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hellishjoel · 7 months

Text

playing hooky

9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter

summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes

A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two!

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“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.”

You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you.

“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive.

Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought.

Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”

You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That’s when you clock the time.

Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?

Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in.

“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste.

You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail.

Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining.

Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.

There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it.

Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave.

Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?

You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat.

You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries.

text me your address if you’re still up

frankie (work) Huh?

You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes.

read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused

frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501

His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole.

Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.

A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick?

You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in.

Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs, and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods.

Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus.

There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway.

Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine.

“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”

Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!”

He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.”

“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork.

You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down.

Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower.

Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside.

His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with.

“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.”

“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room.

You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch.

It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group.

Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost.

“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles.

Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to.

“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes.

“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron.

Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one.

Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would.

You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process.

There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan.

You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion. Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.

You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”

Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?”

You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it.

You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin.

You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky.

But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.”

He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare.

“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”

“So you came to my aid?”

“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting.

His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his.

Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.

“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls.

You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short.

Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat.

He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”

You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy.

With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.

His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk.

Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight.

He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly.

“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed.

“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him.

He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it.

So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident.

Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.”

You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.”

He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions.

You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish.

“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing.

“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”

He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan.

He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat.

“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face.

“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling.

He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed.

“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh.

“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you.

You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling.

“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you.

“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow.

You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?”

He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan.

Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments.

“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach.

Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.

You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-”

He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.

Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.

“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea.

Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment.

“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness.

You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?

Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap.

You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”

His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?”

His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right.

Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow.

You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn.

He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.”

Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.”

You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt.

One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven.

His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.

You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle.

It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it.

His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you.

Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy.

“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax.

He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room.

You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you.

“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed.

“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both.

Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”

He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.”

You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy.

His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth.

“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way.

You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears.

You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.

His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.

“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you.

“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you.

You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder. You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest.

Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming.

All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day.

He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him.

“C’mere, baby.”

A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part.

His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you.

His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core.

“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to.

Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go.

“To hell with going slow.”

You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk.

Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.”

He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous.

Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away.

You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs.

“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll.

Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter.

Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes.

His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices.

The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster.

A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise.

His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall.

“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”

He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double.

“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”

You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep.

“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face.

You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal.

He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted.

His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit.

You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy.

“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center.

He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body.

Your chest swelled for him.

“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are.

You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer.

“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin.

“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please.

Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest.

Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs.

Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch.

You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile.

“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter.

“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.

You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you.

Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours.

“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that.

“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.”

Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him.

“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline.

But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more.

“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales.

“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you.

You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer.

“Shit,” you whimper.

“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer.

You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say.

“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat.

That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think.

His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.

Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie.

You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code.

His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming.

Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise.

Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now.

“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking.

I’m so fucking close.

“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?”

You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him.

You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on.

Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again.

Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside.

“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.

Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison.

Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go.

A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.

His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands.

You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom.

You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing.

“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth.

“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head.

“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth.

Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on.

“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used.

Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together.

“You’re going home?”

Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”

Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.”

You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.”

You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell.

But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more.

“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way.

You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you.

“Stay.”

Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants.

“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs.

“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods.

You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.”

A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there.

“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are.

You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows.

You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers.

His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs.

“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile.

Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry.

Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid.

Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.

You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?”

“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open.

“No?” You ask curiously.

“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him.

“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh.

Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more?

You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm.

He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales.

Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub.

---

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales

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secretmellowblog · 2 years

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I’m rereading Les mis again, and one thing I didn’t notice on my first reads is just how Militarized every single town is? Even in scenes where characters are just going about their ordinary day there are always soldiers in the street, and everyone’s always mentioning prison, and the police are always there, and there are always traces of the recent wars all around—

No matter what the characters are doing, the threat of state violence is always There. The threat of the military and police and government is always hanging over them.

Like in Fantine’s chapters with Tholomyes! As the four couples are going on their dates, there are constant references to how “Everything is Fine Now Because the Monarchy has Finally Put Down those Nasty Rebels and is Back in Power Again.”As the couples flirt and play, there are gendarmes in the street and people singing rowdy songs about the return of the king. There’s an entire intro chapter about the year’s historical context, and the rest of the chapters contains sprinkles of anecdotes about the new regime.

Hugo draws what I feel is a pretty explicit parallel between Tholomyes and the new King. We’re told that is fine in Paris because King Louis is on the throne: and we’re told that everything is idyllic in Fantine’s friend group because Tholomyes is its (quote) “dictator” who leads in a way that obligates everyone to obey.

Of course in the end Everything is Not Fine and these dictators can’t actually be trusted to rule over their people, and are going to especially hurt marginalized people like Fantine.

But it’s not just this one subplot obviously, it’s Every Single One. The threat of military violence is the background noise of the entire book.

Montreuil-sur-Mer where Valjean becomes mayor is literally a garrrison town for the military; Paris is always swarming with police and gendarmes; Marius’s story centers on his changing feelings about his Bonapartist soldier father; the Thenardiers live at the Waterloo Inn and constantly go on about Monsieur Thenardier’s military history; like the threat of the military/police is always there in the background of every scene, long before it comes to a head at the barricade.

One of the subplots that illustrates this best is Everything that Happens In Digne after Valjean is released from prison.

Valjean shows his yellow passport to the mayor and is immediately followed by a gendarme before he heads to an inn. His passport causes every inn to refuse service to him. After he asks a kind-looking peasant man at home with his family if he can stay at his house for the night, the man pulls out a gun and threatens to murder him. He attempts to get temporary housing at a prison, which refuses him.

We’re later given an explanation for what the townspeople think and say about their police force, and why they’re so determined to beat Valjean away. We’re told that the townspeople say:

“The police was very badly organized, moreover, because there was no love lost between the Prefect and the Mayor, who sought to injure each other by making things happen. It behooved wise people to play the part of their own police, and to guard themselves well, and care must be taken to duly close, bar and barricade their houses, and to fasten the doors well.”

Which is a terrifying philosophy that we see throughout the book? The reason everyone is so cruel to Valjean is because in a world where everything is militarized, ordinary people have decided to become unofficial cops. It’s like they believe the problem with their society is that there aren’t enough police/soldiers on the street—even though we see police and soldiers on Every Page.

There’s something terrifyingly familiar about the mentality that looks at cities swarming with police and says “the way to fix this is to Add More Police. Or for regular citizens to Do Police Work themselves!”

And I feel like that tension, that constant pervasive threat of government violence that never goes away because ordinary people are actively supporting these institutions too, is such a tragically relevant part of the book.

#les miserables #Les mis #jean valjean #but yeah I’m like . sad about Valjean again #like is he paranoid about being found out?#yes #but look at the society he lives in!#look at all the soldiers and weapons on the street #and all the cops #and all the people making themselves Unofficial Cops #it makes sense that he lives in a state of constant terror #:(#my poor buddy John McJohn

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ticklish-touch · 3 months

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Decided to post my Backrooms chapter illustrations separately. The links to all the (SFW) chapters can be found here:

I really wanted to push myself not just as a writer, but also as a digital artist for this story.

You can read some rambles about my art process for each illustration below the cut.

Ch 1: For this chapter cover, I wanted to do my best to replicate the eerie, sickly vibe of Level Zero. And that resulted me in really playing around with the lighting and shadows in a way that I hadn't before. I also wanted to give it a bit of wonky perspective and feel a bit like an illusion-house.

Ch 2: Lookit this cheeky fucker. Totally isn't a Tower of Terror employee luring you into a false sense of security. 😁 My initial idea for this illustration was to make it look as if the Manager's cuttlefish head was really morphing & bowing out from within the wallpaper. I tried a couple drafts where I attempted to line up his tentacles and facial patterns with the wallpaper patterns. And idk, it just didn't end up looking as cool as it did in my head. (Also hallelujiah for Clip pattern brushes, they helped me make the trim around the elevator.)

Ch 3: Fun fact: This chapter was originally going to be the second half of my hotel chapter. But I'm glad it became its own thing, cause otherwise it would've robbed me of the chance to draw Rags acting like a supervillain in a construction helmet and flannel 👍

also Clip Studio Assets are a godsend, they prevent me from having to draw out an entire freakin warehouse floorplan. I did color it all myself though.

Ch 4: I remember this drawing taking me longer than I would've liked.Then again I've always struggled to draw somewhat realistic-looking water. The shadow off-shooting below the smaller cube pool into the deeper water was actually a complete accident.

And in case anyone was wanting to see a close-up of Lionfish Rags:

And again, Spike and Drake are temporary names for the sake of this AU setting until I think of actual names (for if and when I ever get around to making a Mer-Nautica AU like I've been wanting to). The silhouettes show how big they were when I first saw them in my dreams:

Ch 5: I had visuals in mind for a group of Wanderers/ Survivors since before I wrote this chapter, and grew even more attached to them as I wrote them. I was originally going to just have them depicted here, but I also couldn't get the stupid image of Rags and his megaphone out of my head and decided it needed to be shared 👌

Ch 6: When I tell yall that it was a struggle to get through drawing this. And not because of genuine art struggles; No, because of the pure Lee Panik that gripped my soul when having to zoom in close on Rags' sadistic unhinged Ler face hhhhhhfdhdfjgkfghl-

This was one of the chapters I was most looking forward to writing. It's still one of my favs in terms of pure unbridled ruthless gang-tickling, the culmination of my pred/prey/chasing fantasies revolving around laughter-hungry monsters, along with some good ol Mad Scientist roleplay.

...Oh and the first official introduction of the final antagonist, there's that too 😛

Ch 7: Yall have no idea the absolute childlike glee I felt when discovering that there's a freaking Bouncehouse/McDonalds Playplace level of the Backrooms. But holy hell, drawing the Toon Monsters was more of a challenge than I thought. There's a surprising amount of finesse in depicting that wacky, slightly-unnerving/uncanny toony charm. (Ballpit brush is best brush, change mymind)

Ch 8: Since this chapter was more or less meant to be a sort of mid-series Climax, a hint of what the battle with the Keymaster would be like, I really wanted to push myself with making this chapter cover truly stand out. It was fun to come up with a full-body design for the Court Jester (based on his Wiki interpretation of course), and it was fun to experiment with the ideas I had in mind for his magic visuals.

Once again, Clip Studio assets are a lifesaver, you can catch me actually attempting to draw a rollercoaster or carousel when I'm six feet under 👌

Ch 9: I was both excited about, and dreading, the chance to play around with various different light colors & sources. I wasn't sure how I was going to make neon blues, purples and magentas work in contrast to Rags' color palette, but I'm very happy with what I came up with.

The Dark Sovereign was also a chance for me to play around with chiaroscuro, an art technique that I've always admired (and actually really liked to do with chalk & pastel back in college). As much as I'm a slut for bright colors, I love stark contrasting black & white.

Ch 10: I went through about three iterations of sketches for this chapter cover. I felt like I just couldn't figure out how to angle the perspective of the treeline in comparison to the Giant. I'm still not even sure if I thoroughly pulled off the proper perspective of the greenhouse in the far distance. But once I added all the pretty, spooky fog effects, I became much happier with it.

Unfortunately I do not have a standalone drawing of Naga!Rags. It will definitely happen one of these days.

Ch 11: For this chapter, I wanted to draw a very cramped, stark, foreboding stretch of environment: Basically, a quintessential scene that one would see in the Backrooms if they were wandering through them alone. This is meant to be a much more down-to-earth chapter than the rest, with an air of melancholy and uncertainty. Turns out it actually lined up quite well with some of my own mental and emotional struggles that I was going through at the time.

Ch 12: For the final hurrah, I really wanted to push myself as a digital artist for this piece. (Though that doesn't mean I was about to draw all those goddamn keys from scratch, lmaoo you can thank Clip Assets for that key ring.) I wanted to try and find a way to make the Keymaster the more imposing figure in the piece, despite the fact that Rags is fully powered-up and closest to the viewer. I'm not sure if I entirely succeeded, since my end solution for making him stand out more was "MOAR GLOWY KEYS!!!"

But it was still fun, and very rewarding to get it completed.

Ch 13: I was very happy to finally get the chance to fully render Kenni for this fic. As much as shading his tendrils still drives me up the wall, it felt nice drawing the good soff boi. And I was happy to give an idea of how his Dream realm looks, with all its pastel clouds and close proximity to the Astral plane.

#backrooms #backrooms fanart #tickling #tickle fic #oc #original character #original characters #monster #monster boy #tickle monster #artoftt

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caramelstarlight · 11 months

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Two Worlds One Heart 🌸An unexpected encounter🌸

(Credit to Ethereis(Tumblr) for the title! I decided to use the 5 that weren't for the title of the story as titles for chapters/parts!)(Collei in this chapter woo wooop even added a little bit of Tighnari in this. Here's where you finally meet him.)(Yes I'm adding references LMAOOO- Kelly is prob gonna put their detective hat on and try figure them out.) (Meant to be 2,500 bc I was making it each chapter gets 500+ words minimum but that would make the final be 11k and for the 5 endings that's over 200,000 words. Yes I'm motivated but not up to that point.) (so the word count will be random always below 5,000 but above 1,500.)

Word Count: 3500+, A/N: I swear to Kusanali if this flops...

"Finally out of the chasm... phew... the path to sumeru in the chasm sure can be difficult to find." You stated finally over with the navigation. The sketchbook really did help you as you always gotten slightly lost within it.

Seeing the opening / clearing on the threshold of the tunnel you used, were giant plants with a nearby stream. Multiple creatures with eachother nearby thriving. The sight wa simply exhilarating and breathtaking everyone seemed so peaceful it was ethereal. Making it seem like a dream. You quickly opened the sketchbook you owned, finding a blank page to doodle the scenery before your eyes.

Many animals were wary of your presence before seeing you had a tail and ears they seemed to be more chill around you. Figuring you were like a sumpter beast. Big yet friendly and calm. Which is how you were at the moment. A few foxes seemed to take an interest in you. Aww! How adorable~ you thought seeing the crimson foxes become more comfortable and friendly.

"Don't worry! I won't hurt you~" you stated in a soothing voice, standing up briefly gaining the foxes attention. Showing your 5 tails for a few minutes to them. Revealing you were a Kitsune, a type of Fox Yokai. Going back down to doodle in your book as one fox came into your lap finding comfort and warmth. The two others near you simply watched you draw. One was putting their fore paws on your knee. With its hind legs keeping it steady. Interesting in what you had drew.

The other had pawed at you. Wanting you to put it on top of your shoulder. You gently lifted the fox onto your left one, it easily slid into the space wrapping its tail slightly around your neck. Your doodle of the scenery before you was decently finished. The birds chirping while the water flowed nearby was calming. Almost to the point you could fall asleep. But you just arrived in sumeru, the place you wanted to go for years. How could you fall asleep now? You also slept only a hour or two ago.

Unknowingly a forest ranger was watching you. You didn't know where it was as you could only sense their presence. Their green hair and violet eyes blended them in. Easily matching the patches of flora surrounding the area. Asking one of the fox buddies to go investigate, they followed your command. Easily finding who was watching you from afar.

A girl around your height, seemed to be interested in why foxes were so comfortable around you. Seeing one come up she thought of running away, instead the fox walked back to you. Craning its head around to see if she was following. Seeming to understand what the fox had wanted she followed. Going closer to you, the unknown person. Or well she thought you were an ordinary one at first glance, wondering why you were so close to foxes so easily. Made her wonder.. how?

"Hello! I sensed your presence, you seem like a forest watcher. By your clothing is how I'm assuming of course. You don't need to be alarmed by me." You stated seeing the fox come back with its fore paws on your knee. Going back to watching you doodle. You stopped, scratching the heads of all 3 foxes for brief moments. Before turning the book so the girl could see. "What do you think of this illustration? If you're a forest watcher I hope you can tell me if I missed any details that I can put." You stated showing your sketch was nearly finished.

"It looks great uhm..." She stated showing happiness. "Oh dear me! I never told you my name did I? I'm Y/N, many people mistake me for Yae Miko. I'm sure you heard of her. I'm her younger sibling. I'm more kind and less mischievous than she is." You stated, waiting for the girl to introduce herself. "Oh nice to meet you Y/N! I'm collei, a trainee forest ranger so your assumption was correct! Why are the foxes so y'know... comfortable around you? I heard of Yae Miko rarely just knowing they had a publishing house..." She stated amazed by your drawing.

"Ah well do you know Yokai? I'm one of them. I'm a fox Yokai, a Kitsune." "Oh wait you are? I'm so sorry for not recognizing miss! Apologies Y/N." She said with a slightly worried expression. "No need to apologize dear. If you want you can pet my tail or ears for a little." You stated as you closed your sketchbook. It disappeared into your bag.

"Ah R-really-? A-are you sure? We really just met and people like you usually don't like them getting touched!" She stated, confused by what you had stated previously. "You seem nice enough to me. Go for it if you want. You can choose." You stated as she sat down on the right now noticing your tail."Hey Y/N do kitsune gain a tail every 100 years? If I remember correctly my master taught me a little bit." She questioned seeing the singular tail. "Yes we do. Are you confused by my singular tail or something?" You asked back. Questioning why she had asked.

"Yeah are you choosing to do that or do you actually have one? You said I could pet your tails." She said repeating what you had told her. "Yes I have multiple and they are hard work. It's no wonder why Miko prefers hiding all of hers. You can touch the main one if you wish. A,A,a!" You said stopping the girl as your tail wrapped around your right side. "You must be gentle as this is very hard work to maintain you know! And if you are going to pet my ears... don't touch the insides. Those are WAYY to sensitive...!" You stated giving her a slight lecture, just like how her master could do but you never knew that.

"You're starting to sound like Master. He also has ears and a tail. He'd never let me touch his fluffy ears or tail." She stated, touching your tail slightly and she loved how fluffy your tail was! Maybe it could even be fluffier than her masters. "Hope you're enjoying yourself. I rarely let anyone touch it. Also who's this master of yours? He sounds interesting. I doubt he's a Yokai or kitsune like me. I never heard of anyone managing to leave Inazuma with ears and a tail." You stated being honest towards the girl. Petting the fox in the middle of your lap while the other two brought back flowers. They both managed to somehow get a Nilotpala Lotus in full bloom and a Kalpalata Lotus, which hangs on cliffs. "Oh! I'm pretty sure he's like you. A species or idk how you may call it... but he's a hybrid of a fox species." They replied enjoying your tail and how warm it was. That day it was slightly more cold than it usually is so this definitely helped her warm up.

"He sounds interesting... I haven't met a hybrid yet. I actually only know if illuminated beasts from Liyue and Yokai from Inazuma. So he definitely peaked my interest." You said, wondering how the male looked like. Assuming he worked for the Akademiya... you pondered which Darshan he was in. "What's illuminated beasts?" She asked, looking up at you with a slightly confused expression. "They are like inazuman Yokai. Ones that only reside within liyues borders." You responded back seeing as she had stopped petting your tail. "Is something the matter Collei? Did you hurt yourself?" You asked seeing her confused expression on her face. "Ah no nothings wrong! I'm just worried Master might be worried about where I am and may be trying to find me." She said, fidgeting with her fingers at the moment feeling slightly embarrassed if she did get found by her master. "Actually collei can I ask you a question?" "Yes Y/N you can. What is it?" "I'm wondering who this 'Master' is, you said they're similar to me." "Oh yeah I did! Well if I remember correctly he's a Fennec Fox hybrid." "A fennec fox hybrid..? Did he adjust to the forest?" "Yes he did. He can't tolerate the desert very much because of this adaptation."'

"Collei here." You stated bringing your bag from nowhere. Grabbing an accessory for her to take. "Pick one that you like." You told her, holding up 5 pieces of different accessories. "Do you want the purple bolt or the pink sakura hairpin? You can have this Amethyst necklace choose one to take." "Wow! Really Y/N?" She stated ecstatic about the accessories. "I'm sure of it. You helped me enough." You letted out a laugh at her face, eyes covered by sparkles while her smile glistened. "Hmm.. can I have the Amethyst necklace?" "Of course you can I did say you could take it, did I not?" You replied with sight sass in a joking way. "Thank you so much! I rarely get gifts!... Uhm... can you help me put it on?" "Yes I can indeed." Both of you letted our laughs seemingly to become close friends already, within 30 minutes of meeting one another. You truly had a friendly and caring aura.

Upon tracking colleis slight scent of berries he found her with a stranger... they seemed to be close and he figured you were a visitor. Eyeing you and her both seeing she had a new necklace. Watching as collei braided your hair, using little pieces to make one that'd go across your hair, using the pink Sakura to hold it in place with the purple thunderbolt on the front as a hairpin. His ear flicked and his tail wagged slowly at the sight. Happy collei didn't get hurt since she didn't return earlier. Upon inspection with his eyes, he saw you also had 2 ears and a tail. Similar to his. Unlike him your ears were always folded down but long nonetheless. With a super fluffy tail.

"Is that master?" You asked sensing a presence nearby that made you wary. "It is. That's master Tighnari, he's the chief forest ranger in the Avidya forest." She stated looking at the way she came from seeing her mentor. "Alright that puts me more at ease then. All the foxes that were with you two were on your and colleis laps. Both of you putting them down and watched as they went towards Tighnari. Collei held onto your arm gently, guiding you up to meet the fennec fox hybrid. Making sure you both didn't slip or fall on anything as you went. "Collei, what did I say about not returning on time?" He asked sternness lacing his voice. Focused on collei. "Uh sorry master Tighnari! I made a new friend with Y/N here! She even gave me this Amethyst necklace! She's also from Inazuma and a type of Yokai, she's also a fox hybrid like you!" She stated, seeming to be very happy to have gotten to know you, her direction if core went towards you, a smile on her face and a hand on her upper body.

"Greetings Master Tighnari or Tighnari depending on which you want me to call you. I'm Y/N, younger sibling of Yae, 2nd main shrine maiden and chief editor." You said, mimicking what collei had did recently. "So to get this Straight. You're like me?" He asked, pointing at his face."Indeed I am, I'm a kitsune a fox Yokai. Collei told me what you had taught her about us and I must say you do an excellent job at teaching. The little things she said are indeed true."

"That's good to know, I've been told I'm a great teacher and listener by many of my trainees." He admitted. "Anyways I'm Tighnari, if it's your first time here you can take this book. I'd specifically recommend to read the mushroom chapters first. Unless you want up to end like those mindless adventurers everyday who eat anything. Even if it screams 'Don't eat me! I'm poisonous!'. I don't understand those brainless lummoxes." He said, sass brimming through his voice. "Don't worry I did research before coming here and I have a first aid kit and food on me. I should be fine. I'll be honest, I was hoping I'd run into a forest ranger. Glad I met collei. Also can you tell me a little bit about your Culture and plants if you may? I'm helping my sister out by getting more material for stories and magic." You explained, stating one of the few reasons why you traveled here. "Actually can you take a look at my sketchbook, please let me know if I put any symptoms wrong." You asked. Looking at collei and showing her a little trick.

"You see this collei? A floating Sakura right. *Poof* Now it became a lighting kitsune / fox!" You stated, as the Sakura changed in less than a blink of an eye. Leaving her in awe, waiting for Tighnari to tell if you did anything wrong. "Hmm... all of this seems good Y/N I don't see any errors in your writing and I must say your sketches are really beautiful. The latest one looks super close to the actual one." He stated looking at the scenery around you three. "Oh thank you Tighnari! I actually rarely get any compliments about my drawings. They always say to color it in then it'll be impressive!" You said with irritation, the bitterness of their tone on your tongue.

Using your hands to mock them before turning your head away slightly up. "I ought to show them what art is..." *mumbling* "Then they'll know true illustrations are beautiful in bountiful ways!" Slight agitation towards them showed through. Tail flicked in annoyance along with one of your ears. "Y/N it's okay! They'll learn eventually..." Collei stated trying to cheer you up. "Ik they will. It's just I wish they knew beforehand." Reassuring the teenager.

"Anyways. Do you need a place to stay Y/N you can come to ghandharva ville with us. I can also teach you what I know about culture while you can learn about our plants." Tighnari offered. "Are you sure I won't be a bother? I wouldn't want to get in the way of your work and duties and-" "Rest assured you can. Now stop being a worrywart. You can come with me to my home. I can sleep on the couch and you can have the bed alright?" He stated. Finally giving his attention to the foxes around you.

"No no! You can have the bed! I can take the couch it's your home and I'm just a guest!" You replied showing worry for him again. "You can take the bed I really don't mind Y/N." "If you say so.." "also I must admit I'm curious in your species. If I teach you about plants and culture may you reach me about Kitsunes or other yokai?" "Uhm... sure! Yeah! People from other nations are always slightly scared of me since they mistake me for Miko and/or hasn't seen a Yokai. I'm glad you both aren't scared by my presence." You stated, tail slightly wagging and the rest of your tails popped up. All 5 of them wagged in unison. "Y/N may I ask you what hair products you use for your tail or ears? They all seem to be really cared for- Not that I mean you didn't take care for it!"

"Don't worry I understand, keeping one tail on high maintenance is enough. Me and Miko struggle with our tails a lot. I use these natural oils." The products floating out of the bag and into Tighnaris hands. Allowing him to see what you used. "Oh! I can't forget about my best brush here's what it looks like if you're interested in getting it." Grabbing the brush and holding it up for him and his hands had the care products. Collei stared at the products uninterested in them as she didn't have tail/s or ears. Proceeding to write down in her notepad.

"Alright we should start heading back. If we don't return soon they may just wreak havoc among the plants in the Avidya forest. Just like kids on too much candy." He stated walking ahead, "we gotta dash collei! Don't run though!" You stated seeing as she finished in her notepad. Upon catching up with Tighnari, you were in awe as you looked around you seeing many beauitful sights all around. "Is that a statue of the seven?" "Indeed it is!" Collei stated chatting with you along the way on the path towards their homes.

"Oh they're both coming back! But who is that lady adorned in Inazuman clothing?" Rana stated seeing the 3 of you on the path. "I don't know." Someone stated seemingly not interested. "I found collei near the chasm. Where she made a new friend. Her name is Y/N and comes from Inazuma. She's a fox Yokai from there and she'll be staying with me for the time being." Tighnari explained to the trainees as all three of you made it to the threshold of the ville. "Alright!" They stated understanding Tighnari.

"Alright collei do you want to come with me to my house or are you going to go to your house?" Tighnari asked the green haired Teenager. "I'll go to yours for a bit. I want to know more about Y/N! I'm curious about them too Master." She stated looking up towards you briefly before craning her view towards Tighnari. "Alright. Let's go it's this way." He stated greeting multiple forest rangers on the way or residents. "Okay so Y/N it's currently 4pm. Do you want to learn today or start tomorrow? Also are you exhausted from the trip? Any pains or numbness? I'm asking since I'm sure you're at least a little tired from the traveling." "I can start today, I'm not too tired out to fall asleep so hard that I can't wake up. I am slightly exhausted but no pain anywhere beside well my feet since traveling." You stated mimicking a few words he had just told.

"Alright why don't you tell us more about your Yokai first? We are both very curious after all and we know a lot about plants so I or her can tell you afterwards." He stated sitting on the floor along with collei. "Sure! I don't mind." You responded sitting on the floor with the two. "Kitsune or Fox envoyes are people who can live up to thousands of years. Each tail they gain is a symbol for them living 100 years. If you can guess my age is over 500. 546 to be exact and my sister is 550 years old. Meaning we get 5 whole tails. The amount of tails also symbolizes how much power we have. For clarification, each 100 years and tail our power grows stronger with age. I have more capabilities than I used to in my first few 100s. For example I can teleport,summon foxes, use magic,summon,perform exorcism, create thunderbolts or Sakura. I can do more but I doubt you're that interested in those." You stated seemingly finished and waiting for questions.

"Thank you Y/N for that information now do you want to know about plants? Or culture first." "Plants please, I can use them for stories! Oh and their healing properties." "Okay then. So the Nilotpalas Lotus healing properties..."

*Timeskip bc idk healing stuff WOOO-)*

"Tighnari are you sure you don't want the bed? Idm having the couch." You stated as it was now 10pm and collei went home around an hour ago. "Y/N it's all good I'll be fine you're making It seem like I'm gonna have someone break into my house." "Alright alright! I get it... Anyways Goodnight Tighnari!" You stated as he left the room going to the couch. It feels weird in a different persons house and bed. But it does smell like him so that can be comforting. I never knew one could smell so much like Nature till I met him. His scent is slightly interesting... Oh Y/N stop it with these thoughts you need to go to sleep! Don't think about cuddling sessions yet!! You just met that guy! You mentally scolded yourself as your thoughts got the best of you.

Although it does sound fun... having someone groom my tail or tails while I do theirs is something I rarely do.. I used to with Miko but were both busy with work.. You hit yourself in the head with a pillow trying to stop the thoughts and fall into deep slumber. After around 30 minutes you fell asleep. Using your tail as extra warmth for your body's as the moons glow brightened your skin.

#genshin tighnari #sumeru #dendro #tighnari fluff #tighnari #tighnari x you #tighnari x female reader #tighnari x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #Tighnari x male reader #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x yn #tighnari genshin #tighnari fanfic #tighnari gi #collei #genshin #Caramels Two Worlds One Heart Series

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dino-fart · 2 years

Text

Preview of Favorite Features

Pairing: Multi-Strange X Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, SMUT

Thank you to @strangelockd for helping me with the idea!

Summary: Reader has an established relationship with each Stephen. You notices how perfect his features are and decides to draw him. Each chapter illustrates your favorite feature of Stephen and what their favorite is of yours.

Summary | Preview

Please like if you want to be tagged in the chapters!

“Stephen darling...Please stay still.” You said softly, setting down your paint brush.

“I’m sorry love, I’m just anxious.”

You stood up from the stool and set your palette down. You waked over to him and stood in front of him. He looked up from where he was sitting. You used the handle of your paintbrush and gently traced his jawline.

Stephen smirked, “Enjoying the view?”

You giggled softly and continued tracing his jawline. “I'm trying to memorize your jawline. I don’t want to mess it up. It’s my favorite feature of yours.” You smiled softly and continued.

Stephen took your paint brush out of your hand and stood up. He hands rested on your hips and pulled you close. “Do you want to know what my favorite feature of yours is?”

You blushed and wrapped your arms around his neck. “What’s that?”

He cupped the back of your head and kissed you tenderly. “Your intoxicating lips.” He whispered against your lips and kissed you again. He wrapped his arms around your waist and guided you onto the floor. He laid your back on the floor and caged your body. His hands roaming your curves and he settled between your legs. “And I will never get enough of them.” He purred and pressed his hips flesh against yours. He kissed you hard again and rocked his hips against you.

You moaned softly and wrapped your legs around his waist. “Stephen...The painting...” You moaned.

Stephen began to kiss along your neck, nipping and sucking on it. “It can wait...I need you, now.” He growled.

Dividers By: @firefly-graphics

Tagging: @strangelockd, @thealleydog, @lady-harvey

#doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #defender strange #defender strange x reader #strange supreme #strange supreme x reader #supreme strange #supreme strange x reader #sinister strange x reader #sinister strange

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parkerslatte · 4 months

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Dalliance | Chapter Seven

Matthew Fairchild x Fem!OC

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

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Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

•••

The first thing Delilah had noticed when Matthew entered the room was his different attire of clothing. Before he was dressed in what he deemed his ‘casual’ clothes– which still consisted of a fancy waistcoat and pressed trousers. Now he wore a waistcoat that certainly wasn’t cheap and clutched a silk hat in his hands, one that Delilah hadn’t seen before. The soft blonde curls atop his head were windswept. Apparently the wind was kind to Matthew as each curl seemed to be perfectly placed.

“Lila,” Matthew’s smile was easy as he glanced at the Lightwood, his eyes scanned over her body. “If I knew we were having a fashion show, I would have worn my better waistcoat.”

“A better waistcoat?” Delilah laughed. “What can possibly be better than that one?”

Matthew shrugged. “I would have found one.”

“Not that I don’t love seeing you, my dear, but if you were planning on pestering Anna, Cordelia and I, why didn’t you say back at your house, I would have waited for you.” Delilah said.

Matthew glanced at the sofa opposite Delilah’s where Cordelia was perched. “What are you doing here?”

Cordelia’s expression turned sour. "Having tea."

Matthew approached the sofa where Delilah sat and slumped down next to her, crossing his leg over the other and rested his hat on the space next to him. “I don’t see Anna.”

"She's in her bedroom," said Cordelia cooly.

Delilah fiddled with the hem of her top skirt. She wasn’t sure why Matthew was acting the way he was, especially to Cordelia who had done nothing to provoke him.

"Alone?" Matthew inquired.

"Matthew!" called Anna from the bedroom. "Don't be awful.”

Matthew perked up at the sound of Anna’s voice and draped his arms over the back of the sofa, his hand brushing Delilah’s shoulder. "I have already had a maddening day," he said.

Delilah lightly hit his chest. “You’ve spent a lot of the day with me.”

Matthew’s gaze fixated on her, his green eyes seeming bright in the lighting. His fingertips brushed her hair gently. “You could never be the reason for my maddening day. Though you were present to hear about most of my maddening day, apologies that you need to sit through it again, Lila.”

“Get on with it!” Anna called from the bedroom.

"James has been slandered by Tatiana Blackthorn and my rotten older brother is backing her up to the hilt; James has gone off to rendezvous with Grace. I am here to get squiffy and try to forget what a foolish thing my parabatai is doing." He glanced at his watch. "Also, Lila and I have to be at Fleet Street by midnight."

Anna emerged from the bedroom in a black velvet coat, matching trousers, and a white silk shirt tied at the collar. Delilah let out a huff.

“If I knew that the both of you were going to look like you stepped out a fashion illustration, I would have left one of my nicer dresses here, Anna.” Delilah complained.

Anna rolled her eyes at her sister before turning to Matthew. "A dreadful tale," she said. "Shall we go?"

"Certainly," said Matthew. "Cordelia, it was lovely, if surprising, to see you."

"There is no need to say farewell," Anna said, drawing on a pair of white gloves. "Cordelia will be coming with us. That was why I invited her here in the first place."

"I thought you wanted to have tea!" objected Cordelia.

"No one ever just wants to have tea," said Anna. "Tea is always an excuse for a clandestine agenda."

"Anna, Cordelia is a proper young lady," said Matthew.

“Matthew, let Cordelia come,” Delilah said. “She might find it fun.”

Matthew seemed to go on as if he hadn’t heard Delilah. "She may not wish to risk her reputation by sallying out with Downworlders and reprobates."

"Cordelia wants to be a hero," said Anna. "One cannot do that by staying at home stitching samplers." Her eyes gleamed. "I was at the Enclave meeting today; you were not. I know how the Enclave has decided to handle our current situation, and I do not think it will help those who are stricken, or prevent the attack at the lake from happening again."

When Matthew spoke, the brashness had gone out of his voice. "I thought Barbara was getting better. Thomas said–”

“The Silent Brothers have put all the wounded to sleep," said Cordelia. "They hope that they will heal, but…”

"Hope is not a solution," said Anna. "The Clave insists this was a random demon attack, which took place not in daylight but under cloud cover. They have set patrols in Regent's Park."

“It couldn’t have been random,” Delilah interjected. “It couldn’t have been a coincidence how there were mundanes in the park and the demons only focused their attack on us.”

"And the demons came before the cloud cover did," said Matthew. "When Piers fell screaming, the sun was still visible."

"You begin to see the problem," said Anna. "Several Enclave members made those points, among them my parents, but the majority prefer to think of this as the sort of problem they have faced before. Not something new."

"And you think it's something new," said Cordelia.

"I am sure of it," said Anna. "And when a new supernatural threat enters London, who are the first to know of it? Downworlders. We should be asking questions in Downworld. There was a time when the Clave had connections with High Warlocks, with the leaders of the vampire and werewolf clans. With the Queen of the Seelie Court." She shook her head in frustration. "I know Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa have done all they can, but these alliances have been left to fray and now Shadowhunters can only imagine relying on themselves."

"I see," said Matthew, whose eyes had begun to sparkle. "We shall be going to the Hell Ruelle, then."

Delilah gasped and clutched Matthew’s arm. “I haven’t been there in ages!”

"Matthew and I occasionally attend an artistic salon in a building owned by the High Warlock of London," said Anna. "Malcolm Fade. Delilah tags along when she is…available.”

Cordelia looked at Delilah, as if she were wondering why she would ever be able to not attend something she clearly seemed excited about.

That day she had told both James and Thomas about her nightly escapades to her art lessons, adding Cordelia to that list wouldn’t affect anything too greatly.

“I normally attend art lessons at a place called The House,” Delilah said. “They are quite…similar to parties in the downworld.”

Cordelia looked as if she wanted to ask more questions but Anna cut in before she got the chance. "Every Downworlder who is anyone will be there," said Anna. "It is time for us to do what we do best."

"Drink?" said Matthew and Delilah chuckled.

"Be charming," said Anna. "Ask questions. See what we can learn." She held out a gloved hand. "Come, come. Get up. Is the carriage downstairs, Matthew?"

"At your service," said Matthew. "Are you quite sure you want to come, Cordelia? It will be scandalous."

Cordelia didn't bother to reply, just retrieved Cortana as they left the flat. Delilah smiled at Cordelia’s determined expression. There was a lot to admire about the Carstairs girl and Delilah wanted to get to know her more. A new presence in London was always welcome.

"So what kind of salon is this, exactly?" Cordelia inquired, as the carriage door swung open and Matthew helped her inside and held his hand out to Delilah.

"An exclusive one," said Anna, settling back on the velvet bench seat. "Some of the most famous Downworlders in the world attend."

The carriage was larger than average and Delilah stretched her legs out in front of her, not the most ladylike position in the world but a comfortable one at least. The carriage set off at a clip.

Anna said, "Some you may have heard of; some you may not. Some with reputations they don't deserve and some with reputations they more than do."

"I never thought of Downworlders as being interested in painting and poetry," said Cordelia. "But I suppose there is no reason they shouldn't be, is there? It's just those aren't things that Shadowhunters do. We don't create like that."

"We can," Matthew said. "We are simply told we shouldn't. Do not confuse conditioning with a native inability."

"Do you create, Matthew?" asked Cordelia, looking at him sharply. "Do you draw, or paint, or pen poetry? Delilah paints, do you do anything of the sort.”

"Lucie writes," said Matthew, his eyes like dark water. "I thought she wrote for you, sometimes."

"Lucie worries," said Cordelia. "She doesn't say so, but I know she worries that all her writing will come to nothing, because she is a Shadowhunter and that must come first." She hesitated.

Over her years of writing, Lucie had come to Delilah with her concerns over her writing many times. After all, the two were the only young women they both knew of that both wanted to pursue something creative. Delilah remembered the nights when Lucie first began to get into writing and she would come to Delilah for her to draw or paint scenes from the story. Lucie insisted that if she were to ever publish any of her works, Delilah would illustrate them.

"What does it mean, 'Hell Ruelle?" Cordelia’s voice brought Delilah back to reality.

Anna's eyes gleamed. "Official academic gatherings in Paris have always been controlled by men, but salons are a world ruled by women. One famous noble lady seated her artistic guests in her ruelle-the space between her bed, any lady's bed, really, and the wall. A scandalous spot. Informally, an artistic gathering presided over by a woman came to be known as a 'ruelle."

"But you said Malcolm Fade ran this one, I thought."

"He owns the building," said Anna. "As for who runs it, you will see soon enough."

"Where are we going?”

"Berwick Street," said Anna, and dropped a wink. "In Soho."

It had been a while since Delilah had been to Hell Rulle. The last time she had entered was the night her and Matthew had woken up together in bed with no memory of the night. Delilah had missed going however, but with her attending sessions at The House more and more gradually became more and more frequent.

When Matthew had originally approached her about why she wasn’t joining him and Anna on their nights out, she had shut him down many times to the point where Matthew believed she had a secret lover and told the rest of the Merry Thieves. It was the moment she had come clean to Christopher about her whereabouts at night. Despite Christopher not being a confrontational person, he demanded to know who this ‘secret lover’ of Delilah’s was. He was more accepting of her attending the mundane parties than he was over her having a lover. Delilah would never forgive Matthew for thrusting her in the centre of a huge gossip session amongst their friends.

“We’re here,” Anna announced as the carriage stopped.

Delilah was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of Anna, opening the carriage door. Cordelia eagerly exited and began to look around, wonder etched upon her face. Matthew held back as he looked over Delilah.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked. “You are strangely silent.”

“Of course I am, I’m just thinking,” Delilah said, offering him a smile. “I’m glad to be back here, even if it is for some sort of business. And with my favourite people.”

Matthew smiled. “I’m one of your favourite people?”

“I was talking about Anna and Cordelia,” Delilah teased.

“You wound me, Lila,” Matthew chuckled.

“Of course you are on my list of favourite people,” Delilah said. “Right behind Anna, Christopher, Alexander, my parents, James, Thomas, Lucie, your parents–”

Matthew rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m going to stop you there before you say my brother’s name.”

Delilah chuckled before slipping out of the carriage and stood by Cordelia’s side. The girl looked around and couldn’t focus on something long enough to take it in fully. Everything was clearly new to her. A thought flashed across Delilah’s mind of her taking Cordelia to The House just to see her reactions to that. If Cordelia stared wide-eyed at the people kissing in the alley she wondered how she would look if she witnessed any of the goings on in The House.

Whenever Delilah indulged in The House, it would strictly be with a sighted mundane who knew of the shadow world to not raise suspicions for all of the runes decorating her body. Many at the house just thought she had a few tattoos from the runes visible on her hand and arms and the one visible on her chest. She would never indulge whenever anyone was around, though that never stopped the mundanes as some, though not many, would strip and have their way with one another in the hallways or dark corners of the rooms. Though she was bold, Delilah would never be that bold to be with someone in a shadowed corner of a room.

“Where did Anna go?” Delilah asked, noticing the absence of her elder sister.

Matthew didn’t answer as he studied Cordelia carefully. Delilah couldn’t tell the exact emotion behind his eyes. He looked as if he were calculating Cordelia, trying to figure her out.

"What are you thinking?" Matthew asked.

"What's a lapidary?" she asked, not because she actually wanted to know, but because the sign opposite her said A. JONES, LAPIDARY and Matthew was making Cordelia nervous, Delilah noticed.

"A lapidary phrase is one that is worth carving into stone," said Matthew, "and preserving forever- a wise saying such as we are dust and shadows,' or alternately, any words that come out of my mouth."

Cordelia pointed at the sign. "They sell phrases there?"

"They sell objects with phrases carved into them," Matthew said. "For instance, if you wished words of love to be etched into your wedding band. Or words of regret and sorrow on your grave. For my own headstone, I was hoping for something a bit grand."

"You surprise me," said Cordelia. "I am all astonishment."

Matthew threw his arms up in the air, his face glowing in the naphtha beacons. "Perhaps a simple; 'O grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting? But does that truly capture the light I brought to the lives of friends and acquaintances, the sorrow they will feel when it is extinguished? Perhaps:

"Shed not for him the bitter tear

Nor give the heart to vain regret;

‘Tis but the casket that lies here, The gem that filled it sparkles yet."

Matthew's voice had risen; applause rose from the crowd outside the Blue Posts when he was finished. He lowered his arms.

“You are one for dramatics aren’t you, Matthew,” Delilah smiled.

Matthew flashed her a cheesy grin. “I live to impress.”

“Consider me, as well as everyone in this alley, impressed,” Delilah replied.

"Do stop babbling rot, Matthew," Anna said, as she emerged from the alley. "And sister, not everyone was impressed. Now come along, the both of you, they're expecting us."

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livingwellnessblog · 4 months

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15 Lessons in New Thought; Lessons in Living by Elizabeth Towne

CHAPTER III.

NATURE’S DEVIL.

With our last chapter we left creation in good order, with the third principle of nature, order, in possession, and everything showing a clear blue. If life itself had taken a vacation with us, we should have seen twenty-four hours of such blues as no one has dreamed.

No change anywhere, just a world vibrating to the tone of order, sky blue ; a universe of blue, bas relief against a blue sky!

Happily all the seven principles kept on working while we played. To restate: First, there is Force, the first principle, the principle of attraction, that draws things, atoms, worlds, and people together. M Helen Wihnans called God the Law of Attraction, but you will readily see that this is a misnomer, as the law of attraction is only one of the seven principles by which God creates.

God by any name would be the same, and Helen Wilmans’ name for him does not spoil the splendid thinking-out which she did for this day and age. But her statement should not hold us from thinking still farther.

By the way, the color of force is red. Helen Wilmans was impressed with the force or attraction side of life, and I am told that in hair and complexion she showed the sandy reds that belong to that principle; just an interesting illustration of the way these principles of life crop out in what is commonly called “coincidence.”

Second comes in the principle of Discrimination, which decides what shall be attracted and what let alone. Third comes Order, deciding where each thing shall be placed.

Then comes the work of the fourth principle

4. After drawing atoms or people together, discriminating as to quality, arranging in order, Life next binds them in one organization. Thus comes in the fourth principle of life, Cohesion, the color of green that we see in the spring.

To the person dominated by cohesion, green is a favorite color and any change is a horror.

To keep things as they are seems to him the chief end of life. The attic is full of old stuff he can’t let go of. His coffers are full of cash and his head of old fogy ideas. He is clannish; his daughters and sons are run into the same mold with father and mother.

Green-eyed jealousy stands guard against innovation. Cohesion means family ties as distinct from family progress. Unhappy the son and daughter of the house of ties!

5. Unless they are alive enough to kick, to will for themselves, to raise a ferment in the family and release themselves to follow their ideals. Ideals are the yeast that makes active the fifth principle of life, Fermentation.

This principle is the real devil of all history, all mythology, of Christianity itself.

It is the destroying principle of life that comes in to tear down that which has served its purpose and must give way to better things. The college boy goes back to the tie- bound home and raises the devil of a ferment that causes much pain, but eventually releases them all to more life, further growth.

Fermentation is the death principle that acts on all forms of life not fit to be perpetuated. It is dominant in the actinic or destroying rays of the sun that cause decomposition. Its color is deep indigo blue, or black, the color of mourning, pain, loss (of the old), death.

The family in which this principle is dominant is the family of mourning, darkened rooms, black clothing, secret sorrows, losses and crosses, troubles, tribulations, and death.

Not because this principle is really any more painful in its action than any other of the seven, but because man fights it harder. We find ourselves living on the surface of life, judging from appearances, and resisting change. The resistance is due to the activity of the first principle, force. Force holds together, fermentation separates.

But there is no real reason why the action of either principle should give us pain. There is no reason or cause for the pain accompanying change and death, except in the individual mind.

It is “all in your mind”, not at all in any inherent quality or principle of nature or life itself, but in unnatural resistance of the individual mind, governed by false concepts of life.

Do you doubt this? Then tell me why one man courts death while another abhors it. Why does one woman feel only peaceful relief at the death of a very aged and infirm relative, while another in similar condition grieves herself sick over it? Why is one person frightened at the thing another enjoys? Why does one man enjoy traveling while his neighbor hates it? Why does one hate the taste of cod liver oil while his brother likes it? Why do you “turn against ” things you once liked?

The mental attitude governs in every case; and your mental attitude is determined by your concepts of things in particular and of life in general. If you really believed what Spiritualists claim to believe about the death of a child, could you be anything but happy that a child had died and escaped the miseries and uncertainties of life on earth? Your feelings of resistance to any thing are roused by your belief in evil.

I am showing you that there is no evil; that life is an orderly creation progressing by interaction of seven beneficent principles. If you can catch this concept, if you are ready for it, you will pass out forever from the old realm of sin, sickness, death, pain.

#law of assumption #manifesting #reality creation #devil #evil

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catwings-writes-things · 5 months

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For the ao3 wrapped: 3, 6, 16, 29

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Surprising no one, I'm gonna have to say A World of His Own. Before this year I'd never written anything (I do mean anything--no fanfic, original fiction, essays, nothing) longer than around 15,000 words. Now I have an in-progress fic with a single coherent storyline that's over 100,000 words long and nowhere near done. Some of the chapters are longer than 15,000 words. And not only that, but I'm really proud of the writing and the characterization. The Jailbreak Squad have taken over my brain and I have no objections whatsoever.

6. Favorite title you used?

De Humani Corporis Fabrica--Latin for "On the Fabric of the Human Body"--is the title of the best-known anatomy text by Andreas Vesalius, a Rennaissance anatomist and pioneer of human dissection, which at the time was considered taboo. As such, most anatomical knowledge came from dissections of animals, inspection of traumatic injuries, and conventional wisdom from earlier anatomists who had largely been working under the same restrictions. Vesalius was both sufficiently dedicated to his pursuit of accurate anatomical knowledge and sufficiently unbothered by other people's opinions as to cut bodies down from the gallows after public executions (sometimes having to fight stray dogs for them) and take them home to study, even allowing them to decompose in his living space to get at the bones once he'd learned all he could from the soft tissue. (He was also my first historical friend-crush, which probably tells you quite a bit about me, although perhaps not much to which my fic wouldn't tip you off.) De Humani Corporis Fabrica is his masterwork, illustrating what he'd learned with intricate drawings of bodies in various lifelike poses and states of dissection.

Needless to say, Andreas Vesalius was a Flesh avatar if ever there was one, not to mention probably autistic AF, and De Humani Corporis Fabrica seems as good a candidate as any for a Leitner. So when I set out to write a fic featuring late human-era Mike Crew nearly working himself to death in an extended burst of autistic hyperfocus and Angela the Flesh avatar trying to both help him deal with the immediate fallout and convince him that bodies have limits and he needs to treat his with more respect if it's going to last long enough to get him wherever he's going, using "De Humani Corporis Fabrica" as the title seemed pretty damn perfect.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Families of Choice, which is the canonical tag on AO3 for the concept I've mostly heard referred to as "found family." It's specifically tagged on three of the seven fics I've posted this year (that number is misleading, due to my aforementioned longfic), but it could or should have been tagged on six of them. ("Fix-It," "Temporary Character Death," "Complicated Relationships," and "Twisted and Fluffy Feelings" appear on two fics apiece, which probably also gives some relevant information. Especially that last one.)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Honestly, I can't decide. I've been proud of so many things I've written this year that I really can't narrow it down--which is a good problem to have! If it helps, after I post chapter ten, I think I'm going to make a "pick your favorite bit of out-of-context A World of His Own dialog" poll--each option a line spoken by a different character.

Okay, never mind. I found a favorite. From Chapter 2 of A World of His Own:

“I can't... sit and watch television with you,” Helen finally said, almost a snap. “It won’t work.” She gestured at herself, head to feet. “This isn't even a real body. It's more of a... concept.” “Well,” said Harriet mildly. “Sit the concept of your butt down and let us introduce you to The Twilight Zone.”

Thank you so much for the ask, anonymous friend! I hope you have a great day!

#asks and answers #anonymous #the jailbreak squad #fic: a world of his own #ao3 wrapped writers edition

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yellowloid · 1 year

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Only if you want to, some fanfic questions for you!

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

💖 What made you start writing?

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

heyyyy thank you for your questions!!! <3

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

hurt/comfort. in every way. give me miles comforting alex, give me alex comforting miles - give me soft touches and sweet nothings and reassuring little kisses, calming strokes of hair, tender brushes of cheeks, gentle wiping of tears. give me them holding hands and taking turns kissing each other's knuckles, resting their heads on each other's shoulders, burying their faces in each other's necks, kissing each other's lips and cheeks and chins and noses and eyelids and foreheads. give me all the pain, yes - but then give me all the comforting hugs and heartfelt words, and you can be sure i'll eat it up every single time <3333

💖 What made you start writing?

i was always absolutely fascinated by storytelling and the way i could make my daydreaming scenarios come to life using pen and paper; i remember being a little kid, like 6 y/o, having just learnt how to write and keeping a notebook where i'd write down all my silly little stories, giving them a title and even drawing a little illustration of the main scene at the end of each one.

fast forward to when i was in middle school (11/12 y/o) and having unrestricted internet access (lmao), which led me to finding anime + vocaloid and fandom culture in general. i found out about the main fanfiction site for my country, started reading some stories and then decided i wanted to try my hand at it - so i grabbed a notebook once again and wrote a multi-chaptered horror-esque vocaloid fanfiction that never saw the light of day (thank god skhdhgsg). i only later upgraded to writing on my computer skgjshsbf and also started posting my works online. and then well, after years of writing in both my native language and english in many different fandoms, and also just as many years of writer's block... i finally got here, and the rest is history <3

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

already answered here :)

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

life has unfortunately been in the way of my writing for the past three months, and i've also had a bit of a moment after big bang when? idk? i wasn't writing anything because i had so many ideas and just couldn't choose the Right One TM to develop at that moment. then i started writing Something, dropped it and wrote 'safe & sound' instead, and then i went back to that Something and i actually recently finished it. i need to edit it, still - add some stuff, fix some things, and just overall polish it, so i won't be posting it so soon... but what i can say is, it's a one-shot, around 20k words, and it's Very Much up my alley. not something similar to what i usually write (so no, it's not tooth-rotting fluff lmao), but very dark instead. a lot of hurt/comfort needed for this one.

i just hope i'll have the time to edit and post it as soon as possible!

#thank youuuu these asks are always so much fun!!!#answered #writing asks

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sunshine-vx · 2 years

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Submas Pokémon Fanfic;

Across Space, Time and Dreams (ASTaD) (Prologue, Ch. 1)

(Blankshippers DNI)

(Important note: On this first chapter, there will be a complete list of possible triggers right below this. On each individual chapter, there will also be chapter-specific trigger warnings.)

(CWs/TWs for this fic: grief, mental breakdowns, depression (it does get better but yeah shshshs), hospitalization, symptoms mention, injury, blood, near-death, emetophobia (no actually throwing up, but feeling like one might), technical crime (non-malicious and no one is hurt, but it still breaks the law), police encounter/near arrest (no one is actually arrested, but nearly), Pokémon moves used on humans (there is a scene where a few people are encased in Psychic and put to sleep by Hypnosis. It's non-malicious and no one is hurt, but some may still find it unnerving))

(Some general information abt the fic!: So I've decided that I want to post my Pokémon fanfic on Tumblr on an actual Tumblr post instead of a Google Doc lol, although I'll still keep the posts where I have it in a Doc up. So this is just gonna be the fic but actually on Tumblr! Last time I updated my fic I was at 5 chapters, and this time we're up to 7! :])

(If yall are feeling up to it, I'd love to hear yalls thoughts or any feedback! Also, reblogs are appreciated! (No pressure tho, ofc))

(Also, before anything else; I want to thank and give credit to my awesome sister @moonlightalpha666 ! She really wanted to help with the fic and has drawn some of the illustrations for this fic and will continue to draw more (so far they've drawn illustrations for chapters 4 and 5)! They are very talented and did amazing with said illustrations! Go check out their page and give them a follow if you'd like, they're like the official helper of this fic lol!)

(Some extra notes: may or may not have these at the beginning of each chapter so I can briefly say anything that I want to say about the fic. For now, I'll just say, one that this fic is ongoing, and CWs may be updated as it goes on, and two, I miiight post this fic on Ao3 later on, I'm unsure, but if I do, I'll make a post saying I did. Also, just saying that this fic isn't going to have a bunch of insane plot twists. It's more character-driven, so if that's not your thing, then that's totally fine (that's not to say there's nothing interesting lmao. I think there is). I just thought I'd say this so I don't end up disappointing anyone.)

(Read it on Ao3 here!)

(Reblogs are appreciated!)

(All that being said, enjoy! :D)

Prologue

Two people.

Born together, raised together, left the nest together.

Two brilliant minds, two hearts of gold, two flames of passion that could burn the fire back.

And they were a team, in sync, inseparable.

And yet the impossible deed had somehow been done.

And that's when things started to change.

Chapter 1

((This chapter's illustration by me!))

The dreams had begun to become even stranger now.

Emmet had been having this recurring dream ever since his twin brother, Ingo, disappeared. At first Emmet didn't even get much sleep. Some nights were still that way. He didn't have the dream too often. In fact, it seemed a little strange he didn't have the dream more, considering the thought of Ingo was almost always at least in the back of his head.

The first time he dreamed it, it went like this; he was in a void, completely dark and empty. There was a floor beneath him, although he could not see it. He would call out to see if anyone would respond. Nothing. Until a moment later, he'd hear Ingo's voice. Except it was panicked. Confused.

Emmet would turn in the voice's direction to see his brother. Emmet would desperately run to Ingo, attempting to embrace him with a tight hug of relief.

But he'd phase right through.

Many times, Ingo would seemingly be far away in one way or another, or shrouded in darkness, but Emmet could always see him, if only a little.

Emmet would continue to try and get Ingo's attention. Waving his hands, trying to shake Ingo by the shoulder, even just screaming. Sometimes Emmet would have his Pokémon with him, and he'd try desperately to show them to Ingo.

But to no avail.

Sometimes Emmet would swear he saw Ingo notice the presence of him or the Pokémon, if only for a second before being unable to sense them again. He'd look surprised, almost relieved, but then would sink back into a state of confusion and weariness.

It pained Emmet to his very core.

Except over time, Ingo's behavior, and even appearance would..change. At some point he had grown facial hair. Then he had acquired a strange shirt under his uniform with a peculiar symbol on it.

He never did take his uniform off, though. Over time, it became worn. Emmet was confused and scared. What was going on?

When Ingo first went missing, Emmet wasted no time not looking for his brother. He easily surpassed the police in their investigation, and yet– nothing. Eventually, the investigation began wavering in effort. But Emmet's pace did not slow.

For months, he searched, desperate. He ended up going to concerning lengths to find just anything. Any hope of a lead.

Anything at all.

At one point, Emmet's health began degrading.

It took him being put in the hospital to realize he would have to hit the brakes, and try and start living more like he did before again.

But that would be difficult. Unspeakably difficult.

When he was awake, Emmet had a few main objectives; go to work, care for his Pokémon, and attend to smaller matters, usually something the mayor or his friends alerted him of. But mainly do what he'd usually do. Always the same.

He'd work as long as he could, even if it meant resorting to rather boring tasks like sweeping the floor.

When Emmet had first tried to go back to the Subway System, he had to be let in by himself a few times while it was shut down. To get used to it. Otherwise, he'd be crying in front of everyone.

But even without Ingo, he loved the Subway System too much to abandon it.

But running it by himself, although he did indeed love doing it, it would never be the same. There would always be a feeling of loneliness and longing. Emmet supposed that's how things would have to be. For now.

When it came to battling, the obvious issue of multi battles arose. When Emmet was asked if he wanted to remove multi battles, he refused. He liked those battles a lot, after all.

But when a few of his friends offered to try and be his new battle companion, it never went well. They would set up a practice round, and every time Emmet could never get past even 2 turns without breaking down. He'd run out of the room in tears. He'd curl up his hands in anger. He'd run out of breath due to an anxiety attack.

Eventually, after a long time of multi-battles being a bit different due to Emmet's absence, Emmet was able to get used to Elesa being his new battle partner. It wouldn't be near the same as Ingo, but it would do. He was grateful for Elesa's support, and the support of many others. Emmet and Elesa messed up a lot at first. He expected Ingo to be there giving commands; Elesa's battle style was different. Emmet and Elesa weren't as in sync as Emmet and Ingo had always been, but they still made a good team.

Emmet enjoyed it, even if the loneliness would still always be there.

Emmet sometimes did single battles as well, which were also hard to adjust to, although he did enjoy them, too. Although the loneliness was present there, too.

He preferred double battles.

The loneliness, sadness, and other emotions followed Emmet at home, too.

Ingo's disappearance affected Emmet and Ingo's Pokémon, too. They thankfully also still found enjoyment in things like battling and other activities, but still had those feelings of emptiness and loneliness. They thankfully understood Emmet's situation, and Emmet understood theirs. Even if some of their own behaviors weren't their favorites, they understood and tried their best to help each other retain a somewhat normal life, and Emmet always did his best to treat the Pokémon with care, as they tried to lift his spirits.

Of course, Emmet and the Pokémon had recovered some over time. The painful loneliness, the grief, would always be there; but it had gotten better compared to the beginning. As better as they could be.

Emmet and the Pokémon were their own individuals, after all. Despite everything, Emmet and the Pokémon had their good moments, their moments of peace. They had their coping mechanisms and support systems.

Overall, life was now less difficult to live, with its good things to offer, even if they still struggled.

At first it felt like betrayal, but Emmet knew it was what they needed.

What Ingo would want.

Even so, Ingo had been a part of them. So when he had been lost, they had lost a part of themselves.

They supposed they'd have to function without that piece; until they found Ingo, of course. They still wanted to find him.

They hoped they could.

And on especially long days before bed, Emmet would pick up his phone, and dial Ingo's number.

"Hello, my name is Ingo! I am unfortunately unable to speak with you at the moment, but do leave a message, and I will gladly speak to you when I can!"

Emmet waited for the sound cue so he could speak.

Beep

"Hello, brother. I am Emmet. I am just calling to say I love you. The Pokémon want you to know they love you, too. Perform your safety checks. Goodnight."

Click

The other day, Emmet's friend Elesa offered to take Emmet on a trip to the region Sinnoh. She thought Emmet really needed a break from his work, even though he insisted he didn't.

Eventually though, Elesa somehow was able to get Emmet on a plane to Sinnoh, and after landing, he swore that now, in his dream, Ingo had been able to notice his presence more often, even if he would lose the grip. Even more so, Chandelure was acting erratically. When Emmet would ask what was up, it would just insist there was somewhere in Sinnoh they needed to be, but it didn't know where. Emmet felt like it was a wise decision to listen to Chandelure, at least. The Subway Boss felt as if something...important, was going on. Emmet's determination to figure something out was stronger than it had been for a long time.

Chapter 2

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pinkprincesscouture · 26 days

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My Heart Belongs to You Chapter 1

Note: This is honestly my first time writing so any constructive criticism is welcome! Since I'm heavily inspired by manhwa, manga, anime, and light novels I hope to incorporate illustrations in future chapters! Thank you and happy reading! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

*There’s this aching void in the middle of my chest. The more people I’m surrounded by, the deeper it gets, the more it aches. I want to reach out and grab someone, anyone. I want them to look at me but sometimes it’s just easier to sit and let the void grow bigger. I’m scared if the void disappears, If the aching disappears, I may really be left with nothing. I may really be alone.*

Despite being surrounded by servants who waited on her hand and foot, Rhoan still felt alone. She should be happy; after all she’s now living the life every girl dreams of. Anything she needed; she could get at the snap of her fingers. She had the finest clothes designed by the most sought-after designers in the entire capital, she had the most luxurious and expensive jewels and perfumes. What more could she want? She was no longer worrying about making enough money for rent. She was no longer a poor commoner; she was now the Crown Prince’s wife.

She had her own room, double the size of a small greenhouse. The walls were the color of a soft dull rosewood accented with pale gold roses. The long, heavy drapes that covered the big double-doored windows matched her walls; so much so that they almost blended into each other. Against the wall was a stunning white vanity with gold handles. In the middle of the room was a desk, on that desk was a vase filled with yellow Alstroemeria and yellow Roses. Every morning the maids would come in and replace them with fresh ones. Rhoan wasn’t particularly fond of those flowers, she had previously asked the maids to replace them with pink roses but to no avail. They continued to bring the yellow roses and yellow Alstroemerias for they were the previous Crown Princess’ favorite. Rhoan grew to hate the flowers, to her they only served as a reminder that this room wasn’t really hers.

Though Rhoan was grateful for her new life, nothing in this palace she now called home belonged to her. She came here with nothing, everything given to her here was owned by the previous Crown Princess. From the clothing, jewelry, shoes, perfumes and even the way her hair was styled, they were all inherited from the previous Princess. As daylight penetrated the gaps between the thick drapes, Rhoan slowly sat up, taking in the beauty and luxury that surrounded her. Though it’d been a while since she’d gotten to the palace, she was still in awe. She rolled around in bed, placing the pillow tightly on her face so no one could hear her frantic giggles. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

“Princess Rhoan, it’s time to get ready for breakfast,” said the soft yet firm voice that came from the other side of the door. Before the door could open, Rhoan leaped out of bed, frantically brushing her hands through her hair, and brushing the wrinkles out of her nightgown. The door gently opened and Rhoan greeted the head maid, Margret with a large smile. The middle-aged maid looked at the young woman with furrowed brows and a frown. Rhoan tried her best to ignore the clear disdain on the woman’s face.

“Hurry, get in the bath, I will pick out your clothes.”

Rhoan softly nodded. With her head down and her long black hair covering her face, Rhoan made her way to the bathroom. While drawing her bath, Rhoan carefully looked through the fragrances neatly organized on the counter. She leaned over examining and smelling each fragrance. As she hummed and ran her fingers over the top of the fragrances Rhoan thought, “This is nice, this kind of thing should be my biggest worry, nothing else”.

While trying to decide on the scent she’d wear, she wondered if she’d finally see him today. Would he like the one that smelled of lilac, or maybe the one that smelled of roses?

“I wish I could use them all,” she said jubilantly.

As she exited the bathroom, Rhoan again greeted Margret as she motioned her to the vanity. This was the part of the morning routine Rhoan dreaded the most. “sit” said Margret. Margret began brushing Rhoan’s hair. Each time the brush passed through, Marget became more and more aggressive. It was as if Margret was trying to rip Rhoan’s hair straight from her scalp. With each fierce motion, Rhoan flinched. Tears began to well in her eyes; however, she couldn’t let Marget see her break. She swallowed her pain. She thought this won’t last long—I’m used to it, this much I can bear. It was over, Rhoan let out a sigh of relief. Glaring at Margret through the mirror, Rhoan smiled and thanked her. Rhoan walked over to her bed to see the dress that had been picked out for her. It was Gorgeous. It was a long dress with a hollowed-out piece on the chest. The long sleeves puffed out at the end and tightened around the wrist. On the wrists were golden embroidery that matched the turtleneck and the window on the chest. It was a tad bit flashy for her taste, but she wouldn’t dare complain, not that she particularly wanted to. A large grin came around her face, as she raised her left hand to hide it from Margret, she used her other to feel the fabric of the dress. It was soft, so soft that she felt as though it’d melt from the warmth of her hand.

The two women made their way down to the dining room, stepping through the palace corridor many maids were seen doing the daily cleaning. The maids paid Rhoan no mind, as usual. The Palace corridor was bathed in radiant light. The large windows that lined the halls served as a look into the magnificent garden. Every single color you could imagine was in that garden. Tall Cypress trees lined both sides, animal shaped hedges surrounded the glorious fountain that decorated the middle of the place. There was one part of the garden that many considered to be the most beautiful, it was the most recent addition filled with the yellow Alstroemeria and yellow Roses. They were planted in dedication to her. The maids and butlers of the palace took great care of that particular section of the garden. Every single day, no matter the weather, they made sure those flowers were properly looked after, made sure their beauty matched those of their beloved late Princess. The late Empress loved those flowers, they were her absolute favorite. They suited her well, everyone in the Capital could see that. She was radiant, her smile was as bright as a thousand suns. Her ivory skin and her long flowing blonde hair were truly a sight to behold. She was the embodiment of perfection, even he couldn’t help falling for her. Being the exact opposite, Rhoan felt inferior. Her hair black as coal, eyes the color of dark roast coffee, her sepia skin accompanied by an angelic childlike face haggard with worry and stress. A series of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, his were the loudest and strongest of all. Every one of his swift clops on the porcelain floor were attentive and controlled. His militaristic posture made anyone in his path shake. Rhoan’s heart began beating rapidly. With each beat they got louder and faster, so loud that Rhoan felt as though her ears would burst from the sound of the thumping. Rhoan held her breath hoping it’d settle her heart. There he was leading his court. His blonde hair glistened where the sunlight touched, his blue eyes drew you in like a whirlpool. His beauty was that of an earth-bound Adonis. Contradicting his angelic beauty was his cold and stoic gaze, a gaze that would send shivers down the spines of those in its way. Prince Cillian Chalhart was the treasure and pride of the empire, never had it had such a fearsome leader. He’d fought countless battles and led our empire to victory during the brutal Bastilian war. His beauty did not take away from his brutality, he’d crush anyone who threatened his beloved empire.

“Hello, your highness”, both Margret and Rhoan bowed. With her head lowered, eyes closed, Rhoan held her skirt and placed her hand on her chest. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, not that it mattered. The Prince swiftly passed the two, not even bothering to spare the two women a glace. Still, she was happy to see the Prince, even if it was just for a second. She believed he’d only gotten even more handsome since their wedding day. Just as swiftly as he had appeared, he disappeared. The maids in the corridor began to snicker.

“Poor girl, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge her. How cruel,” said one maid.

“How embarrassing, can she really be considered his wife?” said another.

Rhoan could hear their comments and see their condescending looks through her peripheral vision. In an effort to control the tears that began to well in her eyes, Rhoan tightly bit her lip and made her way to the dining room. She sat down at one end of the long table. The entire room was empty aside from the presence of Rhoan and head maid Margret. In front of Rhoan sat a plate of two slightly burnt eggs and sausages. On the side, there were two pieces of toast, that were surprisingly well toasted. Rhoan turned her head to Margret and asked her to send her thanks to the kitchen staff. It seemed the staff had decided to start preparing her food with a bit more care after the slight tantrum she threw last time. With Margret gone Rhoan felt comfortable enough to eat. As she took a bite of the dry bread, Rhoan looked around the large dining room. She began humming and softly kicking her feet. The only times she had the pleasure of being alone were during her meals, the rest of her day was spent with Margret, other maids, and various tutors. Each part of her day is meticulously mapped out. At times this both bored and caged her; however, sometimes she enjoyed the structure and routine. It took away her need to think.

In the evenings she’d have her English lessons in the palace library. Her tutor Julian was a young man in his early twenties. Tall, with short dark hair. His body was muscular yet lean. As he rolled up the sleeves of his blue collared shirt, Rhoan noticed his scars. Some were flat and pale, others were raised. His eyes were the most striking, being the color that’d find themselves camouflaged in leaves found in the Amazon. Despite their cool color, anyone who looked into them would be filled with warmth.

He didn’t seem like a man who’d take on tutoring as a profession. To Rhoan, he seemed better suited for the battlefield. Rhoan thought perhaps he’d pilot a Goliath for the imperial army, ah he’d really look good in their uniforms. During their time together, Rhoan would often find herself being unable to focus. His beauty was too distracting. Though of course, his looks couldn’t compare to that of her husband’s, he was beautiful, nonetheless. He was very friendly, something unfamiliar to Rhoan inside of this place. For Rhoan it was a pleasure whenever he was around, though he was her teacher, Rhoan viewed him more as a friend. The only one she had in this palace. She could speak comfortably with him, and she didn’t have to worry about him seeing the flaws she exhibited that were unbecoming of an Empress.

“Rhoan, did you manage to get through the book I gave you yesterday?” asked Julian.

“Yes! I really liked it!”

“It’s getting a lot easier to get through these books, I think I am ready to read the secondary school level books” exclaimed Rhoan as she held the thin book up to her chest.

Growing up outside of the capital Rhoan didn’t have much of an opportunity to go to school. Often times her mother was working two jobs, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. There was no time left in the day for her mother to take her to school. In her area there was only one school, it wasn’t small; however, it wasn’t too big either. Due to the lack of access to transportation, many children would have to walk to school. That wasn’t really an option for Rhoan given how far she lived, it was much easier for her to stay home and wait for her mother. Rhoan was a bit resentful at this lack of opportunity, as before moving to Asteria she was receiving decent schooling at a small school inside of the capital.

Putting his hand on top of her head Julian said, “I’m very proud of you Rhoan, you’ve improved greatly these past couple of weeks.” Rhoan’s eyes sparkled with happiness, she enjoyed the praise. Julian’s words were the only things that built her confidence and self-esteem.

“I told you I’d get it in no time” she gloated.

Even though they were only children’s books, Rhoan was still very proud of herself, and Julian made sure to reinforce that feeling. A part of Rhoan longed to share her progress with Emperor Cillian. Is an accomplishment, not something a wife would want to share with her husband. Though they did not share such an intimate relationship, she still wanted someone other than Julian to be a witness to her growth. With the thought of this desire, her eyebrows and eyelids lowered, and her shoulders began to shrink as she tightened her grip on the book and held it closer to her chest.

“If I shared this with him, would he acknowledge me, would I finally be worth his time?”

#authors #books #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #anime and manga #angst #arranged marriage #tragedy #one sided love #love affairs #childhood friends #modern royalty au #original character #drama #romance #love triangle #original story #book

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disorganizedkitten · 2 months

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It's In The Blood Chapter 2

Miraculous Ladybug | 2018 | 739 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Prev | Next

Unable to sleep, Emilie decides to take a rooftop run.

Emilie closed her book quietly and put it back onto the shelf. It didn’t make sense! She’d been reading for an hour, and was still wide awake.

She hadn’t done anything different today than other days, not as far as she knew anyways.

“Still not tired?” Czaar asked quietly, pawing over to Emilie’s shoulder.

“Nope. Any other suggestions?”

“Draw something?”

Emilie shrugged, but grabbed her sketchbook anyways. Emilie wasn’t a designer like her Mom or Grandpa, instead favoring to do storybook and character illustrations, and the occasional comic page. Drawing was still drawing, whatever the subject matter.

“But what should I draw?”

“You could always draw Caliph and Kitso? Or the Eiffel tower, or the Luxor Obelisk, or a tree, or maybe a character from that book!” Czaar suggested each with a smile and a wiggle.

“How long do you think it would take to reach the Grand Palais?”

“On foot and in the middle of the night? A very long time. Transformed, with night vision? Not that long, assuming you know where it is.”

Emilie smiled conspiratorially. “Can I?”

“Leave a note, and don’t engage anyone without backup. But yes, you can.”

Emilie wiggled in excitement and grabbed a sticky note, scribbling her plan on it and sticking it to her pillow.

“Czaar, let’s hunt!”

The purple light washed over Emilie, leaving a teenage superhero in her wake.

Emilie looked a lot different with magic. Her eyes, now surrounded by a black mask edged in pink, had gained a yellow film, turning them from shamrock green to chartreuse with a yellow sclera. Emilie’s shoulder length black hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, where it met Caliph’s supersuit. Caliph’s suit looked a lot like Czaar, expect where Czaar’s stripes were on her head and tail, Caliph’s stripes were on her wrists, stomach and calves. Caliph’s ears and tail were both nearly mirrors of Czaar’s own, but Caliph’s tail was a lot longer and had two extra stripes. The lowest stripe on Caliph’s right side held the handle to her weapon, a magical hook/sword thing that was best compared to a Tiger hook sword.

Caliph grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil, slid her window open and leapt out, yanking her the handle off her hip to grapple something. It was a little like using suction cups to climb, just a lot easier to attach and detach.

Running across the rooftops at night was amazing.

Caliph had always known her city was beautiful, and everyone around her attested to that fact, but this was a whole new side of it. She reached the Grand Palais much sooner than she would have liked, but she pulled herself up to one of the statues flanking the rooftop arch and settled down.

It was a bit surreal honestly. She had always dreamed of sitting this high up, even beside these exact statues, and she finally was able to!

Emilie wasn’t sure how long she was drawing there before her ears caught someone else moving around on the grounds. She set her sketchbook to the side and grabbed her sword, elongating the blade to a fightable length.

The hook was best for travel, but the blade was better for close combat.

“Caliph? It’s Kitso. I saw your note. Are you still here?”

Caliph peeked around the statue, seeing Kitso’s orange and white suit moving around the grounds. “Up here Kitso!”

Kitso looked up, and then jumped. Caliph thought it was pretty cool that Kitso didn’t need a weapon to travel, instead being able to ‘superjump’ whenever he wanted. Kitso landed on the roof to the side of Caliph and climbed up to her.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Caliph asked, by way of greeting.

“Nightmare. I couldn’t go back to sleep. How long have you been over here?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping track. What time is it?”

“Three twenty something.” Kitso shrugged.

“Ugh! School’s gonna be horrible as soon as the exhaustion sets in,” Caliph groaned and slammed her head into the marble behind her.

“It’ll be worse if you give yourself brain damage Emi.”

“Cali,” Caliph corrected, looking over at her brother.

“Cali,” Kitso agreed. “Hey, that means that instead you can’t call me Gogo anymore!”

“Not while we’re in the suits Kit-kat.”

“Kit-kat? Seriously E-Cali? Kit-kat?”

Caliph hummed in affirmation, then pulled Hugo in for a hug. “You know you love me, annoying nicknames and all.”

#miraculous ladybug #Miraculous second gen #akuma #Emilie agreste #emma agreste #hugo agreste #marinette dupain cheng #jaymeow writes #Crossposting spam #Fluff Month 2018 #Old writing #Trixx #Roarr #siblings #this is not emilie the mom this is I thought Emma would be named after her #this is years old #SIBLINGS

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vomitcenter · 3 months

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Status report: February 02, 2024

So the year started out pretty mixed. Due to me finally deciding to get my old crusty laptop fixed up a bit I spend like almost the whole month doing absolutely zero Illustrations, Instead I took a break and began rewatching old shows that have been on my bucket list for a while like Ed, Edd n Eddy and Pucca (Which turned out to have a Netflix revival???)

Anyhow, instead of drawing I instead focused on my VN project, Neapolitan Nightmares. I've had the idea since I was like 12 or something and just like all my other projects it changed drastically.

Originally it was a crappy, now deleted, webcomic called "Gemini Wars" and was about a pair of twin siblings. The brother cursed his sister and her friends to be trapped in a nightmare world everytime they fall asleep and if they die in the dream they would die in real life. However just a few days before that the protagonist discovered a robot girl in a creepy mansion who was able to battle all the creatures in the nightmare world and also help the others discover powers.

It never got far and I can guarante no one has ever actually read it, since it only had like...5 pages? Maybe less, maybe more.

When I started writing the first route I didn't really know if I was like, actually gonna finish it? I was so busy with RMM and my drawings that I could barely find any time in 2023 to write the script, so this art break really helped in finally pushing me forward with it.

The Vanilla and Chocolate route are finished but I still need to begin the Strawberry route. Since my break is over it's probably gonna be slow crawl...I'll also have to re-read each route to fix spelling mistakes and rewrite any accidental inconsistencies...Then of course I'll have to make all the art assets and learn how to program in Renpy...

The VN probably won't release this year as I hoped, but hey any progress is better than no progress at all and leaving it on the backburner until it burns to a crisp.

On top of that I also wanna finish up to 20 chapters of RMM and make some animations to promote it too aggggh why do I put these unnecesary deadlines in my head?!?!?

つづく...

#status report

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seaphoam-writes · 11 months

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A Father's Duty (8/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 8

Louis fetches his bundle of drawings and carries them to the coffee table, where he dumps them somewhat unceremoniously onto its surface and then drops to his knees. There, he seems to lose confidence, his expression flattening and his shoulders curling inwards.

Picard sits on the sofa, just to the side, and says, “I noticed a few starships in there.”

A safe place to start, he hopes; Louis’s drawings are records of his experiences, and navigating around the less-than-pleasant ones will be difficult.

Louis slides several illustrations from the stack, and Picard hums in recognition. “Those look like Nebula-class ships.”

It’s the USS Sutherland, the Farragut, and coincidentally, the Phoenix.

Louis holds still while Picard considers his drawings. Aware that it’s unlikely Louis has shown his artwork to anyone besides Data, Picard gives each a thorough and genuine examination, admiring the precise linework, the meticulous coloring, and the overall attention to detail.

“Did you draw these from observation?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, from the computer. Data found the schematics for me.”

“Have you seen any of them in person?”

“I’ve seen all of them. We stayed on the Phoenix for a while.”

Picard briefly considers feigning ignorance of that fact, but decides that lying is not a precedent he wishes to set.

“I watched some of Data’s logs,” he admits. When Louis’s brow scrunches in confusion, he describes finding the isolinear chips in Louis’s bag.

“Oh,” Louis says, and to Picard’s immense relief he doesn’t appear upset that Picard went through his bag.

“For how long did you two stay aboard the Phoenix?”

“A few months. I went to school there.”

Picard barely manages to mask his surprise—he didn’t expect such volunteering of information. Delicately, he asks, “Did you enjoy going to school?”

Louis shrugs. “It was okay. I made some friends.” He smiles suddenly, as though just remembering something. “I got to use the holodeck a lot. They had really good climbing programs.”

Picard smiles back, and repeats what Beverly told Louis back in sickbay. “We have a climbing wall here on the Enterprise. Perhaps you’d like to see it tomorrow?”

“Okay!” Still smiling, Louis turns back to his stack of drawings. The matter of the Phoenix seems closed for now, and Picard has to respect that, has to allow Louis the freedom to discuss his past at his own pace.

Louis shows him a few more illustrations of ships, a star base and a deep space station, then he begins offering portraits, and Picard understands that these are more precious to Louis than the others; there are many of Data, some of people labelled with names Picard doesn’t recognize, and, finally, one of Louis himself with two other boys.

“Are these your friends from the Phoenix?” Picard guesses.

Louis nods mutely. Picard senses the shyness, the hesitancy.

The vulnerability.

“This one must be you,” he says, pointing to the boy in the middle.

Louis captured the hue of his golden brown hair exactly, and—true to life—even made his eyebrows slightly darker. On his left is a boy with deep brown skin and black hair, and on his right…

“This boy looks like a Cardassian.”

“He is.” Louis frowns. “He was hard to draw.” He sounds guilty about it, as if ashamed of his inability to capture the likeness of his friend.

“I think you did a very good job with the—” Picard realizes that he has no idea how to refer to the reptilian ridges or spoon-shaped protrusions unique to Cardassian anatomy, so he’s forced to settle, quite lamely, on, “Facial structure.”

Louis doesn’t reply, merely folds his arms on the coffee table and rests his cheek in the crook on one elbow. Picard continues to regard the drawing, charmed yet again at the attention to detail: hairstyles, clothing, height differences.

“What were their names?”

“Jeremy and Ojim.”

“Would you like to talk about them?”

“No.” A whisper.

Picard places the drawing on the table next to Louis’s hand. “When you have your own room, you can hang this on your wall. That way, your friends will always be nearby.”

Louis’s eyes flick to his, overbright, and Picard hopes desperately that Jeremy and Ojim are still alive, hopes that their deaths are not one of the many losses this boy has experienced.

Gently, he touches Louis’s arm. “If you’re willing to continue, I’m very much enjoying seeing your artwork.”

Louis unfolds himself. “Do you like comics?”

“Comics?”

---

Picard doesn’t realize it’s well past his normal dinner hour until Louis sits back and says, “Père, j'ai faim.”

His own stomach is pinched with hunger but he was too absorbed to notice—the comics Louis mentioned were highly amusing chronicles of interactions between Louis and Data, or Data and others—but now he feels a jolt of panic for not having considered the boy’s needs. Louis scarcely ate breakfast, and that was hours ago; he must be starving.

With barely restrained urgency, he stands. “Would you prefer to eat here, or at Ten Forward again?”

Louis pops to his feet with a spryness Picard envies. “Ten Forward.”

“It’s a little more crowded in the evening, is that okay?”

“Oui.”

Picard crosses to his bedroom. “I’m going to change. Would you like to as well?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Do I have to?”

“No,” Picard chuckles. He discards his shirt, creased all over from having slept in it, and puts on a new one. Returning, he notices Louis’s hair is still rumpled. Beckoning Louis over, he attempts to finger-comb it, only to give up and replicate a brush.

“It’s been a very long time since I needed one of these,” he comments. To demonstrate, he runs the brush over his bald scalp.

A giggle bursts—quite literally bursts—from Louis. He puts both hands over his mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes in a joyous torrent, and Picard finds himself laughing right along with him. He doesn’t know where the foolish gesture came from—perhaps the comics put him in such a mood—but quite frankly he’s glad he did it, if only to hear that laugh.

Eventually they get themselves back under control and Picard uses the brush to tame Louis’s hair; Louis keeps letting out little burbles of laughter, like aftershocks, and Picard’s grinning uncontrollably.

Finished, Picard sets the brush aside. “Come. There’s someone I want you to meet at Ten Forward. A very good friend of mine.”

Guinan.

#star trek: tng #star trek: the next generation #tng #star trek fic #tng fic #star trek #the next generation #picard #picard fic

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atozphantomsquadron · 1 year

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Chapter Twenty-One: Ice

Day 10

The rest of the Malebolgia are easy to pass through, thanks to Abaster’s knowledge of who resides within each one, not to mention the ability to find passages in each one to the next. I just wish that there wasn’t so much weirdness in each one.

Bolgia 7 made me cringe because I remember my fear of snakes from the rez. The sinners there, all thieves, were constantly being bitten by poisonous snakes, and as a result their identities were changing. With faces and voices and even genders constantly changing, it was difficult to talk to anyone, so we decided to continue onward. Bolgia 8, on the other hand, was too warm for my taste, as we made our way through a forest of flaming pillars.

Abaster informed me, with a shaky voice, that the souls being burned within each pillar were false advisors and counselors, all of whom had led others to downfall or death. Most of them did it maliciously. I have a feeling this is another garden spot awaiting its chunk of Abaster’s flesh.

Hell can wait. Dad comes first.

It’s not until we reach Bolgia 9 and begin wading in blood again that my hackles are raised and the Sword’s hilt tightly gripped in my hand. “I thought you said we weren’t going to run into any more trouble in this Circle!”

“I did, yes. And we won’t. This is the blood of the schismatics, the sowers of discord, those who chose to create artificial divisions by claiming the hearts, minds, and souls of others.” Abaster pulls on his collar.

“Another place waiting for you?”

He nods. “You don’t create much more of a schism than I did. Besides, there’s someone here who considers me an old friend …”

I don’t know what he means by this, but then it’s illustrated to me as a familiar-looking Sabre takes a chunk out of Abaster’s shoulder. Instantly, I’m at en garde, the Sword clutched in both hands.

“Invader! I destroyed you!”

Standing directly behind Abaster, the familiar death’s-head helmet, the dark metal armor, the blank, soulless eyes of the Invader evaluate me.

“Invader? I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

The voice doesn’t sound right. Maybe he’s got a point … but that’s the Sabre! I can’t possibly forget that weapon!

“How is it you wield a Sabre that has been destroyed?”

“This old thing?”

He waggles the Sabre, and then sheathes it. To my surprise, the Invader’s armor doesn’t disappear.

“Oh, wait, I think I know what’s going on here … you’re talking about Abaddon’s shitty copy of my blade!”

Abaddon’s copy? There’s more than one? My blood runs cold.

“I destroyed the Sabre in the world of the living. I seek its previous holder.”

“I don’t think you do. I think you seek the man the previous holder’s keeping hostage in the next ring over … oh crap, I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody about that!”

I sheathe the Sword. Obviously, this is no threat. “So let me get this straight … the Sabre is just a copy of your sword?”

“You got it.”

He draws the blade again.

“I’ve been here hacking away at these scumbag sinners for eons, and my old reliable weapon hasn’t failed yet. Abaddon was impressed, so he asked if he could model a weapon from it. He wound up making a crummy copy that he flung up to Earth to be wielded by a bunch of troublemakers.”

The eyes in the helmet narrow as the sword reaches toward Abaster’s throat.

“Troublemakers like this douche here.”

I nod. “Exactly, and they’ve sported armor much like yours.”

The demon rolls his eyes and sheathes his sword again.

“Abaddon, you dick! At least get creative with something, instead of just copying the best! Where is he, anyway?”

I clear my throat. “Sorry … my mom killed him a while ago.”

There’s a delay in reaction, but eventually the armored devil starts laughing hysterically.

This is a waste of time. “Will you allow us to pass? We have business in Circle 9.”

He’s still laughing, now he’s doubled over. At least he has the decency to nod and motion us away from him.

“Hey, if you get a chance, find the last guy who had the copy and give him a wedgie, ‘cause he probably deserves it too!”

Oh, he’s getting a lot more than that, believe me. I spread my wings and pick up Abaster again. I figure it’ll be easier to cross through the final bolgia through the air rather than walking. As I take off, the armored demon collapses into more giggles, which doesn’t stop him from pulling out his sword and lopping off another sinner’s feet.

Abaster sighs. “What a strange demon.”

For once, I have to agree with my guide. “Is it really that funny that mom killed Abaddon?”

Abaster looks up at me. “You might have noticed that many of the denizens of Hell are surprised you’re here, that you would be the one taking the journey. It’s because of your gender. They still don’t tend to take women seriously here.”

I smirk. “By any chance, would that include Mamuna?”

I feel my guide cringe at the mention of the demon’s name. “Possibly. Her father is a prince here, but I’ve rarely heard of Mamuna herself even being allowed to leave the circle Mammon rules.”

This is definitely food for thought as we glide over Bolgia 10 and observe the diseased souls below. I vaguely hear Abaster referring to the souls down below as counterfeiters and alchemists, but just seeing the pestilence and affliction that all of those souls are being punished with, a part of me is happy to be flying overhead for fear of possibly catching something contagious if we were to land.

Abaster motions toward the ledge of the bolgia. “Alight over there. We’ll rest for the night.”

I comply with my guide’s instruction and set him down gently on the ground, right next to the edge. I scan around us, looking for any danger, and not seeing any I settle down on the ground. Abaster has long since sat down already.

“What’s in the distance there?” I point toward what looks like two towers, in the misty distance.

“It’s the entrance to your goal, to Circle 9. We’re nearly there, but all the same it’s going to take time to get to your father.” He lies down in the dust.

I can’t get that comfortable, not yet. “What will become of you? Once I get to Dad, what happens to you?”

Abaster smirks slightly. “I go back to the bolge I was in when I was contacted. I continue my punishment, which is only right for the great sins I committed in life.”

I’m very confused. “So … it seems like you’re being passed from place to place, just because of the wide range of sins you committed. What happens when you reach the innermost Circle?”

I think tears are falling from Abaster’s remaining eye. “I get sent back to Circle 2 and I get to experience the torments all over again. Eternally.”

I sigh sadly. Wait … what? Why am I feeling sympathetic? This is Alastair Abaster, the man who killed Dad, who tried to destroy the world … who betrayed Mom’s trust …

“Why did you do it?”

Abaster seems confused by my question. “What do you mean?”

I look over toward him, eyes slightly glistening. “Why did you commit your sins in life? Why did you betray a holy trust given to you by your congregation and all those who felt you were important to them?”

Abaster’s eye turns down. “Are you sure you want to know the answer?”

I nod. “I think I deserve to know.”

“Really? What do you know of what you deserve?” Abaster sounds angry as he sits up and faces me. “What do you know of pain, of torment? What do you know of punishment? What do you know of reward? Nothing! What are you other than a scared little girl playing adult games?”

“I know that my mother placed her trust in you, long ago, and that was a trust you betrayed by trying to destroy the world and by killing her husband!” My voice is approaching the dragon’s roar. “I’ve had both parents taken from me, I’ve had my home taken away … for God’s sake, I’ve had my damn humanity taken away from me! And you think I don’t know ...

PAIN AND TORMENT?!”

For the first time in Hell I feel the churning in my guts, and the flames rising up my throat. Before I can stop it, I’m firecasting and completely coating my guide in flames. I can see him flinching in the glow before the fire finally subsides. He’s entirely coated in char: I can see his eye opening and looking through me. With a loud crack, his mouth opens to speak.

“You ask why I committed sin, betrayed your mother’s trust? Here’s your answer. I did it because I’m human, and at the time I sinned I only thought of myself, what advanced me, what gave me pleasure. And for that selfishness, I have doomed myself to an eternity of repeating tortures.” He shakes his head and a layer of ash flies off of his face. “Do I regret it? You better believe I do. Can I do a damn thing about it? No. Therefore, there’s no point in having this conversation.”

My heart sinks. He’s right. There really isn’t any point, because whether he regrets it or not, he did the crimes and he’ll have to pay for them. Forever.

What price will I pay for my actions?

I slink down to a horizontal position, clutching to myself. I feel incredibly cold right now. Tears are threatening, and despite my best efforts they fall.

William, Michi … Mom, Dad … at what cost do I save you all?

Day 11

Abaster wakes me roughly. “Come on, let’s go. We need to move forward.”

I try to shake the cobwebs out of my head, to no avail. My head’s swimming. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to cook my guide last night, because the effort of producing fire is kicking my butt this morning. I try to reawaken myself with another swallow of holy water.

No effect. I swallow more, and more, until I finally feel my eyes clear up. I hold the bottle up in front of my face. Empty.

Now I’m frightened. I’m down to my last bottle of holy water, and the most dangerous level of Hell is approaching. Fear and pessimism is overtaking me. I’m not going to make it …

“Stay with me, Alanna. Let’s go.”

Abaster’s voice brings me back to the present. I discreetly discard the empty vessel as I stand up to join him. Once at his side, I feel like I have to say something about last night. “Hey, I’m sorry about the argument … about trying to burn you up. I shouldn’t have done that. I overreacted, and I’m sorry about that.”

He nods deeply. “It’s my fault too. I know of your situation on Earth, Alanna, and I should have known of the torments you’ve lived through already.” He takes my hand, very gently. “We are not very far from your father. We’ll see him soon, I’m positive. You’ve come a very long way, especially for a mortal, and he should be very proud of the effort you’ve put forth thus far.”

Somehow this makes me feel better. I smile gently. “Thank you … Alastair.”

Now it’s his turn to smile. It must mean a lot to him that I’ve put him on a first-name basis. “Let’s continue.”

I nod and allow him to lead me forth, away from the ledge of the final bolge of Circle 8. Those towers are looming ahead once more, making me a little nervous. They don’t seem like the towers we saw earlier, guarding the city of Dis.

These seem more … alive.

“Circle 9 has several guardians,” Abaster mentions. “We will need to convince one of them to allow us passage.”

“What kind of guardians?” I always need to ask so I know what to expect.

He points forward. “You can see them actually.”

I narrow my eyes, allowing the dragon’s vision to come to me. As the view focuses, I see that those towers have faces at the top … wait, not faces, they’re heads.

Giants. I’ve encountered every other fairy-tale nightmare down here, may as well get giants in too.

We quickly approach where the giants are standing, a massive well that Abaster mentions surrounds the entirety of Circle 9. I’m only now realizing the scale of this crossing as we stand at the edge of one of the wells, and are at the navel of one of the giants, this particular one carrying a large horn hanging around his neck. He turns his head to one side and lets out a massive yell of gibberish.

I open up the Inferno and flip pages until I find our location. “I’m guessing this is Nimrod?”

Abaster nods. “Indeed, one of the architects of the Tower of Babel. His punishment for his arrogance is twofold: he must stand guard as a giant at Circle 9, and his speech will never be coherent for the remainder of eternity.” Abaster motions past the giant. “Come, we have to reach one of the giants who can let us through.”

We begin pacing around the edge of the well, passing several giants who are on some way restrained. As we walk, Abaster tells me small details about each one of them. Ephialtes and Otus, the twins who thought they could challenge the gods by building a ladder out of mountains. Tityos, who attempted to rape Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis. Typhon, the father of all monsters who was defeated by Zeus himself, and his mate Echidna. Most imposing of all, we pass by the imprisoned Goliath, still sporting a massive dent between his eyes from where David’s stone struck him.

We pass by a space with no giant. I turn to my guide, questioning. “What happened to the guardian here?”

Abaster turns and looks, then smiles. “Ah … you mean Mahishasura. He’s been gone for a long time, actually. He escaped to the living world when the earthquake struck, only to be defeated by the servant of the goddess Durga.”

I thought the name sounded familiar! I can’t help but smile. Aunt Kitty destroyed one of the guardians of the ninth Circle of Hell. What a woman.

“We’re here. Antaeus! Come here!”

Abaster’s call is met by another giant, this one unrestrained. He bends over and narrows his eyes.

“Alastair Abaster, what business do you have here?”

Abaster looks unfazed. “We must have passage to Cocytus, friend. I escort a Guardsman on a mission from He Who Is Called I AM.”

Antaeus turns his gaze toward me.

“I know this woman. I have heard about her through souls passing through. Alanna Sharpe, the Guardsman. You seek the betrayed Sharpe.”

I nod. “Indeed I do. He has been imprisoned within Circle 9 unjustly, and must be released. The fates of many good people rest on my reaching him.”

Antaeus seems to consider this.

“I have seen who has imprisoned the betrayed Sharpe, Guardsman. It is one I am familiar with, one who I fought alongside.”

This shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. “You know Tyrelius Scolar?”

“I do. We fought great campaigns against Carthage. He was a master tactician. However, our shared past does not excuse his actions now. I will help you.”

Antaeus scoops both me and Abaster into his hands, carries us up to his chest, and then lowers us down at his feet, allowing us to set foot on a massive sheet of ice.

Ice … Dad mentioned ice … we’re close, I know it!

“Good luck, Alanna Sharpe.”

Antaeus turns his attention back to his duties of guarding the Circle. It takes a minute to gain traction on the slick ice we’re now standing on, but I turn to Abaster once I’m confident I won’t be slipping and falling anytime soon.

“Welcome to Circle 9,” Abaster intones. “This circle of Hell punishes the most insidious sinners of all, traitors. This is also divided into rings. The good news is there are only four of them. The bad news is they are enormous.”

I flex my wings, clutching gently at the Sword and my last bottle of holy water. “Bring it. What am I looking at, or looking for?”

Abaster clears his throat slightly. “The first circle we’ll encounter is Caina, where traitors to family are frozen. The second is Antenora, where traitors to nations are kept. Third will be Ptolomaea, a place where those who betrayed guests are tormented. The final ring, where the worst sinners are kept, is Judecca, where you will find the souls of those who betrayed lords and benefactors. Also there are the sinners who betrayed God. Our best chances of finding your father will come probably in Caina, Antenora, or Judecca.”

I tap my foot on the frozen territory. “Why is there ice here?”

Abaster motions for us to begin walking again, which we do at a slow pace to keep our footing. “Although the entirety of the rest of Hell is superheated, the lowest levels are cold, due to the lack of holiness to be found in these sinners. We currently walk the frozen lake bed of Cocytus, where these sinners are consumed by the ice.”

As I’m informed of this, I catch sight of the first round of sinners imprisoned in Caina. Heads stick up from the icy landscape, many of them damaged by frostbite and looking like they have been there for thousands of years. Their faces are frozen slightly downward, and I notice that a number of them weep constantly, their tears freezing into the bases of their necks.

I’m feeling slightly cold myself. I place a hand on the holy water bottle, and realize that it’s radiating heat, slightly. I turn to Abaster. “Do you believe my father may be here?”

He nods. “He could be. By taking the side of the Regents, he committed betrayal against his family … yourself, Ariel, and generations of Sharpes that came before him. That would certainly earn him a place among the heads frozen here. We’ll simply have to search.”

This sounds daunting, especially as there appears to be millions upon millions of heads frozen into this ice. Gingerly stepping around the heads, I start the long and arduous task of searching the faces, trying to find any glimmer of Dad anywhere.

Searching for a righteous needle in a frozen haystack of the damned.

#phantom squadron #infernal eighteen

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