you two shut the fuck up? Steve Harvey is on!!"

[sorcerous-caress]

I hope you are doing well

Did I- Did I make it seem like I'm going crazy or something? Like yes I am okay, I promise.

Well, no. I lied, but I'm not worse than normal. I have always been this deranged. It is not out of the ordinary. Why the concerns now?

But thank you anyways, I hope you're doing well too.

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Hermitcraft - Rescuing Rusty

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Adventure Time

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: AT

Thursday:

2:30 PM: AT

Friday:

2:30 PM: AT - Petrigrof

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts - Pets

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Sona daily goings-on

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)