#i need to get more than 1 paintbrush too :(

[jolapeno]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[ironskyfinder]

When I first met Jackalynn, she was very confused about her place in the world.

The silly little girl was going by Jaden, had cut all her beautiful hair off, was wearing a binder to hide her beautiful hourglass figure, and was outwardly militant about ‘becoming’ a ‘man’.

She messaged me - seemingly furious that I would run a blog that openly advocated for female disempowerment, misgendering, and ‘transphobia’, but I could tell there was something deeper going on, and before long, she said something that gave away far more than she’d wanted me to know.

jadensjourney [11:24PM] I just can’t believe that you would knowingly post such filth. It boggles the mind that anyone would think it’s okay in the slightest to make such a toxically degrading concept so arousing. And you defend it without the slightest thought?!

trad-dominant [11:25PM] I post it because it’s filth that people enjoy, and I defend it for that reason and because it’s my artistic right to do so.

trad-dominant [11:25PM] So it’s filth that you enjoy, too?

jadensjourney [11:26PM] Our definitions of the word ‘artist’ are very different

jadensjourney [11:27PM] No, no, NO. I didn’t say that, you psycho

jadensjourney [11:27PM] What is WRONG with you?!

trad-dominant [11:29PM] You said it “boggles the mind that anyone would think it’s okay in the slightest to make such a toxically degrading concept so arousing,” which certainly implies that you found it arousing.

jadensjourney [11:30PM] No!! 

jadensjourney [11:31PM] Okay, but, that wasn’t what I meant and you know it

jadensjourney [11:32PM] What I ACTUALLY MEANT was that you’re a degenerate for even trying to make such disgusting topics into erotica

trad-dominant [11:34PM] Maybe I am a degenerate, but at least I’m honest with myself about what I like. I could help you with that, if you’d lose the attitude and admit it.

jadensjourney [11:37PM] Fuck you.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had readers reach out to berate me, and it wouldn’t be the last. I thought that was the end of it, and went back to writing. I felt like I was making good progress, so I stayed up later than usual, until another chat notification interrupted me.

jadensjourney [1:17AM] I admit it

jadensjourney [1:19AM] now what?!

trad-dominant [1:21AM] What?

jadensjourney [1:23AM] I thought it was a little erotic. Your story. So what?

trad-dominant [1:25AM] So you’re starting to be honest with yourself, that’s all that means

jadensjourney [1:26AM] Shut up, fuck you

trad-dominant [1:27AM] You don’t need to be aggressive, you’re judging yourself for liking it far more than I am.

trad-dominant [1:29AM] So, which part of the Little Miss Thought-She-Was-A-Boy story turned you on most?

jadensjourney [1:33AM] no I’m not

jadensjourney [1:34AM] judging myself

jadensjourney [1:36AM] stop it

trad-dominant [1:37AM] It took you all that time for just seven words? You must be typing one-handed, were you reading the story again?

jadensjourney [1:41AM] yes 

jadensjourney [1:43AM] the part where he’s cockwarming ryan and they’re doing anatomy

jadensjourney [1:44AM] That’s the best part

trad-dominant [1:47AM] I have to point out that Sam is a girl, I know you and her both struggle with that

trad-dominant [1:48AM] But, I agree, that is a great scene. 

jadensjourney [1:50AM] fine

jadensjourney [1:51AM] the part where SHE’s cockwarming ryan.

jadensjourney [1:53AM] where’d you come up with the paintbrush thing?

trad-dominant [1:54AM] Personal experience. 

trad-dominant [1:54AM] Holding a girl down and slowly tracing through all her erogenous zones with a brush is something that never gets old.

jadensjourney [1:55AM] crazy

jadensjourney [1:56AM] It’s only a tease?

trad-dominant [1:57AM] It is, although you have to be careful brushing around her clit, just in case

jadensjourney [1:58AM] i liked that most

jadensjourney [1:58AM] i mean

trad-dominant [1:59AM] Is that the part you were imagining happening to you?

trad-dominant [2:01AM] Having a stranger who picked you up at a bar overpower you, tease you mercilessly, and correct your gender?

I didn’t hear from her more that night; I assume she’d gotten embarrassed and deleted the chat. Most of the interactions ended like that - a confused girl reached out full of anger, then admitted how hot it was, then vanished. It didn’t bother me, but I was surprised when the next day I found a message waiting when I logged in.

jadensjourney [6:52AM] hey so fuck you but that last messsage you sent made me cum harder than I ever have in my human life and i passed out. sorry

It actually made me laugh aloud, between the reckless honesty and the charming turn of phrase. Few people had enough creativity or enough of a way with words to arouse my attention, but there was still the lingering combativeness from our earlier interaction. I sent the reply and assumed I’d never hear back.

trad-dominant [7:26AM] Fine, I suppose we can let that slide. If you keep cumming to my stories, though, you owe me your deadname real name.

I didn’t hear anything from her that night, or the one after, or the next. I expected to see her icon vanish one day, blog deleted. It was only after I published the next story, this time about a lesbian ruining her gold stars, that another two messages came through.

jadensjourney [9:52PM] three times. I hate you.

jadensjourney [9:54PM] and it’s jackalynn. 

From then on, whenever I posted a new story, Jackalynn and I talked. It started with her telling me how many orgasms she’d had while reading, but then we started talking more with each story. Over the following months, she confided that she was liking my stories more and more, and I told her if she sent a selfie of her all femme’d out that I’d write one with her as a main character. The story of ‘Jessie’s Fall Back to Femininity’ took a few days to finish, but when I posted it I saw that it had vanished.

Then - 

jackalynnsjourneyback [10:56PM] it’s me new blog. 

jackalynnsjourneyback [10:56PM] spent the last three days reading and re-reading jessica’s fall. i can’t think about anything else

jackalynnsjourneyback [10:57PM] so when i tell people i’m officially detransitioning do i blame it all on you, or?

trad-dominant [11:02PM] What a pleasant surprise! I thought you’d gotten cold feet, I guess I couldn’t have been more wrong.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:04PM] yeah you brainwashed me back into being a girl or something 

trad-dominant [11:06AM] We both know I only reminded you that your clit exists, it did the rest.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:07PM] uh, i think you did a little more than that!

trad-dominant [11:08PM] Not really, all I had to do was help your clit show you who you really wanted to be.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:11PM] thanks for saying that, now i’m soaked again.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:11PM] but you’re right, of course

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:12PM] i just can’t believe how hot jessie’s fall was, especially when she got fully corrected at the end

trad-dominant [11:13PM] You’re welcome. I thought you’d like it ending with her cumming from being impregnated.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:14PM] and her repeating ‘this...is…what..i’m…for” is going to stick in my head forever

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:16PM] so are you gonna make me beg, or

trad-dominant [11:17PM] Probably, on principle, but I don’t know what you mean.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:19PM] do it all to me

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:19PM] treat me like the professor treats jessica. tattoos and all

trad-dominant [11:20PM] For that, you’re definitely going to have to beg.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:22PM] fuck

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:22PM] please

trad-dominant [11:25PM] You told me that in the last three and a half weeks you’ve edged for hundreds of hours, a lot of it to pretty misogynistic porn. We both know you know how to beg.

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:29PM] i deserve to have my silly gender fantasies corrected by someone who is going to take every advantage of me, i know i’m just holes and tits. please use me, sir

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:29PM] pierce my nipples, tattoo a qr code over my clit because i’m just property, and decide what else you want done to my body. 

jackalynnsjourneyback [11:30PM] please make me your jessica. take me in, break me down, make it so i lose my mind when you breed me

trad-dominant [11:36PM] That is better. Hmm.

Three weeks later, Jackalynn stepped off the plane; we talked the whole way back, her mind was made up. She wanted nothing less than to be reeducated, corrected, improved.

She’s getting her wish. Sometimes she still gets confused, but she’ll come and talk to me and a few minutes of intense anatomy practice always sorts out her delusions. Edging afterwards is helping her feel a lot better, and this will be her tenth straight day plugged - between that and the daily maintenance spankings, she says she’s never felt more feminine.

Now all that’s left is to breed her, and she’ll be the perfect woman she never dreamed she’d be.

[cant-shake-it]

How to Make a Printing Screen from Home

I wanted to share a quick cute little tutorial for how I made my own screen for making patches (and other things that don't require exact measurements). Cute lil how-to under the cut >:)

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing at any given moment. There could be a better tutorial out there for you. I'm just guessing for a lot of the things I do and this is no exception. With that out of the way:

THE SUPPLIES YOU DEFINITELY ABSOLUTELY NEED:

a small/medium canvas (depending on what you have and how big your design will be)

paintbrushes

a tight-woven sheer fabric (preferably not stretchy and STRONG)

a fine-tip pen

water-resistant gloss of some kind (mod podge works, but make sure it's a waterproof kind if you want to make more than one print)

paint that won't come off in the wash (acrylic/spray paint work)

good strong tape

a good sturdy card-like thingy

an easy/cool design for your print :)

THE SUPPLIES THAT ARE RECCOMENDED BUT NOT NECESSARY (aka things I like to use):

a good canvas fabric/thick cotton for printing on

fabric paint (will stay on the fabric best duh)

a 1/2in, 1/3in, and fine tip paintbrush for details (depending on your design)

some company for fun :)

Alright, so first you'll want to figure out the design you want to print out and get a good sketch over it. I'm a detail freak so I like sketching out my design then going over it in a black pen. The ideal is hard contrast and clear and discernable lines/fill-in spots, like pictured below:

(Note how I emphasized which spots were to have thicker lines, which parts of the stripes were to be printed, etc. I tried to think a lot about which portions I wanted to show up on the finished design and how they would look on the fabric as a whole.)

So you've got your design. Great! Next step is a fun one: Grab a canvas you are willing to part with (this one was a painting I made when I was 16. I hate it), and rip all the fabric off of that fucker!! If you pull off some staples in the process, don't worry. Just make sure you can retain the shape of the frame, since that's the part you'll need to keep. You don't need to take off every single bit of the fabric, but as previously stated, I'm a freak, so I did. You'll come out with something like this:

For the next steps you'll need a good pair of scissors as well as your pen and your sheer fabric. You're going to want to set the frame on your fabric and cut about an inch and a half around it so there's extra to wrap around the frame and tape down. You can draw a guideline for where to cut if you want, but once again, I'm a freak:

Now lay the front of the canvas frame (the part without staples on it) face down on the fabric and grab your tape! Now we're going to tape down each end of the frame so the sheer lays taut on the frame. I like to put one or two strips of tape on the ends parallel to each other and pull them tight, then do the same with the other side, then continue adding tape until the whole outside of the frame is covered. See below:

(Note: your goal in this step is to stretch the sheer as tight as it can comfortably go so there are no wrinkles or depressions in the fabric.)

So now you have you're frame. Fuck yes!!! Go ahead and grab the design you came up with as well as your pen (you can use a pencil too, but the pen shows up much better through the fabric so I definitely prefer it), and put the frame front side down onto the sketch.

If you're worried about keeping the frame steady, feel free to tape the frame down and go ahead and trace over the design with your pen. Make sure to fill in all the dark parts enough that you can differentiate them from the light parts.

Once you have your sketch copied to the frame, now you can grab your gloss!!! Hurry!!! You're almost done!!!!

With this step I like to start big and go into the details once all the larger portions of the sheer are covered. Pretty much you're going to paint over every part that isn't the black of the pen with your waterproof gloss. This ensures that once you start printing, the only parts that are going to bleed through the fabric will be the black parts that weren't painted over with gloss/varnish/mod podge/whatever you used as long as it's waterproof!!! Take all the time you need, it's not a race. Once you're done and the gloss has dried, your screen is going to look something like this when put up to a light:

Now that this step is over with, congratulations - you have just made a mesh screen!!! Keep reading to learn how to use it lol

So for the patches that I make I just went with black and white paint, and black and white fabric to keep it traditional, but you can use any colors of paint and fabric you want, truly! The world is your oyster! I do not care! That being said, we're keeping it simple today.

Grab your screen, a piece of fabric that can cover the design and leave at least an inch of space around it, and a surface you won't mid getting paint on on accident. You'll also want to grab that card-like thingy for this as well. It can really be anything that can provide a sturdy, even pressure across the screen consistently. Go ahead and pick up that fabric paint too, I guess. We'll probably need that.

At this point, this is what your workspace might look like:

Next up you are going to center your design onto your piece of fabric-

-and grab your fabric paint. put a thin little stripe over the top (start slow and add more - as you can see I added a little too much and kinda fucked up my design) then grab your card thingy. Make sure you have even pressure on it and swipe it down at a medium speed so you're dragging the paint down the screen:

Once you've got everything covered I like to go over it a few more times for even coverage. Then you pull it up from the screen (which you might want to rinse off so no paint sticks to it!!!), wait for that bitch to dry, and you're done!! Congratulations, you have your very own fun silly patch! Go sew it on something! Or not! I do really do not care!!!!!!

[muffinsin]

👀anon here, I've re-read pretty much all of your masterlists at least a few times each at this point 😅 am always impressed with how prolific you are and how good your writing is! Thinking about your dimi hands hc...could I request how the girls would be with a s/o with an oral fixation? They notice initially things like their s/o near constantly having sweets/candy or a pen or a toothpick etc in their mouth but eventually those are replaced with the girls' fingers and maybe other things 👀👀

I’m glad you’re enjoying my works! :) makes me incredibly happy to hear y’all liking it this much🙇‍♀️🫶

speaking of: little info to everyone- Masterlist 3 is now due and out!!

This is a very interesting concept! Boy, have I got some ideas for it!👀 (the referenced hand HC post can be found here)

Let’s get into it!🙌😚

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Masterlist 3

Bela

Bela picks up on your oral fixation first. She’s very perceptive as it comes to the people she cares about, after all

Now, she doesn’t normally mind it

She does remind you of bacteria sometimes, though, and not to nibble on things that could be dirty, even if not so to the naked eye

You’re her partner, her little human. She cares for you. She also tends to view humans as weaker than they are, and doesn’t want bacteria to be the reason you get sick

It starts with nibbling on your thumb or sleeve, your nails even

She has a nervous habit of biting her lip or the tip of her fingernail sometimes, so she barely even notices this at first

Then, she finds that you nibble on the end of pencils as you write and pause between words or sentences

Rarely she even finds wooden pencils with bite marks at the back. She is fast to dispose of those, however, whether they are from you, a maiden or one of her sisters

She doesn’t want them around

In some situations she even needed to remind you not to nibble on the paint of your paintbrush when painting- You didn’t even seem to notice

In other instances, she finds you absently reading with your necklace lifted to your mouth

She wonders, does this fixation of yours also apply in bed?

She knows you enjoy giving her oral. You never turn it down, and are always eager to have her pant from the pleasure she receives

It doesn’t help that she is painfully sensitive most of the time and grows incredibly wet for you

She is somewhat of a meal, really, between her legs

Still, Bela is curious about your oral fixation and thinks of taking it to the next level

The next time you’re intimate, and have your fingers inside of her, she strikes

Bela swiftly pushes her slender fingers in your mouth, three at the same time

For a moment, she’s unsure- did she interpret it all wrong?

No, for she then notices you lick and suck them all too eagerly

It’s a flustering and adorable sight to her

Often, she will randomly make you suck her fingers. They’re strong and thin, and you seem to take a lot of pleasure from having them in your mouth, your tongue swirling around them eagerly

But, it isn’t quite what she has in mind yet

After all, if you must suck on things, there are plenty other options…

The moment Bela grew aware of your oral fixation, she has had distinct fantasies of you sucking her breasts

Her nipples are so sensitive, she can’t help it. She loves whenever you brush your tongue against them during sex, and it has her fantasize of you sucking them even more

Still, she is too shy to randomly bring it up

Again, during sex, when you’re pressed up against her and fondle her breasts, she is too lost in the pleasure to keep her naughty fantasy to herself

With her hand tangled in your hair, she gently guides your lips to her nipple

“Suck it, little one”, she pleads softly

You do not need to be told twice ;)

And Bela? Oh, you draw the sweetest of sounds from her

She makes it a point to have her fingers and breast in your mouth as often as you like. She will never refuse

At times, even, she will randomly make you suck her fingers during the day merely to fluster you

Of course she will not turn you down to do either for mere comfort reasons too

She finds both actions rather comforting too, should they not happen in a sexual manner

Every time you do nibble on something, she will tease you lightly, though

Cassandra

She doesn’t think you have an oral obsession at first, just that- well- you like chewing things

She finds you biting pencil ends as you concentrate

And your fingers at times, even

Or chewing gum (which she DESPISES) for hours

Or perhaps sucking candy at every given opportunity

She doesn’t mind, she just thinks it’s intriguing once she picks up on it

When you start absently sucking the tip of your thumb when you’re concentrating, she crackles

“Maybe you should get a pacifier?”, she suggests jokingly

Never did she think she would become one

Sleeping on top of you has always been something Cassandra likes to do, with her skin pressed tightly to yours and her hand rested on yours

As such, her chest is often close to you-

Cassandra is shocked when she wakes up in the middle of the night one time from a strange feeling around her nipple

Upon looking down, she finds you have it in your mouth, having had her breast pressed up against your chin prior

She shivers and shrieks a little when you bite down occasionally

Mistakingly, she thinks this is foreplay. But when she giggles, she hears no reaction from you. You’re deep asleep

She grants you this for the night, unwilling to wake you, but will absolutely pull her sore breast away the moment you wake up

She is not a chewing toy!

The interaction has her curious, though

The next night, she slips her fingers inside your mouth as you’re barely awake. Call it curiosity

Again, in no time you start sucking them and nibbling a little. She grins at her discovery as she pulls her wet fingers away again

During the next days, she likes to randomly tip your chin and push her fingers in you

“Good pet. Suck them for me”

To clean them, she claims, but there’s nothing to clean, really. She even makes sure they’re blood-free for her precious human

You’re flustered at this, but enjoy it

During sex, Cassandra implements this too- always has, in a way

It’s as if she just takes more notice of it now

How your hands busy yourself on her while your mouth explores eagerly, biting and nibbling on her

Her lips, her jawline, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts and nipples, her ribcage and waist, her hip and her lower stomach, her cunt and thighs, even her behind

She gasps at each bite placed on her unexpectedly. You must really enjoy working with your mouth

She loves to have you suck her fingers, she realizes

During sex, she makes you do so while riding out your orgasm especially

She especially likes you nibbling and sucking her inner thighs

She’s sensitive there

Cassandra still enjoys teasing you about your oral obsession at any given opportunity

She likes to randomly push her fingers in you and watch you attempt to ignore them, only to end up biting down or sucking in the end

Daniela

Daniela is no stranger to a bit of an oral fixation, although hers is not quite as strong

She too enjoys nibbling on things occasionally, especially as she sleeps peacefully

It helps her relax

She loves to nibble on some of her stuffed animals, too, sometimes even strands of her hair

Still, it takes her surprisingly long to pick up this behavior in you

Then again, it’s not something that bothers her. She finds it cute whenever she finds you nibble on something

The only reason she takes proper notice of it in the first place, is because you’re cuddled up together and she suddenly feels you raise her hand, intertwined with yours, to your mouth

You’re nibbling on the tip of your nail, breath warm against her colder and soft hand

She’s a little confused by this, though looking back, she has seen you do it before

Or sucking sweet or sour candy, which she always begs she can have

Or chewing well smelling gum at nearly all times

Or nibbling on your sleeve, until it’s wet

Or biting your lip and licking it over and over again

She wonders- why do you do it? Do you like it for comfort reasons? Or also sexual ones?

Her curiosity and teasing knows no bounds, and so she promptly turns you to her and pushes her fingers inside of your mouth instead

She likes watching them slide past your lips

“Do you like that, my love?”, she asks, genuine, though teasing

You certainly do!

Daniela quickly finds she likes having you suck her nimble fingers. Especially during sex

Her favorite thing to do?

To tie you up nice and snug for her, finger herself and make her cream for you merely to push her wet fingertips in your mouth and make you lick it all off

“Do you like this, my sweet?”, she’ll tease lightly, with a knowing smirk on her soft, painted lips

She loves making you suck her fingers and swirl your tongue around them- it’s addictive to both of you

Out of all things you could suck on her body, she loves having her breasts or cunt sucked best

Her sensitive nipples rested in your mouth, or moans drawn from her when she moves lower at last

In non sexual situations, she grants you to nibble on her whenever you want

Daniela doesn’t mind, even offers getting you a stuffed animal to bite down on sometimes

She also makes sure you always have chewing gum or candy on hand

Even if she wants it for herself

She still enjoys pushing her fingers in your mouth too, if only to see your reaction, then swarm off giggling to herself

[rowretro]

𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗

✧taglist✧: @nxzz-skz   @nshmrarki @wntersm

✧CHAPTER 1✧

Babe peacefully sat in her seat for art lesson, which was right beside the Nishimura Riki. The scene that had happened before intrigued the boy... Oh she's such a sweetheart... a piece of art way better than his paintings.

The students started whispering amongst themselves at the sight of the 2 beside each other, but Riki didn't care... His eyes were fixated on the girl beside him, she had her air pods in, her had softly gripping onto the paintbrush the gently strode across her canvas.

He tilted his head as he stared at her "So you're the new girl...." He asked quite annoyed by the fact she didn't hear him. The male smirked darkly as he pulled an earphone out of her ear, listening to the song that was playing in her ears. 

"Chase Atlantic?... cute." he simply stated as the girl finally turned to him, smiling sweetly "I love their songs- do you?" the girl asked as Riki gave her earphone back "They're eh I guess..." The male trailed off.

God, that innocent smile, the way she fixed her glasses slightly as she focused on her painting, the false lashes giving her much more doll like features... She was beautiful in his eyes....

Oh how bad he wants to make this pretty girl cry... Riki chuckled to himself just at the thought of it as he turned back to his canvas.

. . .

Babe was silently walking to her next lesson... Math, the one subject many students dread. The girl stood by the entrance as some girls were heard gossiping beside her.

"Did you hear? Park Sunghoon got into another fight-" "Of course he did, I mean that girl was basically asking for it, she knows he hates physical touch, you should've seen the way she was clinging to him... " "ouh it was such a gruesome scene, he literally dislocated her arm, you could even hear the sounds of her bones"

The girls continued their gossip as they entered the class. "Babe lee right?" Mr Park asked with a smile as Rowan nodded. "Alright students we have a new student, please introduce yourself" 

"Hi im Babe- I hope we can be good friends I guess?" the girl questioned, still new to this whole concept of needing to introduce herself.

"You may sit beside Park Sunghoon... at the back corner there, he's one of our class toppers I'm sure he can help you" The teacher smiled, as Rowan smiled back sweetly, hiding the little fear she didn't know she had after hearing the rumours.

She couldn't deny it though.... He was... Stunning, beautiful, he was literally a painting made by the heavens above, the dream guy that anyone would fall for. Silently, she took her seat, taking out her book as Sunghoon eyed her top to bottom.

"Don't you think that skirt's a little too short?... things like that don't flatter me you know" there it is... that cocky, unattractive side to him. "Congratulations, Mr perfect has a flaw~" she commented, unaware of the eyes that laid on her.

Sunghoon scoffed at her attitude, but continued with taking notes. Such a ballsy, god awful bitchy little girl. A little girl that had caught the attention of Nishimura Riki...

Sunghoon frowned at Riki's text and the stalkerish picture of Rowan he sent. His frown immediately replaced by a smug smirk as he turned to the girl, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The Park Sunghoon laid his hands on a girl willingly... the whole class was filled with little gasps as Rowan turned to Sunghoon with a slight frown. "You're going to be sitting with me and the boys at break today you get it pretty girl?!" Sunghoon simply asked, his voice low as he leaned into her face.

"You will be sitting with me and the boys... you don't want to know what'll happen if you do so otherwise now do you?..." Sunghoon threated, his voice slightly louder than a faint whisper.

. . .

It was the first break of the school day. Babe hadn't exactly initiated or asked to be someone's friend, and yet so many people had friendly smiles, offering her a seat. After all, they considered her the new happy pill of the school.

A rather pretty girl who she had made small talk with earlier waved her over. It was Eunchae,  Babe smiled as she was about to walk over to them, only to be yanked away by a mush more stronger arm.

Immediately, all the smiles had faded and no one looked her way, however Eunchae stared at her being taken away, with a pout. "You didn't forget your promise did you little girl?!..." Sunghoon sked darkly as he stared down at her.

"N-No I didn't... I was just smiling at her that's all" Babe reasoned as Sunghoon rolled his eyes, dragging her with him, there were 2 boys in front of her, another beside her and three more boys including Riki, behind her.

The door read "Staff only, no students are to pass beyond this point" but it seemed to be no deal as One of the boys waved the keys and with one swift move unlocked the door. There they were, on the roof top.

Only at this moment, Babe knew that something really bad was going to happen... 

and boy was she so right...

✧𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗✧

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (18/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~5k

Content warning for the aftermath of a massacre and preparation of bodies for burial in this chapter. Some dialogue is pulled directly from A Court of Mist and Fury, and the poem quoted in this chapter is Tithonus by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

On a lighter note, shout-out to @thesistersarcheron for beast Rhys tongue inspo and to @popjunkie42 for all her Feysand poetry thoughts <3

Read on AO3 or you can find the eighteenth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean | ch. 13 - stay stay stay | ch. 14 - call it what you want to | ch. 15 - even when you're sleeping, keep your eyes open | ch. 16 - you drew stars around my scars | ch. 17 - do you remember all the city lights on the water? | ch. 18 - and it smells like me

Rhys halted, taking in Mor's news. "Who," he said, and I hadn't known such utter rage could be conveyed in a single word.

I set the paintbrush down and stepped closer, feeling sick. If the priestesses were anything like the ones I'd come to know at the library…

At that thought, both our anger surged down the mating bond, and it felt as if my chest had been set ablaze. There had already been too much senseless violence Under the Mountain.

"We don't know," Mor said. "Azriel is investigating now."

Rhys began to pace. He'd hidden his wings to avoid them dragging on the floor when he'd sat with me, but shadows rolled off his shoulders as they appeared again, almost involuntarily.

But his voice was still soft as he said, "Does he have any initial theories?"

"You know Azriel—he won't say until he has enough information in hand to be sure. Cassian is pissed, though. He’s convinced it must be one of the rogue Illyrian war-bands, intent on winning new territory."

The rest of the Inner Circle must have heard this news first, then. I watched Rhys carefully for a reaction, unsure if that was how things were typically done. He didn't seem any more agitated than before, and I took that as a positive sign.

"I'm worried he may be correct."

"What are your orders?"

"For tonight, there's nothing to be done in Illyria that we aren't already doing. I'll discuss everything with Cassian in the morning. Mor, you and Amren will assist Azriel with whatever information-gathering he needs done. Be ready to field questions from other courts as news spreads. I'll inform Clotho myself and handle incoming correspondence."

Mor's eyes slid to me, and I nearly jumped—she'd been so focused on Rhys that I'd assumed she'd forgotten I was there. "Cesere is within the Night Court's borders. It falls to us to handle this alongside the priestesses," she said, obviously for my benefit.

"How can I help?" I said, fully expecting to be told to stay out of the way.

"The priestesses at the library will need assistance. Our kind bury our dead as swiftly as possible and keep watch until funeral rites are complete. It will mean something to have you there, Feyre, even if you're only comfortable sitting through the service as a representative of my Inner Circle," Rhys said.

There had been no similar sense of urgency among the mortals. When my mother died, there had been a wake, and for several days before her burial, our house had been full of friends and family paying their last respects. I wasn't surprised to hear things the fae did things differently.

For a moment, my mind flashed back to the sight of Tamlin carrying the bloodied corpse of a Summer Court faerie out of the manor. Tonight would be more of the same. And Rhys was giving me an out to avoid the grisly work if I couldn't stomach it.

I didn't hesitate. "I'll do whatever's necessary," I said. If the priestesses needed me to spend the night digging graves, I would.

With one last promise to keep Rhys informed, Mor winnowed away, and there was nothing left to do but head to the library. Before long, Rhys had left to make arrangements for increased security at the other temples, and I made my way down to the spare rooms near the dormitories to help in whatever way I could.

Merrill, a silver-haired scholar I'd once overheard terrorizing a research assistant, was organizing the efforts and barked out orders at me. I rolled up the sleeves of my tunic and got to work.

The carnage turned out to be exactly as horrific as we'd feared. And in Prythian, a land of immortals, there were no morgues or funeral homes. The gore, the obvious evidence of violence…for many of the priestesses, it brought back too many dark memories for them to even approach the bodies.

I choked back bile as I wiped tear tracks from cold cheeks and scrubbed dried blood from every body part imaginable. Gently, I slid soiled nightgowns and torn robes from stiff limbs and replaced them with shrouds. It was difficult, with the extent of some of the injuries, to create any sort of illusion of peaceful repose; whoever had done this hadn't made these deaths quick or painless.

As we worked, the sisters took turns singing prayers. I didn't recognize the language, but I sensed that it was ancient, the tune slow and mournful and in a key I'd never heard before. Down here, surrounded by the red rock of the mountain and no windows, the repetition was the only thing marking the passage of time.

Eventually, all the bodies were laid out in neat rows—too many rows, the scale of the devastation laid painfully bare. Each was clean and covered in a white linen shroud, ready for burial. For a moment, I just sat with the heavy awareness that each one of the bundles was a life—a world, really—that had been snuffed out. So much loss, just to loot a trove.

Rhys hadn't exaggerated when he'd said the fae moved quickly—as soon as the work was finished, I followed the rest of the priestesses towards the sanctuary for the service. I hadn't expected it to be so soon; one of the sisters caught my look of surprise and gently explained that according to faerie traditions, the soul was in a state of confusion between death and burial, and it was cruel to let it linger like that any longer than absolutely necessary.

The sanctuary was a massive cavern, full of dark wood pews surrounding a plain dais at the center. Though about half of the mourners finding their seats were priestesses, all in their identical pale blue robes, faeries from Velaris were there as well. The news had spread, then.

There were more prayers and singing in that strange, ancient language. No instruments, only voices that echoed in the cavern, beautiful yet melancholy. A candle was lit for each slain priestess as their names we read out one by one.

Unable to follow it, I stood and sat in time with everyone else and allowed my mind to wander. The bond had been quiet—presumably, Rhys was busy but otherwise fine—so I took in the assortment of faeries who'd come to pay their respects.

Perhaps it shouldn't have been such a surprise, but I recognized a few of them. Evelyn, the priestess who'd been teaching me to read, had nodded hello, and I spotted faeries I'd seen a few times in the library or out in the city. I doubted every single one of them knew any of the victims; this was just the community coming together.

That thought made Velaris feel a bit more like…home.

And though Rhys hadn't said it outright—and seemed so intent on not pressuring me that I doubted he ever would—I wondered if attending a vigil like this was something expected of the Lady of the Night Court. Since we'd decided to keep it a secret, we hadn't spoken about my title at all. Or any obligations that came with it. My lack of understanding of the situation when I accepted the bond didn't make me any less of a High Lord's mate, though.

My family's money had run out when I'd turned eleven—my sisters had been the ones raised to be ladies. They'd been the ones expected to someday be the wife of a rich, powerful man, to run households and host balls and busy themselves with charity work that made their husbands look good. I was just the hopeless, half-wild heathen.

Rhys loved me, had confidence in me like no one else, and I doubted I could ever be a failure in his eyes. That wasn't true for the rest of Prythian. I didn't take representing him lightly, especially not for something like this.

Before my thoughts could spiral any further, the funeral ended. The bodies had been winnowed to the graveyard, and there was nothing left to do. It was the middle of the night when I headed towards the townhouse.

I reached down the bond for Rhys as I walked, careful not to startle him. The thread between us went taut anyway, and I could sense that he was instantly on alert.

I didn't even give him a chance to ask if something was wrong I'm fine, home soon. Do you need anything else from me?

Go rest while you can. I've sent Azriel, Mor, and Amren to do the same.

But you aren't? I wouldn't let him talk around it.

I am High Lord, and some things can't be delegated.

For once, he didn't sound arrogant, just matter-of-fact. There was no point in attempting to mother-hen him out of finishing whatever he was obligated to complete tonight, so I didn't bother. I sent a pulse of affection down the bond, assuming that was the end of the conversation.

But he added, None of us liked the thought of you in the townhouse alone. Mor is there.

I was so unused to being looked after that I almost asked why anyone would be concerned. But Mor had mentioned them all being duty-bound and overprotective on my first day here, so perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise.

And at least it wasn't Amren babysitting me.

Something pleasantly warm crossed the bond, along with the strange sensation of a soft kiss pressed to the back of my mind. Then Rhys's shields went back up, and the rest of my walk home was uneventful.

Mor was in the living room when I arrived. At first, I'd thought she must have just been waiting to make sure I'd gotten home safely, but before she'd turned around at the sound of my footsteps, I'd noticed the empty wineglass and the way she'd absentmindedly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. And then I understood—I wasn't the only one who was better off with company tonight.

I'd never asked about the scar I'd seen peeking out from the waistband of Mor's pants on days she wore something that bared her midriff. She would have covered it if she'd been ashamed, but…it seemed private. Some of the priestesses laid to rest that night had been ripped open in the same place, and I could guess what weighed on Mor.

But still, she brightened immediately at the sight of me, the light coming back into her red-rimmed eyes. I sank into the chair next to her.

"It was good to finally see you painting earlier," she said, voice warm.

I shrugged. "It was just a decoration, not something on canvas or paper. It doesn't really count." Flowers on a table were a start, but it wasn't quite the same as capturing an image that had plagued my mind or using paint to express a feeling that words couldn't.

She nudged me with an elbow. "It was also the happiest I've ever seen you. That counts for something too, you know."

For a while, Mor and I talked about nothing consequential. We both needed it. After everything we'd witnessed, it helped to pretend for a while that nothing was wrong. It made the violence feel more distant, enough that I was able to fall asleep when we both went upstairs, even without Rhys back.

My sleep was fitful, but each time I woke, a caress of talons against my mind—and once, loud purring and a wet scrape against my shields that would have made me think I was being groomed by a cat if it weren't for the forked tongue and rustle of feathers—relaxed me enough to drift off again.

It was nearly midmorning when I got out of bed, the latest I ever managed to sleep. I sensed that Rhys was nearby, and I followed the bond down to the kitchen, where I found him sitting at the table, head in his hands and wings drooping. He didn't look up at me.

"How bad is it?" I said, lingering in the doorway. It was late enough that he must have already spoken with Cassian.

He rubbed at his temples. "No definitive answers. I'd hoped there would be proof that this was nothing more than rogue war-bands that can be put down. Whoever it was knew what they were doing and covered their tracks. It could still very well just be Illyrians…or an act of war."

My blood ran cold. I knew it was foolish to think that killing Amarantha had ended the danger—she had been connected to Hybern, and Rhys and the rest of the Inner Circle had already discussed the possibility of opportunists taking advantage of a weakened Prythian after fifty years of Amarantha's rule. But something about Rhys putting it so plainly suddenly made it hard to breathe.

Before I could say anything, Rhys continued, "This needs to be dealt with swiftly, so I've moved up my visit to the Court of Nightmares. I'll go tonight, take tomorrow to plan. Cassian, Azriel, and I will hunt down the war-bands that are hiding out in the forests."

I knew Rhys—the security of the Night Court was at stake, so he'd find a way to push through it, even though I doubted he was ready to face the very court Amarantha had modeled hers after and his wings were still weakened. He'd tear open as many wounds as he needed to keep his people safe.

But perhaps…I could make sure he didn't have to.

I crossed the room, standing next to the chair and looping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. He curled a wing around me and hid his face in my shoulder.

"If war comes, we'll face it. Together," I whispered against his hair as plans formed in my mind.

He said nothing, too overwhelmed to do anything but tug on the bond. I held him like that for a while, and with my shields firmly in place, I considered how exactly I'd lighten those burdens for him. Neither one of us was alone anymore.

"Have you slept at all?" I said eventually.

He sat back, tipping his head up to look at me. "No. It's—"

"Then go rest, Rhys."

"Is that an order?" Something sparked in his eyes, and I could have sworn amusement had crept into his voice.

"The point of this visit is to show your face in the Hewn City again. You need all the beauty sleep you can get."

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close to it. My hand had been resting on his shoulder, and as he stood, I let it trail down his arm. He interlaced our fingers, and for a moment, just from the way his eyes went soft as he looked at me, I was sure he was about to ask me to come to bed with him, risk of slashing talons during a nightmare be damned.

I would have said yes. And even if he never asked, I still had half a mind to follow him upstairs anyway, just to give into the feral, protective instinct to keep watch while my mate slept.

But Rhys didn't ask. Instead he pressed a kiss to my knuckles and said, "Make sure you eat something."

I knew what that meant. "I love you, too."

He squeezed my hand once, then winnowed upstairs. For the next few hours, I could feel through the bond that he'd at least managed to catnap before he had to leave. I had things to do as well, but I wouldn't let Rhys sleep in an empty house, either. And I did need to eat. So I paced the townhouse restlessly with food in hand.

Then once Rhys left, my first order of business was making my way to the House of Wind.

I could have asked him to bring me there—and probably saved myself the trouble of climbing ten thousand steps again—but for now, I didn't want to tell him exactly why I wanted to go. As I climbed and climbed, I hoped my assumptions about who might be in the training ring were correct.

And they were. "Is everything alright, Feyre?" Azriel said, without turning from the target he was sinking a dagger into.

"I'm fine," I said, and at the very least it was true that I wasn't in danger. "I wanted to speak to you."

"Now?"

"Yes. While Rhys is busy." That finally got Azriel to drag his attention away from target practice. The way his gaze swept over me was an obvious assessment, as if he was cataloging all the information he found at the sight of me. I didn't mind. When Azriel didn't say anything, I added, "I think I should come with when you go to Illyria."

I'd half-expected him to immediately tell me no, that it was too dangerous. But Azriel tipped his head to the side and asked, "What makes you say that?"

I sat down at the edge of the ring, more grateful than ever that Rhys surrounded himself with the type of people who'd hear me out. Azriel sheathed the dagger and sat down beside me.

"I know I can't take on an Illyrian, and I'm not stupid enough to try," I said, choosing my words carefully, "but I'm concerned it will be difficult for him if we're separated again so soon after….everything. You and Cassian will need him to focus, and he can't afford to make a mistake and appear weak."

Azriel was silent again, clearly mulling it over, but I couldn't read much of a reaction from him beyond that. It was unsettling to consider much that impassive face could be hiding. If I didn't trust already him, I would have nervously blurted out all of my thoughts right then and there.

"It's an angle to consider. Is there…something you had in mind to do while you're there?"

It was a valid question, though I hadn't expected Azriel to ask how I intended to ensure I wasn't a deadweight so tactfully. And at least I had an answer prepared.

"Let me hunt so the three of you can focus on the task at hand instead of trying to feed yourselves or carry rations. You'll get done faster."

Azriel raised an eyebrow. I was ready to remind him that I was still a competent enough tracker to avoid anyone in the woods I might not want to run into. My muscles tensed almost involuntarily, my body preparing for a fight.

But instead he said, more gently than I'd ever heard him, "Tell me why you really want to go."

I stared out at the mountains in the distance and thought about what to say. Even though I knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, it was still difficult to find the words. Azriel just waited, patient as ever.

"I need to be outside for a few days straight. After— After being stuck in that cell, I just want to be able to pick a direction and run, somewhere there's so much space that I'll tire myself out before I find a single building."

I almost told him that I didn't want to sit behind in Velaris and wait for Rhys to come back, but that seemed cruel, all things considered. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Az rub his thumb along the spot on his hand where the scarring was the most obvious.

"I know the feeling," he said quietly. I started to respond, but he added, "You can't scream in Velaris, at least not without scaring the neighbors. But if you ever need to…let it out, I'll show you the empty places in the Illyrian Steppes."

Azriel knew. Just like with Mor's scars, I'd never asked about his, but whatever had happened, he'd been confined in the dark once. I hadn't realized it—I'd come to him first because he'd supported me trapping the Suriel on my first day in the Night Court.

"Thank you."

"You haven't brought this up to your mate, have you?"

There was no accusation there. Azriel's voice was even, and I had the sense he was just…gathering more information.

"Not yet. I wanted to see what you and Cassian thought first."

A single nod. "Prudent."

"Do you think it's a good idea, then? For me to go?" I said, once the silence stretched on long enough that it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate.

"It's worth discussing. Even after the frenzy, mated males are…volatile."

Azriel shifted awkwardly, tucking his wings in tight. And I understood—I didn't particularly want to discuss the mating frenzy, either. Especially not with someone who was more or less family. But after the way Rhys had growled at Cassian over me, we were right to consider what those instincts might mean, whether being apart or potential danger in the woods was a bigger risk.

I thanked him again and got up to leave, but the sound of Azriel's voice, midnight-dark and more stern than I'd ever heard it, stopped me in my tracks. "Where do you think you're going?" I turned, and Azriel had already gotten up from where he was sitting and unsheathing another blade. "You climbed ten thousand steps to get up here, so make it worth your while and work on your knife skills."

Azriel had earned that reputation as a hard bastard. Even today, I wasn't going to get out of training.

And if war was coming, I'd need all the training I could get. I took the knife and got to work, if only for a short lesson.

When we finished, Azriel flew me to the townhouse, and Rhys wasn't back yet. That was fine—there was still more I needed to do. The chances of a nightmare were too high that he'd share a bed with me that night. But he needed sleep, and he'd said that I smelled like safety.

I was used to hiding my scent, not spreading it. With the glamour on me, I wasn't even sure my idea would work, but it seemed worth a try, even if it did make me feel faintly ridiculous.

I dug my clothes out of the laundry and tucked them in the corners of Rhys's room. When I'd hunted, I'd kept a specific set of clothes for the woods and washed them as infrequently as possible, minimizing the scent of laundry soap. If it worked in the forest…maybe it might work here.

Then I hesitated, just for a moment, to touch the bed. Before, I'd only ever ventured into his bedroom when Rhys had a nightmare, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was somehow a violation, ridiculous as that was when there was an unbreakable thread connecting our souls and my bite marks made him preen.

I pushed those thoughts aside and crawled under the covers. Trying my best to be thorough, I rolled around and rubbed my hair against both sides of the pillow. I repeated the process under both the sheet and the duvet for good measure, then made the bed and spent some time on top of it.

I hoped it was enough. I doubted we'd take a sleeping draught tonight; being difficult to rouse if there was another emergency was too much of a risk.

By the time I finished, it was getting late, and I wasn't sure now was the time for Rhys to come home and find me waiting in his bed, even if it was…tempting. I filed that thought away for another time.

I was still restless—too long without anything to do, and I found myself thinking of the slain priestesses again, the sight of mutilated bodies flashing across my mind again. In search of another distraction, I wandered back to the living room and looked at the bookshelves lining the walls. I'd never paid much attention to them before. But apparently Rhys considered them mine too, and perhaps there was something worth copying for handwriting practice.

I pulled the book with the most cracks in the spine off the shelf, idly wondering if it was his favorite. I'd ask, but…misplaced shame still made it difficult to talk about reading. Still curious, I flipped it open to a random page and struggled through what appeared to be poetry.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground…

I scowled and put the book back. Years of hunting had been more than enough decaying woods for a lifetime, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what a burthen was.

I tried another book and found more poetry—Cauldron, how much of it did Rhys read? But the words were shorter, which I felt better about, so I found a pen and paper and brought the book to the roof with me. The full moon and the light of the stars and Velaris were enough to read by.

I didn't pay much attention to what the poem was about, just focused on copying the letters as neatly as possible. Something about the work and sitting under the stars was strangely meditative.

But I didn't relax completely until I heard a soft rustle of wings and turned to see Rhys landing a few feet away. Something inside me settled. Perhaps some of my restlessness had just been the mating bond railing at him being away, even for only a few hours.

Rhys nearly always looked elegant, but for the Hewn City, there wasn't a single speck of color on him. There was no sheen to the fine black fabric of his suit, no embroidery like he often favored, just cloth so dark it seemed to gobble the light, buttoned up to hide his tattoos. The night itself clung to him more tightly than usual.

His grip on his power was still a bit looser than usual, and though it was faint, I felt familiar darkness reaching for me.

I watched his feet touch the ground, the movement far more graceful than the last time I'd seen it. For a moment, I just savored it—the wingspan, the promise of death in just the way he carried himself, my blood singing in answer to the darkness rippling from him.

I almost didn't notice the ebony crown. He'd never worn one in front of me before.

"Is there magic keeping that on your head," I said, "or did you have to learn to fly without it falling off?"

He snorted. "Hello, Feyre."

A flick of his wrist as he sank into the chair next to mine, and the crown disappeared and the top button of his jacket loosened itself. His gaze landed on the open book and notepad in my lap. Before he could ask about it, I said, "How did it go?"

"I didn't have to make an example of anyone, so as well as could reasonably be expected," he said, rolling his shoulders with a pinched expression on his face.

No violence, then. It felt like the first respite in a while.

We sat on the roof and talked for a while about nothing in particular, a silent understanding passing between us that we both didn't want to feel enclosed or alone. I summoned up the courage to ask about the books downstairs; my visible relief at the lack of dirty limericks Tamlin favored made Rhys snicker and tell me the awful verses were still a mercy compared to fiddle music.

Until he'd spat those last two words like a curse, I hadn't realized I'd put enough distance between myself and the Spring Court to joke about it. Despite everything that had happened in the last day, I felt…lighter.

Exhaustion still settled over both of us as we'd talked, and in just the set of his shoulders and wings, I could see the way being underground had taken something out of him. It was an early night.

As I slid into bed, I was tired enough that I'd nearly forgotten what I'd done in Rhys's room earlier. But his voice floated into my mind, as if a night-kissed wind carried it through the crack in my shields I'd left for him.

Feyre darling…

"Yes?" I said aloud. He'd hear it from across the hall.

Do I want to know what you were doing that involved rolling around in my sheets and leaving your socks for me to find?

My cheeks heated, and even though couldn't see it, I rolled over and hid my face in the pillow anyway. "Tonight might be another bad night. I thought my scent might help. Because I can't…"

For the length of a heartbeat, the bond lit up with gratitude. Then there was a dip in the bed next to me, and Rhys's arms were banding around my chest and pulling me to him. He'd winnowed right to me.

"You are impossible to stay away from when you're being brilliant," he murmured against my hair.

I nearly asked him to stay. But I knew it was hard enough for him to let me in enough to see the aftermath of a nightmare, and that was when there was no risk to me. He didn't say it, but…I suspected he was only holding me until I fell asleep.

I twisted in his arms so we were face-to-face, then kissed him gently. "It won't always be like this. The bad nights will be behind us eventually."

He sighed and let his head tip forward until our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes and let my breathing slow, warm and comfortable. We stayed like that for a long time, until he finally winnowed back to his room.

I scooted over to the warm spot he'd left, already aching for him. It would still be a while before my thoughts stopped racing enough for me to finally drift off, but Rhys didn't need to know that. I'd pretend anything at all to give him peace of mind.

Sleep finally claimed me as his side of the bed went cold again.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 4

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, angst, unrequited crush, rude customers, protective!Marcus, mentions of breakups, we get a peek at reader's past, bad exes, one (1) hug.

Summary: As the weeks pass, you try to be what Marcus needs most: A friend. Then, you have one awful day at work...

A/N: We're getting closer to getting these two together!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

You throw all of your inconvenient emotions surrounding Marcus into painting. It’s almost like meditating; you can mull over your thoughts without really dwelling on them when there’s a paintbrush in your hand. They show up on the canvases, though–dark shadows, bright pinpricks of light, grays and browns melting into vibrant color. 

You bring a few of them to work the next day, wanting to switch out some of the old paintings that have been hanging in Common Grounds for long enough. Your heart pounds when you see the familiar silhouette of Marcus through the glass as you’re still finishing up that morning’s baking. He’s earlier than usual. He notices the change immediately; his eyes flicking over to your paintings, an appreciative smile spreading over his face when he sees the new ones.

When he turns to look at you, his smile only widens. You half-expect him to bring up your unexplained outburst and retreat from yesterday, but he only greets you warmly and asks about the paintings.

“New ones?”

“Yeah, I like to swap them out every month or so.”

“The one in the center is incredible,” Marcus says emphatically. “Hey, are any of them for sale?”

You shrug. “I mean, technically, they all are. No one really buys them, but they’ve all got prices listed. I get most of my traffic from online sales.”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one,” Marcus confesses. “And then life kind of… got away from me,” he says with a little self-deprecating laugh. “I love that new one, though. Could I… could I buy it?”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. “You mean like… now?”

Marcus shrugs. “Why not? I love it, my walls are depressingly bare, and I want to snatch it up before everyone comes in asking about it.”

You laugh. “Marcus, that has literally never happened in the five years they’ve been hanging here.”

“It’s just a matter of time,” Marcus promises, taking out his wallet. He thumbs through a collection of crisp bills and hands you twice what you’d specified on the sticker below the painting. 

You gawk. “Marcus, no. That’s–that’s too much–”

“Then don’t undersell your art,” Marcus says with a wry smile. “I’ll have the usual, plus uhh…” he scans the offerings, “...a piece of zucchini bread, please.”

At a total loss for words, you press the buttons on the register, accept Marcus’s card, hand it back, and start his coffee order all with your mouth hanging open like a fish.

When he has his drink and the little white pastry bag, Marcus walks back over to your paintings and looks back at you with one eyebrow raised. You smile disbelievingly, walking over to him and taking the painting off of the wall. 

“Marcus, you really don’t–”

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

Then he leaves. 

The thing Marcus needs, you decide–far more than a partner, a girlfriend, or even a fiancee–is a friend. You can understand it–moving to a new city and having no one–it’s a lonely existence. And it explains why Marcus, more often than not, spends quite a lot of time at Common Grounds. It’s not simply to talk to you; he’s made a friend in Sam as well, bonding over a shared interest in old movies. 

Sam, a film school graduate, is overjoyed to find an audience in Marcus, who not only tolerates their soapbox rants about cinematography, but encourages them wholeheartedly, laughing out loud at some of their scathing opinions on contemporary franchises. 

It’s Sam who eventually gets Marcus to slip the information that he’s an Art Crimes detective one morning as the three of you converse one slow Thursday. You and Marcus lean casually against opposite sides of the counter with Sam sitting nearby on a food cart, swinging their legs as they talk. 

“I can’t stay long,” Marcus is saying over a bite of chocolate croissant. “I’m supposed to be at the National Gallery of Art to review some security footage.”

“Why?” Sam asks bluntly.

“They had a close call the other night,” Marcus explains. “Someone broke in and had started to cut a painting out of its frame when they were caught by the security guard.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “But… the painting–is it damaged?”

“Minimal,” Marcus answers. “There’s a pretty good gash through one side of it, but a restorer should be able to stitch it back together and hide it pretty well. It shouldn’t even be visible when it’s back in the frame if they do their job well.”

“Wait… what do you do?” Sam asks.

Marcus smiles widely and flashes his badge. “FBI. Right?”

Sam glares at him.

“Okay, okay. I’m in the Art Crimes division,” Marcus relents. “I lead a task force to deal with international art theft.”

Your eyes snap up to his. Suddenly, his interest in your art makes sense. The feelings you’ve been trying to push aside for weeks in favor of being the friend that Marcus so clearly needs are back in an instant when you remember how his eyes had lit up when he’d talked about art, how he’d complimented your technique… 

“No kidding,” you find yourself saying breathlessly. 

“I’m sure you're disappointed,” Marcus jokes. 

You laugh. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“People usually see the badge and assume I’m involved with some classified shit,” he says with a crooked smile. “When really I spend most of my days reading provenance papers and trying to find forgeries and stuff like that.”

“I like that better,” you say. “Making the world better, one recovered artwork at a time.”

Marcus laughs. “Now you’re romanticizing it.”

“No, if she were romanticizing it, she’d be imagining you running around with bullwhip,” Sam quips. 

Marcus chokes slightly on his coffee, the tips of his ears turning pink, and you try your best to give Sam a death glare without him noticing. 

“A–a what?” Marcus sputters, chuckling.

“You know,” Sam says expectantly, “Indiana Jones.”

“Oh,” Marcus starts laughing. “Jesus, apparently I need more coffee.”

“That’ll cost ya,” Sam says. 

“Will it, now.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of how this whole system works,” you say. “You give us money, we give you coffee.”

“It wounds me that you see this as purely transactional,” Marcus teases. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” Sam deadpans. “That’ll be $5.67.”

– – – – – – 

You should have known it was going to be a bad day when you woke up to a text from Sam.

Sick AF, gonna have to call off today. Sorry. &lt;3

Some things are omens. 

Still, it’s with a swing in your step that you open up Common Grounds and start your morning routine. Things are going pretty well for you, all things considered. You’ve got a good, steady job, you’re feeling better mentally than you ever used to, and now, you have a new friend in the form of one devastatingly handsome FBI Agent. The latter has been a muse for you in the evenings, too; you find yourself painting more and more, inspiration striking almost daily, and there’s been a corresponding uptick in online sales. 

Marcus is, as always, a welcome distraction when he comes in. You groan good-naturedly about facing the rush alone, and he lends a sympathetic ear. He even stays a little longer than usual, sitting at the closest table to the counter and reading something on his phone. You can’t help but steal little glances at him, even when the rush begins, looking at the way a stray lock of hair keeps falling down his forehead, the way he licks his lips occasionally, the way his leg jiggles absentmindedly as he reads what looks like a news article. 

The swell of customers reaches a crescendo, and you’re more than a little frantic–it’s rather difficult to keep up when there’s just one of you and no one to restock. When one of the milk dispensers inevitably runs out, you have to dash to the walk-in cooler to retrieve it yourself, leaving a long line of people waiting. You try to keep the frustration off of your face as everyone watches you wrestle the fifty pound bag into the machine.

“Excuse me?” an annoyed voice calls out from the middle of the line. “Some of us have places to be.”

You paste on the fakest, most irritated smile as you take the next person’s order. And the next. In between darting from the espresso machine back to the register, you lose track of Marcus. Is he still here? Unlikely. You barely have time to think about it, so the question is fleeting. When the man who had snapped at you steps forward, a sour expression on his face, you say sweetly, “And what can I get for you today?”

“Took you long enough!”

Your smile widens. “We’re a little short-staffed this morning.”

“I missed the part where that was my problem. These places and their mocha-frappa-whatevers. Do you have coffee?”

“We certainly do have coffee; what size would you like?”

“Is ‘small’ still a size, or are they all in Spanish or something?”

“Small coffee,” you repeat, trying to keep the anger out of your voice. “Will that be all?”

“It needs to come out fast.”

You ignore the order. “That’ll be $2.10.”

“What? What a crock of shit! I–”

“That’s enough,” a quiet voice interrupts the now red-faced customer. 

“Who the hell are–”

“Buy the damn coffee or get out,” Marcus says lowly. “You’re holding up the line.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” spits the other man.

“I’m just interested in how the city’s service workers are being treated,” Marcus replies cooly, one hand smoothing down his suit lapel in a gesture that looks absentminded, but immediately draws attention to the FBI badge clipped to his pocket. The man eyes it warily. “Hand her the money or leave the store, please,” Marcus says.

Lips pursed, the man hands you his card. You swipe it, and hand it back, then pour him a cup of coffee, handing him that as well. 

“What do we say,” prompts Marcus.

“T-Thank you.”

“Why don’t you find another coffee shop next time?” Marcus remarks. His tone is still light, but there’s just a hint of something else underneath. Something vaguely… threatening. 

It’s unbelievably sexy.

When the man leaves, Marcus holds up one finger to the next person in line–who looks sympathetic to your plight–and steps closer, putting his hand on your arm. 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Do you need a minute?”

You shake your head. “Nah. Assholes like that are a reality of the job.”

“They shouldn’t be,” Marcus says emphatically. “Get a drink of water or something, all right? You’ve been running around like crazy. No one here minds, right?” He looks over the line.

Even if anyone did mind, you highly doubt anyone would raise any objection, not after Marcus’s cool, calm takedown of the rude customer. You nod gratefully, and quickly fill a cup with water, taking a few long sips and a couple more deep breaths. 

When you return, Marcus smiles warmly. “I’ve gotta get to work, but you call me immediately if he comes back,” he says, sliding a business card across the counter. “Or if you need anything else.”

You nod, pocketing the card without looking. Marcus leaves, shooting one last glance over his shoulder just before the door closes. 

You look up at the next customer with a weak smile.

“What can I get started for you?”

– – – – – – 

In retrospect, you wish that one rude customer had been the worst thing to happen to you, today. 

When you finally toss your dirty apron into the bin at the end of your shift, you stretch your lower back with a tired groan. What a morning. You feel more than justified in going home, taking a hot bath, and sitting on your couch under a blanket with a hot tea for the remainder of the afternoon. 

You can almost smell the lavender bath bombs you like as you speedwalk around the corner. The stress of the day is already starting to melt just at the thought of relaxation, but then you hear a familiar voice–one you haven’t heard in over a year–call out your name. 

It sends a hot spike of fear down your spine.

You whip your head around, and sure enough, it’s him.

Your ex. 

“I don’t have time for this, Derrick,” you say tiredly.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Derrick, as usual, ignores you. “Still working at that dump around the corner?”

“Did you come all the way across town to insult an inanimate object, or is there something else you want?” you mutter.

“I was in the area,” Derrick says with an exaggeratedly light tone. “Thought I’d check on the woman who lived with me for three fucking years and then left without a trace.”

“We’ve–” you swallow. “We’ve gone through this, Derrick, I–”

“Want to know how much of a mistake you made? Derrick interrupts. “Remember that account I was working on right before you pulled your little escape routine? I just closed it. Two mil, sweet cheeks. What do you think of that?”

You bite back your anger. He used to do this when you were together, too–hold his money over your head. List off all of the things he provided for you whenever you’d get angry about something he did. Oh, he forgot your birthday? Well, he did buy you that designer purse, those Jimmy Choo heels. He did pay your insurance and your phone. But sure, sweet cheeks, be made because he worked late on your birthday. He was going to buy you those massive diamond earrings you’d been eyeing in the jewelry store window, but now he’s changed his mind.

“If you’re just going to taunt me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave me alone,” you say loudly and firmly. 

“What’re you putting away, hmm? Can they afford to pay you more than minimum wage? How fast did you eat through that savings account that I helped you build?”

“Derrick, leave me alone–”

You start to back away, but Derrick reaches for your wrist, and your eyes widen in trepidation. He’s never gotten physical before, but what–

“Get your hands off of her.”

You whip your head around, and fuck, it’s Marcus. Again. Walking quickly toward the two of you with fire in his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, asshole–”

“Marcus!” you exclaim, interrupting Derrick. “There you are! Are you ready to go home?” you shoot him a pleading look, hoping that your ex can’t see.

Marcus looks into your eyes for just a moment before easily slipping into the role you’d just handed him. “Here I am, honey.” He smiles and puts his hand around your waist. “This must be him.”

You know Marcus has no idea who Derrick is, but you nod. “Yeah, this is my asshole ex.”

“Whatever,” Derrick spits. “You never had it so good. I’m sure Mr. Government Salary pays all the bills,” he says derisively, waving his hand at Marcus’s badge. 

Marcus releases your waist and steps nose-to-nose with Derrick. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says quietly. “You’re going to leave, now, and you’re never to come looking for her again. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

“You don’t need to threaten me, asshole, we were just talking,” Derrick says, but he backs away with a frown.

Marcus doesn’t say anything further, just watches calmly as Derrick keeps backing away, then finally, with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand, turns and stalks down the sidewalk. 

The overwhelming shittiness of the day finally catches up with you, and you feel the tears start to rise to your face. 

Marcus whirls back to you, his face crumpling when he sees you crying. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” he says, his hands coming to your shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffle. “It was just a bad day, and he’s basically guaranteed to make a bad day worse.”

Marcus’s hand trails down your arm to your wrist, where Derrick had grabbed you. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s just… empty threats and blustering.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus murmurs again. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. But then you glance down at his hand–warm, strong, and comforting–on your shoulder. “C-Can I–” you start.

Marcus nods at you to continue.

“Can I have a hug?”

Marcus’s arms immediately wind around you, and you’re surrounded by him. Oh, he gives the best hugs. He presses all of you into his chest, one hand gently cupping the back of your neck and one hand around your waist. He’s warm and soft, his cologne smells incredible, and you melt into his embrace. 

“Thanks for playing along,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Of course,” Marcus says, and you can feel the rumble of his words against your cheek. “You don’t need to pretend to be with me just to feel safe,” he says. “I would have taken care of it anyway."

You feel sheepish at his words. It's true; you didn't need to pretend that Marcus was your boyfriend. But in the moment, you wanted the extra layer of safety.

"Sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have–"

"Don't say sorry," Marcus assures you. "Besides, I thought the note I left you on my card made it pretty clear how I'd feel about that."

The card! You'd slipped it into your back pocket without reading it, and by the time the rush was over, you'd forgotten about it completely. You pull back from Marcus’s arms and reach for it now. 

The front of his card has his full name, title,  work extension, and email. When you flip it over, there's a message waiting, written in neat, tiny handwriting. 

I’d say it’s about time I gave you this ;) Sorry I took so long. xo, Marcus

His personal cell is written below.

Your eyes dart up to his, barely daring to hope–

"Sorry I took so long," Marcus says, repeating the message on his card. "I wanted to be in the right headspace. You deserve that."

A smile slowly spreads across your face. This day–which has been an unmitigated disaster–might be looking up.

"I thought I'd be giving it to you in much different circumstances," Marcus says with a smile, "and not as a result of some asshole at the counter."

You laugh disbelievingly. "I guess that means you came to my rescue twice in one day."

"I won't make a habit of it," Marcus teases, but then he sobers. "No, belive me, I'd do it twenty more times if you needed me to. Although," he chuckles, "I hope not, because I wouldn't get much else done."

The tease suddenly causes you to remember what time it is. "Hey," you say, "why are you here and not at work? It's the middle of the day."

"About that," Marcus says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I had meant to catch you before you left, but I had a meeting run long. Glad I was able to find you."

"Oh," you breathe. "Why?"

"Well, I thought with the morning you had, it felt like a good day for ice cream. What do you think?"

"Really?" 

"Yeah, what do you say? Ice cream, you and me. Right now."

You can't help the massive grin that explodes into being. Marcus smiles back, big enough that his little dimple shows. 

"It's a date."

*

Next Chapter >>

[cuboidcodex]

And that’s a wrap! Didn’t get as many attacks done this year as I’d liked to but I’m happy with how they turned out! Tried to be more ambitious than just portraits this year

Here’s a commemorative gif to mark the end of this year’s art fight, see below for my process in making it!

For stuff like this I like to first fully paint a still version of the gif, and then make adjustments after the fact to make things move.

This is because there aren’t really any major movements that need planning ahead, in a more action focused animation I’d have to prepare proper key frames and all that.

Rough sketch - planning out the rough composition, shapes and colours so I don’t forget later.

Lineart and flat colours - I try to keep layers to a minimum so I don’t get confused, but I still separate foreground and background, as well as moving elements which helps with the animating step later on.

This also lets me use clipping masks to colour way faster

Rendering! I just use a big paintbrush and occasionally an airbrush for this bit, again clipping masks help a lot here

After that I make final adjustments, this usually involves layers set to multiply for shadow and screen/colour dodge for highlights. I also colour in my lines here.

I try to keep values in mind and correct those too at this point if they’re too samey. If all else fails, rim lighting is great for defining forms just a little bit more

Now time to make stuff move! Having the main elements already isolated on different layers makes this less of a pain

I then open a four-frame empty animation and keep it at 4fps, so I can gradually readd these elements to each frame. If I squash the minivan layer on the second and fourth frames I can add a bobbing motion

I then readd Garlbo and Rainfly and try to match this motion, but it doesn’t have to be an exact match as I can just paint over any gaps. For consistency at this point I keep frames 1 and 3 and frames 2 and 4 the same. I do the same for the wheels, painting over them in frames 2 and 4 to give the illusion of spinning.

After this, I animate Rainfly moving the steering wheel. This motion spans all four frames rather than flicking between two. I use the lasso tool to cut out the hands and wheel as close as I can, and then paint over any gaps left over after I had rotated the wheel slightly.

Once all that was done, I added some extra motion to the background layer! This didn’t take too long, again just cutting out part of the image and filling gaps left over. I also made some of the background stars twinkle by covering some of them for a single frame on each frame.

Now it’s time for the text! I handwrite this in and then add a white outline. This is done by duplicating the text layer, gaussian blurring the bottom layer at 2-3%, auto-selecting the outside of the text, inverting the selection and then just painting all the selected area.

And that’s it! Hope someone finds this useful!

[zelphin124]

LCB-3: Chapter 2

The second account of the first day on the Limbus Company bus from Jekyll's perspective. Ho boy was this fun to write. Finally got to lore drop a bunch. Masterpost Chapter 1 <--> Chapter 3 Off to the story!

~o0o~

Jekyll didn’t realize how long she had been listening to the voice in her head before she looked up to see a grand commotion that had taken place in the decorative hall. Pen and Othello were immediately in the middle of it. Jekyll couldn’t see over Othello’s massive bug wings as they fluttered and his voice raised, with Dante slowly joining him. 

I wonder what his wings would look like on a blank canvas. 

That is the least morbid thing you’ve thought of all week, Jekyll replied, rolling her eyes. 

What? I thought it was worse than Dante’s head on a stick. 

You son of a–

“Dante, a suspicious person has appeared,” Pen’s voice interrupted her internal dialogue as the young man approached the manager. 

“What do you mean?” Dante ticked gently, his clockhead tilting to the side. If he had facial expressions, he sure would’ve been giving off a peculiar face with curiosity plastered all over it. Though, his demeanor was less expressive and worrisome than that of Pen in front of him. 

“She seems to be a new member,” Pen answered, pointing towards where Othello stood. “She has a strange weapon, and Othello is holding them off.” 

Another one? Great. 

Jekyll winced, readjusting her position to look towards Mallo, who also temporarily turned her attention to the commotion. She was sure answers would come with time and didn’t feel the pressing need to get to know the person. She had already met many people today, one more wouldn’t hurt. However, she did not feel inclined to look forward to it either. 

She observed the Ordeal Gauntlet in front of her. At first glance, it looked like a large safe with an artificial, technological menu in front of it. The Crimson Ordeal selection was loading; it was at fifty-nine percent. Jekyll wondered what kind of logic and magic was used to make this possible. However, it wasn’t a question she was interested in seeking the answer to. She was perfectly content being left to wonder. The designs on the door caught her eye. It wasn’t anything fancy, but for a train-appearing bus to have all this inside, and having details on its features’ entrance, she would consider complimenting the designer for the nice touches. 

“So what’s with the paintbrush?” 

Jekyll glanced over her right shoulder to see Othello had taken a position behind her, his eyes squinted in addition to the wide smirk he carried on his face. He asked in such a way as if he questioned her skill, or at least that was how the voice in her head took the manner. 

She gently turned around, spinning the brush in her hands before letting the large edge slam the ground with a thud. “Be patient, and you might get the chance to see,” she replied, her other hand resting on her hip. 

“Oh darlin', patience is my middle name! Grandpappy thought he was real funny with that one.” Othello smiled wider, stepping a tad closer. His wings fluttered gently, and he lowered his head to meet her eyes. 

Oh darlin, the voice quoted the man in a mocking tone. Darlin your wings on my blank canvas–

“Please, just call me Dr. Jekyll.” Jekyll interrupted, holding her hand up in a serious manner. She could feel her hidden eye twitching with annoyance. Nicknames were already rough for her, but Jekyll knew she was more annoyed at the voice in her head than the person in front of her. Explaining that would be too much of a difficult task, in her opinion. 

The unfamiliar steps from the hall caught her attention. When she turned her head, she made eye contact with someone she hadn’t seen before. 

Her appearance was similar to Mallo’s. Her hair was longer, black, straight hair pulled back into a ponytail as it shaped her square face. Her eyes were a mix of silver and yellow from what Jekyll could tell. Her clothes matched the limbus uniform, with a black jacket falling to her thighs. The inside of it along with the outline of the outfits was a stunning red. She wore a basic white shirt with a red tie, matching the color of her belt. Her pants were the standard black work pants, but her boots were intricated with red laces and strings holding them together. She wore a thick work glove on her right arm, hiding her hand while the other was exposed. The weapon was a custom-made spear, sharp on one edge with a delicate and firm base. 

Jekyll smiled, she found it ironic all of the girls had black hair. She overheard the others introducing themselves and caught wind of her name being Lenore. She seemed nice, perhaps Jekyll would go over and make a connection–

“Oh my gosh hi!” A quick flash of light temporarily blinded Jekyll. She blinked a few times, realizing Kuvira had waddled over with a big box in her hands. “Please, take your pick!” 

Lenore seemed taken aback before choosing a few things from the box. 

“Oh, where are my manners?” Kuvira gently threw the box aside, adjusting her brown hair as her skin beamed with light. She grabbed Lenore’s hand with both of her own and shook it up and down excitedly. “I’m Kuvira Stone! Or Kuvira, haha! Most people call me Kuv but honestly, you can call me whatever you want! I seriously do not care. What is your name hun?” 

Like everyone, they stuttered on their words and were taken aback by her energy. Lenore was no different as she replied. “Uh– I’m Lenore, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise, Lenore!” She took a step back. “Okay, your outfit though is top-notch, awh! I love it, it really suits you!” 

“T-Thank you,” Lenore nodded her hand, taking her hand back. “I apologize for being late. I was caught up in… something, something held me back, but I’m here now. Hopefully, I didn’t miss much?” 

Jekyll raised an eyebrow, smirking. Hah, we all were interrupted by ‘something,’ how subtle of you. 

Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? 

Jekyll smiled to herself even more and refused to elaborate to the voice. 

“Oh don’t worry hun, you like missed my really long speech about the activities and standards of the company and all that jazz,” Kuvira nodded and smiled, swaying from side to side. “If you just read the handbook front to back, that’s a more detailed version of what I talked about. Don’t worry about it too much!” She bent down and picked up the box one more time. “Oh! And if you ever need anything, I am always here for you pal! Whether you need someone to talk to or help with anything, I am your gal.” 

“Oh, thank you, I appreciate that,” Lenore replied in the most stereotypical response Jekyll ever heard. Jekyll concluded Lenore was still shocked by her abrupt introduction. 

Kuvira didn’t say anything after that; she turned on her heel and walked through the crowd of people back to Vergilius’ side. Her skin beamed as if the interaction had brightened her day.

How fascinating. What a waste of useless emotions on a simple human interaction. 

Can you shut up? Like, for once in your life? Jekyll rolled her eyes. It’s quite nice to have someone of her energy alive and spreading joy. 

“Alright everyone, listen up!” The ticking sounds from the manager rung through the room. “We will be giving an overview of the advantages we have in combat…” he paused. “Not me, but Jatayu is going to give an overview so please pay attention!” 

“Oh, right,” a hoarser voice spoke as Jatayu strolled up to Dante’s side. “Right, everyone, I am sure you all are proud fighters from where you came from. However, your contract specifies the powerful combat encounters we will face daily. Not to worry, Limbus Company provides some advantages in combat to assist with these increased difficulties.” 

“The first order of business you should know is Dante’s special abilities. As most of you have seen earlier today, the moment you shook Dante’s hand, you were bound to his time. This means that when he rewinds time, you all return to your previous state, regardless of what damage you took during a combat session.” His eyes glance from Mark to Othello, as if using them as a non-verbal example. He adjusted his coat and sighed before continuing. “Secondly, we use a tool called IDs, which are different versions of you from other mirror dimensions. They come in the form of cards and can be used for strategy when fighting greater enemies.” 

“A-Allow me to demonstrate,” Dante suggested, reaching into his coat and pulling out many cards in his hand, before he he pulled up a menu in front of him, almost holographic. He placed one of the cards in place of where Jatayu was, and before everyone’s eyes, they watched Jatayu transform from his former self to a different entity entirely. 

Jekyll’s eyes widened in horror. What the heck just happened to Jatayu? She bit her tongue, observing him closely. 

For once, the voice in her head was silent. 

“So this is pansies version of other realities?” Mark scoffed, running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face. He took a closer look before he crossed his arms. 

“You just keep this party trick up your sleeve?” Othello chimed in, tilting his head curiously. 

“Yes,” Dante answered, adjusting his gloves and sleeves. “Another room in the bus is used for extraction. I am capable of pulling identities from other realities to get these cards, by spending lunacy; lunacy is a currency we get when you guys feel a lot of emotions. After the combat, I am sure we will give you a tour of the rest of the bus.” 

Lenore couldn’t take her eyes off the different Jatayu standing before her. “Are they even the same person?” She asked curiously, lowering her weapon. 

“Although some particular traits will carry over when using the ID, they are the same person. Jatayu is the same person we know, just with different skills.” 

Pen held up his spear in defense, his gaze fixed intensely on the red eye that stared back at him. “It won’t attack us… right?” He asked nervously.

Dante shook his head. “No, at least, it shouldn’t. We’ve had a few cases where stray IDs come and mess things up. However, it is a very rare circumstance, and nothing we can’t handle.” 

Dante continued to explain a few things to those who had questions. Jekyll’s attention moved to watch Mallo walk up to Jatayu, looking him up and down before getting in his face with her own. She inhaled a large breath from her cigarette and blew the smoke into Jatayu’s face with a cold glare. 

“138924,” Jatayu stares back, rapidly speaking in numbers as if he were saying something. 

Mallo doesn’t budge, her gaze staring intensely into the man’s soul. 

“Clockhead, translate,” Mark demanded, interested in the current situation. 

“O-Oh, right, I forgot sweeper identities can’t speak English…” Dante sighed nervously. “He asked Mallo to get the cigarette out of his face.” 

“Are they safe?” Mallo repeated.

Dante’s ticking stopped for a moment. “Yes, mostly. As I said before, there have been a few situations where they have not been, but it’s very rare.” 

Mallo communicates non-verbally that she feels suspicious of Jatayu and doesn’t trust Dante’s reassurance. However, she takes a step back in compliance with Jatayu’s request. 

“What do these things cost? Do we have to sell our soul or something?” Mark scoffed as if this question should have been answered already. 

“Yes, these identity cards cost lunacy. Lunacy is made from your emotions in combat. And I use that to draw different identities from other mirror worlds for you. There is no need to pay anything outside of what you will already be doing in your contract,” Dante explained. His voice was more tired than usual as if he was tired of explaining the same things over and over again. 

PFTHAHAH! Emotions in combat? Seriously?! How cliche can this get? Oh, we will be RICH with lunacy! 

Jekyll froze as the voice wheezed in her head. It was odd to see it so expressionate, yet for once in her life, she agreed with the voice. It sounded too easy, too pathetic. 

Mark also scoffed in response. “This is some kind of cult, isn’t it?” 

Dante shook his head. “No, it’s not.” 

“If we need particular teams to be efficient in combat, how difficult will the fighting be?” Lenore took a few steps towards the commotion. Her face was incredibly neutral and curious, unlike the rest of her coworkers. 

“As long as you are not dead weight, you’ll be fine,” Mallo snapped, glancing towards the ordeal gauntlet. 

Mallo turned her head away right before Othello pulled out his guns and spun them around in his hands in a flashy manner. “Bring it on~”

Lenore found that amusing. “If we all die, I’m haunting you.” She teased with a slight smile. 

Everyone started to get ready to enter the gauntlet one by one. To Jekyll’s surprise, everyone seemed to be at ease despite them heading into combat. Jekyll shuddered, she always tried to avoid combat when she could. It seemed this was required for her orientation, and it was made clear that combat would be a regular thing, but that didn’t help her anxiety about it at all. 

“Yo,” a voice sounded behind her. 

Jekyll turned her head before she realized it was Mark, and he wasn’t talking to her. 

“Jatayu, bud,” Mark stepped next to Jekyll’s side, facing Jatayu who was in front of her. He rested a hand on the assistant’s shoulder, smiling as if to uncharacteristically persuade him. “How about I swap spots with you? You know, to ruffle the bastard’s feathers and make them bleed so you can extract it better, I’ll do it just the way you like it.” 

Wait a minute… 

Jekyll rolled her eyes as the voice spoke. It was silent for so long, and now she had to put up with it again.

Jatayu seemed to tilt his head curiously at the words ‘feathers’ and ‘blood,’ before he responded in a sequence of numbers. 

Mark’s smile immediately faded. “Translate, clockhead,” he called out to Dante. 

Before Dante could explain, Jatayu stepped out of line and nodded his head, heading to the back of the line. 

I can’t see out of your eye Jekyll, I swear your vision is so bad. The voice roared as it tried to force its way into control. 

Jekyll shook her head, her hands shaking. Stop! What the hell do you want now?! 

The guy in front of you, Mariachi or whatever, said a phrase that I remember… 

Can you do this another time? Jekyll tried to sound firm, but it came out in her head as more of a plea. We are going into combat… 

Does he not look familiar to you, idiot?

Jekyll took a moment to stare at Mark’s face, which was now turned away from her. Some memory sparked in her head, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. She adjusted her paintbrush and tilted her head. I don’t… know…

The voice was cut off as the doors opened; one by one they marched into the facility, their gaze adjusting to the new light in the room. Jekyll wrinkled her nose at the smell of rotting corpses. Had this place not ever been cleaned? It was horrendous. 

Sounds of claws scratching a chalkboard filled the air, and the sight of monstrous body pieces everywhere on the floor contributed to the awful stench. The musky environment made the expansive hallway feel small. Guts and blood were splattered across the walls as if they had been there for decades. 

Everyone shuddered in their own way the moment carnival music started to play. Within the mist of the musky environment, enemies approached. 

Jekyll did not recognize them, but some of her coworkers did. Three small creatures approached them first. Their faces looked like a ball of leather was cut into to make a smile, and it wore out over time. They wore joker-like clothes and waddled back and forth like clowns putting on a show. 

Behind them appeared three large circus tents, with a tongue as a floor and teeth forming an entrance. They were large mouths, and some of them clamped up as an intimidation tactic, forming a large wall of teeth. 

There was a noticeable urge to attack the tents before the clowns in front of them. The urge was so strong that no one had their focus on the clowns before them. 

Ugh. People falling for the aggro again, I swear–

You are in a bad mood, help me use that energy to kick these circus butts. Jekyll interrupted, spinning her brush around, readying for combat. 

The voice, despite its sour intentions, complied. Jekyll slowly felt herself lose control over own own limbs. They became lighter and felt looser on her body. 

Do you trust me? 

I never trust you. But does it look like I have a choice? 

No, you don’t. Let me take the wheel and you’ll end up alright. 

Jekyll shook her head again, keeping control of her mind. One step at a time, moron. We aren’t that close. 

You literally cannot get closer to anyone else than I am– Jekyll felt the voice roll its eyes. Nevermind, let’s just–

Mallo lunged forward. Her stave was raised high as she swung it against the first tent’s teeth wall. It collided with a loud thud…

Nothing happened. 

Mallo’s eyes widened in surprise. The teeth took the blow perfectly as if she had failed to break its shield. Her gaze was uncharacteristically surprised and sour, and she cursed at the constant cheering accompanied by the obnoxious music. 

Jekyll glanced to her left only to watch Mark lunge forward next, attempting the same strategy as Mallo. He swung his metal pipe across the teeth with the bulge facing towards the mouth. To Jekyll’s surprise, it worked. The teeth cracked and one of them fell out. Mark’s gaze was focused and cruel, showing no visible sign of satisfaction. 

Now! Jekyll felt her body lunge towards the second tent, her hands swinging her brush before piercing into the side of the second tent. Blood trickled out as she took a step back. 

She sighed to herself in contentment. Oh, that wasn’t so hard–

Jekyll! Watch out!

Jekyll barely lifted her face to see the teeth of the tent coming down on her, crushing her on the waist. She cried out in pain and scrambled out of its jaws, slashing it across the lip to let her go. 

How many times do I have to tell your pathetic existence that enemies counter?! The voice sneered. Get away before it attempts it again! 

Jekyll’s head sunk low, limping backward. She watched Pen lift his spear which was now glowing. In a flash of light, he vanished, before he reappeared in front of the first circus tent. Jekyll noticed how he chose which one he wanted to attack, and pierced his spear into the side of the tent repeatedly, making the tent cower back. The loss of its blood was rapid, and it was clear to the rest of the coworkers it was almost dead. 

Lenore jumped on the opportunity, lunging towards the first circus and using the hole Mark created in its teeth to slash her glaive across its tongue. She then stepped out of the way immediately before it could react. 

Othello was right behind her. He spun his guns upward and into the nose of the circus tent, firing into its system. 

The tent shook violently, expanding rapidly. It took only a few seconds for the monster to explode, sending everyone near it flying back. Othello managed to hide behind one of the clown dolls to avoid getting hit. Everyone else, enemies and allies included, got flung back and collided with the nearest wall. 

Ow. Jekyll thought in unison with the voice. She rubbed her head and stood back up, trying to find her footing. 

“Yo, Jatayu, why don’t you attack this one?” Othello grabbed the doll by the scruff and tossed it at Jatayu. 

He was unprepared; the clown took the opportunity to bite at Jatayu’s arm and latched onto him. Jatayu scrambled and squeaked in numbers before kicking the clown off of him, holding his arm in pain. He glared at the clown, before returning a softer glare at Othello. 

Othello smirked and shrugged before he was surprised by another clown lunging at his leg and biting it. Othello also managed to kick it off, but not without a gaping wound in his leg. 

The other clown easily surprised Mallo, lunging similarly at her leg and gnawing at it until she kicked it off. She limped to attack it, but the screech and cheers from the tents distracted her. If smoke could come out of her ears, Jekyll figured this would be a moment where it would have done so. 

Jekyll took a look at herself and the others amid combat, each looked like they were on the brink of staggering. Her mind shook, and she felt her sanity drop. 

Jekyll! The voice snapped in her head. Focus! If you’re not going to get the job done, I will front and do it myself. 

Okay, okay, Jekyll shook her head, readying her weapon once more. I’m trying. 

This is no time to try. It’s do or die here. 

She took a step forward, but Mallo was faster. Mallo charged at the third circus tent, completely ready this time. She first broke the teeth across its mouth before shoving her stave down its throat, forcing it to suffocate under the force. 

The tent – like the first – exploded. The force sent Mallo back against the wall, crippling her. A tooth fragment came flying at Mark who approached the beast, causing him to fall to the floor as well. 

That was all Jekyll caught before she herself was sent back from the impact, passing out cold. 

* * *

Light slowly poured into Jekyll’s eyes, and the carnival music returned to her ears. Her head spun, but she slowly opened her eyes. 

She regretted doing so. 

Her gaze locked on Lenore, who lunged forward and stabbed one of the clown dolls in the head repeatedly. It spurred out blood till it exploded, causing everything else in the facility to explode.

Jekyll watched her limbs be torn off her body before her mind went black; everything around her became dark and cold. Jekyll shivered, clenching her arms. 

Wait… she was clenching her arms? Weren’t they just torn off? 

Jekyll opened her eyes again, looking down at herself. She could barely make out the faint outline of her body, all intact. She stood, her head spinning as it tried to see anything. All she could make out was the faint outline of many, many hands. 

She tried to scream from shock, but the hands swarmed her, gripping her body and pinning her to the floor, her grips tightening by the second. She tried to get out of the way, but her struggle was useless. Her body ached in pain as the hands fought for possession of her. Although it was dark and she could barely see, she knew each hand around her was pulling in a different direction. Jekyll thought she would explode at any moment. Her mind cried out. Help! Someone help! Please!

She noticed that the voice wasn’t there. 

The hands continued to grip and tear at Jekyll until a bright flash of light entered the room. It burned Jekyll’s eyes; she squinted to make sense of it. 

A large, red door had opened to reveal outside of the darkness. The hands immediately dropped Jekyll and swarmed out of the darkness towards the person who had opened the door. Jekyll forced her eyes to open as she stared at the figure. 

D… Dante?

Her surroundings immediately changed to the former battle arena. She laid on the floor and looked down to see her limbs slowly reattaching to her body, painlessly. The moment her lungs reattached, Jekyll sat up and gasped for breath, and she slowly gained control of every limb and finger once more. 

She sighed, still catching her breath. Was that what death was like? An eternal torment by the hands unless someone comes to resurrect you? Or was that something that came with being attached to Dante’s time? 

How… thrilling. The voice laughed. Looks like they weren’t lying about resurrection after all. 

Jekyll realized at that moment she didn’t have full control over her body. She struggled to get the voice out, but it already had one hand in control of her actions. Jekyll stood up, smiling against her will. You’re sick, I hope you know that. Jekyll hissed. 

Shut up, I’m trying to watch. 

Jekyll turned her gaze towards Pen, who also reassembled piece by piece, limb by limb. His spear reassembled too, and he stood up, looking around as if he was getting used to the environment before he stretched his arms. “Nothing like the first time.” 

What does that pathetic moron mean by the first time? The voice insulted, louder than before. 

“You should all get used to dying,” Dante’s voice caught everyone’s attention. Jekyll didn’t realize he had entered the room, but there he was, staring right at them. “I am here to bring you back from the dead, but this is something that’ll happen frequently.” 

Othello interrupted him from continuing further. “Don’t you have something else for me to fight? That was a cakewalk.” 

Jekyll narrowed her eyes. Cakewalk? The heck–

“There will be more things to fight and encounter, however, I assume you all would like to claim the rewards of your recent combat.” 

“Well, why didn’t you say that sooner, clockface?” Othello put his guns away and clapped his hands together. 

Jekyll couldn’t make out the passing comment Lenore said, and she barely caught Mallo pulling out a cigarette and smoking it. Both of them went to look at the chest that rose from the ground, talking about the two EGO gifts in it. Her head turned towards Mark, who also was looking at his body as if he had just been reassembled too. 

Move, Jekyll. The voice commanded, forcing Jekyll’s feet to walk up to Mark. 

No, no! What are you doing? Jekyll tried to restrain, but it was no use. 

Jekyll planted her feet right in front of Mark. If she was taller, she would’ve been right in his face. She stared into his eyes, unwavering. 

“The hell you want?” Mark retorted, returning Jekyll’s hard stare. He seemed pissed off that she dared to approach him. His eyes squinted, revealing the scars originally hidden by his messy blonde hair. His jawline appeared to be broken in some way, but it was as strong as ever. 

Are we done now? Jekyll begged, wanting to flee from this situation.

I can’t see well out of your eye, your vision sucks. The voice replied before continuing. This Mariachi fella… I’ve seen him before… his eyes are far too familiar… 

There was a moment of tension between Jekyll and Mark as she continued to stare silently, ignoring Mark’s question. She stared into his eyes, reading the harsh glare that planted fear inside of her, but there were many things hidden behind that rough gaze, and she knew the voice was trying to find it. However, the more she searched, the angrier his gaze got. 

Jekyll about had enough; she needed to get out of this situation.

The voice gasped. That’s it! That’s where I recognize Mark from! He’s–

“Shut up,” Jekyll hissed, using an internal force to take control and immediately leave. She turned on her heel and walked towards the gauntlet door. 

She didn’t get very far. 

“Nah, nah, nah, nah,” a firm grip rested on Jekyll’s shoulder and spun her around. She was face to face with Mark again. His other hand gripped tighter around the pipe resting on his shoulders. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? What the heck did you say about me?” 

Jekyll’s eyes widened in fear from his hard gaze. “N-N-Nothing! I’m sorry, I was talking to myself…” 

Mark grunted in annoyance, shoving Jekyll’s shoulder as he walked away, even more annoyed than before. 

Pfff, classic Mark. The voice cackled. 

Jekyll felt as if she was going to melt into the floor from fear. She gripped her brush tighter and shuddered. I hate you, so much. She watched Mark wander and kick anything that was in his way. 

“How was the nap?” Another hand rested on her shoulder and spun her around. 

Jekyll was now facing Othello and was perplexed by his sudden approach and question. “N-Nap?” She cursed at herself for stuttering; she couldn’t shake the fear Mark’s gaze planted in her soul.

“Yeah, the nap you took in the middle of the fight.” 

“What do you mean?” Jekyll tried to come off as polite as possible, despite being incredibly pissed at the voice in her head. 

“You died, did you not? Was the time passage weird? How was dying?” He said casually with a smirk. 

Jekyll snorted, almost laughing, which did well to ease her fear of the previous situation. It was a rather annoying question according to the voice in her head, but she found it funny. “I mean that’s what happens when you sleep, time passes by.” 

“Did you dream anything when you died?” 

Dream? Jekyll paused for a moment as she thought back to what happened. It was definitely not a dream. The hands that engulfed her and suffocated her felt more real than her standing alive at that moment. The simple thought of the hands made her shudder. “A-All I saw were a lot of hands… before they fled into the light as a large door opened… and someone dragged me out.” 

She ignored the next comment Othello made as she turned to Dante. She quickly thought of an excuse to get out of her current situation. “Dante, I assume now would be a good time to get my uniform?” 

Dante stared at her blankly. There was no response from him as the fire on his head cracked slowly. It became clear to Jekyll that he had overheard what she previously told Othello. She waved her hand in front of Dante’s face. “Hello?” 

Loud insults interrupted her train of thought. Jekyll turned around to see Othello and Mark at it again. Mark looked like he was about to blast the commander’s head off with his bat as he smirked and continued to taunt him. However, the moment he raised his bat, the moment the lights went off. 

“Initiating fight: Amber Ordeals, level two.” A robotic voice rang through the hallway as the environment started to warp once more. 

“Wait, wait no! Another fight isn’t supposed to start!” Dante snapped out of his trance and ran towards the door, trying to open it. “I’m not supposed to be in here!” 

Pen immediately stepped in front of Dante as the monsters appeared. “Stay behind me, manager!” He demanded. “Incoming!” 

Jekyll couldn’t pull her brush up in time to defend herself as she was swarmed by two new monsters. They chomped at her arms and bruised her legs. She hurriedly kicked them off in a panic, swinging her brush at their faces. 

The voice grunted in unison with her, and Jekyll dreaded the next hour that was more combat. 

* * *

If Dante hadn’t healed the sinners before they exited the gauntlet, she would’ve been limping on her right leg and had bled to death. However, she walked out just fine, despite the impending exhaustion that overwhelmed her. 

She noticed Vergilius and Kuvira standing outside the gauntlet. When the Red Gaze noticed Dante came out unharmed, he sighed to himself and walked out of the room. Kuvira stood there, grinning like an idiot. She tried walking over to Mallo to start a conversation but stopped herself as Vergilius called her name. She bounded off after him. 

“Alright everyone, you may go rest in your rooms until we call you out again,” Dante dismissed the sinners, limping himself. 

Jekyll hesitated, standing in place as everyone walked past her down the hall. Her steps became increasingly difficult as she neared the room that was supposed to be hers. It seemed to take forever and yet no time at all before Jekyll stood in front of the carefully designed door. She turned her head to see most of the sinners gone. The only two people left in the hallway were Mark and Dante. 

“Everything alright, Jekyll?” Dante opened the door to his office before turning his head toward her. 

“Y-Yeah…” Jekyll sighed as she rested her hand on the doorknob. Her body shuddered from the first time she opened the door. “I’ll be okay.” 

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my office,” Dante reassured before stepping inside his door and closing it behind him. 

Jekyll shuddered once more before glancing over her other shoulder towards Mark. She watched as he gripped the handle of the door to his room, before grunting with anger and storming up to the front of the bus. 

Jekyll embraced the silence for a few moments before she took a deep breath. I have to face her at some point… Jekyll’s shoulders tensed and she swung the door open. She took a step inside and closed the door behind her. 

Suddenly, her mind felt whole, as if she wasn’t competing for control anymore. Jekyll caught an immediate smell of chocolate mixed with blood, and the environment was thick and murky. 

She gazed at her room, realizing it was perfectly split in half. On one side, there was a small bed tucked up against the tan walls. Its sheets were white and complimented the rustic wooden floor. On top of the bed was the Limbus uniform folded neatly next to the pillow. Next to the bed was a desk with a small bowl of chocolate with the K Corp symbol on the bowl. The light on the ceiling was shaped like a moonstone, and on the desk in front of the bed were liquid containers containing various substances that Jekyll immediately recognized. 

In the middle of the room was a window covered in barbed wire like a prison cell; Jekyll could see the backstreets of where she was from. A small light illuminated the cobblestone road, but in the darkness ran small streams of blood. 

The other half of Jekyll’s room was red. The stench of blood came from that side of the room, with white walls that were splattered with various shades of red across it like an abstract canvas. Another bed was also tucked into the corner of the room, and there was an art stand with a blank canvas next to the bed. Next to the wall was a desk and a chair, and the chair held a person who stared right back at her. 

Jekyll’s grip on her paintbrush tightened, and she held it in front of her as she backed up, her gaze stern. So this is why my mind is free for a moment… she thought. Because the voice becomes her own person. 

The person smiled as it stood up and walked to the edge of her side of the room. Her red eyes glowed with perfection, complimenting her black hair that fell to her thighs. She bowed, bending in her black onesuit with a fancy apron over it, covered in various paint stains and blood. Her face was more wicked and cruel, but it was the same face as Jekyll’s. It’s surprising how much emotion can change my appearance…

“Jekyll,” the woman bowed before letting a chuckle escape her pursed lips. “What a pleasure it is to finally talk to you face-to-face and not just in your mind.” 

“Hyde.” Jekyll’s body became on high alert, watching every move the woman took. “It’s disturbing to see you without looking in a mirror.” 

Hyde laughed mockingly, her mouth wide as her eyes were crazed with insanity. She spun her own paintbrush around before slamming it against the floor, her demeanor changed to pure anger. “As it should be! I’m quite tired of you locking me away! I know how you tried getting rid of me. If we didn’t share the same body I would tear you to shreds and plaster you on a painting, making your remains a masterpiece, something you could never be!” 

Jekyll’s heart rate sped up in her chest as she backed up against the wall. Her eyes darted side to side before they locked back on Hyde. She couldn’t speak; her entire concentration went to calm herself down. 

Hyde’s face changed from angry to deranged in a blink of an eye. “Pff, look at you now, you can’t even meet your other half normally. You’re pathetic, Jekyll.” 

“M-Mind you…” Jekyll finally found the courage to speak. “I… I created you. Y-You b-better behave… Hyde…” 

“Or what?” Hyde took a step forward into her side of the room. “What are you going to do? Rant about your teenage crush to me? How childish.” 

Jekyll’s eyes blazed with fury. “I know where to access moonstones, idiot.” 

Just as she predicted, Hyde shut her mouth. She took a step back and kicked a blanket on the floor before setting her weapon aside and glancing at the blank canvas. 

Jekyll sighed in relief, dropping her weapon to the floor before strolling over to the bed, removing the uniform, and flopping onto it. Everything in her body ached, and it had been a long time since she got proper rest. 

“Hey, be happy about this temporary split,” Hyde scorned. “This means I can paint while you sleep and we both aren’t losing our minds to sleep deprivation.” 

“Shut up,” Jekyll groaned, taking the pillow and putting it over her ears. “Go out and be a menace to the coworkers or something.” 

“You’re the main body, idiot,” Hyde hissed. “I cannot leave this room unless you let me front. I only exist here because this place is your mind.” 

Jekyll turned over in the bed to look at the room once more. Hyde was right; the room very much described her mental state, and how she felt so split and out of control. She did find it odd how Hyde had their own form in the room. However, she figured it might be for the better. Her mind was free for the time being, and she didn’t have to deal with the constant struggle of her mind while she was here. Perhaps she could even get some proper sleep, perhaps this would be good after all. 

Her face flattened when she watched Hyde search through her desk drawer before pulling out jars of blood. Dipping some of the paintbrushes she found in them, she stroked the liquid across the canvas. 

It… wasn’t as loud as Jekyll thought it would be. 

Hyde glanced over her shoulder, meeting Jekyll’s eyes. “You complained about being tired. Sleep and let me do my thing.” 

“Do you really need to use blood for those?” Jekyll’s eyes fluttered shut, her mind slowly begging for rest. 

“We’ve talked about this multiple times,” Hyde rolled her eyes, her hair swaying back and forth as she stroked the canvas. “Rest. We will talk later.” 

“I hate you…” Jekyll muttered sourly under her breath as she turned over. 

What she failed to see was Hyde’s face softening, and she paused from painting. “...I know,” was all she muttered before she continued. 

Jekyll decided to ignore her as her body became heavy, and she drifted off into a peaceful, heavy sleep. 

[hopepaigeturner]

An Offer From an Avid Reader: The Sofa Scene. Part 1.

This is part 1 of 2, for part 2 fits in more with #benophieweek 2023 prompt for the day.

✨The Context:✨

Benedict has found out about Sophie being the Lady in Silver. 

As I detailed in my Benedict Bridgerton post, he is at first furious and takes this out on Genevieve. (“How could you not tell me” vibes). And rightly, Geniveve sets him straight, letting him know how heartbroken Sophie was and it was for ehr safety that she was tight-lipped. 

This leads to a scene between Will and Benedict, where Benedict is given the final push he needs to follow his heart. He goes back to his studio to think but all he does is paint…

Concurrently we have Eloise. 

Throughout the season Eloise has been writing a column, a little Whistledown–esque, but not as popular. (I shall expand on this in a later Eloise post).

Therefore Eloise has been spending the series running around London with her two trusty, albeit exasperated, servants–Sophie & John the footman. 

Sophie and John are doing an errand for Eloise but their sneaky sneaky plan goes awry and they get separated. Unable to find John, Sophie decides to walk back to Bridgerton House.

And just as she is turning the corner on the edge of Mayfair she hears a voice like honey dripped over knives…Araminta. 

Que book scene: Sophie is having a panic attack as she listens, frozen in her hiding place.

 The scene flashes between a hyperventilating Sophie and flashes of moments from the morning Araminta found out Sophie had attended the ball.

How the scars on Sophie’s face are from Araminta’’s nail scratches; how the scar on her temple was caused by Araminta throwing a vase at her head; and how the scar running along her throat occurred when Araminta put a broken shard of vase against it till it bled red before throwing her out of the house by her hair. The flashbacks stop and the present returns–just as a figure spots Sophie. A woman who lifts her black veil to reveal a round face with a wine stain birthmark. “Sophie?” Sophie is frozen. Araminta calls for Posy back into the carriage. Posy nods and rushes back. 

In the aftermath, Sophie is still gripped in a silent panic attack, dissociating and shaking uncontrollably. And even as the carriage rolls away she stays there. 

And so, without further ado…

✨The Scene✨

Scene cuts to Benedict, striding along the street, muttering under his breath the apology he wishes to give to Sophie, and how he will broach the subject of her being the woman at the masquerade.

Then out of the corner of his eye he spots something–Sophie.She is still at the wall, still dissociating, still shaking. 

Benedict rushes over and tries to rouse her, but Sophie barely responds. Benedict tried again then, with a snap, Sophie clutches his sleeve in a vice-like grip. Stricken, Benedict gently coaxes her to come and rest at his studio.

Benedict leads Sophie, into his studio sweeping disarrayed clothes and sketches off the chaise lounge so she can settle. All his motions are soft as, for a moment, all his yearning, swirling emotions fade away to leave only one desire—ensuring Sophie’s wellbeing.

He cups her face and whispers her name and when that does not work, he grabs a paintbrush, (slightly damp from the water), and draws patterns over her arms, allowing Sophie to use the pressure to ground herself.

Sophie’s hand loosens slightly, indicating that she has returned.

“Benedict?” she whispers.

“You are safe—you are safe here,” he hushes. Sophie exhales shakily and leans into him. But after a moment she regains her senses and jerks away. 

“I should leave.” She scrambles up. 

“No—Sophie.” Benedict tries to follow but she whirls away.

“I should leave right now.” 

“Sophie, I need to talk—”

“I think that would be a bad idea.” All too easily she can see his shocked expression at that nursery door when the truth finally revealed itself. An expression that could be nothing less than horror and anger. She starts towards the door but Benedict jumps in front of her,

“Sophie, please, at least allow me to walk you home.”

“It is merely across the square, I shall be fine.” She tries to brush past him but he stays one step ahead.

“And if that ‘old mistress’ of yours returns to petrify you? What will you do then?”

“Why would you care?”

Benedict looks visibly hurt.

“I care, you know I care—you are many things, Sophie, but you are not blind. I care for you, I have cared for you for years—”

“Oh really?” She cries, her own suppressed feelings over the months finally spilling out of her. Her usual self-control completely worn out. “That night was so special that it took you months to recognise me?”

“That is not fair. You are the one who should have told me. Why did you not? To spite me? To torture me with the dream of you? You were not fair!”

“No, Benedict Bridgerton you do not get to tell me what is fair,” Sophei steps up to him, fury and heartbreak mixing in her eyes, “not after the life I have led, not after the months I have spent nursing heartbreak that the man who saw my soul could not see past a maid’s uniform!” She cries. “Admit it, Benedict, I was a flighty fancy who was replaced the next evening by another pretty face. A memory that you banished to the recesses of your mind. That is who I was to you, Benedict. Another conquest, another muse—”

“You have no idea what you meant to me,” Benedict cries, his voice wretched. “ I knocked on Penwood’s door the very next morning to find you. I spent months attending balls and soirees and pointless parades desperately searching for you. I meant every word I said on that terrace, including my promise to you.You have haunted my every dream and echoed in my heart every day for the past two years. You stole my heart with a dance and a kiss and I have spent the last two years stumbling around this world trying to fill the void that you left behind. That is heartbreak. That is why you should have told me.”

“And what?” Sophie replies,  “What difference would that have made? I am not a lady, I am a maid. Even if you had known back by that lake, you would have asked me to be your mistress regardless. Am I wrong?”

Benedict quietens, retrospection highlighting his troublesome behaviour. With a quieter voice he replies,

“You are not wrong, and for that I must apologise, for forcing your hand because I could not bear to let you go.”

“Thank you,” Sophie shakes herself, “but it does not change—”

“It would have been different.” Benedict continues.  “I would not have tormented myself about betraying that memory for the reality in front of me. I would not have waited. I would not have hesitated to accept the undeniable truth that I belong with you, forever and a day.”

Sophie is stunned, then scoffs.

“Now, you are being fanciful. I am a maid”

“No, you are not.”

“Benedict—”

But Benedict continues unperturbed,

“You are not a maid. That night you spoke with the perfect airs and graces like any other debutante.”

Sophie’s stomach starts twisting around and round as she starts spiralling.

“You would be surprised how far learning an accent like this benefits employment—”

“You know French and latin.”

“The lady at the house—”

“Phaeton lessons? Pianoforte lessons? Long hours to read a surprising breadth of literature?”

“Oh I see. So it is only aristocrats who have the capability to enjoy literature then?” Sophie fights back, desperate to cling onto her fantasy, the nice fantasy of Sophie–not the ugly one. Benedict continues, 

“No. But servants do not have time, access or means to enjoy such a variety of literature that you have read. I wager editions of Mallory’s Morte D’Arthur cannot be purchased on even the most generous of salaries.”

“Believe what you may.”

“I will and that is why I believe you to be an illegitimate child.”

The fantasy crumbles, leaving Sophie scrambling, falling, with nothing to cling onto.

“I do not—I do not…”

“It would explain your level of education and refinement, but also your current predicament. I assume the lady of the house did not look too kindly on another woman’s child?” Benedict’s eyes soften, “Even though that is no excuse for treating you so poorly in ways I can only fear.”

Araminta’s words start whispering as Benedict continues. 

B—--d child. B—--d child….

“It would explain how you do not wish to talk about your family, but there is always a shadow lingering in your eyes when the topic arises. It would explain why you have so many secrets and why they burden you so…”

“You do not—”

“Was your father the deceased Earl of Penwood, Sophie? Is that why you wore the Penwood crest on your gloves that night?”

Sophe stays silent, eyes brimming with tears. Because she knows what will happen next. She knows that, like everyone else, Benedict will retreat from her shameful truth, try to hide his disdain before walking away.

 “Are there any other dirty little secrets of mine you feel entitled to? Hmm?” she asks. 

“Sophie, I—”

“What? You want more?” Her voice rises with her emotions. For if he is going to walk away he might as well know all of it. Every shameful, disdainful part,

“I just want the truth—”

“Fine, have it all!”

As she speaks, flashes of the past play on the screen of every person stepping away from her; the staff upon opening the door to find 3 year old Sophie; her father when he saw her natural smile and Araminta on their fateful first meeting. 

“Yes, yes, you are right! I am the child of a nameless maid and the late Earl of Penwood, a scourge on its hallowed name, an abomination—a b—--d—as my stepmother would remind me every day of my childhood and every day that I scrubbed floors and pinned her daughters’ hair. That is who your precious Lady in Silver is. A fraud. An impostor. A girl in dress-up doing a friend a favour who stupidly allowed herself to imagine that for one moment, one tiny moment that she deserved such a life.”

“Sophie—”

“That is who I am, Benedict. I am the b—--d child of a—”

Benedict steps forward and pulls her into his arms and holds her tight.

And Sophie freezes, unable to comprehend the moment. A moment where someone embraces and comforts her even with all the terrible, barbed parts of her exposed. But ever so slowly Sophie softens, closes her eyes as the tears seep out, and rests in that embrace.

After a few moments, Benedict pulls back but keeps her close, so she can see the sincerity in his eyes and words.

“You are Sophie. You are a woman who is kind and compassionate even after a life of hardship that would bow or break even the strongest of men. You are a woman who stands by her convictions no matter how many people try and sway you, no matter how many lashes you endure or even if the other road is easier. You, Sophie Beckett, are brilliant, in mind, heart and soul. I am inspired by you; I am humbled by you, and I am honoured to be in your presence and awed by every facet of your being. That is who you are, Sophie.” His voice rasps slightly, as if he is on the edge of speechlessness. “That is who you are, Sophie.”

“I do not…I—”

Benedict tenderly wipes away her tears.

“There is no need to say anything. Just know that every word I have said to you past and present have been the truth. You have stolen my heart Sophie. You stole it on that moonlit night and you stole it once more over these last months.”

“Your heart?” 

Benedict smiles slightly.

“Let me show you.”

And he moves her into the main studio. It is a cluttered room of artistic mess, piles of sketches on every surface and pinned on the walls–all of them sketches of her. And there on the easel is the painting Benedict has worked all night on.

It is her, Sophie, as the Lady in Silver, her skirt moving like liquid moonlight, her hair awry around her face. And like every one of Benedict’s paintings, he has captured the moment and emotion. So, she feels it all. Feels the awe in the way Benedict has painted the highlights. She can feel the beauty in the features—even her face with her scars present. She can feel the love in every brushstroke and every layer.

She turns to Benedict.

“I love you,” he states.

No fanciful words, no poetry. The undeniable truth.

“You love me,” Sophie replies, voice breathy, but not in disbelief, “as much as I love you.”

And then Benedict is kissing her, and she is kissing him back. The torrent of their love overflowing into their kisses.

They whisper those three important words as they stumble until they hit the wall. And when they finally break for breath Sophie whispers,

“That night from the moment I put on the dress to walking across the hall, my heart hammered against my ribcage. But as soon as I stepped into the room, even before I saw you, I felt you.” Her fingers gently trace his features. “Anticipation. Magic.  And when I turned around and I saw you, my heart settled into a rhythm at once new but also familiar. Because it knew,” she takes his hand and places it on her heart. “It knew that it would only ever beat in this rhythm for you, it would only ever love you. Forever and always.”

Benedict opens his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound comes out.

The poet is speechless.

He kisses her again, slower, reverentially. The type of kiss that infuses in your bones and your blood. Sophie softens, so Benedict pulls her into him…

*~*~*~*~*

Now, I’m terrible at smut scenes and I don’t really want to do one due to professional and personal reasons. So…I’ll leave it up to your imagination.

HOWEVER a couple things:

1.NO penetrative SEGGSY.

This might be unpopular but I was really uncomfortable that Sophie had this very legitimate reason for not wishing to have sex, a boundary built on a significant amount of trauma, yet Benedict Bridgerton pops along and his smile bulldoes that barrier away. Today I know that this had to happen because of the very prescriptive publishing criteria of the romance genre, but still.

I don’t have a problem with Benophie becoming sexually intimate, just not penetrative sex. The show has already shown that you can have a steamy, romantic love scene without it. *cough* Kanthony *cough*. 

Creativity people! Because we all know there are many ways to pleasure that do not risk an illegitimate child situation…

2. Sophie is in control.

Sophie has not had a lot of control over her life, in any arena particularly. However, sex is a completely new category, and I would love it if Sophie takes the opportunity to be in control. (Also, as I have pointed out in a prior post here, the show has shown that Benedict likes being bossed around in bed).

3.   Potentially Benedict realising where Sophie’s scars come from.

In my opinion another way they could sell the whole ‘Benedict not recognising Sophie’ is if she has some scars that weren’t there. Even if this is not the case, I think Sophie in her lifetime has sadly accumulated scars. I want Benedict to realise what happened on that morning when he visited the Penwoods. I want him to kiss her scars, call them beautiful and when Sophie squirms he whispers…

“Your scars are beautiful because they are markings that you survived. Testaments to the strength you had to pull yourself through the burning trials of life and emerge with your heart blazing. That is why I call them beautiful.”

I just think that would be uber romantic.

4. Scene ends and fades out. Only to fade into the will reading of Grandma Alexandra…

*~*~*~*~*~*

END OF PART 1

Part 2 will come this evening and link in with Benophie week 2023. 

As always I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests.

So, check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

[moltenwrites]

OC QUESTIONNAIRE TAG GAME

Haven’t done a tag game in a while eh? Sorry about that, life’s been a lil silly lately, I haven’t had time ( or energy ) to do much here lately, but I’ll try to be better!

Thanks @the-golden-comet @willtheweaver and @thatuselesshuman for the tag! This game is simple, just answer the questions from your character(s) perspective. I’ll be answering from Res, Salazar, and Asims perspective today.

Who do you trust the most?

Res - Lyra. Shes been nothing but loyal.

Salazar - I’ve had my trust broken one too many times. I once trusted Fabio with my life, and you can see how that turned out.

Asim - Myself. Even Astera, I can’t trust her with everything. Maybe someday.

Where would you live, if you could choose?

Res - As far away from this shithole as possible. I’d love to live in a kingdom with no connection to ours.

Salazar - Well- I haven’t thought of this much, I don’t often have the ability to settle down. But Itchzak has always been my home, so there.

Asim - Anywhere Astera is happy would make me happy, but if she was open to it, I would like somewhere more rural, though still with a good population.

What keeps you motivated?

Res - I can’t let Exodus get away with it.

Salazar - To make this world fair, its abhorrent way of treating those that call it home is unacceptable. And I am the only one who appears to have the power to fix it.

Asim - In my art, it was the first day I met Astera. I scaled up my projects after I met her, something about her just- no, I can’t discuss this now. I hope my answer was sufficient!

What is your dream job?

Res - I’ve never had a green thumb, but a life as a farmer, or perhaps an artist, would be peaceful. I think that could be nice.

Salazar - Ruling. It is the only way I can change this world

Asim - A painter of course! I love the arts, though I must admit my skills are subpar?

What do you plan for the future?

Res - To make it to tomorrow.

Salazar - If I can, I’d love to make a truly fair world. Currently, I must try to reclaim the throne.

Asim - Uh, well I know it’s a bit sudden, and it is embarrassing, but marrying Astera would make me happy to a degree I find unthinkable.

How many languages can you speak?

Res - 1. Education was never Itchzaks strong suit, and we couldn’t afford it even if it was available.

Salazar - I find force to be the most effective language, but I only speak in English.

Asim - I took Latin in college, though I must admit I’m a bit rusty.

What is one hobby you have that may surprise others?

Res - I don’t have much time for hobbies anymore, but I used to cook for fun on occasion

Salazar - I’ve never quite had the talent, but music has always been fascinating to me!

Asim - I write the occasional poem!

What is one possession you wouldn’t part with, no matter what?

Res - My knife, it was a gift from someone I lost, and it is a reminder to keep living.

Salazar - I find gifts to be fleeting. Once you lose your body, you find that there is not much you must hold on to

Asim - Astera bought me a paintbrush, I couldn’t bear to lose that, at least not before I use it.

What is one supernatural ability you wish you had?

Res - To speak to the dead, there are some people I just need to talk to one more time-

Salazar - Well, aside from the power to correct this world, mind reading would be a blessing. It would greatly help to judge intent in fairness.

Asim - Healing, it would help me in nearly all aspects of my life.

How long does it take before you trust someone?

Res - I probably trust easier than I should, but the people in my life have been overwhelmingly kind.

Salazar - As I recited earlier, I have had my trust broken too many times. Never again.

Asim - I don’t think I’ve trusted anyone fully yet. Trust can push them away.

How bad do you feel about lying to others?

Res - Its a necessary evil, I don’t mind all too much.

Salazar - I am a man of my word, I find lying to be quite unfair

Asim - Sometimes it’s better for people to be left in the dark.

What is one good you could always eat and never get tired of?

Res - I like steak a lot, I don’t get to have it often, but from those moments I could eat it every day.

Salazar - Hm, well as odd as it sounds, I’ve always found grapes delectable.

Asim - I always liked pork chops, they have such a perfect flavor when seasoned correctly!

Annnd that’s all of em, wow that took a minute! If you wanna do this,here are your questions!

1. What place means the most to you?

2. What is the most fun you’ve ever had?

3. Have you ever been betrayed?

Tag list, let me know if you wanna be added or removed

@thatuselesshuman @ddgraywrites @juliana-jones @revenantlore @aintgonnatakethis

@yourpenpaldee @illarian-rambling @autism-purgatory @gioiaalbanoart @the-letterbox-archives

@theverumproject @noxxytocin @joseph-hooser @mk-writes-stuff @yrndrgn

@theslpr

+ Open, as always

[sen-no-kotowari]

PGR Noan Character Profile

Good day and I'm back with some good news! The formatting plug-in I use is back to normal so everything should look the same like before. Aside from that, I will be posting back-to-back character profiles over the next few days and the first one up the bater is Noan's! You can learn more about Noan under the cut down below!

Voice Line Data

Motion Voice Lines

Lobby Voice 1

Noan: I passed nearby the Arts Association while walking around the other day. If there comes a time when peace will be upon us and an Arts Association is built on Earth, would people who love to draw be able to feed themselves? ...I see. That'd be wonderful.

Lobby Voice 2

Noan: What do you think of having a war memorial on the plaza? ...Huh? What do I think about it? I believe the people in this era making the most of their lives are just as awe-inspiring. Perhaps it's because I've seen too many death that I strongly believe more than ever living in itself is...incredible.

Lobby Voice 3

Noan: (Paints something) ........Hm? Oh, I've been painting a picture with the paintbrush you left. It's nothing fancy, just a simple drawing of a sunflower. If I told you I drew this while thinking of you, would you believe me?

Raise Affection Level

Noan: If I tell you that I want to become closer to you... what will you do?

Repetitive Taps

Noan: What's wrong? No need to be frantic. I'll be right by your side.

Log-In

Noan: Welcome back, Commander. I've been waiting for you.

Online for a Long Time

Noan: Wait a second, let me check your eyes. ...Hrm, now open your mouth. What time did you sleep yesterday? ...(Sigh) Really now...

AFK

Noan: I don't know if you're asleep or you're working hard... Well, maybe it's not so bad, getting to see your back like this.

Shake

Noan: Wha—! Are you okay?! Did you trip?

Offline for a Long Time

Noan: Showing up just now, did you oversleep? Were you having a dream of a calm and harmonious world? If that was a blissful dream, then you should've dreamed a little while longer. Don't worry, I'll continue to wait for you here 'til you show up.

Introduction and Formation

Structure Acquired

Noan: Hello there, Commander. Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name's Noan, that is my real name. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

Level Up

Noan: I have to spare no effort if I want to grow as a person.

Advancement

Noan: Thank you. Does this mean you've acknowledged me?

Model Improvement

Noan: Looks like the things I can do for others have increased yet again. Thank you.

Skill Upgrade

Noan: I'll continue to hone these skills until the day I put them to rest.

Equipment

Noan: This weapon... Hmmm, what should I call it?

Add in Team

Noan: Perhaps I should be grateful to you, who put your faith in me.

Assign as Captain

Noan: You're making me the captain? Yeah, I think I can do it. Leave it to me.

Mission Accomplished

Noan: Okay, mission complete. Do we have anything else to do?

Daily Small Talks

Voice Line 1

Noan: Ever since I left City Number 075, I've been staying at Oblivion's base. I wonder if Watanabe's doing well. I'd like to go meet up with him if there's a chance.

Voice Line 2

Noan: Lee sometimes has this resolute look in his eyes... It's as if he had already made peace. Recently, he— ...Nevermind, forget I said anything. It seems like it's something he wishes to keep to himself.

Voice Line 3

Noan: How have I been lately? Maybe I'll tell you a little secret of mine. I'm actually a super Eden-class ambassador. Since both my conversational skills and presentation skills are perfect, I was able to make friends in Eden and also fit in right away.

Voice Line 4

Noan: My past? You've seen plenty of vagabonds who lost their hometown, right? I'm also a part of those vagabonds. There's nothing special about it.

Voice Line 5

Noan: I've heard from Commander Simon that you were an alumnus who graduated as the top student of FOS Military Academy, right? What kind of things do they teach during class in school? ...Most of the schools on Earth were closed down. It makes you wonder—how many people born in this era were able to receive proper education in their life?

Voice Line 6

Noan: I passed nearby the Arts Association while walking around the other day. If there comes a time when peace will be upon us and an Arts Association is built on Earth, would people who love to draw be able to feed themselves? ...I see. That'd be wonderful.

Voice Line 7

Noan: Ah, that's right. I'm done reading the books you've told me about. Do you have other books you can recommend to me? I want to try reading a variety of books more. The library's just around the corner plus I also have a wonderful guide who'll give me a tour.

Voice Line 8

Noan: The starry sky isn't the only thing that shines in the darkness. Even if the small glowing lights around us aren't as bright as the North Star, they emit a faint light with everything they have.

Voice Line 9

Noan: Everyone used to admire stories about heroes saving the world when they were little, right? But when they grew up, they knew that those are just fictional stories, nothing more—no matter how much you do your best, you can't change the world around you alone. That's why... I'm glad that we both could do our very best here.

Voice Line 10

Noan: I don't regret rejecting the offer of becoming an Ascendant, even if it meant I'd accept how ordinary I am. I would be betraying my heart if I did. Don't worry. I already made up my mind from the moment I told you the name "Noan," no matter what may happen.

Voice Line 11

Noan: You always devote yourself to either listening to other people's worries or what they feel deep down, just like the gentle protagonists from the stories I've read... But why don't you try asking someone for some advice once in a while? I fear you might break someday if you always keep your worries to yourself.

Voice Line 12

Noan: What do you think of having a war memorial on the plaza? ...Huh? What do I think about it? I believe the people in this era making the most of their lives are just as awe-inspiring. Perhaps it's because I've seen too many death that I strongly believe more than ever living in itself is...incredible.

Voice Line 13

Noan: I look forward to the day this world overcomes the harsh winter and welcomes the tender spring... If you also share the same sentiment as I do, shall we make a promise to each other? Of course, I'd want you to be included in that future.

Voice Line 14

Noan: (Paints something) ........Hm? Oh, I've been painting a picture with the paintbrush you left. It's nothing fancy, just a simple drawing of a sunflower. If I told you I drew this while thinking of you, would you believe me?

Voice Line 15

Noan: I don't regret the things I've done in the past. I've used the grief I experienced as a catalyst to move forward without ever denying myself. ...For a brighter tomorrow free from strife, I shall give everything I have head-on so that we won't lose any more people we hold dear.

Raise Affection Level

Voice Line 1

Noan: (Chuckle) You sure have a lot of friends.

Voice Line 2

Noan: It'd be a waste to gift that to me. How about giving it to someone more worthy than me?

Voice Line 3

Noan: I'm happy enough that you're standing in front of me without your guard up.

Voice Line 4

Noan: Thank you... Are you just this kind to anyone you've met?

Voice Line 5

Noan: What are your hobbies? Ehehe, getting to know each other is the first important step in becoming friends.

Voice Line 6

Noan: Should I draw a picture for you in return as thanks? I'm kidding. This present you gave me is far more valuable than any of my drawings.

Voice Line 7

Noan: Despite the countless despair and spite this world has, you still make sure to treat others kindly. You truly are amazing.

Voice Line 8

Noan: I'm fine with any notebook and pen. I feel like it'd be wasteful if I use such a good quality paintbrush for this.

Voice Line 9

Noan: Are we... friends already? Ah, I want to be your friend, your comrade. And from here on out, I wish to stay by your side... That's what I feel.

Voice Line 10

Noan: I don't have much to give back to you in return, but... Please don't hesitate to tell me if there's something I can do for you.

Voice Line 11

Noan: Can I... come meet you again tomorrow?

Voice Line 12

Noan: Thank you so much... truly. It's not just the presents you've given me. I'm thankful for you and the words you said to me back then.

Voice Line 13

Noan: We're still amidst the harsh winter... But whenever you're with me, it feels like it becomes less cold than before.

Voice Line 14

Noan: If I tell you that I want to become closer to you... what will you do?

Voice Line 15

Noan: It's enough for me that we're aiming for the same goal and being able to fight alongside you, but that doesn't mean I'll stop longing for you... (Chuckle) Commander?

Voice Line 16

Noan: Can I take it that you're okay being this close to each other, Commander...?

AFK

Voice Line 1

Noan: Your sleepiness is also making me feel sleepy, hrm... Even though I already don't need to sleep anymore...

Voice Line 2

Noan: It's been pretty quiet, but are you busy with something else?

Voice Line 3

Noan: I don't know if you're asleep or you're working hard... Well, maybe it's not so bad, getting to see your back like this.

Voice Line 4

Noan: Are you asleep? I want to check up close if you're sleeping, but just in case I might wake you up... Yeah, I should stop here.

Voice Line 5

Noan: ♬~Our wishes will outlive us~♪ The light you shine is gentle as you are~♬[1]

Online for a Long Time

Voice Line 1

Noan: Having a lot of missions to deal with seems tough. Is there something I could help you with?

Voice Line 2

Noan: Oh-kay, let's confirm if you're still wide awake. What do you see on this ink blotch? ...It's some sort of abstract matter? Uhh-huh...

Voice Line 3

Noan: You're complaining that your neck hurts because you're always looking downwards. ...Come on, let's do some light stretches. Relax your muscles, and move around your head and shoulders.

Voice Line 4

Noan: Wait a second, let me check your eyes. ...Hrm, now open your mouth. What time did you sleep yesterday? ...(Sigh) Really now...

Voice Line 5

Noan: You've sacrificed your health just so you can finish all your work. I doubt you'd even listen to me, but... Why not rest even just for a few minutes?

Log-In

Voice Line 1

Noan: Morning. Do we have a mission today?

Voice Line 2

Noan: Commander, here's the list of missions for today. If we're all set, let's head out.

Voice Line 3

Noan: Morning, Commander Simon told me to pass along this message to you when I met him in front of the training room. Let's get along, he said.

Voice Line 4

Noan: I've been thinking it's about time you arrive here. I guess we're connected telepathically then?

Voice Line 5

Noan: You're back, Commander. I did several missions while you weren't here the past few days, but I knew I'd think about such a thought... "If only you were here," that is.

Voice Line 6

Noan: Welcome back, Commander. I've been waiting for you.

Voice Line 7

Noan: Did you sleep well last night? Your ability to focus would recede when you're tired, plus the people who care for you would be worried. Hm? Of course, I would be. I'm also one of those people.

Voice Line 8

Noan: Welcome back, Commander. I've been thinking about you. Oh, well you're not wrong that you're in front of me right now. Even so, I just couldn't help myself.

Offline for a Long Time

Noan: Showing up just now, did you oversleep? Were you having a dream of a calm and harmonious world? If that was a blissful dream, then you should've dreamed a little while longer. Don't worry, I'll continue to wait for you here 'til you show up.

Shake

Voice Line 1

Noan: Wha—! Are you okay?! Did you trip?

Voice Line 2

Noan: Stop it, my glasses are about to fall down... Wha- wait... Don't take off my glasses...!

Voice Line 3

Noan: Even if you do that, a coin won't come out from me.

Repetitive Taps

Voice Line 1

Noan: Hm? What the- (Sigh)... I already said I'm not hiding anything. Wait, this isn't a body inspection?

Voice Line 2

Noan: W-wait— th-that tickles! Aha-...Gee, that was unexpectedly childish of you. It's fine, I'll let this slide since I saw your smile.

Voice Line 3

Noan: What's wrong? No need to be frantic. I'll be right by your side.

Activity Task Full

Noan: Our activity level's at max level, let's take a small break. If you have other plans you want to do, shall I tag along?

Battle Dialogues

Battle Start/Character Switch

Noan: I fight so the plights and suffering in our lifetime will be kept at bay.

Voice Line 1

Noan: Let's reassess what their sins are.

Voice Line 2

Noan: This is how the "best duo" pairs up.

Voice Line 3

Noan: Tear through the darkest night.

Ultimate Skill

Noan: Amidst the depths of winter will genuine springtide flourish!

Light Damage

Noan: I'm fine.

Heavy Damage

Noan: No... I mustn't fall here...

Incapacitated

Noan: I'm sorry... for leaving you all alone...

Friend Support

Noan: I don't plan to make you suffer any longer.

QTE

Noan: Aim for a swift victory.

Battle End

Noan: It's over, let's go home now.

Structure Documentation

Document Detail 1

Noan's appearance has established the fact Ascendants can turn humans into Structures. He is currently under surveillance in Eden for associating with an Ascendant. Although he doesn't seem to be disgruntled by the constant surveillance, research, and cooperation with his examinations, most of the "people who know his situation" feels somewhat lonely since Noan acts courteously as if he's keeping them at arm's length.

Document Detail 2

Noan himself named his model "Sojourn." He took inspiration from the time a young boy had preached to him after he left the Azil—"the world around us is a sojourn and all the sorrow they've experienced will one day return to the earth." The world around us is a large place of dwelling. Yes, even this very body he has. He has begun his new journey to the final destination of his life.

Document Detail 3

After he had fitted one of his coatings, Noan was sorely unsure whether or not he'd dye his hair in a rainbow color. However, everyone in Barometz Platoon strongly opposed it and even received harsh criticism from Arts Association Chairman Allen, saying it was "an abstract expression." The white streak of hair strands offset by his raven-colored hair expresses his resolution.

Document Detail 4

Even though Noan could deftly master a weapon and can write in either his left or right hand, he isn't particularly good at handling heavy weapons. It's not because of how incompetent he is, but because he's proficient in keen and nimble combat. The blueprint for his Energy Blade is a gift he received from Rachel on his 17th birthday. The other blade he wields on his other hand is something he had been using ever since he joined the porter company. Until Noan obtained his Energy Blade, his weapons used to be a blade and a gun.

Document Detail 5

He is hardly proficient in long-range weapons. Even the accuracy of the gun Noan previously used wasn't high. When you'd think he missed the mark, he would actually hit the vital target by fluke. There was a time when the bullet Noan fired pierced 3 windows, hitting the billboard across the building, and it fell on the leader of a burglary group.

Document Detail 6

He was able to escape an Ascendant's interferences and hallucinations alone. According to later observations, it was acknowledged that the stability in his Sea of Consciousness allows him adaptability toward Specialized Models. The Science Council still hasn't concluded whether this characteristic was something Noan originally had or was the result of the Ascendant's interference.

Rumors and Secrets

Secret 1 Has read a considerable amount of manga in a stack room. Noan seems to be receptive to any work, possibly because there are also peculiar plots among those he'd read. He would thoroughly read a manga title until the end, especially titles recommended to him by his friends.

Secret 2 To secure some space in his bag, Noan left a manga with a pear blossom between its pages at City Number 075. It was the Gray Raven Team who found that manga when they had visited for a survey. Noan retrieved that manga after that, but he lost it when he was heavily injured in City Number 210.

Secret 3 Noan still occasionally dreams of his past up until now. With how he is now, however, he is distinctly self-aware that it's all a dream and immediately wakes up—because in that dream, there isn't a single scratch on the firefly in his hands.

Secret 4 Although Noan had learned countless skills to survive, the only exception to that is cooking—up until he became a Structure, cooking delicious food wasn't a necessity for him. Now so long as he has a recipe to follow, Noan could cook the dish to a certain extent. Since he frowns upon ingredients going to waste, he inattentively ate the scrap parts of the ingredients on one occasion.

Secret 5 Whenever Noan is at a loss for what to do, he would tell a joke with a serious look on his face and divert the subject matter. He would often make his facial expressions overly serious so the other person would take them seriously. Noan would most likely say "maybe I'll tell you a little secret of mine" whenever he would tell an outlandish joke in the beginning, but he'd immediately give an explanation for his actions if the other person does take it seriously. If he manages to get by each time, strictly speaking.

Secret 6 Noan was once praised by his colleagues in the porter company for being skilled at consoling people and he would usually be the person they rely on to take care of their hammered colleagues at their drinking parties. Although he doesn't drink alcoholic beverages himself, it doesn't mean he wouldn't help them out or ditch out on the people who need someone could lend an ear to them.

Secret 7 Noan isn't good at handling people who are crying—he also can't tell if the other person is actually crying or shedding crocodile tears. To appear calm in front of a crying person even though he's panicking internally, Noan will probably almost nod to every request he generally won't agree on.

Secret 8 He wants to be reincarnated as a seagull in his next life, yet he has never seen either the ocean or a seagull before he became a Structure.

Secret 9 Noan was infamous as a pigheaded person in Passenger Car N until he was 13 years old. Because he recurrently used to incite a reckless feud, he was referred to as a "prickly boy"[2] by the people in that car. The person in question, however, has neither seen a chestnut's burr nor a person getting stabbed by it so he never knew they were referring to him.

Secret 10 Even though he isn't particularly nit-picky when it comes to colors, Noan prefers shades of white that give off a pure and clean feel—it ranges from white fabric, white bird feathers, clear skies, a pristine piece of paper, and so on... But the only thing he hates among the pure white things is snow, especially an endless snowfield.

Secret 11 While he was easy to get along with and had hit off with many friends, Noan had very few close friends he cherished in all sincerity. He's somewhat dense when it comes to emotions and is constantly passive, as he never expressed his desires or his eagerness to someone he was just recently acquainted with—he's the type of person who'd like to know the other person well on top of closing the distance between them.

Secret 12 He would frankly express his emotions to close friends. When the other person shows an interesting reaction to his words, Noan will try to pull a prank using that word. Despite being aware that he still has a childish side, he doesn't plan on hiding this side of himself entirely from his close friends.

This is in reference to the Surviving Glimmer's main theme song.

This may possibly be a reference to the manga "Igakuri-kun" (Igakuri-kun: Young Judo Master) written by Fukui Eiichi.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Anger Issues, Part 1

Glass Shards

Warnings: Violence, broken rib/punctured lung, suffocation and almost dying from said punctured lung, and all the blood and panic that goes with it

I heard someone wanted a different pov on this? 👀

Masterlist | Next

Valadan sat hunched over his desk, a wooden cube in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. With as much care as if it were a priceless treasure, he painted the carved outlines of a duckling bright yellow.

“Valadan! Valadan!”

The shout made him flinch, smearing yellow across his fingers, but luckily not across the cube. He set the cube down and dropped the paintbrush into the cup of water. Uneasiness formed a knot in his stomach as he got up and hurried towards the door.

Before he could reach it, it slammed open, just in time to miss him. Josephine stormed in, a wild look in her ice blue eyes.

“He’s here. Outside. He’s… he’s here.”

“Who’s here?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders.

“Your brother.”

Valadan tightened his grip to keep himself upright as his knees wavered.

His brother.

He hadn’t thought of Damien in days—weeks even. So much time had passed, he had assumed Damien had decided to lay low and hide from the law. He had assumed he was never going to see him again. He had assumed that was going to be for the better, for both of them.

It would have been too good to be true.

“Stay with Christian,” Valadan said, the words feeling strange and stiff on his lips. 

While Josephine ran up the stairs, he walked towards the front door, slower and slower with each step. What was he going to do? How was he supposed to choose between his brother and his wife and child; again? And how often had he asked himself that very question?

In his mind, the image shifted back and forth. The murderer he had left behind in Raqhar. The bitter young man he had left behind in Caldeia. The gentle boy he had lost somewhere along the way. Comforting whispers echoed in his ears, and hurtful words, and snarled threats. Blaming him, blaming him, blaming him.

When he opened the door and saw Damien standing there, all those memories scattered. Damien raised his hand, and Valadan reacted before he could finish the motion.

“You,” he snarled.

He punched him without wanting to—or perhaps he wanted to, because it was all he had ever been good at. Hit people before they could hit him, and sometimes it worked, and most of the time he ended up regretting it.

“You really dare to come here?” Valadan shouted, and Damien didn’t react. His silence only fueled the knot of fear and fury in Valadan’s gut. “Did you think I’d let you get close to my family? That I’d allow you to hurt them?”

The second punch pulsed in Valadan’s knuckles, bright red blood joining the yellow paint stains. Still, Damien didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. That wasn’t like Valadan had imagined it. Finding no match, his fury slowly fizzled out, and when he raised his hand again, it was for a shove more than a punch.

“Stop!” 

From one moment to the next, a woman stood between him and his brother. He hadn’t even noticed her before. The impact pushed her against Damien, who grabbed her arm and tried to pull her behind him.

“Don’t touch her.” 

It was wrong; everything about this was wrong. Damien’s blood on his hands, and the strange woman’s blood on her lips, and the panic in Damien’s voice, and the panic fluttering in his own chest as he called for help.

“Fifi! Fifi, I need your help.”

Josephine came running, a frying pan in hands. She stopped behind Valadan, confusion taking over her expression.

“I don’t… I didn’t want…” Valadan pulled his hand behind his back, as if he could hide the blood on his knuckles. “I don’t know…” What to do.

The understanding on his wife’s face was like a stab to his heart. She pushed the frying pan against his chest, for him to take it before she turned towards the couple outside. The woman was on the ground, held only by Damien, who looked as helpless as Valadan felt.

Fuck.

He put the frying pan on a sideboard, because that was about the most useful thing he could do. That, and trying to calm the fuck down. Josephine was going to figure out what was wrong, and whatever she needed of him, he would do his damn best to help.

“Bring her in, I’ll try to keep her stable,” she said before hurrying inside.

Stable. Valadan ran his hand through his hair, only to regret it instantly when the smell of blood and paint hit his nose. He let his hand sink, opening and closing his fingers as he watched Damien sit frozen on the ground. 

“You heard her.” Valadan stepped aside. “Bring her in.”

“I can’t,” Damien whispered.

Valadan huffed. Annoyance was better than the bottomless pit of guilt in his stomach. If Damien cared about this woman that much, he could pull himself together for one minute.

“Da—”

“I can’t!”

Something flickered, and Damien’s arm was gone. Gone. Fuck fuck fuck. Without saying anything else, Valadan crossed the distance between them and picked up the woman. She was so small, so light, as if all substance had drained from her like the color from her face. He quickly carried her inside, put her down on the sofa and took a step back. 

As Josephine took a pair of scissors to cut the woman’s shirt apart, Valadan started to pace. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye, and he couldn’t look at the woman, gasping for air on his sofa, and he couldn’t—

“Valadan!”

He stopped, trying to pull himself together.

“She broke her rib,” Josephine explained; the you broke her rib was implied in her tone. “You need to get Elijah, and fast. I’m trying to slow down the bleeding, but I don’t know how long that will last. She’s suffocating.”

Valadan nodded. Get Elijah. Easy thing he could wrap his head around; if only he didn’t allow the thought of what would happen if the healer wasn’t at home.

Halfway to the door his gaze fell on Damien, who stood to the side, as if he wanted to melt into the shadows. Valadan’s anger was gone, but the fear remained; he couldn’t figure out what he was most afraid of, and right now, he didn’t have the time for that. He grabbed Damien’s sleeve.

“Come with me.”

Valadan dragged his brother outside, halfway expecting resistance. There was none. Damien moved like a puppet, at least until Valadan let go of his arm. Then he just stood there with a forlorn look on his face.

“I can’t leave you alone with my family, but I need to get the healer. Do you understand?”

There was no reaction to his words.

“Damien!” This time, Valadan almost shouted. At least it worked. Damien looked at him. “I need to get the healer. He’s good. He’ll save her. But I’m not leaving you alone with my wife and my child.”

Damien nodded, and turned to leave. The look on his face was unsettling, and Valadan had his hand already raised to hold him back when he froze. Fuck. There was no time for that now. Valadan cast one last look at his brother’s back, then he started to run.

The way to Elijah’s house took barely three minutes, but it was some of the longest three minutes of his life.

“Elijah!” he called, slamming his fist against the door. “Elijah!”

When the healer opened, Valadan almost fell into the house. He caught himself on the doorframe, panting.

“Emergency,” he wheezed out before Elijah could get a word out. “Broken rib. Can’t breathe.”

To his credit, Elijah didn’t ask any questions; he merely turned around, grabbed his bag and gestured for Valadan to lead the way. With him in tow, the way took much longer. Valadan kept wiping his palms on his pants, hoping they weren’t too late.

The moment Valadan opened his front door, Elijah hurried inside. Valadan dragged his feet, as if delaying stepping into the living room could shield him from the consequences of his fucking anger. Then he stood where Damien had stood, feeling just as lost as he had looked.

Josephine and Elijah exchanged hushed words, while Valadan tried his best not to listen. He also tried his best not to look as the healer pulled a small knife out of his pocket, but he didn’t get the luxury of doing so. Josephine called him over, to hold the woman down as the healer started to work.

As Valadan sat down in front of the woman, she met his gaze. For a moment, she smiled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who she confused him with. Quickly, she realized her error, her smile turning into terror. She struggled to get away as Valadan grabbed her, too weak to free herself from his grasp. 

When Elijah started to cut into her chest, a breathless scream left her lips and she went limp. Valadan squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t lock out Elijah’s words, though, explaining to Josephine what he did, and asking her to give him this or that. With concern in his voice, he mentioned other injuries—older injuries—his magic found: The rib, having been broken at least once before. Deep bruises, not more than a few weeks ago. Remains of what looked like internal bleeding.

“She has been hurt, more than once,” Elijah said. “If she’s a friend of yours, you should make sure she’s safe. Now help me turn her… like this. Hold her here.” Elijah moved Valadan’s hand. “Josephine, I need you to ease the cold, so I can start healing.”

While the two of them worked, Valadan looked anywhere but at the woman’s cut open chest. At least until the healer’s whispered words grew hectic and he pushed Valadan aside. 

“Come on. Breathe.”

Her chest wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t her chest moving.

“Breathe, dammit.”

She gasped and coughed, too weak to do more than cry into the cushion. As soon as it was clear that she was stable, Elijah continued healing her, making her flinch under his touch. Valadan held her so she wouldn’t choke on the blood dripping off her lips, tears in his own eyes. This was his fault. All of it—his fault.

The moment Josephine gestured for him to let go, Valadan jumped up. He all but ran into the kitchen, to wash off the blood that stuck to his fingers. When he returned with a soaked rag for Josephine, his hands were shaking, and when she asked him to bring a glass of water, he could only fill it halfway, or he would have spilled it.

By the time he returned with the glass, Elijah was gone, and Josephine had helped the woman sit up. She looked white like a sheet, and absolutely terrified, clutching the blanket Josephine had given her to her bare chest.

“Did your brother say her name?” Josephine asked in a low voice as she took the glass.

“Merry,” Valadan replied tonelessly. Damien hadn’t merely said her name; he had called it desperately, while she had struggled to breathe in his arms. 

Arm.

Fuck.

While Josephine spoke to the woman in a reassuring tone, Valadan tried to calm down. She was going to be fine. He hadn’t killed her. And now he had to find Damien. But Josephine’s words reminded him of the healer’s concerns, and before he went to look for his brother, he had to find out what he was dealing with.

When Merry didn’t reply to Josephine’s question of whether she needed help, Valadan came closer. “Did my brother hurt you?” he asked bluntly.

Merry just stared at him. 

“W-what?” she finally stammered. “You… you attacked us.”

“That was… fuck.” Valadan ran his hand through his hair. After what he had done, how should she trust him of all people? “It was an accident. I’m sorry. I mean before. Someone hurt you. Was it him?”

“He’d never hurt me. Where is he?” she asked, and fuck, she was crying again. “Please? Where… where’s Damien?”

“Calm down,” Valadan said, rougher than he had wanted. “I told him to stay away while I got the healer. I guess I’ll—” The sound of knocking against the door interrupted him. “Guess that’s him,” he mumbled.

He still didn’t know why Damien had come here, but almost killing his whatever-she-was had surely been a great way to break the ice. Fuck. He’d have to apologize and hope they’d actually be able to exchange a few words like the civilized people they hadn’t been around each other in two decades.

With a sigh, Valadan opened the door. It wasn’t Damien standing outside, though. It was Sven, one of the men working with him at the carpenter.

“Listen, this really isn’t a good—” Valadan started.

“Are you all right?” Sven interrupted him, staring at his chest. Valadan didn’t need to look to know that there was blood on his shirt. “We saw your brother and… it was your brother, wasn’t it? He looked like he was in a fight, and you—”

Now it was Valadan’s time to interrupt him. “My brother?” He tried to see past Sven, as if Damien could be lurking right behind the man. “Where is he?” 

“He’s… he’s in the harbor. In the…” Sven swallowed nervously. “In the water. We… we kinda… pushed him in.”

“You did what?”

Fuck fuck fuck. Did Damien know how to swim? Could he swim, with one arm, wearing clothes, in the cold late spring ocean?

“It wasn’t… it was Peter! He pushed him off the quay. There was blood, and we thought… he thought… didn’t you—”

Valadan did what he should have fucking done before—he punched the wall instead of the man in front of him. The pain in his hand wasn’t enough to snap him out of his rage, but the sob behind him was. 

He looked over his shoulder, meeting Merry’s gaze. She shook like a leaf, water and blood dripping off her hand where she had broken the glass. Valadan recognized the fear in her eyes, the utter despair of wondering if it was too late, if Damien was already dead.

He pushed Sven aside and started to run.

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

@dont-touch-my-soup @starrysky-whumpfics @kixngiggles @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @honeycollectswhump

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 32

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

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Marvin woke a few hours later, feeling soft and warm and having that same feeling under his head and hand as he lay on top of Chase’s bare chest. The sun was beginning to set at this point, so the room’s lighting was a gentle orange, and Marvin couldn’t help thinking about their Paris trip. The way Chase was sleeping under him and the sight caused a flutter in Marvin’s heart, and this time, those thoughts of keeping Chase didn’t get cut off with fears or worries of losing him or ruining what they had. 

He had said he loved Chase, and Chase gave him love back.

While Chase never said the phrase himself, he didn’t need to. How he held Marvin and was so sweet and tender with him was enough to let him know he felt the same. Not everyone said the words, or it took longer to get them out. But their actions and the other words they’d say were more than enough. 

Marvin decided to stop those thoughts as well. He sat up a little and leaned over to kiss Chase’s chest, then his collarbone, his neck, cheek, and then finally his lips. He giggled when by the time he got to those, Chase had a big smile on his face. 

“How long have you been awake?” Marvin asked. 

“Ten-ish minutes,” Chase answered, opening only one of his eyes. 

“And you just laid here the whole time?”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but now I gotta pee.” 

“Don’t let me stop you.” Marvin laughed, rolling over and watching Chase get up and head for the bathroom. He smiled to himself and rolled back over, enjoying the warmth left behind by Chase’s body. There were only a few moments before Marvin looked over and noticed that the contract was still sitting on the desk. Marvin now debated if he wanted to smack Dark multiple times for trying to get Chase involved in his work or thank him since it got Marvin to confess.

Marvin still wanted to slap him. 

He wanted to slap him a lot. 

He crawled out of bed and went to the desk, picking up the paper and glaring at it. He wanted to tear it up, burn it, turn it to ash and let it blow away in the wind outside. But that wasn’t his call. Marvin could plead his case to Chase, but in the end, it was up to Chase how he wanted to do this. 

“Let me have that.” Chase was back in the room and took the paper from Marvin. 

“Hear me out one more-” Marvin stopped when Chase tore the contract into little squares. “You…you did that?” 

“All I want back is a hoodie she stole. It was my father’s. I know it’s silly-” 

“What does it look like?” Marvin was already brewing a plan in his head. 

“It’s a dark blue with gray splatters on it. Like someone took a paintbrush and flicked gray paint across it several times.” It’s been years since Chase saw that hoodie, but he could still see it like he was wearing it. 

“I’ll get it back for you.” Marvin placed a hand on Chase’s cheek and kissed him. “I promise.” He paused, rubbing his thumb and feeling the stubble of Chase’s facial hair. “It’s what boyfriends do, right?” His chest tightened with worry. Was it too soon? Should he be using that title for them? That tightness relaxed when Chase held his hand and smiled. 

“Right.” Chase turned his head and kissed Marvin’s palm. 

“Don’t get too soft on me.” Marvin giggled. 

“Soft? I don’t remember you complaining about that earlier.” Chase chuckled, taking a few steps and getting Marvin to step back with him. When he felt the bed hit the back of his knees, he happily let himself plop back and grinned as Chase crawled up his body. 

“Mr. Brody, was that a sexual innuendo?” Marvin giggled, making a little show of lifting his arms and framing his head with them. Chase was going to make a cheeky response, but he stopped when it clicked what Marvin had called him. 

“What’s your last name?” Chase asked.

“What’s got you wanting to know my last name?” Marvin raised a brow. 

“It’s just that…well…you know mine and…yeah?” Chase was trying to find a way to articulate his reasoning. It wasn’t going well. 

“You’re not allowed to laugh.” Marvin chewed the inside of his cheek and looked away. 

“I won’t. How bad could it be?”

“It’s Magnis.” 

“It-” Chase cleared his throat. “It’s Magnis? You’re name is Marvin Magnis?” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle himself, but the snort came through loud and clear. 

“And I am now no longer horny.” Marvin started pushing Chase away. Chase wrapped his arms around him and used his whole body weight to get Marvin to plop back down. 

“I’m sorry.” Chase adjusted so he was hovering over Marvin and kissed him. 

“Are you?” Marvin playfully hummed, smiling when that got Chase to kiss him again. “Getting a little closer to forgiveness.” He giggled as he got another kiss, and then Chase kissed his jaw, neck, and chest. “Very close~” Marvin practically purred as Chase’s kisses got lower and lower and-

And then the phone rang. 

“Henrik’s calling?” Chase popped back up and went over to where his pants were on the floor. 

“Henrik’s so lucky that I like him,” Marvin muttered, sitting up and watching Chase crouch, take his phone out, and answer it. 

“Sup? I’m gonna put you on speakerphone.” Chase said before doing so, letting Marvin hear Henrik as well. 

“Assuming that you could answer, you did not get killed by Marvin,” Henrik said through the phone.  

“Quite the opposite, Hen.” Marvin half-sang.

“Gross. But I would like to speak with both of you about…several things. Robbie fell asleep, and I am sure he will not wake until morning.” 

“Want us to come to you?” Chase asked. “We’re at Marvin’s right now.” 

“I will come to you. I do not want to risk waking Robbie early. The poor kid deserves a long rest.” Henrik had a soft sigh at the end of his sentence. “I am going to tidy up and should be over in about thirty minutes, give or take a few. Please put pants on before I arrive.”

“Aw, you don’t want to see the glory that is our bare asses?” Marvin giggled. 

“No,” Henrik stated. 

“You would if we were Edward~”  Marvin laughed when Henrik started swearing in German and then hung up. “Those two finally get together, and Hen is still a flustered mess about him.” 

“I mean, you still fluster me.” Chase straightened up and set his phone on the desk. 

“Come back over here, and I’ll do much more than that~” Marvin beckoned Chase with a finger. 

“But Henrik’s coming.” Chase started gathering clothing. 

“We have thirty minutes. We can be quick. Unless you’re not up to the challenge?” Marvin grinned. He didn’t have to wait long for Chase to drop the clothes and jump into the bed. They both laughed before cutting each other off with a kiss. 

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Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

[arkacarian]

I see a lot of people talk about a Kirby RPG concept and as someone who loves RPGs and has replayed one single RPG over 60 times, I wanna give my own thoughts on how I would go about it

Just a teeny tiny little read more here because I know I’m gonna ramble. So y’know. It’s gonna be long

Ok so I would have it focus on not the main characters. Kirby isn’t even there. It’s a spin off, he doesn’t really have to be. Kirby is napping through some big giant threat, Bandana Dee is out training somewhere, Meta Knight is fixing the Halberd, and Dedede is just totally oblivious. So instead, characters that aren’t the main four have to take up the quest

Biasedly I’d put Adeleine there as the main protagonist, but also, human girl. She’s the only human. I feel like that just works well as an RPG’s main character. Also she 100% deserves a game of her own, so

She sees this scary evil thing, realizes nobody else is gonna do anything about it, grabs a sword (that isn’t possessed or anything because she’s actually aware of what Dark Matter is [unlike a certain someone]), and then goes around trying to find anyone else who can help her

She doesn’t use the sword though she just. Wanted to hold a sword. And smack some people with it and go “we need to go on a quest” and then she throws it away in favor of her paintbrush

I feel like this could actually work just having the members of the Wave Two Dream Friends. Out of all of them, those four (yeah I’m counting Ribbon separately) are the most ragtag misfits. None of them really work together well, so this could be a way to actually explore their dynamics, because 0, 1, and 3 are all pretty explanatory. 0 is the main team, 1 are just silly guys, and 3… yeah everyone knows how those three fit together

So Adeleine as the leader, Ribbon who gets to be separate because she deserves to be her own character and also RPGs are better with four characters in my opinion (totally not bias from the one I’ve played over 60 times), Daroach, and Dark Meta Knight. Who are apparently the only people around to stop some… thing

Who or what would the villain be? What are they trying to stop?

My brain is telling me Dark Matter, since it’s one of the biggest overarching things in the series, and could totally have just seeped into this spin off too. But also… that’s lame

I think it’d be an entirely new, random villain because pretty much all the spin offs do that. Also a lot of spin offs are art themed for whatever reason so now Adeleine being the main protagonist makes sense

Yeah I’m not sure what the force of evil would be

But anyway, there’s my thoughts on what a hypothetical Kirby RPG could be. Extreme amounts of favorite character bias included

And for anyone wondering what game I’ve replayed more than 60 times…

It’s Miitopia

I love Miitopia

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Made of Steele - Chapter 33 - Part 1

*Warning: Adult Content*

Jamie

It's been over a week since Kit 'was discharged from the hospital, and since then, he's been staying with me.

"Hey Jamie, where's your spices?" I hear him ask from the other room, as I put the paintbrush down.

I stare at the canvas in front of me and start to get nervous, after working on this piece for what felt like half my life, was finally completed and ready to be shown to the eyes of the world or my world.

"Jamie?"

I hear a knock and then from the corner of my eye, I see the door slowly open.

"D-Don't come in."

I quickly stand up and look around for a way to hide the painting.

I hear him laugh by the doorway, not opening the door any further.

"Babe, I know you're being so secretive with your new piece but I can't find the spices," he said, making me sigh as I looked back at the canvas nervously.

Despite it being ready, I was still nervous about showing Kit, after-all, it's not every day I paint someone I care about and then show them just how much with one picture.

"Coming... just, don't come in."

I take a deep breath, as I walk over to the doorway and open it slightly.

Kit was grinning that handsome yet content smile I had grown so used to for the past week, making me feel lighter and less anxious than I was a few moments ago.

"What was it, spices?" I ask, going to walk past him.

Kit reaches out and wraps his arms around me, his hands going around my waist and his lips finding their way to my neck as I feel the gentle touch of his lips touch my skin.

"I love that smell," he mumbles into my skin, making me scoff as I wrap my arms around him too.

"Of paint?" I asked dryly, making him laugh.

"You might think I'm crazy but until now I have never gotten more turned on from smelling paint," he said, through sweet kisses on my neck before pulling back.

"You've ruined me."

My stomach tightened and I hated how shy I felt when he said nice, dorky things to me.

I always didn't know what to say so I said nothing and just looked at him.

"Come on, you need to get showered and dressed, our family will be here soon," he said, before leaning in to kiss me on the lips.

I swallowed hard and nodded my head and then followed him into the kitchen, where plates of food covered with tinfoil were laid out on the dining table that had been decorated in Christmas colors.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I mumble, finding the spices that he wanted in the top cabinet above near the stove.

He gave me a look that read no but... and then smiled.

"It's our first Christmas together and I know my family is a little... much but I want them to get on."

'Get on' couldn't be harder when it came to his family or most importantly, his 'mother'.

It's been a month since Kitt got stabbed and the first time I met his family wasn't exactly a 'joyous' occasion, if anything, she called me a billionaire baby brat and accused me of 'stealing her son'.

After a screaming match between Kit and his mom, which I found exhausting, she had finally accepted Kit's decision and chose to move to America and to live with me.

With no longer handling his late dad's company and enough money to live comfortably, Kit didn't want to go back 'home' not when he said I was the home he wanted.

Kit had ended his 'marriage contract' with Jessica Whipley's dad and company partner, despite losing millions from parting ways with an important investor, I know that it was a baggage of weight off his shoulders and mind.

His brother, Alexander had taken over as CEO of his dad's company, who I had only met a handful of times whilst Kit was in the hospital and at first I thought he was immature until he spoke to me alone in the hallway whilst grabbing a coffee.

He had asked if I loved his brother, to which I said... Yes and with both of us staring at each other for an intimidating minute, he laughed out loud and then took the coffee from my hands and then welcomed me to 'the family' before walking away, with my coffee in hand.

Everything was coming together, in a week Kit would be moving in with me temporarily and after what felt like too long, I was happy with how things were.

It felt almost surreal, how happy I was.

Since the moment I met Kit, I had started to draw him, sometimes without realizing it, I would be drawing a random woman from across the street but then suddenly I'd draw his eyes.

For three years he has been on my mind, constantly there, like a torturous piece of gum on my shoe, wherever I went he would be there with me.

That painting in my art studio is something I started all those years ago and haven't dared to finish, until now.

I was going to give it as a Christmas present, along with something else, something more... life-altering than a picture.

I was going to ask Kit, not to marry me but to move in with me permanently, knowing that he had already been looking for apartments in the city, after not wanting to be a burden to me whilst I worked.

"Jamie?" I hear Kit behind the bathroom door, as I turn off the shower and then wrap a towel around my waist.

The door opens and there stands Kit, with his hair styled and in different clothes, clothes that made me look twice as long at him than I usually would.

"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling my eyes away from his lips, which began to form a smile.

"I just wanted to see if you're ready."

He leaned against the doorway, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, slowly.

His eyes made me nervous but they also made me incredibly self-aware because there was nothing more I wanted to do than to peel those clothes off his skin.

"This isn't good," I hear him mumble under his breath, as I shift to look at him.

I noticed what he meant before he said anything else as he shifted the erection between his legs, whilst he gave me that look I couldn't resist as he smirked at me, with playful eyes.

"Our families are almost here and I don't think I'll be able to control myself for this long," he said seriously, as I swallowed the dryness in my throat.

I knew exactly what he was saying, without saying a word, I stepped forward, dropped my towel and watched as his eyes slowly went down my torso until they stopped at my own need for him.

"Jamie..."

"Shh, you talk too much," I interrupt him and then pull him into me as I roughly press my lips against his.

Kit groans out helplessly against my lips, making me smile into the kiss as I push my mouth into his mouth to taste him, a sweet tint of red wine on his tongue as he presses his tongue into my mouth.

"Fuck... seriously, Jamie."

He pressed his erection against me, as he pulled back and rested his head on my shoulder.

"My cock is going to snap in half if you keep kissing me," he said breathlessly, as I bit my bottom lip.

Knowing that I had minutes to get ready before our families arrived, it didn't stop me from grabbing hold of his belt and forcing it off his waist and then unbuttoning his pants to push them down impatiently.

There was no time but the present and although I never said, at this moment, I wanted him too much to care about the time, so I took what I wanted in my hands and ignored the rest.

"Jamie..." he groaned out as I looked up at him, my lips wrapping around the tip of his length.

"Fuck..." he groaned, as his feverish hands landed on either side of my cheeks.

I swallowed Kit further down my throat and watched as he became undone from my tongue, his whole body shaking in pleasure or pain.

At that moment I didn't care which one, I just wanted him to feel what I felt for him, come heaven or hell, I wanted to bring him to new heights with my mouth.

I was close and so was Kit and with only twenty minutes until everyone got here, I swallowed Kit as far as I could before I felt him flinch and try to pull away from me but it was too late.

"S-Shit, f-fuck... Jamie, Oh God..." he moaned out huskily as I almost choked whilst slowly removing his length from my throat.

My throat was burning and he tasted bitter but seeing the look on his face made every second of what I just did worth it as his clouded eyes filled with awe made me almost want to do it all over again.

"Sorry."

I bit back a laugh as I stood back up and then walked over to the sink to wash my face with water, before looking back to smirk at him.

"I couldn't control myself."

He groaned out lowly as he fixed his trousers.

"You have less patience than I do."