#proportions are not on purpose i swear

[endergirldragon]

#not finishing #raven guilty gear #proportions are not on purpose i swear #im sorry

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 2

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

Two months have passed since your first time at the motel with Frankie. What has changed, what hasn't. Who are you now?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 How are you all? Gentle reminder that our Reader is an OFC. In this chapter, we get to know her better, and there are indirect physical descriptions of her. Sincerest apologies to anyone who knows Tampa. I did a lot of research, but I'm afraid my ignorance will still show… I swear I did my best. Raul is real, though. He's a friend of a very dear friend and he lives in Paris.

@frannyzooey my love, as always, I am in your debt. Thank you for your help. I love you more than words 🧡

I hope you enjoy this one, Orange besties, it made me sweat blood, @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0 had to listen to my constant whining to put me on life support. Ily 🧡

Word count: 8.6k

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Chapter 2: Closer

The traffic is dense, but you spot Ava’s red Toyota as soon as it turns into E 7th avenue. 

On any given Saturday, the upbeat neighborhood is bustling with cheerful crowds of leisured weekenders and hip thirty-something. On this particular Saturday, the first after Thanksgiving, the streets are a vision from hell. 

There’s a constant ballet of cars pulling in and out along the curbs. On each side of the avenue, the sidewalks are swarming with jittery shoppers, frenetically prospecting for good deals on potential Christmas gifts. You’re willing to bet that most of them will stretch their budget thin on useless, meaningless knickknacks. Generic trinkets without soul nor purpose but that will, for the first half hour of ownership at least, fill the void in their consumers’ existence. 

The traditional Christmas tree of unholy proportions is up and sparkling. Wrapped around the iron porch columns, electrical garlands blink in rapid sequences like luminescent spasmodic snakes. Storefronts are decorated with more or less taste. The temperature has dropped twice below 70. It’s that time of the year. 

The merry season usually finds you adding a generous helping of anxiolytics to your daily cocktail of little helpers. This year, however, you haven’t popped a pill in days, and everything feels… more. Louder, too vivid, more oppressive. Sensations magnified and emotions amplified. Which is, after all, what you were aiming at when you unilaterally decided to taper off your intake. 

Ava miraculously secures a free spot on the other side of the avenue, about a hundred yards in front of yours. You watch her parallel park, the maneuver surprisingly sloppy, given the parking assist technology the brand-new hybrid car is equipped with, and you wonder if you really needed to spend that much money on it.  

In front of your own parked car, pedestrians agglutinate at the crosswalk. When the light turns green, they move as one, like flocks of extras on a movie set, coming to life on cue when the director yells “action!” 

They’re not extras, however, each one of them is the main character in the movie of their life. Together they form a constellation of individual and interconnected stories, while you stand at the margin, forever exhausted, willfully forlorn. At best, a supporting part in Ava’s fantastic tale of eccentric adventures, but more likely a backdrop in your father’s gripping success story.

Although, your narrative has changed drastically over the past two months. You now got a part in your own right, unfolding in between takes. 

You wait until Ava gets out of her vehicle before you exit yours, reluctant to leave the hushed safety of your old sedan’s cab, even for the few minutes it’ll take you to meet with her and step into the coffee place. 

You wave at her from across the busy street until she sees you, but when she proceeds to jaywalk over to you, reckless and entirely indifferent to your pleading expression, you have to avert your eyes. There’s a crosswalk right in front of you, god dammit.

She levels up with you and pecks a kiss on your cheek, hitting your cheekbone with force, more headbutt than demonstration of affection. 

“Hey,” she says, barely stopping in her tracks before she pushes open the glass door to the coffee shop.

“Hello, pup,” you answer fondly, your words lost to the street’s bustle. 

Inside, the artificial air instantly pulls at your skin. The atmosphere is cool but dry, saturated with the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans and greasy-sweet pastries. The high-ceiling, cement floor, wide open-space is packed. The brick walls reverberate the ambient noises, and the late morning sun beams brightly through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, evenly spaced along the lateral walls. People sit in small parties around the white designer tables, sipping iced coffees from tall red paper cups with white snowflakes, large shopping bags at their feet. 

Trying your best not to shrink and shrivel from the multiple overwhelming stimuli, you focus on Ava’s back, walking behind her as she leads the way to a free table at the rear of the coffee shop, between the counter and one of the windows. There’s a regal quality to her gait and the way she carries herself, not unlike your father, the resemblance enhanced by her preference for masculine clothing, and you have to love the irony, given how much she hates the man. She has your mother’s beauty, though. The same luxurious dark hair, fair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes, her frame tall, her figure athletic. She’s the masterpiece. Next to her, you look like a clumsy first draft, with blurry edges and hesitant features.

She throws her jean jacket on the back of her chair and collapses on her seat with a theatrical sigh. 

Across from her, you sit down gingerly on the edge of the hard wooden chair, balancing your weight around the sore and delicious ghost sensation of Frankie between your hips. 

“You look good,” you start. 

“Yeah, you too!” she exclaims, like it’s unexpected, “tired but like, good. Are you getting any sleep?”

You smile, waving your hand dismissively. 

“Don’t we have to go to the counter to order?”

“No, it’s fine,” she answers, “they serve at the table. I’m having an oat milk matte, what do you want?”

“An espresso, I think.”

Right on cue, a young woman dressed in a black cropped top and black skinny jeans presents herself at your table and proceeds to tap in your order on a rectangular electronic device. Her long acrylic nails hit the screen with a rapid succession of click-click-click. The sound brings you back to your parents' dining-room, the large table standing like an angular island on the shiny square of reflective tiles, in the middle of a shag carpet ocean. Your mother’s nails, painted in Revlon Desirable #150, rattling impatiently over the lacquered surface of the dining table near her untouched plate and a glass of G&T sweating with condensation. She never ate her food. She drank even when she was pregnant. 

Your fingers find the back of your knee and pinch the thin skin there, so hard you flinch. 

The waitress waltzes off, and Ava returns her full attention to you. 

“I’m happy to see you,” she offers, and you smile softly at her uncustomary expression of affection. Your chest expends. “It’s been a while.”

There’s no reproach in her tone, but you are usually the one expressing ill-concealed concern over her long silences, and the reversal in your dynamic throws you off. Guilts gnaws at you. You choose defense. 

“You were away.”

“Yeah, but like, I came back three weeks ago.”

Three weeks. Your smile fades and you slump in your chair, running a quick mental calculation. 

Time has never been an easy concept for you to grasp, but until recently, you’ve managed to remain afloat and functioning, on a practical level at least, amidst a society that revolves around schedules and timetables. The watch on your wrist, yearly organizers, recently and reluctantly replaced by the iCal app on your phone, sticky notes, tin boxes filled with tickets stubs… All clutches to your failing memory, anything to keep you tethered against an overpowering and primal instinct to escape, let go, drift away. And perhaps, most of your exhaustion stems from this endless swimming-race against the current. 

Lately, your inability to remember appointments, to navigate time and hold an effective grasp on reality has reached a new high. For the past two months, your life has revolved around Friday nights and the sound of a red pickup truck pulling in and out of a decrepit motel’s parking, tires screeching on the gravel. Inside this timeframe, your entire life is contained. Around it, the days stretch, spiral, and blend. And you’ve lost all motivation and interest in any counter-current swimming. 

You frown slightly, scanning her face, but she doesn’t let on anything out of the ordinary. After all, if she genuinely worried, if she so badly needed to see you, she could have given you a call. You were the one to reach out and ask to see her this morning. 

Something’s different about her, in the way she holds herself straighter on her seat, with her legs crossed and her head tilted to the side, exposing the undercut she got before the summer. You’re still not entirely sure if this was the bold fashion statement she claimed it to be, rather than a dramatic reaction to her girlfriend moving back to New York. With Ava, it could be both. She’s not wearing any makeup today, her face looks disarmingly young, and the concern she’s expressed, however subtle, churns your insides with guilt and affection. 

You plaster a polite smile on your face. 

“Well, I’m here now. It’s good to see you, too. Tell me, how was New York? How’s Polly?”

The waitress returns with the pastries and beverages you ordered, and Ava begins to narrate her two-week trip to the big city. She speaks fast, punctuating her words with large gestures to describe the cultural buoyancy, the hip neighborhoods and her thrifts finds, the street food and the refined, cutting-edge restaurants, how everything is bigger there, faster and better, how she fell safe walking hand in hand with Polly, the clubs, the galleries, the weather, crisp air and chilly winds from the north, a refreshing, comforting seasonality to pace the existence. 

“I was fucking crying when I boarded the plane back, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You don’t miss her too much?” 

She doesn’t answer, and something in the way she avoids your gaze makes you frown again. 

Polly and you have always gotten along well. You genuinely appreciate her solar personality and her worldly conversation. Their encounter four years ago had been the silver-lining in an otherwise horrendous year. The happy, coincidental consequence of a chain of events that had been years in the making. 

When Ava dropped out of college halfway through her freshman year, it provided your father with the excuse he had been waiting for to kick his own child out of his house. You had seen it coming. In fact, you had spent your entire adult life shielding Ava from the paternal discontent, investing all your strength into becoming the son and successor he had wished for, and that neither of you could ever be. 

Ava, however, had never put in the effort. She didn’t fit into the family portrait. She never had. You didn’t want her to, and she simply couldn’t. Too rebellious, decidedly unconventional, and, well, queer, to boot. Your father had spent years formatting you and there she was, standing proud, strengthened by your unconditional support, a glaring highlight of your diverging values, a breathing reminder of his failure with you both. 

In the aftermath of the fall-out, Adrian had refused to take her in, and she had spent days out of your sight, sleeping god knows where. Eventually, you’d dug your heels in, as you only ever did when Ava was concerned and her wellbeing on the line, and obtained that she move in with you. The cohabitation hadn’t gone smoothly in the least. As usual, Adrian was more concerned about potentially upsetting your father than making you happy. You were once again caught between crossed fires.  

The strained situation with your fiancé notwithstanding, Ava couldn't spend her time sitting idly at home. You had pleaded with her for weeks before she agreed to resume her studies. Only this time, it had to be with your funding. The realization that you didn’t have any consequential money of your own had been brutal, even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise: you lived in Adrian’s apartment, and were employed by your father, who refused point-blank to let you sell some of your company shares, knowing the money would go to his estranged daughter. 

All you could afford was Hillsborough Community College, but things had eventually taken a turn for the better when Ava and Polly had met. Polly was teaching psychology, waiting for a tenure that she would never be granted. Because of the 20-year age gap between them, she insisted Ava graduate with her BA before they started properly dating. And when they did, the improvement in your sister’s mental state and overall balance was immediately noticeable. 

Calm and collected, affectionate and thoughtful, Polly grounds your young sibling. She eases her anger and channels her energy into creative and fruitful endeavors, without snuffing her rebellious temper. 

And now, despite Ava being almost fully independent, with a job and a place of her own, you don’t know what you’d do if they were to break up. If one of them were to decide that a long-distance relationship is not what she wants. 

You lean forward, your hand coming to rest over hers, warm and smooth. “Hey pup, what’s up? Is everything ok between you two?”

“Oh yes,” she quickly assures you, withdrawing her hand, “and by the way, she sends you her best.”

Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice. You suddenly feel stupid, pathetically naive, forever one step behind. Leaning back in your chair, you let out a short, soundless huff. What you’re facing is not a breakup, but the likely possibility that Ava will soon move out of town to follow Polly to New York. 

Ava is talking again, about New York you’re guessing, but you can’t focus on her words. Behind your impassive eyes and your attentive smile, your mind reels and wrestles with a downpour of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Pride flares in your chest at the prospect of your baby sister setting roots in a city as intimidating as New York, but it tugs at something else, something you’re too scared to consider, and an ugly feeling you’re reluctant to acknowledge.  

Would she hesitate before leaving you behind, after you’ve prioritized her freedom over yours? After you stayed so she could fly away? And wouldn’t it be the point? 

Your eyes travel up along the trail of small tattoos adorning her forearms. Dominos, tea cups, a white rabbit with round glasses, a flamingo, several thin arrows, a broken heart in flames. 

What’s your purpose, if she’s not here anymore? If someone else is looking after her? If your sacrifice is no longer necessary nor justified?

“How was Thanksgiving dinner? Did you have fun talking about politics with Richard?” 

You wince involuntarily at your father’s name. She never refers to them as “mom” and “dad.” She hasn’t for a long while. But today the sarcasm doesn’t fool you, no more than her feigned indifference. 

She’s not truly asking if you had to bite your tongue and smile through conversations that make you nauseous. She knows well enough you’ve got just enough political convictions to carry you to the voting poll, but hardly a step further. Listening to him is painful, but you get by, and your shameful silence buys you necessary peace. 

No, what she wants to know is if your family inquired about her. And you don’t have it in you to answer that no, no one has, not last Thursday, not for the past four years, not ever. Not your indifferent father, nor your inebriated mother. Not your bigot grandparents, not your egotistic aunt and her gold-digging husband, not even the housekeeping staff.  

You shrug noncommittally. 

“Who were the guests of honor, this year?”

The question makes you groan and briefly close your eyes at the memory. 

“Adrian’s parents.”

“No?! Fuck! They really want this marriage to happen, don’t they? Looks like you’re not gonna be able to dodge much longer.” 

She smacks her hand over her thigh, letting out a short staccato of a chuckle, as if the subject of your confinement through marriage was a laughing matter. You glare at her, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest, but the shifting in your demeanor goes unnoticed.  

Suddenly, her levity riles you up. She got away. You didn’t. And the only thing that carried you through this year’s Thanksgiving dinner is the perspective of being fucked senseless by a stranger on a dirty motel floor the following night. 

For a brief moment, you’re tempted to bite, and retort that, contrary to her, you didn't spend the holiday on your own. But the truth is that you envy her the privilege, and she knows it.

Taking a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm your growing nerves, you stir the conversation towards another topic, finding neutral ground with her job. You’re stalling, and you’re not even good at it. You sit restless on that damn hard chair, squirming uncomfortably, sweat prickling under your armpits in the chill artificial air, eyes flicking down to your watch every other second. 

“Do you have to be somewhere, or something?”

Your head shoots up. Again, you have no idea what she’s talking about, or how long she’s been rambling for. This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous.

“Listen, Ava, I have to ask you something. A favor. I have to ask you a favor.”

Her eyes widen at your sudden change of tone but she nods. “Hit me.”

“I need you to… I need to be able to tell Adrian that I spend… that I spend Friday nights at your place. Actually, I’ve already been doing it for a while. He thinks we see each other on Friday evenings. I just… I need more time. I need the night.” You grip your shin with both hands and dig your nails in. “It really doesn’t matter anyway, he’s not home on Fridays, he plays poker and he never comes back until like, 3 or 4am, and I just need— I need to be able to come home after him. Not, like, every week. Or yes, maybe every week. Just in case. If ever. You know?”

She remains completely still and silent as you wrestle your words out of your throat. Her face hardens, her wide, green eyes strained on you. She gauges you in silence for another moment, while you rub your clammy palms on your jeans under the table. Above the table, you do your very best to maintain a casual air.

“And what exactly is it that you do, on Friday nights?”

You anticipated the question, of course you did. You swallow around the sharp stone stuck in your throat. Your eyes dart down to your espresso cup. It’s empty. 

“I’m just taking a bit of time off for myself.” 

More time, to commit his body and his face to your long-term memory after he’s left you, depriving you of his heat. The tiny bits of him that add up to form the formidable sum of the man he is. The locks that curl around his ears. The dip in his collarbone. The little target tattooed on his hand. You’re never sure which hand it’s on, you need more time, that’s all. And you won’t lie to her, not exactly. You set your mind on that early on. But you will not tell her the whole story.

A large shit-eating grin slowly parts her plump lips. 

“Are you telling me that Richard’s favorite daughter is getting some side dick on a weekly fucking basis?”

“Jesus, Ava, why do you always have to be so crude?”

“But you are? Right? You are getting dicked down, every fucking Friday night? Right? Are you on Tinder, or something?”

“I’m not—” you start, but her excitement is louder than your exasperation. She uncrosses her legs to lean toward you, propping her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together, talking over you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? For once that something cool–”

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you retort through clenched teeth, raising your voice. Her mouth hangs open in shock. You don’t give her time to recover. “And look, if you don’t want to do that for me, it’s fine, it’s not like anyone is going to call you to ask if I’m with you.”

She takes the blow, leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, shame and anger burning your cheeks.  

“Why you’re telling me now, then?”

“Like I said. In case.”

“I case what? In case I find myself on a Friday evening in the same place Adrian takes his cuntsluts?”

You steel yourself and stare at her. 

“Something like that, yes.” 

—

Two months. 

Two months of lies and deception, shoving your bright secret deep down inside you, shrouded under a veil of routine and normalcy.

Nine weeks, split into six days of stretched out hours, swirling languid and excruciating, like smoke from a cigarette stub in a room without air, and one day of counting. The minutes, your steps, your breaths, your heartbeats.

Saturdays, worn-out, appeased, pleasantly aching. Sundays rising slow like a lurking threat. Mondays-Tuesdays-Wednesdays merging, dragging and useless. People talking to you, expecting words, when your mind is filled with two glistening bodies entwined in golden hues. A tremor on Thursdays, the nearing promise, and by Friday morning you’re all frayed nerves and aching want, tapping into your pent-up emptiness for focus and patience. 

Friday evenings sliced up into a ritualized sequence of actions. 

At 6pm, you leave your office and head toward the employees' underground parking. There are 37 steps from your desk to the two silver-doors elevators on the landing. Seventeen stories down, including 2 underground levels, and 58 steps from the elevators to your designated parking place. It is crucial that you don’t allow the pace of your steps to catch up with the racing thumps of your heart. 

From downtown Tampa, it’s an hour and thirty-six minutes drive north on the 589, before you reach the motel. An hour and fifty minutes, two hours top, if the traffic’s bad. There might be faster alternative routes, but you don’t use the GPS, so you don’t know about them. 

Once you’re there, you park in front of room number 7, the one with the missing brass  number. You stuff your phone into your purse, which you slide under your seat. 

You exit your car and walk towards the reception in short, hurried strides, cursing the tight skirt that hinders your steps and gives your posture a subdued aspect, which is probably why your father imposes the garment on his female employees. 

The reception is a square room with an old humming AC unit, dark-brown fabric wallpaper, yellowing popcorn ceiling and a counter behind which sits Raul, the night clerk. Raul is a short man in his mid-60s. His dark eyes are reshaped into tiny concentric boot buttons by the thick lenses of his small, round glasses. His light brown, straight hair is styled in a bowl cut. He only wears beige Henley’s with rolled-up sleeves and indigo painter overalls. You’ve never seen his shoes.

Every week, Raul hands you the key to room number 2 without lifting his boot-button eyes from the charcoal drawing he busies himself over behind the counter, and tells you in a thick accent that “everything has already been taken care of.” 

Every week, you thank Raul, grab the key from his stretched out left hand, and chance a glance over the counter to see what he’s drawing. Mountains, infallibly, week after week, the scenery only varying in shape and shades of anthracite. 

And every week, as you exit the reception, you feel Raul’s boot-button eyes strained on your back through his round glasses. 

When you step inside room number 2, you flick up the two toggle switches by the door, turning on the lights and the overhead fan, and you go to the bathroom to wash your hands and check your reflection in the antique black-edged mirror. 

Then, you return to the room and you sit on the bed. That’s where you wait for him. 

You don’t undress, you don’t lie down, you don’t undo the bed. 

You know what he’ll do to your clothes. Anticipation trickles down along your spine all the way to the ripe heat between your thighs, and it travels right back up to tug up at the corners of your lips, but you press them together, lips and thighs, as you wait.  

He comes in after dark, preceded by the sound of tires on gravel and that of his boots stomping on the porch and he’s here, Frankie’s here, the rush of night air from outside when he storms into the room wafting over your face. 

He greets you with a hoarse voice, like he hasn’t used it all week, and he takes a couple of long strides towards the desk, where he sets down his cap. You peer at his reflection in the framed mirror when he combs his fingers through his dark curls, tense jaw, creased brow. You study his broad shoulders, the rippling muscles of his strong back, when he takes off his jacket and drapes it on the back of the chair, swift, precise gestures. It’s his own ceremonial, you let him have it, his transition into this world that you share. The confine of this room. Brown carpet, yellow curtains. 

When he turns to face you, at last, it’s always with a heavy, grating sigh, a sound so rough and primitive to express his relief, his hunger, the limit of his patience. You stand up slowly, unfurling in slow motion from your sitting position on the edge of the bed, eyes on him, forever and always. His want radiates from him in colorful angry waves, like a tangible, virulent aura, black eyes boring into your skin and you welcome it as it pours out of him and creeps up to you like thick fumes. 

You stand tall in the charged stillness of the motel room, offered, but not quite yet within reach, waiting for him to come and seize you. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says as he comes closer, tilting up his chin. The command rumbles low and guttural from his throat, and those words are your cue. You clamber out of your statuesque stillness, twisting your ankles out of your pumps while he tugs at your blouse, as he crashes his lips onto yours. 

His first kiss is voracious, unescapable, your face trapped between his cupped hands, and you’re engulfed in the taste of him, drowning in the scent of him, leather and soap and musk. And something metallic you have no name for. It’s intoxicating, you’re floating, losing both bearings and balance, like when you were thirteen, and you’d sneak to the downstairs pantry to drink your mother’s gin before dinner. 

On some Friday nights, you’ve already made it back to your glass prison when you notice a tear in the seam of your shirt, or a missing button. “Take off those fucking clothes, I wanna feel your skin.” 

“Yes,” you answer with parted lips, parted heart, parted life, jaunty fingers working your skirt open.

Beyond that point, neither of you talks much. 

It’s his name –Frankie– falling from your lips, a long but quiet whimper when you come, a whine of pleasure-plain when he inches into you, a moan when you plead for more, a whisper when you promise you can take it all. 

It’s his clipped orders, sharp and short. 

Open up

Push back into it

Let me hear you

I want you to come on it

And two words, always the same since that first time in the parking lot. 

Stop me.

Stop me when he pins your hands above your head or folds your arms in the small of your back, his fingers like shackles around your wrists, and he lines himself up. Stop me before his saliva drips down his tongue in fat drops between your breasts, and he straddles your chest. Stop me, when he closes a fist in your hair and slides you down along his hard length, your chest caving in under your gag reflex, beads of tears like precious shiny diamonds clinging to your lashes. Stop me when he angles your spine backwards with a sudden tug on your hair, when he bands an arm across your belly and ragdolls you to the floor to fuck you harder and deeper. Stop me when he ties your wrists to your ankles with the black zip ties that bite into your flesh. 

Stop me with the flat of his hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, Stop me with his thumb teasing your tight ring, Stop me with your legs around his neck. 

Those two words, a beacon guiding you through the week that precedes. 

Sometimes, when you’re alone, you repeat them to yourself. 

“Stop me,” you say, low and quiet, facing the mirror when you're applying makeup, staring straight into your eyes, so intently it twists your reflection. 

“Stop me.” A whisper, and a slow-spreading, carnivorous smile that splits your face in two because someone, at last, wants you beyond reason. 

Stop me. You will never stop him. 

He fucks you twice, three times a night, before he leaves you covered in him, sated and sprawled on the rumpled bed around 2am, with a nod and a husked, “I’ll see you next Friday.” He sounds calm at last. Drained. 

Once he’s gone, in the rumbling of the pickup’s engine and the screeching of the tires, your mental countdown to the next Friday is reset. You crouch into the narrow bathtub of dubious cleanliness, and ruefully wash him away in the trickle of hot water. You try to hold on to the thought of him, even more so than to the feeling of his touch. That’s what the soreness is for. It will stay with you until Monday at least. 

But in your memory, his face is blurred. Only his sad angry eyes stand out, dreamlike, entrancing.

There's a conflicting distance beyond his hunger. An underlying restraint beyond his roughness. Withheld intimacy. A reluctance to give into your softest touches, when his forehead briefly rests on the plane of your chest, and you circle his neck, or carefully run your fingers through his sweat-soaked curls. 

It doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to understand that if he wasn’t in here with you, he’d be somewhere else, doing something worse. 

Some weeks, you go through strings of sleepless nights and restless days of anguish, your mind spiraling to the agonizing thought that you are nothing more to him than an empty and interchangeable vessel into which he can fuck his rage. 

With masochistic thoroughness, you pull taut a red woolen thread to connect the clues of your insignificance. 

He doesn’t name you. There are no sweet names, no terms of endearment, and he certainly never calls you Marion. The sounds he produces when he’s inside you, that’s your reward. Deep guttural grunts, and if you’re lucky enough, they resonate through your whole body when he holds you tight and close. 

He never comes inside you. Where do you want it? he pants, when his hips start to fall out of pace. “Mouth,” you quickly answer, always, a greedy match for his gritty ways. And most times, he obliges. Flips you around or scoot over you and shoves his pulsating cock into your warm, wanton mouth. 

But sometimes, he doesn’t. The thick pearly white ropes of his spend spurt over your back, your belly, your chest. That’s when he’s got a mind to rub it into your skin. That’s when you want to believe he might have chosen you to be here with him. 

In those scarce instances, you are tempted to rely on your instinctual understanding of your relationship. Far from the toxic codependency that, according to Ava, you feed into with Adrian, what you share with Frankie is elsewhere entirely. Week after week, he presents himself before you, visibly wounded, willing to offer exactly as much as he needs to receive. The balance is perfect. No travesty, complete equality. The purest form of interaction. The most honest transaction you’ve ever taken part in. 

And thus, no matter how remote he may seem on some nights, no matter how dark his eyes, how clouded his gaze, or how brutal his hold, you can’t help but feel safe. 

The feeling thrums underneath your skin and finds an echo in his bloodstream. You hear it in your shared silence, when you lie side by side on the bed and stare emptily at the ceiling, chests heaving, bodies cooling off. When a shiver rakes through you, he gets up and turns off the overhead fan. Walks over to the bathroom to bring you a glass of water. 

He’s given you everything you wanted and didn’t know how to ask for. 

And when he looks you in the eyes, he doesn’t blink. 

Stop me, he says, and what you hear is, Trust me. 

He’s been quick to learn your body, and he’s greedy with your highs. He keeps you pinned down onto the threadbare linen with his mouth fastened around your cunt until your legs tremble and your throat is hoarse with your repeated high-pitched moans, the stubble on his cheeks scraping the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Bestowing pleasure, drinking it right back. 

Your body expands into new sensations, after years of a dormant existence, curled up within your outer shell into the tightest ball, the smallest possible shape. You’re spreading, stretching into your limbs, filling them in. Growing nerve endings that shoot farther along your extremities with each fiery kiss, each starving touch, each orgasm, like trees rooting in beautiful, intricate ramifications. 

The wild creature nestled between your lungs has a mind of its own. You’re developing emotions unknown to you until now. 

The tranquil contentment he leaves you with when he steps back into the night and closes the door behind him rapidly fades over the following days. By Sunday evening, there’s nothing left of it, and you find yourself shivering, deprived of his heat, unsettled, agitated. 

Your mind wanders to her. The faceless, nameless woman he drives back to after you’ve fucked each other free of your pain. 

Envy, tinged with hatred, pours ugly inside your chest, pressing against your rib cage, hindering your breathing, its heavy particles tainting your oxygen. 

Does he handle her with reverence? Does he use sweet names to beckon her into his embrace? Does he spit in her mouth, does she beg him to? Does he rub his spend into her skin, or does he stuff her pussy full of his seed?

Whenever you loosen the grip on your thoughts, you’re brought back to a large reception room on the last floor of another glass prison, stilettos wounding your feet, strangers with empty smiles and cruel eyes drinking from crystal champagne glasses. The excruciating misery of having to interact with Adrian’s colleagues, laughing at golf jokes you did not understand, desperate to fit in. Fighting your survival instinct, to tether yourself and not present a blank stare to those people you were supposed to impress. As Adrian’s fiancée. As your father’s daughter.

The effort seemed worth it, then. You were in love. Or so you thought. In hindsight, you’re not certain anymore. Reinterpreting your past is a temptation you try not to succumb to. In more then one way, you still love him.

There was a hushed tremor in the faceless assembly of tuxedos and cocktail dresses, and you saw her entering the room, parting the crowd. Slender, swaying, lush honey blonde locks and incandescent hazel eyes. Junior partner at Adrian’s firm, quickly climbing the ranks, flawless makeup and oozing self-confidence, she smoked Vogue cigarettes and when your gaze returned to Adrian, everything fell into place. You knew with a chilling certainty that this formidable young woman was fucking your boyfriend. 

Adrian had had a couple of flings in the past, but this one was different. He fell for her hard, a grown man in a teenage-like trance. Your blood left your face when you realized everyone else in the penthouse, and most likely in the firm, could see what you were seeing. 

You decided then and there that you were never going to marry him, regardless of what he or your father would threaten you with.

But even then, what you had experienced wasn’t jealousy. You’d felt trapped, and yes, betrayed. Wounded, in what little self-esteem you possessed. Thoroughly defeated. But you did not feel jealous. 

You understand it now, and every time you think of Frankie’s touch grazing the faceless woman. Every time you torture yourself into considering the nature of their bond and the depth of their attachment.

Would Frankie look at you the way Adrian looked at her? With blunt desire, unabashed, irrepressible thirst? With belonging? Would people around you know? Would they identify you as lovers? 

After all, a single glance had been enough for him to take you from a bar, to a parking lot, to a motel. To make you desperate to mean something to him. 

Does he miss you outside your shared time? Does he think of you? Does his mind wander to your skin in the blue morning hours, does he try to name your scent?

Deep down, you are no fool. If there’s one thing you’ve always known in this life, it’s your place. 

But some Friday nights are more dangerous. They give you too much hope. Prompting you to call your sister, for instance, and risk your little secret so you can spend more time in the small room with the yellow curtains. Wrap yourself in the dirty sheets that bear his musky scent, instead of jumping into the shower. Linger into that breach of your life’s continuum. Extend the delusion.

Last Friday, he buried his face into your core and drew violent waves of release that he kissed back into you, swirling his tongue into your mouth to coat it with your taste. 

His face was shiny with your slick and his body glistening with sweat in the soft yellow hues from the bedside lamps, when he got up to the desk and slid his belt out of the loops of his pants.  

Your eyes grew wide, but not with fear. 

He placed you face down on the bed, with your arms along your chest, and he trapped your body with the belt. You accompanied his movements, docile, curious, without apprehension. The metal buckle was cool on your feverish skin, and the leather smelled like him. 

Stop me. He was hard and thick, and he fucked into you in long, thorough strokes, dragging the round tip of his cock along your clenching walls, slamming his hips into the swell of your ass. With his thumb pushing into your asshole and his hand around the belt to keep you where he needed you to lie still. 

You came in seismic tides that quaked along your body in concentric ripples, from your wrung out core to the extremities of your fingers and toes. The sound that came out of your throat was unrecognizable, and perhaps it was his. Your mind tipped over into unconsciousness. When you resurfaced, his cock was rubbing in the cleft of your cheeks, his come leaking down the curve of your back, mixing in with your combined sweat, his chest pressing down onto your shoulder blades. 

You felt his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, hot breath searing his choked up words into your soul. 

“You’re a good girl. Say it. Say you’re a good girl.”

“I’m— I’m—“

“That’s it, say it for me.”

He was lying heavy on top of you, sinking you into the mattress, his belt buckle digging into your side. This was going to leave a mark. 

“I’m a good girl.”

“You’re my good girl.”

You will never stop him. 

—

Sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back straight and your ankles crossed, you wait. Eyes on the yellow curtains, darting beyond the dusty fabric into the warm December night. It’s yours. All of it. Yours until morning.

There’s the faintest hint of a bad taste sitting on the back of your tongue. Coppery, bloodlike. It comes in waves every time you remember how you twisted your baby sister’s arm into covering for you. But the night is yours. You swallow hard, force a smile. You want to be guiltless, for once. 

“Polly says you’re overly secretive. That you like to live ‘hidden between the folds of life’, as she puts it. Something about culpability being a coping mechanism…”

The words, delivered flatly after you’d stubbornly diverted and defused all her questions, had cut through the most tender parts of your flesh. 

“Is that her professional opinion?” you had retorted, your chin tilted up as if you were not bleeding inside. 

You swallow hard again. If you close your eyes, if you concentrate, you can almost hear it. The pickup’s engine, bolting down the asphalt, bringing him into your needy arms. You can feel the heat radiating from his solid chest and seeping into your body through your palms, resting empty and upwards on your lap. Your tongue tingles with his tangy taste, a trail of goosebumps breaks across your skin, anticipating his caress.

Frankie.

The daydream that carries you through the week, carries you through that very last stretch.   

Until the man himself storms into the room like bad weather. Dark, electric, a standing threat. 

One look at his face and you know. It’s going to be one of these nights that make you doubt everything. 

At first, the change in the script is barely perceptible. There is no gentle acclimatization, no ceremonial, no tacitly shared ritual. He doesn’t face away to let you observe his reflection in the mirror. But he looks like he hasn’t slept since last Friday. The crease in his brow is forbidding, his eyes are too bright, too clouded, circled in black and you’re dizzy with the distance you find there. Tension rolls out from his taut muscles underneath his clothes and you stand up, alert, if not entirely ready. 

“Get naked,” he growls, tugging his gray t-shirt over his head, his trucker hat falling to the floor and tonight, you miss your cue. 

Instead, you come closer, extending your hands towards him. You call him in a murmur, Frankie, but the wild thumping of his heart under your trembling palms cuts you short. 

The light flickers in his eyes, so you hang in brave, hang onto the thread of your touch, sliding your hands up his burning chest. He stills. His gaze focuses on you for the first time since he came in. Your fingertips brush lightly along his collarbone, to the dip at the base of his neck, where they linger, underlining the hollow shape of it, skating around his neck to his nape. His brow shifts, his jaw ticks, and you draw him in for a kiss.  

He jolts when your lips meet his. His hands grip your hips, rough and desperate. This is the part where you melt into him, surrender to his touch, but tonight the balance is tipped off. He licks into your mouth with a pained, muffled whimper, and your eyes remain open. 

You’re powerless, powerless to get to him and bring him back to you from wherever the hell he may be. And his distance settles between your two bodies, an invisible partition. It stands erect and opaque, projecting its shadow over you when he lies you down on the synthetic quilt and dives between your hips. His ministrations are detached, performative, mechanical. There’s no contained urgency in his handling of you. Empty touches, empty silence, and you orgasm weakly, the sensation floating on the surface of you. 

You can sense him, trapped behind his black eyes and this damn crease that splits his face above them, only you can’t reach him. He won’t let you. For every one of your attempts at a caress, at tenderness, is rejected by a shrug, a push of his hand, a shake of his head. 

Sweat breaks on his forehead and dampens his curls as he becomes restless, showing none of the familiar signs of the relief he finds in your release, when he hums softly into you, lapping at your entrance to capture what you offer him, what he drew from you. Impatience and desperation roughen his grip on you. He shoves you to the head of the bed and you scramble, sliding on the slippery quilt, curled on your side, until you’re caged between his rigid body and the headboard. 

There’s no warning, no Stop me, when he lines himself up with a stifled groan. You bury your face into the pillow and bite down on it to muffle the pain when he splits you open. He starts rutting into you with unrestrained strength, forcing through the vice grip of your tight cunt around his hard length. You try to relax into it. That’s all you ever want, for him to fill you up, to be inside you and around you, but that’s the thing: he’s not touching you. Not really. 

Instead of gripping the curve of your hips, or kneading your breast, or lying between your shoulder blades, his hands are clenched on the headboard, white knuckled. His bent knee doesn’t quite touch your folded legs, his hips don’t even slap against the swell of your cheeks.  

“Frankie,” you try, but your voice comes out thin as a ripping thread. It’s immediately drowned under the sounds filling the room, the creaking of the bed, his strained breathing.  

“Frankie,” you call again, louder this time, reaching to the side to grab his thigh. 

He jerks at the contact, sliding out of you with a hiss like you just burned him with a red-hot iron. You grab the side of the headboard to haul yourself up. Behind you, you feel him falling back on his knees. For a few seconds, you can’t bring yourself to move. You remain hunched over, fingers wrapped so tightly on the hardboard, your nails digging into the cheap, tender wood. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and you turn around to face him. 

Your heart sinks and chatters at the sight of him, of his glassy, pleading eyes that won’t meet yours. His chest heaves with exertion, and the weight of something else. He grazes a palm over his face, tilting his head down. 

“I hurt you. I fucking hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tonight, this is it. These words are your cue. 

“No,” you start, scooting closer to him as he shakes his head, exhausted, isolated. The gesture no longer carries the warning it did as he was about to succumb. It’s a measure of his failure, of the depth of his defeat, and it chills you to the bones.  

“No,” you repeat, stronger, and you offer him the only lifeline you know. 

Closing the physical distance, you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. When his body stiffens, you harden your hold.

“Frankie… Frankie…” you coo, again and again, like his name holds the solution, and all of your devotion. You say it as you press your forehead to his, as you rub your cheek against his stubble, as you nuzzle the sharp edge of his nose, and trace his plush lips with yours. 

Until his shoulders sag under your embrace, until you feel the choked up breath that quakes his chest, you keep repeating his name. A few minutes, or an infinity of seconds, time doesn’t matter anymore. The night is yours, your skins are glued together in the soft yellow light. 

His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first, but you encourage him, raking your fingers through his hair, twining them into his soft curls. He lets you, he gives in, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales you there, raising the soft hair on your nape. His voice is broken when he speaks.

“I’m not–” 

“Frankie don’t, please don’t,” you cut in. 

You know the words that are piling bitter and desperate on his tongue, know them on an instinctual level. You feel them swirling, black and hopeless inside his head, you’ve known them from the very beginning, recognized them in the sadness of his angry stare. And you won’t let him pronounce them inside this room you share, you won’t let him give them any kind of substantiality. Not between your arms, not against your skin. 

“I’m not hurt,” you begin, pulling back to see his face, to look into his eyes and sink your words of hope and faith into him, past the barrier of remorse and regret, “I want everything you–” but his brow furrows deeper as he clenches his eyes shut, and you trail off. 

Panic briefly floods your brain. You’re acutely aware of your shortcomings and limitations, of all the things you’ve never been taught growing up. How to translate feelings into words, how to express compassion, how to care for others. How to be heard. 

You take a deep, shaky breath, your breasts pushing into his chest. 

“Look at me, Frankie baby. Look at me. Let me–”

Let me in. Let me be yours. Let me mean something. 

Your plea dies on your tongue when his eyes shoot open. They shine with unshed tears, pierced by a ray of light from the bedside table, and for the first time, you see that they’re not black. They were never black. His eyes are brown, a deep, rich, precious mahogany brown. The color paints your vision, it flows into your bloodstream and courses along your veins. It spreads into your heart, gets tangled in your soul. Around you, the whole world disappears, along with everyone in it. There is only him, his mahogany eyes brimming with tears, and the feeling of his hot, damp skin against yours. 

His arms wrap tighter around your back, his warmth seeps into your bones. His hands find purchase on your curves, drawing you closer. 

“I want you so badly to be real,” he whispers, quiet and pained, like he can’t ask you this much, but you know that, for him, you’re willing to be. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 

Swallowing down the tremor in your throat, you give him a tender smile, tinted with gratitude, colored with praise. You cup his face, fingernails scratching at the heart-shaped patch on his jawline. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you give him what he needs, leaning in to press them to his. 

Underneath you, his length throbs with unreleased hunger, and you sway your hips over it. He moans against your lips, the vibration trails down to your core like hot, liquid amber. His tongue peaks out, and you open up for him, like you always have, like you always will. A grating sound comes out of his throat, an echo of your gratitude, a mirror of your pain, a reflection of your loneliness. 

He breaks the kiss to lift you up gently, helping you find friction with his cock sliding between your folds, where it pulsates hard and thick against your clit. Your limbs turn to molasses, toffee soft and sticky, but your hips lock into a slow, languid rhythm, slick pooling down on him as you stroke him between your two bodies. His right hand skates up flat along your spine, to settle on your nape. 

He draws you in closer, closer than you’ve ever been. His heart beats inside your chest, enveloping the purring wild creature you still can’t name or tame. 

“Make us come, baby.”

A dry sob undulates up to your throat. Your eyes fill with hot tears, they spill against his temple. Mahogany explodes inside your brain. The night is yours. 

“Yes, Frankie.”

“Make us come together.”

****

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981 @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @survivingandenduring @jeewrites

#tonight you belong to me #happy frankie friday #tybtm #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #the pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie morales / you #frankie morales / ofc #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #frankie friday #will miller #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfiction

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

(3) WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW [r.l]

“They wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.” — ‘these violent delights’, micah nemerever

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

warnings. swearing, mention of sex + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

summary. a certain someone approaches you and rowan.

word count. 3k

>pt1, pt2, pt3

iii. 

You completely - and I mean totally, wholly, entirely - underestimated Enid Sinclair’s gossiping capabilities.

The both you had expected her to tell a few people, maybe, just get it out there that, “wow, Rowan and [Name], are, like, totally boning, oh, and he’s a vampire now.”

The whole nonchalant gossiping thing. You’ve seen it happen — aw, Bianca’s dating Xavier, oh, wait, they're over; Davina and Sinclair’s older brother were caught after curfew, that’s nice; one of the fangs knocked out a normie on Outreach Day, go them! 

You didn’t know how out of proportion things could get. You were no expert on gossiping - that was Yoko’s thing. 

Maybe it was because she was younger than you. These days, being older than two centuries felt like you were a fucking senior citizen. 

By next morning, several Fangs had knocked on your door asking about you and Rowan. By pure ‘coincidence’, Rowan would walk by the door, or maybe he’d call you back to ‘bed’, and the inquisitive Fangs in question would gasp, quickly say goodbye, and leave.

In actuality, you and Rowan had practiced this after the first fellow Vampire had come by and asked. By some terrible stroke of luck, Weem’s had permitted Rowan to move out of his dorm with Xavier Thorpe and move into your empty one, as your whole reason for turning him had been to stay together forever.

Ugh. Curse Weems and her disgustingly romantic heart. 

When the two of you arrived in your first period (you in Latin, Rowan in Fencing), you had been bombarded with either questions or whispers (you with questions, Rowan surrounded by whispers, which didn’t really bother him. It was like a regular day of being an outcast freak, except now, instead of laughing behind his back, everyone shied away from his gaze.) 

You reconvened at lunch, hiding in your dorm to take a break from everyone’s unabashed staring. Even on your way to Karnstein Hall, people popped up left and right, scrambling from their place across the room to see you two up close — holding hands, of course, as you had to keep up appearances.

“So,” you said, putting down your dorm keys on your bedside table, “How was your morning?”

“Ugh,” Rowan groaned, flopping down onto his bed across from yours — which was still bare, as he’d moved in just the night before — “don’t even ask. I was okay with the whispers, but by third period Seance I had people coming up to me and asking for details.”

You shrugged off your Nevermore zip-up, throwing it onto your bed. “God, I saw Davina eyeing me from across the greenhouse - I thought I was gonna get sirened into spilling secr—“

A sharp knock rapted at your cherry-wood door, interrupting your ranting. The both of you paused, far too tired to deal with any more questions. 

“[Name], Rowan, I know you’re in there.” A familiar voice said, before knocking once more. Immediately, your expression grew alarmed.

It was Wednesday Addams knocking on your door. 

You inched closer to the door, hand hesitantly grasping around the brass knob. From behind you, Rowan looked like he’d rather die again than open the door.

He had told you about his mother’s painting and her psychic abilities - the reason why he had attempted to kill her - and how he still couldn’t trust her. Despite how Rowan knew that psychic powers weren’t the most reliable, and could even make one go crazy - like his mothers had - he still held the utmost trust in her.

Nonetheless, Rowan obliged when you mouthed to him: “Weems is on her case. Any wrong move and she’ll be done for.”

Twisting the knob slowly, you cracked the door open a few inches. “Hi, Wednesday.” You pasted on a bright smile, all teeth and, on purpose, entirely, noticeably, fake.

“I need to talk to Rowan.” She said shortly, black eyes boring into your own. They were completely devoid of emotion, blank and lifeless. If you ever saw her laying on the floor with the same expression, you’d think she was dead. 

“I’m afraid we’re,” You grinned larger, trying to flush some color into your cheeks, “having some quality couple time.”

She furrowed her brows. You lifted a hand onto her shoulder, “You get it, righ—“

Suddenly, Wednesday’s head flew back, and her body stiffened. Her back was arched, arms flailed at her side. Wednesday looked completely out of it, eyes rolling to the back of her head, breathing scattered like she was heaving.

“Wednesday?” You whispered, hands curling around her thin arms. “Wednesday!” You repeated, shaking her rapidly when she didn’t come out of her stupor. 

She looked like she was about to convulse, but instead her body held still for a moment, until it grew limp and fell into your arms. 

You gaped. Then, you looked down the hall, left and right, feeling your nerves practically burn on fire at the thought that someone had seen. 

Thankfully, nobody was loitering in your wing of Karnstein Hall, but you knew Yoko was going to grab her herbology kit soon for her next class. 

Decisively, you dragged Wednesday’s sagging body into your room. Then, you gently placed her body in the middle of the room, and locked your dorm door. 

“What happened? What the the fuck did you do?!” Rowan said, springing up from his bed. His panic was evident as the pitch of his voice climbed higher and higher, nervously hopping over Wednesday’s body and standing next to you. 

“Why the hell is that your first thought?! I didn’t do anything!” You said defensively, throwing your arms up in the air. 

“Then how come she’s - passed out like that. Is she passed out? Did you kill her or—“ Rowan’s voice was quickly growing staccato, and he was running out of breath. 

“I didn’t kill her! What are you even saying?! We were just talking—“

“If you were just talking then why is she on the floor, in the middle of our goddamn room?!” Rowan shouted, heaving. 

You were sure Rowan was about to pass out, when Wednesday suddenly lifted her upper body off the floor. It looked like when elder vampires sprung from their coffins, unlike the younger generation of vampires that shed the need for coffins and got their energy from social interaction. Changing times, you guessed.

Wednesday turned to the both of you, almost mechanically, and you both froze on the spot. Her gaze pierced the two of you. It was calculating, all knowing; like she knew secrets you did not.

She drew in a thin breath between the teeth that, suddenly, looked as sharp as knives. “That night - in the forest. You died.” Wednesday looked at Rowan, her eyes tracing the bite scar on his neck. 

“But it wasn't the monster that killed you,” Wednesday continued. Her eyes drifted, latching onto you next. “It was [Name]. They followed the scent of blood, found you… and turned you.”

Wednesday’s dull, lifeless eyes grew a miniscule sheen. “Am I correct?” She said, pushing herself up from the wood floors and dusting her black pants off. 

You looked at Rowan. He looked at you. You both continued like that for several moments, all the while Wednesday stood watching and waiting. She seemed to have no qualms at all about waiting, like an idle game character. 

Never mind Wednesday Addams’s mannerisms — how in god’s fucking name did she know that? In utmost detail, nonetheless, even down to how Rowan’s attack made itself known to you. 

“How - did you...“ Rowan broke the silence, fumbling over his words. His hands animatedly expressed his shock. 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Who told you this? Who saw this, and who else knows?”

If there was even the slightest chance that this information leaked… the two of you would be done for. The possibility of a homicidal monster being known to parents would effectively close the school - and for how long, you did not know. 

(Although Nevermore had never been home, it was single-handedly the only place you and Rowan had ever known so comfortably. 

For centuries, you wandered throughout Europe - through Romania and back again, in France, Italy, Denmark, Istanbul when it had still been Constantinople; every country in the North-Eastern hemisphere you traversed, unable to sit still, unable to get comfortable, unable to feel okay, until you crossed into the Americas, into Nevermore. It was not home, but at least it promised something similar. 

After Rowan’s mother’s death - no, even before she had passed, his house wasn’t home. His mother’s psychic abilities had ailed her - not physically, which had killed her - but in the head. Rowan’s mother had not been herself for at least a decade before she passed, and when she did die, it was saying goodbye to a stranger, loving a figure who did not love you back, nonetheless raise you. 

His father, even moreso, was estranged. Rowan’s father had cherished his mother more than anything in the entire world; more than the family business, more than their heaps of wealth, more than Rowan himself. 

When she died, in that large, empty, home, the warm part of his father died with her. 

Despite the way he was treated at school, he preferred Nevermore over his house, because at least he was treated with contempt. In the Laslow family estate, Rowan was not treated with anything at all. In that empty house, Rowan felt like a ghost. No one spoke to each other, no one spoke to him, and his father drowned himself in his work. 

Nevermore was for the fleeing. You and Rowan fit those conditions entirely. It welcomed the fearful, the alone, the outcast. It attempted to make something of a home out of you all, and even if it didn’t fill the gap in you and Rowan, it, at the very least, filled some of it. 

So closing the school could not happen.)

“Nobody told me this. I did not see this matter in the way you think. And no-one else knows, excluding you two, and now me.” 

“You lie,” You said. There was no other way she’d get a hold of such intimate details. 

If possible, Wednesday looked slightly offended at the connotation. “I have not lied for the entirety of this conversation.” 

And lie again. You sucked air in through your teeth, taking short and rapid breaths. What right did she have, knocking on your door and passing out, barging into your business, all knowing and spilling your every secret? 

What did she want? 

Something dawned on you, your eyes widening with each passing second. Passing out? All knowing—

Wednesday looked you both in the eye. Her gaze was as transparent as glass, and it looked as though she was prepared to lay all her cards on the table. 

“I suppose, as I’ve found out your secret, I must tell you mine. A quid pro quo, of sorts.” 

“You did not see it in the way we think,” You thought to yourself, piecing together Wednesday’s vaguely knit puzzle of words. 

Wednesday’s hands clasped together. “I get visions. Of the past, or the future.” 

You and Rowan looked at one another once more. That would explain many things, but you both still regarded the Addams’ daughter with a certain distrust. You did so for reasons you could not quite understand, but perhaps it was her eeriness that held such a discomforting air that made you both need more convincing. 

She turned to Rowan, “On Harvest Day, I saw you die. No more, no less. Before you did so, I did not see you try to kill me. Until now, I did not see [Name] save you.”

Rowan’s eyes thinned. “What else have you seen?” He said, distrustingly. 

Wednesday looked similarly distrusting, which was not surprising, as Rowan had tried to kill her. Nonetheless, she answered. “I witnessed a Jericho civilian’s death by cervical fracture before he died.” 

“These visions… you cannot control them?” You said, interrupting Rowan and Wednesday’s impromptu death-staring contest. 

Wednesday blinked. “Touch seems to be a common factor. But no.”

“Are they all knowing? Fixed?” Rowan scrutinized, an unashamed attempt at sleuthing. 

Wednesday, in her limited ability to show much emotion, seemed pensive. “To claim my visions are omniscient would be superbia. However, their accuracy has not yet failed me.”

You bit the skin on your nails. You could feel a drumming in your head, and you could imagine that was what a thrumming heart was like. 

Everything you asked, Wednesday seemed to answer - or perhaps, counter - completely. She left no room for suspicion, completely devoid of holes in her story. 

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay - fine. Yes, I turned Rowan. I - smelt his blood from the festival, followed the trail, and decided the only way I could save him was to turn him.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, acknowledging. “Smart decision on your part. In terms of eye-witness testimonies to the monster, all victims dead meant no accounts.” Wednesday’s gaze then turned to Rowan, whose previously impugning attitude disappeared. 

“I - didn’t see much.” Rowan began, in a meek voice. “As much as you saw, Wednesday. Maybe even less.”

“It does not particularly have to be what the creature looked like. Anything at all that you may remember,” she said, placing her hands in front of her expectantly.

He grimaced. “It… reminded me of a werewolf.” Rowan started, before quickly shaking his head. “But it wasn’t one. No, it was… violent; out of control.” Rowan bit his lip, thin, pointed fangs nipping at the skin so hard he nearly drew blood. “I remember it staring me down - with those huge, crazed eyes. But it - It looked like it… knew what it was doing. Like they - it, was attacking me intentionally.”

Silence filled the room, and it felt like a cold draft blew in, despite zero openings. The environment grew tense, and you looked at Rowan. If possible, he looked paler than before, a certain despair settling into the lines of his soft face. 

A heavy guilt weighed on your shoulders. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about the monster that almost killed him. In what world would one happily talk about their near-murderer? 

Breaking the silence, Wednesday hummed. “Intelligence, rather than animalistic instinct. Interesting.” 

“I - think it’s best if you go now, Wednesday.” You said, looking at Rowan’s blank stare. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he looked elsewhere. Far away from the now, melting in his memories. 

Wednesday blinked, and looked as if she wanted to say much more, but settled with a curt nod, and exited your dorm room. Before she left, she said, “Try not to let this conversation of ours leave the room. I have reason to believe the monster may very well kill all who know about it.”

After Wednesday left, it was just the two of you in the room. The awkward silence suffocated you both, like a noose constricting around your neck. Any words you wished to say died on your lips, their ghosts coming out as mere sighs. 

“I’m sorry.” You said finally, turning away from Rowan, who now lay still on his bed. He looked akin to a corpse in a casket during an open funeral viewing. 

“What for?” Rowan droned dully, eyes trained on the popcorn ceiling above you. You knew he wasn’t really listening, and he wasn’t really answering. His mind was so far between from his body, his subconscious answering for him. 

“We didn’t have to tell her. We didn’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to force you.”

Rowan didn’t answer, at least not for a long moment. Your simultaneous breathing was all that could be heard; in and out, in and out.

Finally, Rowan let out a breath of air that was tattered, ragged and tired. He sounded worn out; aching. “We had to tell her. She already knew.” He tried to catch his fleeting breath, “And you didn’t force me. I chose to tell her what I saw. What tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” You said, turning to face him. Rowan’s body had turned to face the wall, on his side with his legs pulled up to his chest. “for everything.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rowan whispered, almost inaudibly. 

You inched closer, until you were at the edge of his bed. You kneeled beside him, and in the softest voice you could muster: “I’m sorry for turning you. This - being what I am - isn’t anything good at all. It - isn’t what you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m - it wasn’t my choice to make; I — I turned you into something you’re not. Something terrible.”

Rowan rolled over, meeting you face to face. His light brown eyes glistened with small, shining tears, brows furrowed. “You - saved me. I’m not human anymore but I’m — I’m still alive.” His eyes coursed over your melancholic face, “That’s more than anyone else could do.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a broken toy. The guilt of turning a human into something they should never be, twisted your thoughts in all the wrong ways. You felt sick, icky for playing God with someone’s life, for playing God with Rowan’s fundamental being. “I should’ve never—“

“If you never turned me, I’d be dead, alright?” Rowan said gruffly, pushing himself upright from the mattress. He wiped furiously at his wet eyes, “It doesn’t matter if I was human, or not. I would’ve been dead. Gone. Okay? Stop -“ He pressed his shaking hands together, “stop saying you’re sorry.” 

Your lips opened and parted, your throat deathly dry. Words you couldn’t muster clawed at your esophagus, rendering you silent. 

Turning Rowan had been, what you felt, like the greatest sin in your entire, long, lifespan. You thought - that deep down, Rowan hated you for it.

“I’m sorry.” You looked him in the eye, weak on the floor. You could only ever imagine repenting for turning him. It was a taboo act - one you knew saved him, for certain, but had ruined him. 

You had been born ruined; born without the ability to be saved. There was no reason to condemn Rowan like so; to take away the humanity you so desperately wanted. 

Rowan’s eyes crinkled, a sad smile tightening on his lips. He knew he couldn’t change your mind, no matter how much he wanted to. “Don’t be.” 

#rowan laslow x reader #calum ross #wednesday #calum ross x reader #rowan laslow

[bloobluebloo]

I’m actually disappointed Ganondorf nuke explosion death had no consequences on the land. A bomb just exploded in a giant beam of light. And nothing happened? No mountain cracked, not a single tree destroyed, no land was burned? At least give us a crater. An honorary Ganon crater, just for him. Forever imbedded into the earth

I HATE THAT THEY EXPLODED HIM FOR SO MANY REASONS-

I feel like exploding Ganondorf was such a hollow way to end his life. Apart from my issues around the fact that this nullifies everything we've learned about draconification after the game spent a couple of cutscenes reinforcing the permanency and immortality factor of the act, it just felt really annoying that it didn't apply to either Zelda or Ganondorf who are the main dragons of this story. (And before someone comes at me with the "oh what if dragons are immortal like lobsters are where they only die when they are killed" well, okay, then why spend so much time telling me, in several cutscenes, that dragons lose themselves and are immortal and it cannot be reversed? When it's emphasized that much the purpose is usually to reinforce that becoming a dragon is really *really* a permanent change, not that by the power of love and friendship and the gods hate Ganondorf that much that none of those rules apply)

Then, yeah! As you said! Ganondorf's explosion was of nuclear proportions! Fine, Link and Zelda are special and being right in the vicinity didn't vaporize them somehow (I guess another power of Rauru and Sonia is to pull Link into some pocket dimension to initiate their changing of Zelda back to herself or something), but the rest of Hyrule? The light from that explosion should cause eye damage in like half the population. There should be a huge crater or at least the land around him burned out of all greenery and living beings (which would at least leave a permanent legacy of what Ganondorf had intended to do). I guess we never get to really see Hyrule post-game anyways, maybe they would consider these things if we did (I highly doubt it because Hyrule's a magical place where specifically when the king of demons explodes in death Hyrule's blessed light prevents the land and its people from suffering any consequences).

(Okay fine change Zelda back to herself but also, she doesn't remember *anything* from being a dragon? Man these characters really go through everything with no consequences suffered at all! You blame Ganondorf for being mad?)

And finally, my problem really with it is how Ganondorf's death is sort of treated like...well like he was just in the way instead of a meaningful part of the story. In OoT, when you first "kill" him, Zelda acknowledges him in a show of pity, implying that he had reached a point that he just could not be saved from himself. When he is sealed away, you can see in his eyes and his face how Zelda's words about his inability to properly control his power really shows itself, having gone mad and swearing vengeance on their descendants. In Wind Waker, his final words are "The wind is blowing", perhaps alluding to what he had said previously, that the only winds he had ever felt were the winds of death, and here he is feeling it once more in death, having truly lost everything in that moment. In Twilight Princess, Ganondorf dies on his feet, the scene silent as Link and Zelda watch, as Zant cracks his neck, as Zelda bows her head once he closes his eyes. You don't have to *like * Ganondorf, but his deaths and his sealing left an impact on the player, mirroring the message and themes of the game. This just felt like "well, let's just get him out of the way quickly so we can move on to focus on Link and Zelda reuniting" which, look, I think that final fall where you dive for Zelda is epic, it gets me in the feels ngl. However, it just like, what does it say about the antagonist? What did he die for? Is he that callous and meaningless of a character that we just explode him and never acknowledge him again? That is a pretty painful way to die isn't it? I don't have all the words to convey my feelings but it just feels like, for a game that markets itself as the one that really integrates Ganondorf as a character and "solidifies his character" that it handled his death so poorly. He was as much as a whisper of a legend that he was when Link and Zelda went into the depths of Hyrule Castle by the end of the game and that just doesn't sit well with me.

#ganonthots

[tvuniverse]

Listen i just want to preface this by saying I don't even personally hate Tommy, but that's not really the point i want to make so here goes nothing.

The way a lot of people act as if it's impossible to dislike him because the characters have moved on so so should we, right? and that's the thing right here, as poc we're always being told to move on. We can't express our feelings, we can't hold grudges, we can't complain about issues without making it something more than it is, we always have to just... move on.

I know people are going to say it's just a show, it's not that serious, but the issues it touches on and the way fandom speaks on those issues are.

I've seen a lot of comparisons between Tommy and other mains, how each of them are flawed and have screwed up one way or another, and you're right, but it's still unfair to compare him to them. We've seen each of the main characters experience guilt, or be ashamed of their action, we've seen them apologise, put in the work to actually grow, and they have. There's not enough time in an episode for us to see that for side characters. In this case, Tommy didn't do any of the above and that's normal, he was a plot device to show some very real societal issues, and especially what people of colour/women might go through in the workplace, and once he served his purpose he didn't get much more beyond a few scenes where it seemed like everything was fine between him and chim/hen. It would be more appropriate to compare him to the buckley parents, (who appeared in more or less the same amount of episodes) like if people suddendly started saying no one is allowed to hate them because they got their redemption, their kids more or less forgave them, they more or less tried to be better parents. And yet it's still not enough for a lot of people, because how they treated their children, the shit they've said to them, hits a little too close to home for a lot of people and so no matter what the show says or does, they'll still be mostly hated by the audience, and that's more than okay. But if margaret buckley is your favourite character than by all means be my guest. And listen, i love this show, it's all about hope, and it means everyone gets a redemption arc, as short as it is (sometimes even just a sentence lol), but we won't always be satisfied with these arcs, especially if they don't feel proportional to the hurt the characters may have caused to our mains, so we'll all have different reactions to them.

I swear liking a morally ambiguous/grey character says absolutely nothing about you, but making excuses for them, antagonising people who might dislike them (for good reasons) or acting like suddenly triggers don't exist for people, does say something about you. One of my favourite characters is literally the worst person ever, an actual bigot, but i won't ever write essays about why people are not allowed to dislike him actually because he's my babygirl.. i very much understand why people would.

All of this to say, everyone will have different opinions about Tommy. Some might love him, some will be completely neutral or at worst slightly uncomfortable/bothered by him, and some will straight up hate him, and all of these are fine. Live and let live, love whoever you want to love, and hate whoever you want to hate, but please stop trying to dictate how others should feel, i'm begging. And this really does go both ways.

#i never ever get involved in fandom discourse. ever #my blog is my safe space and so i just want to reblog some silly gifs of my silly little characters and move on about my day #but nothing gets to me more than being told to 'move on' #anyway i know the casual (and not so casual) racism is rampant in this fandom but boy has this week been hell #but just another week in this fandom i guess #(also i know some people hate him just because of buck/eddie and this is a whole other discourse i won't get into) #anti tommy kinard #not really but just in case #fandom discourse #also i said dehumanisation because that's what he did to chimney #acting like people don't exist until they do something that's beneficial to you and that's when you'll finally treat them as human beings #that shit hurts like crazy but it doesn't get talked about enough tbh #and that's also kind of why i think it's hard to know if he's really Grown or if it's just a case of 'these people are the exception' #and we can't really know until we actually see him interact with other minorities #but that's just my opinion #also i know we're all tired of this discourse and i'm sorry to bring it back but every day i've opened this app and saw something about it #and closed it right up lmao #i just needed to get this off my chest once and for all #i'll go back to never getting involved in fandom discourse again #anyhoo #i'll probably delete this at some point knowing myself

[officialchristiancagebbgirlblog]

Tags: @himbos-hotline

Warnings: swearing

Themes: gay smut (Cage x Copeland)

Word count: 1246

Okay so I hope you guys enjoy this one! I’m still unsure if I’d write one like this again where it’s two guys as I’m used to writing straight smut. I’d be happy to write polyamory smut with two guys and a girl if anyone wants to request that! Keep your eyes out as I might be releasing an NSFW prompt list to explore that! Happy reading 🩵

Link to prompt post:

“Christian, babe, I know you’re upset about losing the title, but can we just talk for a second?” Adam followed Christian into the hotel room, letting the door slam behind him. There was nothing he hated more than upsetting his boyfriend, his best friend. Especially when it came to their job. Turning around to give him a sour look, Christian went to say something but thought it best to not say anything. He was always taught that ‘if you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything’. He shook his head, plopping down on the foot of the bed to remove his shoes.

“You know I wouldn’t purposely do anything to hurt or upset you!” Adam pleaded, trying to get Christian to hear him out, “we went into that match knowing that it was going to end that way! I don’t understand why you’re so upset-“

“No, of course you don’t!”

Hearing his boyfriend suddenly shout and stand up, Adam took a few steps back in shock. Was he really that upset about it?

“Because you don’t think! All that’s in your head is ‘oh I have to win that title no matter what!’ You didn’t stop to use your brain that ‘hmm maybe kicking the man I love repeatedly in the dick isn’t the way to do that’-“

“Christian please, you’re blowing this out of proportion-“

“And not only that! You then decide to use that spiky crutch of yours to hurt me even more! What are you, a fucking sadist?!”

Adam stayed silent, knowing that Christian was right, really. He didn’t technically have to hurt him in that way. To humiliate him in front of their friends, fans, and family.

“Babe, I’m. I’m really sorry. You’re right, I didn’t have to do that. I just wanted to put out a good show for everyone watching. But that doesn’t mean hurting you was right. I can’t apologise enough for what I did to you tonight. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Biting his lip, Christian thought for a moment. Yeah he was upset about that night's events. Really upset. But he figured he should at least allow Adam to try and make him feel better. An idea popped into his head. Slightly devious, but it was something he felt that could make it better.

“You can start by getting on your knees.” He instructed, unbuckling his belt. If Adam wanted to make it better, he was going to have to stop talking and use his mouth for something else first. Normally, the tables were turned. It wasn’t usually that Adam would go down on his partner but he had a feeling tonight would be different. Sinking down to the floor he watched as Christian stepped forward to his face. His trousers slipped down his hairy legs, underwear briefs following shortly after. He placed his hands on Adam’s shoulders to steady himself as he stepped out of them, kicking the clothes to the other side of the room with a gentle thud against the wall. Moving one hand to the back of Adam’s head and the other around his now hard, leaking cock, he looked down with dark eyes.

“Open. Your mouth.” He demanded, voice husky with a newfound dominance that Adam had not heard before. Without allowing Christian to repeat himself, he dove in, lips stretched around his boyfriends member, licking the tip as he moved with his thrusts. A deep groan slipped out of Christian’s lips as he enjoyed the warm, wet sensation of pleasure. There was no one who could melt away his pain and tension like Adam could. Some people came close, his previous girlfriend being a great contender. But there was no denying that Adam knew him better than anyone. And he certainly knew how to suck him off right. His fingers were tangled in Adam’s still damp hair, encouraging him to take in more of his cock. Gasping as he felt his boyfriends calloused hand cup his balls, fondling them gently. The mixed sensations were almost too much to handle as he began to feel his orgasm approaching quicker than he expected, his breathing becoming heavier. He stepped away, letting Adam slip off with a satisfying pop! and a confused look.

Without a word, he crawled onto the bed on his hands and knees and motioned Adam to come closer.

“You can…use your mouth for…something else, can’t you?” He purred, trying to catch his breath. Adam’s eyes lit up as he connected the dots, sliding his tongue effortlessly into his boyfriend. Christian moaned louder than he expected as he felt Adam’s tongue begin to slide in and out of his tight asshole. His back arched towards the bed, ass pushing out closer to try and get more. It had been a while since he and Adam had gone down this road and he missed this feeling so bad. Beads of sweat dripped off his forehead as the feeling of being tongue-fucked was once again building up his orgasm. It made him so happy that Adam couldn’t care less about his body hair. He definitely had more going on than his partner. Perhaps it was because they had known each other for so long that it just was to be expected. He was shaken out of his train of thought when he felt the rough hairs of Adam’s beard brush up against his surprisingly soft ass cheeks, and his hands keeping them spread apart to ensure easy access to his now red, gaped hole. Christian let out high pitched moans as Adam flicked his tongue just at the entrance before sucking hard. He popped off, looking down at his gaping asshole, ready to be filled up. It seemed the events of the night had been forgiven when Christian turned to face him, muttering out a desperate ‘fuck me’.

Adam wasted no time in removing his clothes, quickly lining his leaking cock it with Christians asshole. The hair around was wet with saliva and sweat, sticking to his skin. He spat to help with lubrication, watching it completely miss the head of his cock and slipping into Christians hole. There was something so exciting about seeing it drop in so easily that Adam plunged his cock in balls deep, almost as if he was trying to catch his spit. The feeling of suddenly being filled was so intense that both men let out a cry of pleasure as Adam made quick work of snapping his hips forward repeatedly. Adam gripped Christian’s hips to keep him steady, kneeling on the bed behind him. They both let out loud moans as their orgasms approached quickly, barely giving them anytime to enjoy the act of having sex after a long evening.

“Oh fuck, baby…” Adam whined, “I can’t hold it anymore!”

“Cum inside me…”

With a gasp, Adam let it all out. His hot cum quickly filled up inside Christian who came at the same time, running down his legs. They both rode it out, their hips still working with each other before Adam slipped out, collapsing forward next to his heaving boyfriend. They shuffled closer together and up the bed to enjoy a well deserved snuggle. Sharing a sweet kiss, they lay intertwined in each other's arms.

“Soooo…do you forgive me?” Adam asked, fluttering his eyelashes with that stupid smirk of his. Chuckling, Christian planted another kiss on his lips: “yeah, I forgive you baby. I love you.”

#aew #Christian cage x Adam Copeland #smut #aew fanfiction #aew imagine

[riftwalker-limbro]

as someone who finds the concept of age as a hierarchy IRL interesting ("i'm the elder sibling, you should listen to me", "respect your elders"), a game like warframe REALLY fucks with my perception of how-things-should-be

because you have

trauma child whose physical age is somewhere between child & late teenager (citation Needed) but who is actually >1000 years old but who has perhaps spent a single percent of those awake. fan theory has these kids as no longer aging physically due to sat-too-long-in-my-cryopod-syndrome

trauma adults(?) who were physically transformed into the ideal soldier. do they age? do they eat? do they sleep? did they go into a similar 1000 year old cryosleep? (my canon says yes but depending on the frame & headcanons you go with your mileage may vary outRAGEOUSLY, including but definitely not limited to alive for a while -> cryosleep for a bit -> literally dead and in pieces -> reassembled????)

some people who are entirely unaccounted for for those full 1000 years. were they awake? hanging out somewhere? also in some kind of slumber?

drifters.

and like, 3 being in charge of 1 is reasonable. before the Millenium of Fuckery, they were already adults. now, they are like. super adults. them being responsible makes sense.

but somehow, all (of my) first-instinct interpretations of the relationship between group 2 and 1 places 1 in charge of 2. this feels super wrong bc they are children.

so i've been contemplating the finer details of this for my canon. and they are as follows.

tenno had the mental maturity of children/late teens when the zariman oopsie happened. i'm hc'ing my kelth at like 17 to still be below the MITW's seemingly arbitrary Going Murderously Nuts limit but i have certain skills i want them to have before the jump (coding, you'll find out).

then, due to all the cryosleep business, their bodies get frozen that way. they get fucked up beyond repair biologically. are they now functionally immortal? i think that would be a fantastic horror cherry on warframe's trauma sundae.

but what's their mental state like? their adolescent brains frozen like that? imagine being a permanent teenager. the idiot hormones. and at the same time, they're going through all the horrors of war, being manipulated by almost all adults in their life (margulis is on thin fucking ice) for one purpose or another. did they know their life was hanging on by a jurisdictional thread until it was discovered they alone could reliably control warframes? wouldn't that have fucked with their mental state horribly? but at the same time, they must've been somewhat distanced from it - they went through so many battles but through piloting the body of another, it was never their own neck on the line, or the necks of the other tenno, not directly.

i think tenno must be mentally mature in some ways, like Horrors of War, but absolutely not in others, like emotional. they could have great strategic capabilities, but processing a small slight would happen with out-of-proportion swearing of vengeance and very little rationality. they are masters of combat, but not of their own mental state.

let's briefly discuss warframes before combining these thoughts. there is an absolute wealth on 1. different frames with different canon backstories both before & after the helminth 2. absolutely fantastic headcanons. so a few differences here are:

original role: part of one of the soldier castes, someone else somehow in direct service to the Orokin Empire, or common public?

intent: did not want to become a warframe but was forced, did want to become a frame, was completely tricked into becoming a warframe without even making their opinion known, and Oops (e.g. my vince)

as you can see, breeding grounds for a variety of mental states here, but i've never really heard of a child warframe - did we finally find the limits of orokin cruelty? - so for this post i'm assuming they were all adults pre-warframification

so you have a tenno, who is emotionally still a child but due to exactly that + their expertise in decidedly unchildlike things such as the art of war they can act like the most seasoned veteran. and you have warframes, who likely were used to following higher-ups' orders, who maybe never even see their Operator in the flesh.

when i put it like this, i am happy, because that way, it makes sense to me that warframes would obey tenno as they generally do. i am mentally putting umbra in the "yeah this does not apply to you, have a biscuit & some tea" corner, but only because he's the only sentient frame in canon and i personally disagree with that. the problem, for me, arises like. post-second-dream. sentient warframe suddenly realizes they've been taking directions from a child for so long.

worse, sentient warframe realizes they've allowed a child to bear the burden of their own pain and trauma for so long. a warrior and wise for their years, but still a child.

my own thoughts kind of run out here. but i will be rotating this more.

#when i add a keep reading you know this thing's gonna be at least as tall as your screen #warframe #rift lore #rift noises

[sueske]

This is a shallow complaint but tbh Naruto and Hinata’s features just don’t combine well in a kid. Like Boruto doesn’t really count to me because he looks like a knockoff Naruto design but Himawari’s design….just looks so……bad. Like the combo of Naruto’s sky blue eyes and whiskers (also why the whiskers?? Neither of them have a Kurama??? Continuity where???) with Hinata’s dark ivory hair and Byakugan trait just does not mesh well together plain and simple and the design just…doesn’t look good at all

also the same with Sarada - pro ss fans might want to microanalyze her eyes, chin, hair or whatever to say that it looks like Sakura but i’m sorry on superficial first glance she looks like Karin’s kid. Like I swear kishi does stuff like this on purpose to give a subtle jab at this pairing whenever he can. And to make Sakura and Sasuke’s ONLY kid to……not look like their kid at all character design wise is hilarious. Like all of Gaiden was revolved around this

overall, bad character design is bad character design, which is one of the many reasons why the Boruto is such an eyesore

no I agree, the designs make me feel... stuffy? idk how to describe it. I think Kishimoto got lazy with the designs, or rather he just didn't really care, they're all like mix and match from their parents rather than having individual cohesive designs with callbacks to their parents like the original cast does, but boruto and himawari I have to agree don't look... good (himawari especially). the whiskers are one of naruto's defining features, and he got those because he was exposed to Kurama's chakra while he was in the womb (he had them before he got Kurama sealed inside of him) - so why do boruto and himawari have them? it's like superficially connecting the kids and naruto with the whiskers marks, 'ah yes those are naruto's kids', but canon wise it makes no sense. and sarada? it's as you said. there's smth overall unpleasing about her design too. that's actually how I would describe all of the new gen's designs too, overall unpleasing (with some exceptions like Mitsuki). well ikemoto's art style certainly doesn't help, I'm sorry but I just don't vibe with it. his proportions/angles are not aesthetically pleasing to me.

#anon #ask #anti boruto #my stuff #I thought Sasuke's kid would be... you know #cute #not like sarada

[einsteinsugly]

Fictober 13. That 70s Show. July 1994. Unca Hyde.

"Unca Hyde, come with me!" A little redhead weaves through the woods, like an unraveling ball of yarn. "Hurry!"

In the blink of an eye, they reach a clearing. A little clearing, at the edge of Bob's beachfront property, in Pleasant Prairie. Just big enough to start a project of epic proportions, apparently.

A stone's throw from Lake Michigan, the sun is beginning to set, but the fun and games are far from over. Betsy is "babysitting" to the best of a Kelso's ability, which is code for, someone's gotta check on her. Every once in awhile.

So Hyde has heard and taken a tiny glimpse at the kids' epic project, but he feigns surprise. "What is this?"

"The big kids made a fort." Four year old Leah happily takes the bait, before pointing to the tentative babysitter. "'Cept Betsy."

Becca's dark, curly head peeks out from the fort. It's like a standalone blanket fort, made with twigs. "Daddy, she says she's all smart, but she doesn't know how to put two sticks together."

Betsy groans. By design, Becca is always Betsy's purposeful buzzkill. "I swear, it's like a game of freaking Jenga!"

And Becca refuses to relent, and Hyde can't help but chuckle. Like father, like daughter. "It's a game she really sucks at."

Hyde shrugs, briefly sticking his head into the fort, easily putting two and two together. "Guess that's what happened to the ropes and pillows."

"Kate made it all cozy in there." The other redhead sticks her head out of the makeshift fort, with a happy little wave. Becca stays at the doorway, next to her best friend, readily relaying the details. "Hannah's thinkin' about adding some blankets."

James tries to push his way into the fort, and Kate and Becca guard the doorway. "We're gonna take 'em from Uncle Eric and Aunt Donna's boat."

Leah shakes her head, with a seemingly much better idea. "I think taking them from Unca Fez'll be easier."

Leah attempts a similar maneuver, and Hyde loudly clears his throat for the second time, in parental disapproval.

James shrugs. "Like taking candy from a baby?"

Now, Hyde has to be the parent. The cool parent, but a parent, nonetheless. "You're not supposed to steal stuff from Uncle Fez."

Kate attempts diplomacy, rather than brute force. "We can ask nicely. That's what I did for the ropes and pillows."

"I don't think you want a blanket from Uncle Fez," Betsy awkwardly declares, "He sleeps naked."

The kids erupt into a chorus of "ewws," and Hyde nods. "Gotta agree there."

But Betsy continues to add fuel to the fire, as she mindlessly swings two twigs in the dirt. "Didn't you say Uncle Eric used to be Mr. Nude?"

Another slew of "ewws" erupt, particularly from Leah and Kate, and Hyde promptly lays his theoretical cards out on the table.

"He learned his lesson, when he got caught by a neighbor in Africa..."

Now, there's an obnoxious chorus, to the tune of Toto's "Africa." "Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh!"

The kids can be incredibly endearing, but sometimes, they can be incredibly annoying. "You can't keep doin' that every time anybody mentions Uncle Eric's times in Africa..."

"I bless the rains down in Africa, for changing my life." Somehow, the sound of Toto is a cue for Eric to dutifully appear. With a snarky smirk spreading like margarine. "Without taking the time to do things I never have before, who knows where I'd be..."

Betsy loudly scoffs. "You'd be like a scrawny comic book guy, Uncle Eric. How embarrassing."

"I mean, speaking of which. It would be nice if you gave back my Star Wars: Droids..."

"It fell in the lake. I was trying to read it on a raft." Eric innately squeaks, horrified, and everyone looks at him oddly. But Betsy continues anyway, unabated. "I told Dad that the lady of the lake took it, and he totally believed me..."

Kelso comes running, with a squeal of his own. "Was that the lady of the lake?"

Hyde chuckles. "You can say that."

#that 70s show #that 90s show #eric and donna #jackie and hyde #steven hyde #eric forman #michael kelso #betsy kelso #leah forman #kate forman #becca hyde #james hyde #my ficlets #my fics #fictober23 #fluffy fluff

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

The Handee Nutcracker Part 4: The Nutcracker Prince

A nutcracker cannot be completed without the actual nutcracker, so here is Prince Nicholas Nack!

He is the ruler of the land of toys (I swear I need to find ways to name the lands without sound corny)

Aaaaand a side comparison to the whole gang!

He's probably one of my favorite clothes and is up to being my favorite next to Daisy XD Anyways, the guidelines (the ones I used for proportions) I left them on purpose to give more into the nutcracker look for Nick

I actually wanted to give him a cape, you know, to add into the prince aspect but I forgot and just realized it until I finished the design. Let's say that he doesn't wear it during adventures for safety and because his cape is precious

He actually has a sword that I did not draw but, is hidden due to his arms. It's probably just for show (as he was the nutcracker puppet Owen made), so he has a separate sword that he carries but can't exactly store thanks to Owen

Of course he has an army of nutcrackers and tin soldiers! Regarding his relationship with the other rulers, they get along pretty well. Sometimes Nick can be slightly snobbish because he's Nick, but he is well-meaning

Regarding his relationship with Riles, I do think they will become friends at the end of the adventure, with Nick totally loving her more like a friend (like in their cannon counterparts) but understanding and respecting Riley having her own life and family on her world (he is glad to have her as a friend tho)

In the world that Owen and Amy (my oc) created, he was meant to be the rival and arch-nemesis of the Mouse King. That still translates but leaning towards the comedy and staying truth to Nick, he is a tad terrified of Mortimer, who dislikes him and rather ignores Nick. So, Nick wasn't more than thrilled when Riley asked him to make a truce with the Mouse King himself (who was also not pleased with the idea) but after Daisy intervened, he and Mortimer eventually agreed. They still hate each other but are willing to behave for their mutual friend

#hello puppets #hello puppets midnightshow #riley ruckus #The Nutcracker AU #The Nutcracker au #the nutcracker #nutcracker #the prince #not related to the book tho #line up art #AU #Nicholas Nack #ironically I think Nicholas was the actual nutcracker's name in one of the versions XD #next will be Godfather Owen XD

[raevil]

THE  MONSTER  IN  THE  DARK  ⸻

CHARACTERS  ˳  nayika  deesomlert  (  dee  ),  wooshik,  jinseop  &  jewon  (  minor  characters  ),  mentions  unknown  women  a  couple  of  times

WORD COUNT  ˳  5.9k  /  5,973  words

WARNINGS  ˳  swearing,  mentions  food  and  vomiting.  dee  gets  unconscious  and  then  partly  kidnapped.  death,  murder  and  blood  is  spoken  about  most  in  this  piece.  dee  decapitates  one  of  the  guys,  but  it’s  not  descriptive.  weapons,  mostly  knives  and  an  axe.  dee  acts  different  in  the  second  half  of  this  piece  (  more  crazy  )  and  tortures  the  guys.  mentions  burning  and  burying  the  bodies  briefly.  if  we  missed  anything,  let us know!

NOTE  ˳  some  might  recognise  this  piece  from  one  of  aine’s  old  groups,  but  we’ve  made  sure  to  change  everything  that  needs  to  be  to  fit  dee’s  lore  /  plot  more!

The front door rang loudly through the seemingly empty diner. A soft melody echoed in the air while the girl in question heard oil sizzling from the small kitchen in the back. Nayika noticed that the only people in the diner were a female, whom she didn’t bother to look closely at, and three high school boys dressed in fine suits. Of course, who wouldn't notice them because of all the noise they were making?

'They look like three little pigs,' Nayika thought, watching them attack each other with fries, 'only they're not so little.' She could swear one of them even let out a squeal unexpectedly.

She saw one of them aim for the tallest guy when his eyes locked on her. That was when he stopped his movements and just stared in shock. She wanted to comment on how he would swallow a fly just staring but decided otherwise. She had other things to plan than to act as childish as them.

Seeing his startled expression, the other two looked behind them and noticed Nayika ordering a single strawberry milkshake. As she moved past them, all three raked their eyes on what she was wearing. A simple, pink Edwardian-inspired prairie dress with short, puffy sleeves. It had small bow laces in the front and one knot in the middle of her back. It was tight enough so her body proportions could be shown but modest enough to wear in public. One of them even let out a small "damn," which brought a secret smirk to her face.

Nayika sat down, a table away from them, but purposely positioned herself so they could see her face perfectly as she looked out of the window and onto the dark street.

She predicted that at least one would appear next to her and sit uninvited, probably their leader. And precisely three minutes later, he did.

"Hello, I couldn't help but notice how lonely you looked there and wanted to introduce myself," he began, a dashing smile on his face that made Nayika want to vomit. "Is it alright if my friends and I join you?"

'At least he politely asked before he took a seat,' Nayika concluded, simply agreeing and letting him know it was okay. Looking back for a second to nod to his friends, he remained standing until they eagerly took the seats before relaxing in the one right across from her.

"My name is Wooshik, this is Jinseop and Jewon, but we call him Little J," he introduced the other two, pausing for them to at least wave at her before proposing another question. "And you are?"

Nayika wanted to joke with them, saying, 'You need to earn it before you know my name,' but where was the fun in that?

"I'm Nayika. It's nice to meet you all," her soft, velvety voice knocked them out of their fantasising with just that sentence.

"Well, Nayika, what is a girl as beautiful as you doing outside at night like this?" There it was, that famous question that would make every girl swoon and blush. He assumed he was so cool, but she knew better. She heard better compliments from a homeless guy two blocks away from the diner.

"I guess the same thing as you guys," she took a sip of her milkshake and wiped a little bit of what was left in the corner of her mouth, not taking her eyes off Wooshik's face. She smirked once again when she saw him gulp. While he was preoccupied with his thoughts, the other two began snickering and nudging each other as if they knew something that she didn't.

"You know," Little J decided to speak up, "I don't think we've seen you before. Are you new here?" It was only then that Nayika noticed Little J. He was a bit on the chubbier side, and his cheeks were bright red like he was running five minutes before this. He held a couple of fries in his hand, but he was not eating them for reasons Nayika didn't know. He had short, light brown (or dark blond?) hair that was brushed poorly, probably because he would go through the strands with a hand once every couple of minutes.

If Little J was chubby and short, Jinseop was everything except that. He had curly, short hair that was darker, and he seemed the tallest in the group. A beauty mark near his lips was what Nayika noticed first about him, and when he smiled, his eyes practically disappeared.

Wooshik, however, was the one that seemed to get on her nerves the most. He was handsome, she won't lie about that, but how he handled everything made it seem like he was faking it. Nayika worried that she would ruin everything if she said one wrong thing. She noted that he liked rich stuff, given that the guy adorned his fingers in rings that were as huge as they could be.

If you looked at all three of them together, they couldn't be any more different. But what she realised, though, is that all three had at least something in common (excluding the fact that they're rich); they liked to wear expensive suits.

Wanting to mess with them a little bit, she stated, "Oh, I've always been here; you just haven't looked enough," and continued to sip on her half-finished milkshake. In the corner of her eye, she saw how Jinseop and Jewon looked at each other and smiled. But it wasn't a fun smile, and it looked like it was enhanced with malice. It gave her shivers just thinking about it.

"I noticed that you're dressed fancy. Are you going somewhere? Isn't it a little bit late too?" Wooshik asked, finishing his food and wiping his hand onto a napkin.

"Not really. I just returned from the prom and decided to stop by and order a drink myself! What about you three?" What she said was true, she did go to the prom, and she did stop by for a drink. The only thing she didn't expect was to see them so soon. She heard about them, of course, as almost every girl would lovingly talk about them with hearty eyes.

Honestly, Nayika didn't see what the appeal was. They were handsome, that's true, but that was it. Unless the girls were getting off because they came from wealthy families, they were probably brats and still are.

"Believe it or not, us too! Although it seems we don't attend the same schools, I would clearly remember someone as beautiful as you at the dance!" Wooshik once again complimented her, but she did not blush. Why won't she blush as all the other ones did?

Nayika blinked at his praises, not understanding what he was doing. "Oh no, I'm not from this town; let's just say I'm... visiting," she trailed off, answering the question unsurely.

Wooshik nodded in response, noticing that she had already finished her drink. "In that case, why don't we hang out for a bit? It's not too late for you, is it?"

'Here we go...' Nayika thought, wanting to laugh in delight, but she pinched her left arm to compose herself.

"Are you sure? I don't want to burden you guys–"

"Oh, no!" Wooshik interrupted, shaking his hands indifferently, "it would be a pleasure for you to join us! You see, we have a small tradition here, and now that you're here, we can continue it."

Nayika hummed in interest, her eyes widening just a tiny bit. "And what is this... tradition you speak of?" She leaned her chin on her palm, looking from Wooshik to Jinseop and, finally, to Jewon. As soon as she looked away from Wooshik, he smirked and winked at the other two.

"Instead of explaining everything to you, why don't we just show you?" He stood up from his seat and paid for his fries and Nayika's drink, ignoring her complaints. He flinched his head towards the door and reached out his hand to Nayika, "Shall we?"

Now, Nayika has a chance to refuse and tell them to fuck off, but when will she get the next opportunity? When it's too late? She couldn't let them walk away!

"You know what?" Nayika starts, seeing the hopeful look on his face. It was almost pitiful how he begged her to agree with his eyes. "Why not? I have nothing to lose anyway." She swore she saw the other two fist bump behind Wooshik's back.

Hearing her answer, Wooshik released a huge sigh, and before Nayika could question him, he gently took her hand and pushed her to walk next to him.

Right before they got out of the diner, Nayika glanced back inside and met the eyes of the quiet woman resting there the whole time. The last thing she saw before the doors closed was her grinning at Nayika in acknowledgement.

When they got outside, the first thing that Nayika realised was that it was cold, almost freezing. Luckily Jinseop offered his blazer to her, which she appreciated. The second one was that they had to walk for a bit to get to their car, and it was considered weird to her. Why would they park their car far from the diner?

Nonetheless, she forgot about that once she saw what car was in front of them. "Is that 1978 Cadillac Eldorado I see!?" She blurted out, a childlike expression appearing on her face. Wooshik laughed in disbelief, "I didn't think you would know much about cars, no offence."

"None taken," she replied, "I may not look like it, but I love cars, especially cars like this." She lied. Nayika never liked cars, as she believed they were a nuisance, although they had some perks. She ran her fingers on the side, not taking her eyes off it for even a second. It wasn't a shock that Wooshik had a car like this. His whole family was so filthy rich that they could even buy separate cars for their dogs. Nothing about him surprised her because she already knew everything.

Wooshik nodded in agreement, "That's good to know."

He let her hop into the car first while leaving the other two to decide who would sit in the front and who would be in the back, already closing the doors at the driver's seat. "Off we go!"

While they drove down the road, Nayika would halfheartedly listen to the conversation that was going on next to her. Instead of communicating with the guys more, she would look at the moon. Nayika hated most things in this world, but the moon was something she would never get tired of.

As more time flew by, the more intrigued she became by the whereabouts of the place they were driving to. When she looked to her left to ask Jinseop (who "won" the back seat next to her) how long until they reached the destination, she found him already watching her. 'That's creepy,' she thought, an uneasy feeling pooling in her stomach. It never subdued, not even after he oh-so-charmingly smiled at her.

Five minutes later, it seemed as if they had finally arrived. Nayika looked from the small window and let out a confused hum. "Are you sure we reached the place you guys talked about?" She remained seated until Wooshik got out of the car before waiting for him to let her out.

"Don't worry, we are right where we need to be," She heard a snicker behind her, and just then, she smelled something sweet. Suddenly, Jinseop shoved a rag to her face and pressed hard. Nayika tried moving away from him, her eyes widening in shock, but Jewon held her legs together from the outside.

"It's okay, Nayika, you'll be just fine," Jinseop muttered softly, "just try to relax." After that, her eyes unwillingly closed, and she passed out in his arms.

'Look at us, so weak, so vulnerable... And to think we are one.'

"No, please don't do this!"

'What if we killed them? Wouldn't it be nice?'

"What are you doing!? Stop it!"

'Especially the ones who are too loud; they get on our nerves!'

"Please stop it; you don't have to do this!"

'Kill them! Kill them! Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!–'

A loud slap resonated, followed by a high-pitched shriek that woke Nayika up from what seemed to be a nightmare. Her stomach grumbled, but not from hunger. It seemed more sinister, and it reminded her of a wolf snarling. 'Oh no, not again!' She panicked, cracking her eyes open in alertness and glancing around her. But she saw nothing except woods nearby. Another annoying shriek made her turn her attention behind her.

"What the..." she trailed off once she noticed that her hands were tied behind her and she was positioned on a large log.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Nayika removed attention from the log that poked her back and looked at Wooshik crouching in front of her.

"Or good night since it's still dark," he muttered loud enough for her to hear.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Nayika spat out, furrowing her brows in anger and confusion.

Wooshik tilted his head in shock, "Woah! Watch the language; you don't want to lose that tongue, do you?" He raised his right hand, in which he was holding a sharp knife that was glistening in the moon. "What if I accidentally cut it?" He purred, his eyes gleaming with craziness.

Nayika scoffed, shaking her head in doubt. "You're crazy!" she spat out.

"Think whatever you want; we're still going to play a game, you and I," he smiled, "Oh! And also the others." As he stood up, Nayika found the other two hovering around another girl, also tied up. 'She must've been the one that woke me up, screaming.'

Letting out a sharp 'tsk!' Nayika questioned, "What kind of game?"

Wooshik released a fake gasp, tilting his head to the side as if he couldn't remember what to do next. He snapped his fingers and exclaimed, "Hide and seek, of course!"

'What the fuck is wrong with him?' Nayika wondered, refusing to look into his eyes on purpose. Unfortunately, that only made him more annoyed. "You're crazy; you know that? You're messed up in the head; I hope you get better," she added the last bit sarcastically and then relaxed onto the log, ignoring how her body screamed at her to move.

Wooshik snarled, reminding Nayika of a rabid dog, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. A small pool of nervousness rose in her stomach, and just for a second, she was worried he would kill her right then and there. But he composed himself fast and just smirked at her.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but a loud wail came from behind him, and he sharply turned towards the other female, who flinched upon meeting his eyes. A low 'damn it' came from him as he turned around and walked towards her. Everyone was quiet, not a single person moving to stop him; they just stared as he got closer to her until he finally squatted down.

Wooshik shushed her softly, moving his palm towards the girl's cheeks and wiping the falling tears away. "It's okay," he cooed when she flinched away from him, "everything will be fine when we start. You have nothing to worry about." He turned towards the other two dumbasses and let them fiddle with the girl's ropes.

He then moved back to Nayika and did the same thing. Feeling the ropes get slightly undone, she tried to keep calm and decide what to do next. She could try and run away, but where? Trees surrounded them; she didn't know the exact way out, so that's one plan ruined. So the only other thing to do was to listen to what they say and later run off and find a way out.

Just when she expected the rope to come off completely, Wooshik tightened it once more and pulled her with him. Her left eye twitched in annoyance, and she wanted to jeer at him, almost forgetting that he had a knife in his hand.

He moved her closer to the rest and sighed in tiredness. Nayika glanced at the other girl again and nodded in reassurance when their eyes met. Her eyes said, 'It'll be okay,' but her lips were twisted into a frown. For the first time in a long time, she didn't know what to think or do, and she was concerned about it.

"Here's how it's going to be," Wooshik started, crossing his arms across his chest, still holding his knife, "we are going to give you two a headstart– let's say ten minutes?– while you go and hide. Once the ten minutes are up, we'll go after you; sounds okay?" He asked, although he did not care about their answer. "Oh, and also, before I forget," he exclaimed, rubbing his nape sheepishly, "If you get caught, that's it! It's the end game for you!" He spread his arms out as if he was showing them the woods for the first time. He looked proud of how everything went down, which pissed Nayika a lot.

"Wait," she bravely interrupted, "what do you mean the end?" Did he truly mean it?

He laughed, "Exactly what I said; you've finished the game– lost... dead!" He said the last bit in a dark tone, wanting to scare the crap out of them. He partly did– but only the other girl (whose name Nayika still didn't know) started thrashing in Jewon's hands, trying to run away.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" Jinseop shushed her, softly patting the poor girl's head like she was some kind of an animal. Nayika felt sad for a split second, but for reasons, she didn't know. Why did she feel this way for a person she had only met? To be blunt, she even got on Nayika's nerves. The girl was too whiny, always whimpering or wincing like a small, helpless bunny. And judging by Wooshik's facial expressions, she believed he felt the same.

"You'll be okay," he once again reassured her before turning around towards the fire they lit in a barrel. Nayika wondered why there would be a barrel of such and why it gave her the chills just looking at it.

"Okay!" Wooshik exclaimed, putting the knife under his armpit and letting out two slaps, turning everyone's attention to him, "Shall we begin?"

Nayika stumbled over a tree root, a short hiss escaping her lips when her ankle rolled uncomfortably. She lost the other girl a long ago when they separated and went in different directions. It was suspicious how effortlessly Wooshik let them run towards the woods after he explained the game. It's like he was planning just that. Maybe he was. Otherwise, why would he do all of that?

She doesn't know how much time has passed, but it felt too long, longer than ten minutes. Those idiots probably started looking for her already. 'Just a little bit more,' Nayika thought, not taking a single break as she kept running in hopes of being further away from them. 'Just a couple of minutes, and then everything will be fine,' she swore she heard a deep chuckle immediately after her last thought but ignored it for now.

Somehow, her eyes caught a tiny glint in the darkness, and she noticed a small knife lodged in the tree in front of her. She wasn't sure if they left it there on purpose or if it was from someone else. Nonetheless, she ran towards it and turned around to get it with her hands. She let out a grunt as her hands kept slipping from the handle. Nayika gave it one more pull, and the knife easily slid from the tree. Her wrists burned because of the ropes, so she tried to cut through them quickly. Due to having her hands tied in a weird position behind her back, she tried to slowly cut the rope so she wouldn't hurt herself even more. It was painfully slow, and her heart quickened, fearing they would find her earlier than they were supposed to.

As soon as she was free, she tied the strings around her left leg, under her dress and around the knife she hid. 'Better to save it for later; I might need it.'

Now, when she could focus better on the environment around her, she noticed how it was too quiet. The wind was not blowing, which was surprising considering how cold the night was. 'It must be the time. I need to find the others quickly!'

Instead of continuing forwards, she spun around and returned the way she came from, following the faint shrieks echoing in the woods. "Goddamn it," she muttered, "don't tell me she's still screaming." 'How is her voice still working?' Nayika didn't know, but she was astonished that the girl kept yelling all this time. What an easy way to show others where you are.

As she got closer, the screaming got louder, and her brow ticked in annoyance. Just as she began to see the girl's ginger hair caked in mud, Nayika stumbled and fell on her left arm. Letting out a small hiss, she cradled her arm and rolled the wrist to see if she had sprained or broken it. While concentrating on that, she gave no awareness of the situation around her and how still it got. She only snapped out of it once she heard him laughing, metres away from her "hiding" place.

"Got one!" he exclaimed, his hand still holding the knife deep into the girl's abdomen. Ignoring her gurgling sounds, he cautiously glanced around before letting her fall onto the ground. "Now, where's the other one?" His walkie-talkie released a sound, and he picked it out of his pocket. A quiet voice informed Wooshik of something Nayika couldn't hear, and he turned around and left.

Waiting for a couple of moments until she was convinced he had left, Nayika kept her eyes on the dying girl. She still had the knife lodged in her as she tried to crawl away. Her dress still looked complete, but the amount of blood pooled onto it, and the ground was alarming. She wouldn't survive the night.

Nayika quickly ran towards her, her breath uneven as she tried not to let her tears fall. Her left hand was holding onto the wound, and she took the girl's face with her right, patting her cheeks to stir her up. "It's okay, honey. You'll be okay," she tried to reassure her, but with every word, the girl panicked and kept moving away. 'Oh shit,' Nayika thought, 'I just repeated his words from before.'

"Listen to me," Nayika exclaimed, her face contouring into a serious expression, "I'm going to take the knife out. You just need to be very quiet, got it?" She waited until the girl calmed down before slowly taking the knife.

"One," she muttered, "two, three!" As she pulled it out, she pressed onto the ginger's face to muffle the yowls of pain. Her heart broke just listening to her. "Alright, it's done. You're doing good, okay? I just have to find something to press onto the wound," Nayika muttered, patting the ground around her for something to use. 'You know what? Fuck it!' she thought before going for the ends of her dress. She was about to rip it off when the girl started freaking out again. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Don't worry, I took the knife out–" she was cut off when she heard a small 'clink!' behind her, and an axe flew past her head, right in the middle of the girl's chest. The blood splattered everywhere; onto the ground, behind and onto Nayika, who recoiled back in shock.

"Ah, seriously," a voice said behind them, right where Nayika was hiding previously, "I knew you were here; this is too easy now." Nayika didn't dare to turn around to look at him, wanting to keep her eyes locked on the dying girl. She refused to move away, even though her thighs burned and her brain screamed at her to run. She simply sat there emotionless, caked in blood, while maintaining eye contact with the girl in front of her. There was nothing she could do except watch as the light in the girl's eyes dimmed. 'I didn't even know her name,' she kept thinking, ignoring how Wooshik kept fussing behind her about how he knew she would be here all this time. Her sad thoughts eventually ceased, and the only thing she kept reciting to herself was the sentence, 'It's their fault.'

'It's their fault! Kill them! It's their fault! Kill them! It's their fault!'

Ultimately, Wooshik stopped congratulating himself and took a good look at Nayika's back. She was reticent and still turned away from him. He was slowly getting angry by her actions and was just about to comment on it when he heard her. She was laughing! Her shoulders trembled with laughter, with her hands still on the ground, on both sides of her body.

"You little shit!" Wooshik paled, hearing her voice. It sounded hoarse like she was screeching for a long time, but it was not her actual voice; the one he had heard before. It sounded different, almost scarily like. Her voice was deeper, as if she was speaking through a pillow, but was still loud enough for him to hear. "E-excuse me!?" he stuttered out and cursed at himself for sounding like a little bitch. It was just her; what would she do?

All of a sudden, Nayika stopped laughing, and everything seemed frozen. There was no wind, no birds or animals shuffling in the woods like they were supposed to. It's like time stopped and the only ones still moving were him and Nayika. "I said," she answered again, but slower this time, "you little shit!" She slowly stood up, blood dripping from her hands as she took her shoes off, which Wooshik noticed only then. 'She was running in heels this whole time?'

Before she turned around, a small crack came from another way, diagonally from Wooshik, and out came Jinseop and Jewon. "Looks like the whole gang's here!" she announced, standing right in the middle of them. Because she was facing the other two, they could see everything on and around her. As soon as she looked at them, they stopped in fright and stumbled back. Wooshik wanted to ask them what was so scary about her when she spoke again. "Awe, what's wrong? Why are you so afraid? Is it because of the blood? Because I can clean it away, don't worry," in one move, she lifted her right hand and licked the blood trailing down.

They all gasped simultaneously, appalled and disgusted that she would lick the blood like some vampire. "What the fuck?" Jinseop managed to mutter out, his hands shaking along with his knees.

"Oi!" Nayika exclaimed, "Watch the language! You don't want to lose that tongue now, do you?" She mocked the same way Wooshik did to her before and watched as their faces contoured into weird expressions. "Now, as far as I know," she began once again, trailing her bloody fingers on her cheek, "we still haven't finished the game, have we?" Her eyes darkened almost entirely, a sinister expression developing on her face. They watched as her lips spread into a huge smile, her teeth glimmering in the dark.

Just as they were about to say something, they halted once they glanced into her eyes. They were completely blacked out. Jewon gasped out once again and yelled out, "The devil!" Nayika paused mid-step, tilting her head in a confused manner, looking around her as if he didn't say that to her. "Who, me? Oh, Jewon! Poor, poor Little J," she spat out, emphasising his nickname as if she was mocking him. "You have not met the real devil yet!" In one quick second, she reached under her dress and took out the knife and the ropes she was hiding from before.

"Boo!"

Jinseop and Jewon whirled around and started running, all while Nayika stood there and laughed, her voice echoing behind them and in their minds. "You better run, little piggies! Run before I find you!" In one swift move, she turned around and threw the knife at Wooshik, frozen in fear. It stuck right in his right thigh, and he fell to the ground in agony. "I'll finish you later," she told him over his screaming, "you'll be the last one!"

She left him alone, knowing he wouldn't make it far enough before she was back again. She didn't care about the first two, but she would still kill them, maybe faster than Wooshik. It's him she's focusing on; the other two were not important.

Not too far away from her was Jinseop. It made her smile at how pathetic he looked, holding his ankle in pain. "Little J abandoned you, right?" He quickly stood up and flinched back from her, trying to limp away. "Get– get away from me! Get away from me, you devil!" Nayika sighed in annoyance, rolling her eyes at him. "Didn't you hear me before? I already told you that you haven't seen the real devil."

"Now, where's Little J? He left you alone?" She expected him to tell her, but Jinseop refused to say anything, deciding to try and run away again. "Okay, that's enough. I don't have time for this," she grumbled before coming closer to him. One second he was standing and staring at her in fear, and the next, his head was in her hand while the body fell to the ground. "What a drag," she sighed and threw his head down. "Now, where's the other one?"

A small branch cracked on her right, and she turned to see a pair of eyes staring in hysteria. "There you are!" she exclaimed, a huge grin appearing on her bloody face, "Were you here the whole time? Huh?" He kept his mouth shut, afraid that he'd get in trouble if he said anything.

Nayika sighed, fixing the shoulder strap that fell off her shoulder. She should've worn a dress with long sleeves instead of puffy ones. She felt like a duck for some reason, and it bothered her. "Listen, kid; I promise I'll make this quick. You're not as important to me as Wooshik. He's going to get a longer version of my rage," she said, waiting calmly until he got in front of her. But after five seconds, she rolled her eyes and flashed in front of him, grabbed him by the neck and, in one movement, cracked it. She threw his body next to Jinseop's and took both of them by the legs. Somehow, she held Jinseop's head and started pulling them back towards where she had left Wooshik.

She came back to see him crawling on the ground, but she didn't see the knife in his thigh anymore. 'He hid it behind his back.' She tsk-ed at him loudly, announcing her reappearance and watched as he peered at her with a guilty look. "It's pathetic," she started, "how pitiful you look now, but not even ten minutes ago, you were throwing an axe towards me. Oh, what should I do?" Nayika let out a fake wail, pretending she would let him live. She saw Wooshik's eyes light up in happiness for a second, thinking she was serious. That was until he looked at her face and the two bodies behind her. "Please, don't do this! I'll do anything– I'll– I'll pay you! Just tell me how much and consider it done! Please, let me live!" he ranted, not realising that the more he talked, the angrier Nayika got. Her eyes lit up with anger, and she only saw a fire in front of her. She wanted to kill him right now, to make him burn. But where's the fun in that? 

"Shut your mouth, wimp! Don't you get it? You cannot save your ass by paying me. No matter what, you'll die, so why don't we get on with it?" She watched in disgust as he began to cry. "Now, now, stop crying like a bitch and look at me!" Through blurry eyesight, he caught her silhouette as she got closer to him and crouched down. When she moved her hand closer to him, he recoiled, expecting her to slap him, but only receiving a soft pat on his cheek.

"You know, I watched you. I watched through her eyes as all three of you kept luring young girls to these woods and played this sick game of hide and seek. But you don't care, do you? No, you only care about your entertainment. Well, now it's my turn to have fun!" She patted his cheeks again and took the knife from his trembling hand, twirling it between her hands.

"Now, just close your eyes, relax, and wait until I finish. But I must warn you; it will be long! We plan on having the most fun destroying you!"

For the next couple of hours, only screaming was heard from the depth of the woods, somehow not alerting anyone important.

The young girl's bloody figure emerged from the forest's darkness. Her soft, pink dress was ripped to bits, and one shoulder sleeve was gone, seemingly lost somewhere back on the path. She looked up at the moon and let the cold breeze wash over her as she closed her eyes. The night was finally peaceful. The wind was blowing again, and not a single bird was flying, nor was a person walking down the main path. Just how she liked it.

A cracking sound averted Nayika from walking away, and she turned to see who dared to make such an annoying sound. Her sharp eyes locked onto a person standing under the lamppost. They looked familiar, but she couldn't see well because of the enormous hat covering their faces. Only when they walked closer did she realise that it was the lady from the diner, the one that grinned at her. Her piercing eyes stared almost through Nayika, and she felt goosebumps on her arms. 'Must be because it's cold,' she thought, refusing to believe that such a frail woman would make her feel uneasy.

They stared at each other for a long time, and while the wind blew, they never moved from their spots. Nayika was about to comment when the unknown lady let out a deep chuckle and shook her head in wonder. "You are something else," she croaked out.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, it's the other you! I hope you took care of everything so that no one suspects you. Otherwise, I'll have a lot of work to do," she said, not phased by her bloody figure.

"Don't worry, lady, I burned their bodies," she stated, starting to walk away from her. "And the girl?" came from behind her. Nayika halted in her step and turned her head to see her figure in the corner of her eye. "I buried her body not far from here. Go and see for yourself if you're that curious." The woman hummed in satisfaction, noticing her holding something in her hand. Before she could ask her, Nayika walked away and disappeared in the dark after she passed a lamppost.

Nayika secretly turned around and watched, not from far away, as the lady looked towards the path she came out of but turned around on her heels and walked away, not once looking back.

"Interesting," she muttered, caressing a bloody necklace in her hand, "very interesting."

#aes!ocnet #⸻ ˚₊ ❝ chapter 𝖨 it's 𝗈𝗎𝗋 perfect sacrifice ❞ #kpop oc #fictional oc community #fake kpop group #oc girl group #kpop au #fictional idol group #idol oc #idolverse

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Store

"You've got to stop overusing that phrase."

"What do you mean?"

"Liminal space. It's just a hardware store. Just like any other shop. People come here every day, and for some of them it's actually their job. I don't know what you find weird about it."

"You'll see." Dee knew her baseline was probably way off, given the proportion of her time she spent shut away in her room, away from the real world, but something about this place had creeped her out.

The warehouse was colossal, but so much of it seemed to be made up of empty space. Dim lighting flickered overhead, which made no sense, because this was the place you came to get that sort of thing fixed: the failing glow of old bulbs illuminated new ones, still in their packaging, just out of reach.

The store's name - HomeWorld - hung in titanic letters which seemed to shimmer with the light, as if not quite sure what shape they should be. Dee had only come here for an extension cord, but she'd quickly found herself lost within the aisles that seemed to be less grid than labyrinth, filled with wooden dowels and compression olives and other things she'd never heard of, let alone knew the purpose for.

Dee would have been the first to admin that she wasn't the most practical person on the planet, with most of her skillset focused on building things online. To her, hardware meant her monitor, mouse and keyboard, not everything else in her parent's house around them - but that was seemingly what HomeWorld sold. Everything under the sun, and probably spare bulbs for that as well.

But even from that starting point, something was definitely off. An aisle marked Doors featured what you might expect, a long line of them like something out of Monsters Inc, except that all the ones she looked at had been fitted with heavy metal looks - bolted from this side. The Paints included colours that she'd never seen before: not just hues like Orchard Blossom and Copper Blush, but a whole spectrum beyond the one she'd always known, primary colours that had no names, shades she had no reference for.

The Timber aisle was filled with species she didn't recognise, labelled with names like 'Bloodoak' and 'Weirwood', and some of the wooden beams still wore their greenery. If they hadn't been cut into uniform planks, Dee would have sworn they were still growing. The Mirrors for sale had been arranged to face each other, reflecting the store endlessly in every direction, as if this aircraft hanger of a store needed extending any more.

"You've got to admit it's weirdly empty," she said to her friend. "It looks like we're the only customers in here, in the middle of the day. We haven't even bumped into any staff."

"So the shop is unsuccessful," he shrugged. "That explains why I've never heard of it before. I swear I've walked past here and never noticed it until today."

"Hang on, where did we come in?"

"Uh..." That one gave him more trouble. "Didn't we start off with the doors?"

"The door aisle is right in the middle of the store," Dee said, peering down the central corridor. "How did we start there?"

They made their way back, wondering if the entrance was somehow tucked away at the end of the aisle, but it was hard to see that far without walking down it. Like the Timber aisle, which had seemed to grow wilder as it got further away, more like a forest, or an unexpected passage into Narnia, the Doors seemed to grow more daunting as they went on, and come with larger, more heavy-duty locks.

At least there was finally somebody there. A member of staff, who might be able to point them on their way. She was a young woman, wearing a garish polo shirt - although again, Dee couldn't put a word to the colour - with HomeWorld printed on the back, and she was fitting a lock to one of the doors. She straightened up as they approached, and looked them up and down with what seemed to be a professional eye.

"Ah, there you are," she said, before they could ask her where exactly it was that there was. Now that she was standing, the door that she'd been working on looked familiar: it was glass, and behind it Dee could still see the reflections of faded shapes, familiar colours like red and blue, looking for all the world like passing cars. This was it, wasn't it? The door that they'd come in through? "Oh yes, your world will do nicely. A fine addition to our store."

#writing #short story #original writing #creative writing #sci fi

[itsbinghebitch]

ok semi(?)-rant but i swear some of you really need to learn to interpret stories . like i wasn’t surprised browsing the bmf tag that so many people fail to connect with kawi bcuz he’s an extremely flawed character, but the flawed set-up isn’t the ultimate standard you’re supposed to judge a character by. i put this down to a significant proportion of people consuming bl media being literally 12 but idk i’ve been surprised before to click on a particularly egregious take and see ‘they/them 30 y/o’ in the bio. i really wish as a society we emphasized humanities education more because this does trickle down to how you see other individuals in your life. if you can’t accept a character can start off mean and hopeless and undergo a transformation (which personally i think is the purpose of storytelling) i can’t even begin to see how you’d fit rehabilitation or prison abolition in your life. it’s actually disturbing to think about.

#be my favorite #and my thing is the character who undergoes the transformation doesnt even have to go thru like #the ultimate redemption arc where at the end of the story u have absolved said character of a checklist of flaws #as long as thematically its clear whats happening #and what forces are in opposition at a structural level #e.g. kawi's internalized sense of jealousy and individualism vs the kindness the world is actually showing him #e.g. not actually having the same flawed set up as kawi but hiding it better/not externalizing it the same way as kawi #anyway tldr i think yall need to get your reading comprehension up a couple pegs

[murderfabrication]

Completely self-indulgent design notes

...What the title says. I wanted to talk about my character designs! Although they are all meant to have a certain simplicity to them - the concept being that these people look like normal folks despite having an incredible talent - I think about them a lot, and I won’t even say everything here.

For the character’s sprites, please refer to the Wiki, because including them would make this post even longer than it already is.

Neo –

Neo is a beautiful young man with an artsy/fashionable look. The blue half of his hair was most likely destroyed with bleach, explaining its waviness, whereas his hair would naturally be curly. His current sprite does a bad job of showing that off – in other artworks, and hopefully a future version of his sprite, Neo’s natural hair is dark and curly.

With his dark eyes, long eyelashes and skinny build drowning in an oversized overshirt, Neo is meant to come across as the pretty boy Keith says he is.

Neo cares about his palette. He chose blue and stuck with it. I wonder if there was a particular reason behind it?

Akiro –

I already redrew his sprite once… but it was years ago. His haircut changed, and I love the current one to bits. It works even better for him. The main flaw with his current sprite is that his sleeves look ungodly – his t-shirt is meant to be accidentally oversized, but these just look ugly.

Akiro is adorable and discrete, but surprisingly tall for being the cute boy character. Being 176cm tall, he’s the same height as Neo, and almost the same height as Jan. He has really big eyes, partly because I drew them too big back in 2019, but in his case, it was also a conscious choice – he’s the cute character, after all.

His orange hair and green eyes are the way they are because of anime rules. In-universe, Akiro is and looks Japanese. Yes, I have thought of what he would look like in a more “realistic” setting.

Does his pocket actually have a life of its own, or am I giving it a different expression on some drawings as a joke? Someone should probably figure that out.

Oscar –

Oscar was recently redrawn, and slightly redesigned. While I liked the look of his former sprite (there was something special about his head, idk), its proportions were completely fucked up, even by Danganronpa standards. I updated his hair to look more like the way I draw him in my personal art (see here and here for example), mostly because it’s more fun to draw, and I assume it makes him more fun to look at.

Oscar’s arms are massive. Neo describes his upper body in details in Chapter 3. Though I don’t remember if that was on purpose when I drew his first version, I let him keep the slightly big ears. I wouldn’t say they should stick out a lot, but if you look at them, they’re rather large. His new design sports new small details, like some buttons and earrings, did you notice them?

Oscar’s redesign sports a black mole high on the bridge of his nose. It stands out from a mole like Isabella’s or Lois’ by its particular darkness. Is it an actual mole, or a tattoo?

By the way, you guys were NOT supposed to be this horny for him.

Ciel –

My favourite clown. His sprite was revamped at some point, and I’m very happy with it. Ciel is very pale, with naturally crazy hair (à la Komaeda? In truth, the shape of his hair was first inspired by Taichi Fujisaki). He is meant to have a youthful appearance, just to look his age.

As ends up being described in the story (was it Chapter 2 or 3?), his t-shirt is meant to fit perfectly around his shoulders, so as to not hinder his movements despite its large collar. Two black sleeves stand out from underneath it, perhaps from a tank top (…).

The trousers Ciel wears, of course not visible on his halfbody sprite, are very big biker jeans. They look completely out of place with his delicate teal top.

Being 166cm tall, Ciel is the shortest Guy™ in the cast by a long shot, second to Keith, who is practically the same height as Neo.

Mina –

I swear I will revamp her sprite one day, and she will have ears.

Mina is not just small – everything about her appearance makes her look like an adorable little girl. No one would even dare to assume she’s a teenager. The pigtails certainly don’t help, and one should wonder why she would do her hair this way if she wishes to be taken seriously.

I have been told in the past that her uniform makes her look even more like a schoolgirl. That wasn’t exactly my intent, however. I think that if you imagined an adult woman wearing the exact same outfit, she could come across as a prettily dressed detective. I think her main illustration, if I ever draw it, should show her in the same outfit but with some accessories to show off how it all comes together.

Emily –

Emily’s sprite is one of the few from my first, very old batch, that I still like today. She’s so cute.

Emily is the Ultimate Fashionista, which I must insist doesn’t mean “gyaru”. She’s one of those USians. When it comes to her style, however, I just threw a bunch of stuff at random that I thought seemed fashionable in 2017/2018 when I designed her, and with no knowledge of fashion whatsoever. Her palette, mostly, was an odd choice, but… I guess it’s what makes her iconic. Since Murder Fabrication takes place in the future, I can come up with whatever I’d like.

A redesign of Emily would most likely keep her outfit the same, but add more visible make-up – although in Chapter 3, Isabella implies that simple make-up looks are in fashion.

Emily is meant to be a beauty with a cute face and a cute voice.

Benjamin –

When I drew Benjamin’s first sprite, it wasn’t obvious that he was pretty. I clearly fixed that since... Though jokes aside, that is of course subjective and I just happen to have very specific biases.

When it comes to Ben, there’s no “I realised his outfit was ugly so I decided I would make a joke out of it”. It was always meant to be impractical and cheap looking. By the way, I recently made him a few centimetres taller to accentuate his towering over the cast, even by a bit, at a whopping 184cm when the other Guys™ are more so in the 175cm range. Ciel refers to him as a giant at least once.

Ben’s hair is meant to count as dark, or black hair in-universe, unlike other characters who have fantasy or fake hair colours. Ben is Chinese-American and meant to look the part.

Chloe –

So, Chloe… she has “dark skin”, for being mostly white. Though she may have mixed origins, she is meant to pass as white, with tan skin due to spending a lot of time under the sun.

At least that’s where I stand on her backstory right now. I fully admit that my design and shading choices for her came from being inexperienced back then.

I’m still on the fence on whether I want to keep what she’s wearing a dress, or turn it into a simple apron – I can see her wearing shorts underneath. But I also like the dress idea. I need to think about it hard.

Ultimately, Chloe is meant to have an innocent look.

Andi –

I don’t know that I have much to say about Andi’s design. It’s meant to be simple, yet fashionable. In an immortal look kind of way. As is clearly revealed at some point in the story, she dyes her hair.

Not too unlike Emily, Andi is meant to have the looks of a beautiful young woman, although I wouldn’t describe her face as cute – you know, that savage-looking little girl with a loud personality, messy hair, scratches all over and a sense for adventure?

Finally, her palette looks familiar, doesn’t it?

Chris –

It’s surprising that her first sprite didn’t sport muscles. It mostly comes down to me not really realising that one could draw them back then. As the Ultimate Gymnast, Chris is strong from practicing regularly.

If I redrew her sprite again, I would probably rework the way her hair frames her head. Other than that, Chris is well-endowed for being so muscular (à la Hermes Costello, except… does Chris seem like someone who would go under the knife for this?) and has intimidating eyes.

Isabella –

Isabella looks and sounds soft, in an almost sleepy way. Like that girl at the Eurovision 2021 who came onstage wearing PJs and looked like she was about to fall asleep the entire night. Isabella wears a lot of make-up, and Neo eventually points out, when he sees her without it, that she looks very different.

Contrary to Benjamin’s clothes, her simple make-up look was a rookie mistake which I decided to turn into a thing (as she states in Chapter 3), just because I could.

Despite her pastel clothes (which I might edit to look even more pastel someday) and soft look, Isabella is a tall, imposing woman, with even more imposing twin tails. Those are of course reminiscent of a certain Danganronpa character, and not by accident.

Jan –

I’m not happy with his recent sprite – Jan is meant to be very good looking. I have immense Jan brainrot and could probably write an entire novel of design notes for him. With his athletic build and calm composure, he may come off as slightly older than he is, though not by a long shot.

His hair is naturally platinum blonde. I wish it looked obviously fluffier, but Jan admittedly puts effort into keeping it tame – admitting it some fluff, a brilliant coiffé-décoiffé, at least it’s meant to be this way in-universe.

I hate his uniform for being so boring, but it’s meant to be this way. Jan is stuck here wearing a boring, very formal school uniform. It’s also meant to hide a certain small detail, which gets revealed at some point in the story.

Jan wears a single earring on his right ear, and no, I don’t want to hear it. As for his face, it’s very delicate, almost feminine – but with a distinctively masculine shape, he comes off as a very pretty boy indeed.

One last thing I’ll note… while Jan has the smaller eyes usually given to masculine characters in Danganronpa, doesn’t something about them look different from Benjamin’s or Oscar’s? Even Neo’s or Keith’s, if you look attentively?

Keith –

Speaking of. Keith’s new sprite isn’t my favourite sprite, but does a much better choice of showing off what he’s meant to look like. Despite his own claims, Keith is one of the pretty boys himself – I’m very particular about the shape of his eyes, which I find very pretty on top of being cute.

As for his hair, it’s meant to be an absolute mess. An absolutely horrendous haircut. I don’t know how I even failed to portray that the first time. All it’s good for is making him one of the only characters with an ahoge (along with Akiro and Jan).

Much like Jan, Keith is wearing his uniform, though it has arguably a little more personality. Besides, Keith’s difference with Jan is that he would dress like absolute garbage otherwise – what, did you really expect any different? With his choppy hair and depressed attitude?

Noah –

While Noah is stereotypically attractive due to his muscular build, his face is truly meant to be incredibly cutesy. I would like it to stand out from Akiro in the way that Akiro looks like a cute guy, and Noah looks almost childish. It clashes with his body and talent.

Much like Keith’s, if not worse, Noah’s hair is meant to be an overgrown mess. As is soon revealed, his thick fringe is no accident. His hair hides even his left ear.

I have no idea why I gave him an eyebrow slit, LOL.

His first design was mostly green because haha, Soldier, I guess. However, his palette changed because not only is he off-duty, but also because “I can see her sad song shining, and everything around her turns to gold”.

Alice –

Ugh I love her and I’m happy I designed her hair at a time when I was the type of inexperienced that took more risks. That being said her skin is almost exactly #FFFFFF and… I guess it’s too iconic not to stay now.

I still like her sprite, much like Emily’s, though if I redrew it today I would make her freckles look more natural and accentuate her thin build.

She’s really not heavy, after all.

I don’t know what else to say about her. She’s dressed to trek. I think she’s pretty. Oh, right – on the very day that I wrote her physical description (at work…), my mom took me to a store to buy the EXACT shoes I’d created for Alice. A complete coincidence. These are still my trekking shoes… I have three Siberian huskies who like pooping in grass.

Lois –

Ah, Lois, the love of Neo’s life… or probably not. Regardless, his assessment of her is meant to be correct – she is supposed to be a kind of beautiful mostly different from the other women of the cast, mostly because of her mature looks.

Now, there’s something about her palette, but…

Anyway, Lois is the second shortest character, being 163cm tall. This isn’t much shorter than the other women of the cast, but I have been told that it makes it even funnier that Neo is so intimidated by her. I also enjoyed having her become Ben’s friend… not too unlike the way Mina and Oscar are friends. Well, I wonder if Ben and Lois see each other as friends…

Although it was not my first idea, it makes the most sense for Lois to be rather thin. That being said, she has different proportions from a skinny queen like Alice.

…Anything else?

#murder fabrication #original character #oc #chara design #design notes #bonus

[rafor]

Chapter 17 - Guardians - Part 3 - The Glitch

We were summoned back to the main hall. A heavy silence hung in the air. No one dared to utter a word. Akira broke the tension with a blunt question: “Alright, what did you agree on, masters?”

Taranis deferred to his colleague. “I’ll let Erebus speak for us,” he said.

The others nodded in unison. “I agree. Erebus will tell,” one of them echoed.

Erebus cleared his throat, his pride evident in his voice. “What we agreed on is classified, but we’ve got new directions for both of you. First of all, Raphael, you are forbidden to leave the city under any circumstances for your own safety. You will be assigned a new residence near the temple. As for you, Akira, he will be your pawn from now on. Make sure to unlock his powers properly. We’ll need them in case your visions and the prophecy come true.”

I felt a surge of mixed emotions. I was being entrusted to someone I barely knew, but at least I had a purpose and a place to stay. I kept silent, but Akira spoke up: “You’ve got to tell me about your classified decisions as soon as possible, please.”

Erebus replied, “We’ll do it as soon as Raphael shows progress. Meanwhile, he has a week to get acquainted with everything around here. You are allowed to assign helpers to assist him during this time, and you’ll have to plan everything accordingly. Consider this a mission for a possible promotion.”

She sighed and said, “Fine, that sounds fair enough.”

Then Erebus looked at me and said, “We have faith in you, Raphael, but remember to be careful. If you ever discover anything, first tell Akira or us. Don’t make important decisions alone. She’ll guide you for some time. Understood?”

I nodded and said, “Understood. Thank you.”

The sun was setting outside. It was getting late. Erebus said, “Great, if anyone has anything else to say, please say it now or forever hold your peace.” No one spoke, so he continued. “Good then. For today, we’re done. You’re all dismissed. We’ll meet again in a few days.” And with that, we left the temple.

Akira instructed an assistant to direct me to a place that was already prepared for me. Suddenly, while we were leaving, the place was flooded with helpers. I didn’t realize that each master had multiple assistants who would arrive as soon as they were dismissed.

I followed the guy assigned to direct me. Akira went another way. Left alone again with a dragon that looked different from the others because it was actually a wyvern, I felt somewhat afraid again.

He didn’t say anything the whole way until we reached our destination.

“Well, sir, we have arrived. This will be your home from now on. For anything, you will find me at the city bookshop, or you can ask the competent authorities. Have a nice evening.”

I didn’t even have time to say “thank you” when he took off into the sky with a flap of his wings and flew away with impressive speed. The wind that he created stirred up an impressive amount of dust. While getting here, I noticed a square with a map and decided to check it out as soon as possible. I didn’t even know where this bookstore was. But for the rest of the day, I decided to explore my new home. It was bigger than necessary. It had rooms that were out of proportion for me. Starting with the main one, I swear that even with fifteen people, it would still feel empty. There was a corridor leading to many more rooms. Some were empty. Others had minimal furniture. There was a spacious library and a workshop. I could go on and on, but honestly, it doesn’t really matter. I would have been satisfied with having a one-room apartment rather than a house the size of a temple. I was happy to see clean water readily available. There was even a room with a fountain in the middle. It looked beautiful. The room resembled a miniature world with a well-defined path to follow. I had no idea why there was such a room in a house, but I didn’t mind looking at it and studying all those tiny details hidden in that little miniature landscape. Eventually, I read the name of such a place. There was a picture on the wall with a legend. It was indeed the land of the wind dragons, the “whispering mounts”. Knowing about it made me wonder if I could visit it one day, but for now, I knew that I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed to get outside the walls. For my own safety, or maybe because my liberty was somewhat suppressed by them, I felt really limited in everything I could do.

#chapter #dragon #dragons #elements #fantasy #literature #mystery #story #poetry #adventure #the_glitch #the rise and fall of raphael

[ohthehypocrisy]

Dubwool for Pokemon Unite!

Season 1

Prev: Torterra - Scrafty - Starmie - Luvdisc - Boltund - Tinkaton - Rampardos - Bronzong - Delibird - Polteageist - Falinks - Hariyama - Clawitzer - Salazzle - Ariados

Hailing from the Galar region, we’ve got a big floofy farm animal famous for its high quality wool. As far as barnyard pokemon go, it’s definitely the most normal of them. It’s not electrifying or made of cotton, but it definitely screams sheep, and it sounds like ‘BAAA!’ 

Speaking of which, it’s surprising that it took this many generations for us to get another sheep Pokemon after the Ampharos line. I mean, Mareep is cute and all, but as it evolves it just...stops being a sheep? I genuinely don’t get Ampharos’ deal, but at least we’ve got Dubwool at long last.

But this isn’t about Ampharos, this about Dubwool and its power of normality. Let’s see how this fluffy beast rams things up in Pokemon Unite.

-

For a Normal Type pokemon, this is an extremely well rounded set of stats, especially in the early game. A base Defense of 100 is alright, but combined with 90 Sp. Def and 72 HP, it’s a lot bulkier than you’d expect. It’s also backed up by 80 Attack and 88 Speed, making it just as nimble at tackling things as you would expect a sheep to be. Low Sp. Attack is it’s only downside, but we don’t care much for that because this stat spread is sufficiently optimized for close quarter combat and guarding. However, this is all very average, especially when compared to more specialized Normal types like Blissey and Snorlax, who have incredibly high Sp. Def and HP. It’s average speed and attack keep it from zipping around at high speeds to deal damage like a Speedster, and it lacks the raw damage to be an Attacker. It’s just plain ‘average’, and that mediocrity is what makes Dubwool a true Normal Type and thus deserving of the role of an...

All-Rounder

Basic Attack - Melee/Attack

A weak short ranged tackle with a bit of rebound. The damage and range of the attack increases the greater the shield you have.

With no shield, the reach and active range of the basic attack is the same as any other physical attacker.

The range and damage of the basic attack increases relative to the percentage of your active shield, e.g. 30% shield equals 30% more range and damage.

The rebound can be influenced by the control stick and shifts the pokemon in whatever direction you’re holding. If no direction is held, the pokemon rebounds directly backwards. The rebound is equal to the range of the attack.

Targeting works the same as any physical basic attack, in that enemies in range will be targeted and attacked in whatever priority is set in the Options Menu. This doesn’t change as the range increases.

After dealing damage, you cannot use the basic attack again until the rebound wears off, which takes 0.75 seconds. X Attack and other basic attack speed modifiers can shorten this.

The best offense is a good defense, and Dubwool emphasizes that mantra greatly with its basic attack. With any shield active, the power and targeting range increases proportional to the size of the shield. Being able to throw yourself at enemies with the protection of a shield is a great boon, especially as the basic attack also has a rebound effect.

The rebound effect almost makes up for the lack of a boosted basic attack, but it’s for offensive and defensive purposes I swear. See, as the range increases, you can target enemies further away from you than other Melee attackers can, and you don’t sacrifice your footing to do it either. You can also manipulate your positioning by tilting the control stick to whatever direction you want, and Dubwool will veer that way, allowing you to cover more ground. It’s not a great chase tool, but it’s good for outzoning ranged attackers as the basic attack doesn’t have a cooldown to hold you back.

Keeping your distance also keeps your shield mostly intact, allowing you to keep up the damage output of your basic attack. All shields wear off eventually, though, so you can’t hold onto it forever. However, there are many ways to gain a shield easily, which helps Dubwool maintain some defensive footing in situations like defending an ally Goal Zone or abusing Buddy Barrier. The best way, however, is to have an ally Supporter supply you with a shield constantly during a harsh team fight.

After all, you shouldn’t go out without a sufficient sweater in this harsh weather.

Ability: Fluffy

While you have an active shield, the bonus effects of the enemy’s physical basic attacks and close range moves are ignored.

While active, Fluffy blocks the hindrances inflicted by melee basic attacks and close range and dash Moves used by opposing pokemon.

In addition, if the move or basic attack provide an additional boost for the opposing pokemon upon dealing damage, that boost is negated. For example, Gengar’s Hex will not reset the cooldown of itself even if Dubwool is damaged by it while affected by a status effect. However, this doesn’t work on Moves that would provide the boost anyway if the move missed. Rather, it only treats these moves as having ‘missed’ Dubwool rather than successfully dealing damage. For example, Machamp will still gain a boosted attack after using Dynamic Punch whether or not it damaged Dubwool, as that is a bonus effect of the move being used, not from successfully dealing damage.

If the move deals pierce damage, dealing damage ignoring shield, Fluffy will not block any bonus effects inflicted on Dubwool.

Fluffy will prevent hindrances dealt to you from opposing pokemon’s physical moves, but allies caught in the same attack will still receive them. The opposing pokemon can still gain their bonus effects if your teammates were also damaged in the same move.

Has no effect on opposing Unite Moves.

Not only does the shield power up your basic attack, it also empowers your defensive capabilities just as well. Having a shield backed up by Fluffy makes it so that your enemies can’t inflict any extra effects on you with their physical moves. This may sound like hindrance protection, but keep in mind that this doesn’t apply to ranged moves or basic attacks. Mr. Mime can throw with a boosted basic attack, but that gets blocked by Fluffy if you have an active shield. It won’t stop Mr. Mime’s Confusion from shoving you and dealing extra damage against a wall, so you’ll have to pay attention to what moves the enemy is running.

Fluffy will also stop the extra effects of their moves from triggering as well. For example, Absol’s Pursuit deals extra damage to enemies when attacking them from behind and also reduces the cooldown of the move itself as well. However, if Fluffy is active, Pursuit won’t deal extra damage even if Absol manages to land a hit on your backside. The cooldown won’t be reduced either, leaving Absol vulnerable to your counterattack. Other moves are affected as well in weird ways. Lucario can’t heal with Close Combat, Sableye can’t remove your Aeos Orbs with Knock Off, and you’re basically immune to Shove effects from all Defenders. That’s a powerful boon to have, relative to the power of your shield.

However, Fluffy only blocks the effects of moves, not abilities. Cinderace will still get a free boosted basic attack off of every move they throw out, as that’s a boon of its ability, not its moves. Also, some moves will still trigger a bonus effect even if they hit you with Fluffy active, as the moves grant a bonus effect regardless of whether they damage an enemy or not, such as Machamp’s DynamicPunch or Trevenant’s Curse. Not to mention, pierce damage bypasses the protection of Fluffy, as the move is dealing damage to your HP stat and not your shield.

And let’s not get started on the impermanence of shields. Fluffy can only protect you while you have a shield, but the shockingly high amount of burst damage in the game makes it hard to use this ability effectively. The initial waves of burst damage can be mitigated with Fluffy, blocking their bonus effects, but after that, unless you can get another shield quickly, the next wave of burst damage will be difficult to stave off.

The best way to utilize Fluffy is to adapt to the strength of your shield. if you have a small shield, you can expect to handle an opposing pokemon 1 on 1 pretty easily. But even with a big shield, you shouldn’t charge in and challenge the entire enemy team and expect your shield to hold out. It’s best to dive in, absorb the hits, and then retreat, allowing your teammates to take care of the enemy after neutralizing their burst damage options.

If the weather gets too rough, put on a layer of clothing. Still too rough? Put on another layer. But do be mindful to take off your coat when things get too hot.

At the start of the game, Dubwool will start out as Wooloo. You can choose between Defense Curl and Headbutt as your first move. By Level 3, you will have learned both.

Move 1: Defense Curl

Curl up into a ball, allowing you to roll around at increased speed. You gain a small shield and the damage you take is reduced for 6 seconds. Prevents your shield from disappearing for the duration of the buff. 10s cooldown.

Defense Curl gives you a 10% shield and reduces incoming damage by 20%.

The defense buff also prevents the shield from disappearing from not being in use, but not from damage. Any other active shields are also prevented from disappearing.

Your movement speed is also increased by 20%. Wooloo will physically roll up into a ball for the duration of the buff, but this does not prevent it from using any moves or basic attacks.

Using the move again while the shield is still active will refill the shield instead of adding to what’s left of it. This is normally impossible during normal gameplay unless the cooldown is drastically manipulated and lowered.

All right, let’s be honest with ourselves. Those of you who want Dubwool in Pokemon Unite probably only wish that so that you can play as the adorable Wooloo. I mean, I get it, I would love to play as a Gible for the whole game, but that is superseded by my desire to win. And if you want to win games, Wooloo will have to evolve eventually. If you can make peace with that, you can enjoy being a Wooloo with what little time you have for the early game.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I learned that neither Wooloo nor Dubwool can learn Rollout. I mean, huh? Rolling around is how Wooloo can move really fast. Whatever, Defense Curl simulates that rolling ability by boosting your defenses, increasing your movement speed, and also by giving you a shield on top of all that.

For an early game move, this is an incredibly powerful ability. Boosting your defense and speed makes it possible to perform some very bold power plays in the beginning of the game. From making a mad dash to the opposing Goal Zone to making a quick retreat, Defense Curl improves Wooloo’s ability to move around and evade enemies. The extra shield and defense boost also makes it difficult for the enemy to deal any significant damage on you, which is just salt on the wound.

The extra shield is also a great plus. 10% isn’t much shield to work with, but Defense Curl keeps the shield from disappearing while the defense boost is active. This applies to all of your shields that are active when Defense Curl is used, including the one granted to you by your own Goal Zone. Now, this doesn’t stop them from being destroyed, but it makes it easier to go for a dive with a longer lasting shield in general. Not to mention, your basic attack and your Fluffy ability only get better the more shields you have, so there’s no downside to it, other than the long cooldown...

Now granted, getting any more shields is difficult to do in the early game, but receiving burst damage is very rare likewise. You should take the opportunity to level up quickly, either by powering up your score stacking items or by stealing EXP from the enemy. That’s a little easy to do with your second move.

Move 2: Headbutt

Charge headlong until you reach the maximum distance or collide with an enemy. On hit, rebound in the opposite direction and send the enemy flying. 9s cooldown.

The attack can only damage one enemy at a time and is triggered on the first enemy your hit.

Enemies are sent flying away similar to Buzzwole’s Smack Down when struck by Headbutt.

The dash distance is very long but the rebound is a short distance and cannot be influenced by the control stick.

With a painful collision, Wooloo hits the enemy so hard that they get sent flying. Wooloo comes out of the exchange fine thanks to its built in pads cushioning the impact, but the enemy lands in a different time zone afterwards.

Headbutt effectively removes the victim from the engagement by sending them flying, leaving Wooloo and its teammates free to do whatever they want for a brief moment. This is much more effective on opposing pokemon that lack movement options or haven’t learned any dash attacks yet, as they won’t be able to make up the distance in time to stop you from something like scoring 10 points or securing the KO on a wild pokemon.

The cooldown is a bit on the long side but there are other things to worry about when using Headbutt. For starters, it only works on the first enemy you collide with, making team fights very difficult for you to deal with properly. Arceus forbid you accidentally tackle a wild pokemon in the heat of battle, as you then have to contend with the long cooldown afterwards. Also, if you do hit an enemy that knows dashing moves, they can easily race back to reengage you in a fight, blocking you from scoring a goal or retreating while at low HP.

Not to mention, if the enemy has some form of hindrance protection, Headbutt will fail to send them anywhere, meaning you’ve wasted the move and have to deal with the onslaught afterwards.

But for what it’s worth, Headbutt is a powerful move for Wooloo in the early game. Combined with Defense Curl, it makes you a very difficult pokemon to stay engaged with. You’re too strong to KO, to fast to catch, and too tough to break down and weaken. As an All-Rounder, these are exemplary qualities, but it all depends on your shield and using the moves at the right time.

Eventually, the power level will increase and these moves won’t cut it anymore. Time to toughen up and double your everything.

At Level 5, Wooloo evolves into Dubwool. At the same time, Defense Curl becomes either Facade or Cotton Guard.

Move 1a: Facade

Puff up and put on a brave face, becoming resistant to hindrances as well as increasing your movement speed and reducing incoming damage for 6 seconds. Any shields you have active have their duration paused while Facade is in effect. When the move ends, gain a shield relative to the amount of damage you received. 11s cooldown.

At Level 11, Facade becomes Facade+.

Increase the base shield gained, increases the movement speed and damage reduction, and also gain an attack boost relative to the amount of damage you took.

Your movement speed increases by 20% and you receive 30% less damage from attacks.

Facade pauses the timer of all active shields while the boosts are in effect. This keeps them from disappearing from non-use but will not stop shields from being destroyed.

The shield gained at the end of the move is equal to the percentage of HP lost during those 6 seconds plus 10%. If no damage was taken, you gain a 10% shield. This shield stacks with any active shields you have.

Facade+ increases the base shield gained to 20%, boosts movement speed by 30%, reduces damage taken by 45%, and grants an attack boost equal to the percentage of HP lost during the move. The attack boost lasts for 6 seconds.

All pokemon in the game are vulnerable to burst damage, especially when taken by surprise. There is very little counterplay to getting ambushed by multiple high damage moves at once, especially if the enemy popped a Unite Move or two. This is the unfortunate reality of playing as a team, as taking that bullet limits any further counterplay the opposing team can deal to the rest of your allies.

Facade is the answer to dealing with all of that annoying burst damage. Just like Defense Curl, your defense and movement speed increase but to a much higher level. Not only that, you also become resistant to hindrances. Though it doesn’t grant a shield, any shield you do have stays put until the move ends.

When the buff wears off, Facade grants you a shield relative to the amount of damage you managed to absorb. Depending on how big the shield is, your basic attack and Fluffy ability get a massive power boost, making it possible to turn the tables on your enemies. Because of this big possible boost, Facade is best used in anticipation of a massive team fight, as it allows you to absorb the initial burst damage the enemy team throws at you. With sufficient support, you can return fire appropriately.

Facade+ increases all of the boosts the move grants you while also throwing in an attack boost as well, increasing relative to how much HP you lost. After absorbing loads of damage with Facade+, the resulting attack boost might be enough to deliver a team wipe if you’re crazy enough.

Of course, getting a massive boost from Facade requires getting hit, and depending on the level difference, you might end up succumbing to the burst damage you were supposed to absorb. If the opposing team is savvy and recognizes that you are under the Facade buff, they can easily hold their fire until the buff goes away, which they will then unload all of that damage on you. The high cooldown of Facade also means that you only get one shot at absorbing damage during the scuffle, so it’s best to bait the enemy into attacking in order to benefit fully from Facade.

If you prefer a more reliable buff, Cotton Guard is a great alternative.

Move 1b: Cotton Guard

Gain a massive shield. When a physical basic attack makes contact, reduces the basic attack speed of that enemy, adding up to a certain limit. When a close range move makes contact, increases the cooldown of that move. 11.5s cooldown.

At Level 11, Cotton Guard becomes Cotton Guard+.

Gain more shield and increases the basic attack speed reduction and cooldown extension inflicted on enemies.

On use, gain a 25% shield. Cotton Guard+ gives 40% shield instead.

Melee basic attacks are reduced by 10% each time they damage you while Cotton Guard is active. The debuff lasts for 4 seconds and resets each time it is applied. The reduction caps at 75%.

Cotton Guard+ increases the basic attack speed reduction by 15% with each hit, capping at 75%.

An additional 1.5 seconds is added to the cooldown of close range Moves. Cotton Guard+ adds 2.5 seconds instead. This will trigger on moves that deal pierce damage as well, since it’s a boon of the overall buff and not an effect of the shield.

Close range moves include examples like Garchomp’s Earthquake and Mamoswine’s Ice Fang. Dash moves are exempt.

Even though it’s all wool, Cotton Guard is a Grass type move because of the material used to get that buff. Kinda weird, but then so are other buffs like Iron Defense or Cosmic Power. Let’s not open that can of worms today.

This one move grants such an insanely high shield, it almost feels like cheating. Any other pokemon would be difficult to stop if they could make their own massive shield like this, but of course on Dubwool it’s even stronger than normal. That massive shield not only increases Dubwool’s defense, it also greatly powers up its basic attack and Ability. The fact that you can get a shield this big right away without any conditions is what makes Cotton Guard better than Facade in some situations, but it also has its own set of boons as well.

Opposing physical attackers will find that their fists and claws get tangled up in the cotton armor, resulting in reduced basic attack speed. As long as you have the Cotton Guard shield up, enemies will deal damage much more slowly, limiting their offense. Not only that, if they try to use a close range move like Machamp’s Close Combat or Trevenant’s Wood Hammer to circumvent the debuff, the move will gain additional cooldown afterwards. Those moves may end up breaking the shield, but the extra cooldown means they’ll have to wait longer to use the move again, and in some situations, you’ll get Cotton Guard back off of cooldown before their own moves do.

Ah yes, the high cooldown of Cotton Guard is difficult to work with sometimes and requires proper application to be used effectively. You can’t just pop the move whenever you can and expect it to work, you have to use it in preparation for a major fight. But when compared to Facade, Cotton Guard puts you in the role of a bulky Defender as you are much more efficient in pushing back against the enemy with that massive shield. Facade is a spear and shield combo whereas Cotton Guard is a full set of armor, and both have their uses in certain situations.

Speaking of which, when compared to Facade, Cotton Guard isn’t as well equipped to handling ranged attackers, especially if they’re packing burst damage. In fact, against the entire enemy team, the shield of Cotton Guard is much more likely to be destroyed before you can properly utilize it. Cotton Guard is much better at handling one or two enemies whereas Facade can enable Dubwool to take on a greater horde of enemies. However, Facade isn’t as effective as a buff if you’re only using it against one or two enemies, which Cotton Guard excels at.

Facade is a great counter to the opposing team if they like to stay close and fight together, whereas Cotton Guard quashes any divide and conquer strategies they employ. But that also requires coordination on your part, you and your own allies. Fending off a two pronged attack is easy, but the opposing team can easily overwhelm your allies if they fight together and you’re preoccupied with other matters. This can result in a terrible level difference that makes it difficult for your teammates to bounce back and retaliate, which can also spell trouble for you if you’re also falling behind on levels.

If you manage to overcome that and gain enough EXP, your patience is rewarded as Headbutt transforms into a much stronger move.

At Level 7, Headbutt becomes either Body Press or Double-Edge.

Move 2a: Body Press

Charge forward, grabbing as many enemies as you can before stopping at a certain distance. Then, puff up greatly and shove all enemies you caught, dealing damage to them. The greater your shield, the more damage you deal to all enemies. 9s cooldown.

At Level 13, Body Press becomes Body Press+.

Deals more damage.

Enemies hit by the charge attack of Body Press will be caught and bound until the move deals damage. During this time, the enemy cannot move or use any attacks or items to escape. Hindrance protection will prevent the enemy from being caught and taken.

Enemies are shoved in the same direction of the attack at an equal distance at the end of the move. Extra damage is dealt at the end equal to the size of your shield.

Body Press+ will also double the damage dealt at the end of the move.

Before learning Body Press, Headbutt is your only option for shoving and hindering enemies. It’s not a bad move per se, but as the power level of the match increases, it becomes less useful, as enemies gain more mobility, better protection, and stronger hindrances of their own as they level up. But then when you learn Body Press, you will hit back with a power play of your own, snatching up enemies in your overgrown coat of wool and delivering a massive hit, blowing them backwards.

Similar to Trevenant’s Horn Leech, Body Press has Dubwool catch and carry enemies away, which has great defensive applications already. But instead of healing, Body Press adds a massive Shove effect at the end of the move that deals increased damage relative to the size of your active shield. This turns your greatest defense into an offensive attack that can easily KO frail and weakened enemies.

Because both Facade and Cotton Guard grants you a shield, the power application of Body Press is dependent on you as a player. You can very easily maximize Body Press’s damage output by using Cotton Guard before engaging, or use Facade to absorb the opposing enemy’s burst damage and then respond in kind with a perfectly positioned tackle attack. It’s a great combination, except Body Press has less cooldown than either of those moves, so you can’t feasibly combo again unless you wait out the timer. It’s not a good idea to use Body Press without a sufficient shield, so either partner up with a shield granting Supporter or wait it out and avoid all of the enemy’s hindrances and burst damage until then. 

Although, if you need to hastily shove the enemy away from points of interest, Body Press is perfectly suited for that. It’s not like the move will deal damage times zero without a shield, it’ll just be a lot weaker. What you have to watch out for is the enemy obliterating your shield before you get the chance to use Body Press, which is actually pretty rare but not impossible. Cotton Guard and Body Press is too fast for the enemy to stop, unless they spam hindrances, but Facade has hindrance resistance, except it can also be stuffed by opposing Unite Moves, so watch out for that.

If you prefer the ability to become unstoppable, Double-Edge is the more powerful alternative.

Move 2b: Double-Edge

Perform a charging attack so wild, you bounce around from hitting enemies and walls. You are immune to hindrances while attacking. Extends the duration of this move by a little bit for each enemy you collide with. Also briefly stuns enemies with each hit. 8.5s cooldown.

At Level 13, Double-Edge becomes Double-Edge+.

Gain more turn power and extends the duration of the attack. Deals more damage.

Each hit of Double-Edge rebounds in a random direction upon contact with a wall or enemy. If a direction is held, Double-Edge will rebound in that direction with some difficult turning.

Double-Edge lasts for 2 seconds when rolling without hitting an enemy. When an enemy is hit, the duration is extended by 0.5 seconds. Hitting the same enemy again will not extend the duration of the move. Double-Edge+ extends the overall duration to 3.5 seconds and deals 2.5x more damage per hit.

Double-Edge stuns enemies for 0.25 seconds with each hit.

Double-Edge causes you to roll around like a ball, preventing you from using your basic attacks or other moves. Facade and Cotton Guard can remain active if used before Double-Edge.

Imagine Wigglytuff’s Rollout but with the ability to steer. Now imagine the enemy as pegs on a pinball board and you’re the steel ball being launched. That’s what Double-Edge is, in a nutshell.

By embracing your inner Wooloo, Dubwool curls up and launches forward with reckless abandon, dealing heavy damage to all you collide with regardless of your own safety. Well, not exactly, as the move grants the incredible boon of hindrance immunity that lasts for the duration of the entire move. This sort of protection makes it nearly impossible for the opposing team to stop your pinball antics, as only creating obstacles or outright KO’ing you is the only way you’ll be forced to stop using Double-Edge.

The move lasts only for 2 seconds, but you get a little bit of extra time for each enemy you damage with Double-Edge, including wild pokemon. With each extra enemy on screen, you get an extra 0.5 seconds of Double-Edge to work with, provided you can control the attack sufficiently well. Double-Edge has some rough steering to work with, but it’s all for the sake of balance. Damaging the entire enemy team with Double-Edge nets you an extra 2.5 seconds of rolling time, but only if you can deliver those hits. It’ll be worth it though, as you inflict a very short Stun on each enemy you hit. Imagine rolling back and forth between two enemies close together, stunning them with each rebound and locking them out of attacking or moving. It sounds terrible for the opposing team, but it’s a matter of skill for you as the player.

See, each hit of Double-Edge extends the duration of the move by 0.5 seconds, but actually manipulating the attack to roll into the enemy takes some skill. Without any input, Double-Edge rebounds in a random direction, so that means rebounding between two enemies in the example above requires quickly tilting the control stick in the proper direction with each bounce, which is very hard to do if they are very close to each other. Now imagine trying to pull that off against the entire enemy team. That’ll require putting yourself in the middle of the opposition as otherwise Double-Edge will send you away if you attack from outside the group.

The attack doesn’t last forever either. The duration extends each time you damage an enemy once, not twice or any further times. All moves with an active effect usually visualize the duration of time remaining by putting a blue line that runs clockwise on the Move Icon on the player HUD. On Double-Edge, you’ll see this line increases as you deal damage with Double-Edge, but no more after you run out of new targets to hit. When you see that you’re running out of time, you better skedaddle before the opposing team comes together and obliterates you once the stun wears off.

Speaking of damage, Double-Edge doesn’t utilize your shields in any way, but that’s the point. Since you’re immune to hindrances while rolling around with Double-Edge, the only threat to you is direct damage. Double-Edge makes you very hard to hit accurately with some moves, and the ones that do manage to land can get blocked by the shield granted to you from either Facade or Cotton Guard. The shield combined with Double-Edge is meant to protect you as you roll in and deal damage, which you can do very well with the hindrance immunity you have.

Both Body Press and Double-Edge work better with an active shield up, but they have their uses when applied in a smart way. After all, you’re an All-Rounder, that makes you well equipped to handle just about anything.

Unite Move: Woolly Launchpad

Choose a designated area, then shed your coat of wool, creating a shag carpet at your location. Allies can approach and step on the carpet to launch themselves to the chosen area, landing with a powerful thud. Opposing pokemon are bounced backwards if they step on the shag carpet.

Woolly Launchpad effectively recreates the big launchpad you have at your home base. This includes the landing Throwing enemies nearby.

Because you choose the direction for your team, you and your allies are launched automatically when stepping on Woolly Launchpad.

Unlike the launchpad at your home base, you and your teammates deal damage upon landing. This damage scales with your Attack stat.

Enemies are shoved and thrown backwards if they walk onto Woolly Launchpad.

When used, the launchpad shows up on the minimap for you and your teammates and shows all which direction the launchpad is pointed at and where the landing is. The launchpad lingers for 8 seconds.

Also the shedding wool is just a visual effect. Dubwool’s model remains unchanged during and after the Unite Move.

Speaking of utility, because of how springy Dubwool’s fibers are, its sheddings are equivalent to that of an extremely bouncy mattress. So bouncy, in fact, it can double as a launchpad, just like the one you have at your home base. Also did you know that those launchpads are run by Dugtrio? Just thought I’d share.

As far as Unite Moves go, Dubwool’s Woolly Launchpad is very much on the stranger side. There’s no attack or buff, you just put down your wool trimmings on a spot and then make a big jump. It’s where you’re aiming the Unite Move where things get interesting.

Because you can aim the landing spot pretty far away, you and your allies basically become Dragonite’s upon landing. While the launchpad you have at home does stun and throw enemies upon landing, Woolly Launchpad will also damage enemies caught in the way. Where you land is up to the Dubwool player though, which is you, so your teammates are putting a lot of faith in your decision making skills.

It’s best used while the enemy has no idea where you are, as there’s no indication that you’ve used the move or where it’s pointed to. By aiming at points of interest, not only is it the fastest mode of transport away from your home base, it’s also the strongest, as you deal damage to enemies upon landing in addition to stunning and throwing them. There’s nothing they can do about it either, as the launchpad itself cannot be destroyed and enemies will get bounced away if they try to step on it.

In the heat of battle, however, there is a much more proactive use for it. Because of the way targeting priority works, Woolly Launchpad will aim at enemies within the scuffle, so it’s best not to be too hasty with panic pressing the Unite button. If you pick a really good spot for it, though, you’ll put down the launchpad aimed right at the fight nearby. Now, you might be thinking, why would I do that? Well, while being launched, pokemon are immune to damage and hindrances, and Woolly Launchpad launches your allies automatically if they walk over your shaggy shedding. The landing damages enemies, but there’s nothing stopping your allies from going again on the launchpad, turning a gimmicky Unite Move into a damage loop of great potential. 

Granted, you won’t be able to use the Unite Move again for a while and maybe your allies would’ve preferred a shortcut to the opposing Goal Zone after clearing out the enemies. Not only that, picking the right spot to aim at with your Unite Move can be difficult in the heat of battle, but hey, if you’ve got a Buddy Barrier waiting in the wings, I say go for it. The incredible utility of making your own launchpad is not to be underestimated.

When it comes to knockouts, you can count on this sheep to make that jump.

Holowear

Just like with other pokemon that come with their own clothing, Dubwool is gonna be a bit of a challenge, but for a different reason. See, we can’t exactly add much to its body as its already loaded with wool, and it would be silly to throw on a large coat over all of that magnificent wool. So rather than clothing, we can take this opportunity to accessorize the pokemon instead.

First up is Warm Style that puts a warm beanie on Dubwool’s head and wraps a scarf around its entire body. So toasty. Then there’s Flower Style, putting a wreath of flowers on Dubwool’s head and sticking some pretty flower pins in its wool. Sporty Style gives Dubwool a sports cap and some bowling pins stuck in its wool. With Dazzling Style, Dubwool shines brightly with some gold chains around its neck, some rings on its horns, and gemstones bedazzled onto its woolly coat. And lastly, Sleepy Style puts one of those sleep caps on its head and has Dubwool wear a blankie with a Wooloo pattern on it. How adorable!

Strategy

Dubwool’s early game is best optimized for abusing Score Stacking items like Aeos Cookie and Attack Weight. Boosting its HP is the most important part of choosing your items as the size of your HP is relative to the shields you get from your moves. Defense Curl makes you fast enough to make a run for the opposing Goal Zone whereas Headbutt sends enemies flying, giving you enough space and time to make that dunk.

However, farming for EXP is gonna be the hard part as your moves are very slow. Your basic attack has increased reach and attack with a shield, but it’s still on the slow side. Headbutt can send wild pokemon flying, but that doesn’t really help you out much and can actually make the grind a lot slower as you’ve knocked the enemy further away from you. If you have an ally Supporter running EXP Share, you’ll have an easier time grinding. But if you’re by yourself, good luck to you little lamb.

For this reason, you cannot go to the Central Area. Your moves are too slow to farm the wild pokemon and you’re in an area without any ally Goal Zones, meaning you have no way of gaining a shield outside of Defense Curl. Between the Top and Bottom Lane, Bottom Lane is the best choice for you as it has more EXP and is often not as contended since players prefer to stack in the Top Lane (this is how I do it, it’s not indicative of the meta and I’m talking out my ass here). Plus, if the opposing Jungler rotates to the top lane, which they tend to do if they plan to make a hard push with Regieleki later, you’ll have an easier time yourself going for stacks.

Once you reach Level 5, you’ll have to choose between Facade and Cotton Guard. Pay attention to what the enemy team is running and choose the appropriate move. If you see that the enemy is capable of high burst damage as in excessive Speedsters or Attackers, Facade is the better choice. However, if they’ve got some tough looking All-Rounders and Defenders that can give your team trouble, Cotton Guard is the way to go.

Both Body Press and Double-Edge are moves that are best used when the enemy is huddled together, so you can’t go wrong wither either choice. Body Press is easier to use and has defensive applications but Double-Edge is consistently stronger and harder to master. Both benefit greatly from having a strong shield, so learning how to master your shield management is the key to mastering Dubwool.

As I’ve stated before, your basic attack and Fluffy ability are both powered up by a strong shield. Disregarding your moves for a second, you have a much stronger foothold on your own Goal Zones thanks to the constant shield it applies. In practice, you can tackle an enemy from further away and then retreat back to your Goal Zone in one swift motion, dealing damage without sacrificing your vantage point. Fluffy also makes it difficult for enemies to consistently damage you, as you ignore physical hindrances and punish physical moves used against you.

On the offensive side, you can bring this extra shield power to the battlefield if you can successfully manage your shield with your moves. Facade requires tanking multiple hits while the boost is active whereas Cotton Guard offers a defensive boon right away. However, benefiting with both moves requires proper timing and anticipating enemy attacks, so if you want to master Dubwool, you’ll have to develop a sixth sense for ambushes and the like.

No sheep is ever alone, though. They have the support of the rest of the herd. If your allies can take care of you, you can return the favor in kind by providing them all with warmth and comfort. Oh and a few KOs. Gotta keep everyone safe by employing both offense and defense. Baaa.

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And that’s Dubwool for Pokemon Unite! When I finished Season 1, I started working on multiple drafts for Season 2, and Dubwool was the first one I started with. Glad that it’s finally done and I hope you all enjoyed the read. 

Next up, we’ve got a funky little bean that loves nothing more than a fancy meal on the beach. Who’s it gonna be? Follow and find out!

#Dubwool #Wooloo #Pokemon Unite