#and Frank is easy for me to draw which is cool

[peachy-keenss]

Frank n’ Tate! The most trust worthy lady and town and that sketchy guy who drops especially annoying children off at her shop for her to play mom with when he doesn’t have chloroform. They are friends.

[hwashua-luv]

Sweet Encounters

Walking down the pavement—the gentle hum of city life around you, the long shadows of the late-afternoon sun sprawling over the ground. Just an ordinary day, with the same tired routines and duties in store. Little did you know, today would bring a surprise that would turn the whole course of your day upside down.

That was a few months ago when you first met Choi Seungcheol. This time, it was purely incidental; he had bumped into you at an art gallery in front of the very same painting. He was quite the smooth talker, breaking the ice by striking up a conversation, and you were easily pulled in by his effortless grace and interest in your thoughts. What began as light, ephemeral pleasantries turned into a slew of texts and sporadic meetups.

At best, your relationship with him was unconventional. Seungcheol was a millionaire businessman with a reputation for being charismatic and mysterious; you were an aspiring writer trying to make a name in a world that often felt indifferent. Although he was far above your station, Seungcheol had offered you financial support; it was an act starting in its frankness. He insisted on referring to it as a mutual arrangement, a way in which you could end up with a little bit of free time to write with less continuous level stress of not having enough money.

Today you met with him again for yet another of your regular catch-ups. The evening was warm, and you dressed simple, yet elegant: a perfect choice for the occasion. You had always loved moments like that with him; he provided comfort to your soul by his side and in his conversation.

You reached the upscale café where you decided to meet Seungcheol, and seated at one edge, you found him, incredibly stylish in his made-to-measure suit. His eyes lit up as yours met his, and he quickly rose from his seat. The friendly smile was just right.

"Hey," you answered, trying to cool down the enthusiasm and nervousness that had crept into your voice. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

"Not at all," he said suavely, drawing out a chair for you. "You look lovely, as always."

You sat down, your heart fluttering at the compliment. "Thank you. How was your day?"

"Busy, but good," he answered, eyeing the menu. "I've been looking forward to this all day. It's nice to have a break from the usual routine."

The waiter came around and took your drink orders, and you soon fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. Seungcheol talked animatedly about his new business venture to which you spoke a little about how you wrote and some of the difficulties you ran into.

The conversation was so easy; you just couldn't help feeling that you were meant to be with him. The class and money barriers didn't seem to count in each other's presence. It was just two human beings who understand each other, share interests, and respect each other.

After some time, he came back with your drinks and a small plate of pastries. Taking a sip out of your coffee, feeling the rich taste melting inside, you took a moment to relax.

"So," Seungcheol said, the soft look in his eye directed at you. "I've been meaning to ask. How are you feeling about your writing lately? Are you making any progress?

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and hesitation. "Actually, yeah. I have been struggling a bit. There's this one story that's just been giving me a hard time. I mean, I keep rewriting the same scenes over and over again."

Seungcheol leaned forward, attentive. "Writer's block, huh? I know that can be tough. Sometimes it helps to step away from it for a while and gain a new perspective."

You nodded, feeling he understood you. "That's what I've been trying to do. Maybe some distance will clear things up."

Reaching the length of the table, he picked up your hand with such warm, gentle hands that a nice shiver ran up your arm. "You're really good, and I know you're going to totally ace this. If there's anything I can do to make it easier for you, just say the word."

It was the sincerity in his voice that swelled your heart. You looked into his eyes, and you could see they held real concern and encouragement for you. It was in these little moments that you realized just how special the connection you shared with Seungcheol truly was.

As the night dragged on, you noticed that you became looser and less rigid. The topic of their conversation grew more light-hearted and filled with laughter and banter. Then the sun began to set, giving a golden hue to the outdoor café setting.

Finally, the conversation quietened down, and there it was: that comfortable silence between the two of you. You gazed on Seungcheol, who watched you with another thoughtful expression.

"I'm really glad we met," he said softly. "You brought so much light into my life."

You felt a flush hit your cheeks after hearing such words. "That's nice to say. You've been so kind and supportive. I really don't know where else I would be otherwise."

His eyes locked with yours, and for one full moment, everything else seemed to blend out of focus. There was a level of understanding between you that spoke for a connection so deep, one that had cultivated over the months.

His eyes never strayed from yours as Seungcheol began to move closer, inch by inch. His hand still rested against yours as your breath hitched in your throat, your mind grasping exactly what was happening next. You felt mixed emotions, part excited, part nervous.

His lips brushed against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The sensation was tender and full of emotion; it could not be more perfect, a real reflection of the bond between you both. Your bond is deepening now, and with each touch, your heart begins racing as you melt into this moment.When he pulled away, the both of you were panting, your eyes locked in what seemed like mutual understanding. The kiss was more than a physical action. It was like the seal on the pent-up feelings building between you.

His smile was tender, relieved. "I've wanted to do that for a while now.".

You couldn't help but smile back, and contentment rushed. "I'm glad you did."

The rest of the night was basically a blur of happiness. You walked around a park located a few blocks from the coffee shop. The two of you talked and laughed as the stars began to appear above. It was a perfect ending to a day that started off somewhat ordinary but turned out to be really memorable.

"It's a deal," Seungcheol shook your hand the last time while saying goodbye, the slow, light squeeze meaningful.

"I'll see you soon."

You nodded; you were getting too thrilled and happy. "I can't wait."

He left your side with a final smile and a lingering look, and you walked away, with each step you took away from him you felt everything swell with the promise of a future bright and hopeful, more than it ever was.

That sweet encounter with Choi Seungcheol made you realize that sometimes life surprises you. You just found something extraordinary in the middle of your routine—some honest connection reeling out from societal bounds to touch your heart in ways unimaginable.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Word count: 1217

Author's note: This is my first time publishing my work so please let me know if I have spelling or grammar mistakes. The same book has been posted on Quotev and Wattpad (hwashua-luv). Each oneshot will be posted on Instagram (hwashua._.luv1708). Requests are also open <3

All rights reserved. © 2024 hwashua-luv

All works written by me do not copy, translate or repost my works without my given consent.

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline Part 3 ~

Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle

You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you... Warnings: frank discussion about sex & pregnancy, sorta nsfw

<----Part 1 Part 2 chapter map

-You go to a natural pool in the back of the estate, the stones of the dam hand-laid by your ancestors generations ago. The moon is high, and no one else is here, too busy celebrating. “It’s beautiful,” says Paul, filled with wonder. “Everything here is so beautiful.” He is looking at you, when he says the last, and you don’t know what you’ve done to deserve the admiration in his eyes. 

You jump in head first, clothes and all. Everything needs a rinse. When you surface the moon is bright enough that you can see his earnest expression, his powerful body poised to plunge in after you to save you. You alarmed him. It’s so endearing, and you feel a little guilty. 

“It feels wonderful,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He relaxes a little, gives that boyish smile that ties your heartstrings up in knots. He kicks off his shoes first, before diving in. You are treading water, but he finds a rock with his long legs on which to stand. You cling to his shoulders, smiling like a fool. 

“I feel like I found a mermaid,” he says, holding you close. The water is cool, and the line of his body heat against yours is wonderful. 

“You’d better hope not,” you tease. “Don’t sirens try to drown sailors after luring them in?”

“Hmm.” He pulls you closer with that gentle smile. “You seem pretty sweet to me.”

You sigh at hearing that. “Oh Paul…” You kiss again, a slow, lingering press of lips that curls your toes, and makes you wrap your legs around him in the water. “Y/n?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I wouldn’t mind, you know, if we really were married.” 

With a sigh you rest your chin in the bend of his neck. You feel like you can tell this man anything, and he won’t get mad, and yet part of you just wants to protect him. Most of all, from yourself. 

“You don’t want me. Not really.” 

“That’s news to me.” You can tell he’s smiling as he says this. It makes you smile too. 

“Maybe you want to make love to me.”

He laughs shyly; you feel like your bones are filled with sunshine. “Yes.” You can feel the evidence of this, his hard, large bulge poking against your center. It fills you with stupifying want all over again.

You kiss him behind the ear. “You can.” Another kiss, your lips dragging across his cheek. “Just…don’t finish inside me.” He laughs again, quieter, completely self-deprecating, as though you’ve suggested the impossible. 

“Sure. Says the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Riiight.” You roll your eyes, drawing back to look at him. He’s beautiful like this, his dark hair slicked back, water droplets silver on his eyelashes. 

“I mean it. You are, to me.”

“Paul…” You toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, your heart so full it physically aches.

“I would take care of you,” he tells you gently. “If…we made a baby.” 

You believe him, too. It moves you, every cell in your body straining for this man, and inexplicably that makes you angry, mostly at yourself. 

It sounds like such an easy thing, like baking a cake. Mix the ingredients, put it in the oven, pull out a sweet little bundle of joy. Make a baby. But you know it is truly a bloody and dangerous business, for a woman. You’ve seen it first hand. And bringing the thing into the world is only the start.

“I don’t want to be a mother, and I don’t want to be taken care of,” you tell him, knowing you sound petulant, unable to stop. You let go of him, pushing off to swim across the pool. Now the water feels unbearably cold, without him. 

However, somehow, he still isn’t angry. He just watches you across the water, with those sad soulful eyes. “What do you want, y/n?” 

You think he’s the only man who’s ever really asked you that. 

“I want…freedom,” you admit, and once you start you can’t stop. “I want to live on my own terms, rather than someone else’s. I want to just be responsible for myself, instead of having to run after children and men who act like children and constantly cleaning up someone else’s mess. I want a room of my own, with a window overlooking the Bay, with an Underwood typewriter. I want to write books. I want to travel. I want…” You look at him, smiling winsomely across the quicksilver waters at you, and your next words ball up in your throat. 

I want you.   

All the things you named before, seem stupid, utterly pointless, without that last keystone to hold it all together. 

You don’t know how to tell him that, without utterly signing yourself away to him.

He nods, to himself as much as you. “I hope you get those things, y/n. I hope you get everything you want.” 

“I hope you do too,” you say, and mean it. “I hope you get your house, your family, and your dog.” You can’t see how you fit anywhere in that picture. 

He shrugs, looking down at the water, making ripples beneath the surface with his big hands. “It was just…an abstract idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“The things we want can change, with the people we meet.” 

“Paul…”

“What if…I just want you?”

“You don’t.”

“Yes I do.” He says it sweetly with a shrug, just so matter of fact. 

“I would hurt you.”

“Maybe. But maybe…it would be worth it, to try. I think I love you, y/n.” 

You freeze treading water, and almost choke on a mouthful as you sink. 

What have you done? 

 Before you can think of anything to say, or swim to him again to kiss him silly, a hair-raising scream splits the air in the distance. You know that sound, and your blood runs cold. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Gato monte.”

“A what?”

“Lion. Mountain lion. Time to go. Vamos!”

Don Juan was a hunter, and he had a rug made of one in his den. Maybe you would show Paul–if you made it back to the house alive. You run back to the hacienda together soaking wet, hand in hand. He left his shoes behind in your haste. As soon as you make it back to the flood of torchlight by the house you feel safe. Only then do you laugh together, leaning on the stone wall. 

“The devil have you two been up to?” demands a familiar voice filled with disdain. 

You gravitate into Paul’s arms without even looking. 

“Swimming, señor,” you answer, short of breath. We heard–a mountain lion.”

Don Juan emerges from the shadows, smirks, pleased for some reason, and you wonder if maybe the sound you heard was not the leon, but a man. 

“The two of you should be careful. So many bad fates could befall a man, out in the mountains.” 

He is looking at Paul as he says it, and your heart drops like a stone. You know that look from when you were children, and you're afraid don Juan is up to something bad.

TBC...

[pridelessdaydreamer]

PLOTTER / SHIPPER

taken from: nat's linoan!

tagging: flutters my lashes like a funny lil guy :eye::sparkles:

1. CONNECTIONS

write about how our muses could connect with each other! ex. what does your muse like to do that other people would be involved in? do they have interests that other people might share?

Linhardt is a Black Eagle, and one native to Fódlan. Any who decide to study the politics of the continent would easily stumble upon his house, and connections can be drawn from there (accurate or otherwise).

She is a frequenter of the library though, even if she's most often found there late at night. Aside from her chronic reading, she also likes to fish! Not competitively though. She's not that competitive.

If you can't find them in class, the library, or at the Fishing Grounds though, just wander around the monastery a bit—they're probably asleep underneath a tree somewhere. Or in their room asleep, in which case, good luck finding them.

2. PLATONIC

write about your muse and their concept of friendship. ex. how is your muse like with friends? do they make friends easily or do they find it difficult to connect with others?

Friendship for Lin is... interesting, to say the least. They'll regard you much the same as they would any other person, but perhaps with slightly less rudeness/sass (unless you're really close, then it's worse *cough cough* CASPAR *cough cough*). The chance of summoning them with the click of your heels increases by 0.5%, so that's also a neat bonus! Really, the big thing is that they'll consciously worry about you now (when they think it's necessary to worry, otherwise, you're on your own).

The thing is, once you actually manage to pin him down, so long as you aren't asking him to do work all the time, you'd be pretty alright in his book! The threshold for 'friendship' though is rather hard to pin down—one day you're acquaintances and the next you're friends. It's not really easy to draw the line.

I can't say she makes friends easily considering she... doesn't exactly try, to be quite frank (it's part of the reason the previous bullet is so nebulous). She'd be completely content being alone forever (minus that one hamster), and she doesn't really rely on others that much except to do work she'd rather not do! Actively seeking out a friend isn't really something she does. I can't say she struggles either though—there is simply no effort made at all. Alas.

3. ANTAGONISTIC

write about your muse and the conflicts they have with other people. ex: who are they on bad terms with? what kind of people do they not get along well with? how do they act around people they don’t like?

Hubert. Also Ferdinand. Edelgard to an extent. Caspar sometimes (it's a best friends thing) /j. Yeah. Yeah.

To elaborate, anybody who expects her to put in more than the minimum amount of effort gotta be joking fr! It's not that bad if it's a misunderstanding, but if you try to force it? Yikes. (Edelgard ain't that bad fr cuz she knows when to quit! Also when to appeal. She's cool ong)

Admittedly, antagonism for Linhardt is basically the same as their normal behavior, just snarkier. More witty rebuttals and sharp comments—this man can never be anything but blunt! They're already very likely to just walk away from a conversation, but if they don't like you? Ohoho!

Won't lose sleep over it though. That's a bit too much.

4. ROMANTIC

write about your muse and their relationship with romance. ex. are they searching for love or not interested in it in the slightest? what’s their dating history like? how do they act around crushes? how would they treat their partner if they were in a relationship?

Okay 'cause this is hilarious when the muse is aromantic gwahaha!

This is an aroace lil guy—completely disinterested in romance for romance's sake (because someone tell me how he tells how many different girls they're gonna have kids together in his A-supports? Also in basically every instance it's got something to do with crests and studying them. He's a bit insane).

Their dating history is completely blank. There is actually nothing to see here.

Similarly, there are no crushes for her to act different around! This one is fairly normal (<- this post was brought to you by the Aspec Gang)

As for how he'd treat his partner if he was dating—the same way he would act if they were friends? lol? Literally nothing has changed in his mind except that there might be kisses or something. (Is there a book he can read somewhere on this? Probably.)

Oh well she's probably gonna get married off for political purposes anyway. (This post was brought to you by the Noble Clique.)

[superyoshiegg]

Goofy ahh unhinged nerd rant

House of Ashes spoiler warning.

One of my personal biggest problems with the game, besides the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad plot armour for most of the cast, is the endings. Or rather, *ending*.

Because there's just the one. Only the one finale scenario at that, too.

Until Dawn did this too, way back in 2015, but you would have thought that four games later (UD>HA>MoM>LH>) that they would be improving in this regard, not stagnating. Or worse, regressing.

Combined with the fact that Nick, Salim and Jason cannot die until the last 10 minutes of the game **really** kills the replayability of the game, and thus (to me) the biggest draw of this genre.

For as much justifiable flak as Little Hope gets, it still had *seven* different endings (although personally I think it's closer to four real ones).

Not only did Man of Medan also have seven endings, but it has three different ending scenarios to boot!

Daylight is a cool spectacle for sure, but if you boil it down mechanically, it is literally just an easy QTE fest. Full Circle, Lake, Ultimatum, Flooded and Matters of the Heart all feature dialogue options and choices to go alongside the QTEs (except LH which lacks QTEs altogether which is fine), which makes me want to play them over Daylight any day.

TL;DR - Replaying House of Ashes feels more like replaying a slightly variable Call of Duty campaign, and it's not because it's a military themed title. I seriously hope that The Casting of Frank Stone and Season 2 of The Dark Pictures Anthology do NOT repeat this mistake.

[hmslusitania]

It tightens its grip when things go unsaid

A soft (??) 5x14 coda built on like a dozen posts I saw on my dash this morning. It sure went. A direction.

“Oh my god, you kept this?”

Eddie freezes in place, paused with his hands and the broccolini under the frigid water of the tap.

“Kept what?” he asks, attempting for casual. It had been a lot easier to maintain a calm disinterest before Frank but as it turns out, part of getting better was giving up playing numb.

Buck pulls the drawing off the fridge, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Gives himself that much longer to deny it.

“Eddie,” Buck prompts, and there’s laughter in his voice but there’s something else too. Something softer, gentler.

“It was — Chris said I—” and he pauses again. Because yes, Chris had said he should keep Buck’s heart drawing, but that wasn’t why Eddie had done it. And he’s spent enough time filtering his feelings towards Buck through Chris. “I liked it.”

Buck snorts and pins it back under the magnets. “Makes me feel bad. I shoulda drawn you a better one.”

“I didn’t draw you one at all,” Eddie replies which is probably nonsensical.

“It’s not like I’ve got a fridge to hang it on anymore anyway,” Buck points out.

He doesn’t. Not with the way he’s been sleeping on Eddie’s couch since he ceded his apartment in the breakup. He’s been in Eddie’s house for two weeks now and Eddie can’t fathom how Buck has missed the drawing so far.

It’s later when they’re on shift, and everyone else is passed out, that Eddie gets the idea. They don’t exactly keep craft supplies around the station, but he finds some paper and a pencil and by the time Bobby wakes up to come get started on breakfast, Eddie’s gone a bit overboard. Partway into the exercise, he’d noticed one of Hen’s surgical textbooks lying in the loft and flipped it to the relevant page, and as it turns out, the art classes he’d taken in high school — the ones he’d insisted were just because he was crushing on a girl, which made them acceptable — hadn’t quite worn off.

The piece of art he’s scribbled down in graphite isn’t quite an anatomical heart and it isn’t quite a photorealistic depiction from the textbook and it isn’t quite the cartoony simplicity Buck had given him. It’s not nearly so digestible and easy to accept. He thinks the thing he’s supposed to do with something like this is being it to his therapist the way a pet cat brings a dead animal, but he doesn’t. Instead, he avoids Bobby’s questioning gaze and takes it downstairs. He tapes it to the inside door of their locker, and forgets about it seconds later because the bell goes.

He doesn’t think about it again until the second Buck opens their locker after their shift is done. He pauses, head tilting sideways, and Eddie considers ducking behind the shelves and hiding his face in the stacks of towels.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” Buck says. “This is, like, cool.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“It’s cool,” Buck says. He gently unpeels the tape from the locker and just stares down at the drawing. “Would it be weird if I got this as a tattoo?”

“If you got it as—seriously?”

Buck looks guileless when he lifts his gaze to meet Eddie’s eye. “I don’t have a fridge.”

Eddie almost points out that this is why he’d put it in the locker, but something in Buck’s face stops him. He almost points out that Buck’s skin is not interchangeable with a fridge, but he doesn’t do that either. It’s the visual representation of Eddie’s still battered but healing heart and Buck wants to ink it onto his own flesh.

“If you want,” Eddie says finally. “But I won’t be offended if you change your mind by the time you actually get in to see an artist.”

Buck grins but it’s too soft around the eyes to be a real flippant smile. “I won’t.”

[sativaonsaturn]

the signs in their feelings pt. 1 (songs for the signs vol. 2)

this one is a little all over the place 😅 i apologize in advance. i organized it well so it should at least be an easy read :)

TW/ drug abuse

hi! so originally this post was going to go over every sign but I got caught up in analyzing these couple songs and didn’t want a long, drawn out post. so pls stay tuned for pt.2 where i cover more signs. - sativa 🍃

💦 Capricorn Moon (with a minor in libra mars/ moon?): Novacane and Thinkin Bout You by Frank Ocean (who has a libra mars and capricorn moon in 3rd house, which i found particularly interesting bc these songs seem to be conveying emotions to someone without telling them directly)

so in Thinkin Bout You he starts with deflecting (mars in detriment):

“A tornado flew around my room before you came/ Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn’t rain in”

then he goes on to address his true feelings (3rd house moon):

“My eyes don’t shed tears, but boy they pour when…/ I’m thinkin’ bout you”

then he draws it back with (moon in detriment):

“No, I don’t like you, I just thought you were cool enough to kick it”

finally he opens up (3rd house again):

“Yes of course I remember, how could I forget how you feel?”

!big disclaimer!: pls keep in mind that this song is written about an individual’s experiences and that these experiences are clouded by TW/ drug use. so these may not resonate if you have not shared these experiences.

now in Novacane, he starts off again with subdued emotions (moon + mars in detriment):

“Zero emotion, muted emotion/ Pitch corrected, computed emotion”

“Sink full of dishes, pacing in the kitchen/ Cocaine for breakfast”

He’s trying to be present in his pleasure but struggles to while everything is suppressed (cap moon, but! this experience is largely due to drug use):

“Been tryna film pleasure with my eyes wide shut”

He reveals a little of what he’s truly feeling (3rd house moon):

“But there’s no drug around/ Quite like what I found in you, you”

“You put me on a feeling that I never had, never had/ And ever since I’ve been tryna get it back/ And pick it up and put it back”

Then returns to covering up (libra mars):

“I still can’t feel my face/ What am I smoking anyway?”

thank you for reading! i hope you found this interesting like i did

sativaonsaturn 🍃🪐

[starbornvalkyrie]

ACOSF USA BOOK TOUR NOTES

Hey y’all! I just attended the LiveTalks Los Angeles event with Sarah J Maas and Eva Chen!! I took lots of notes so I wanted to share them with you all! They’re a little incoherent on the page, so it might seem a crazy, they jumped topics a lot. Feel free to chat with me about what she talked about! But first.

MY RULES:

NO SHIP OR CHARACTER SLANDERING. I know that we all may have different opinions. I will not offer my opinions here, this is purely informational for those of you who did not have the opportunity to attend this event.

PLEASE NO ARGUING IN MY COMMENTS OR ASK BOX WITH ME OR ANYONE ELSE WHO COMMENTS

Acknowledge that I am not perfect and may not have written down everything perfectly. I did my best while still trying to enjoy the event.

I AM NOT SARAH J MAAS AND CANNOT INTERPRET WHAT SHE MEANS

I’m tagging this with #acosf spoilers and #acosfspoilers just in case.

If you understand and can abide by these rules, keep reading below the cut, and enjoy!

SJM said it was weird doing this event from her living room where you might be able to hear her dog in the background or her son trying to get into the room.

ACOSF started as a passion project while she was writing ACOWAR! It was never anything she thought she was going to publish. (more on this later)

About reading and writing growing up

in middle school, she read a lot of fantasy

in high school, she didn’t read as much, but wrote A LOT. it became her fixation, almost an obsession.

in college, she only really wrote on vacations (she had a very healthy social life hehehe) but her junior year is when she found her balance between schoolwork, writing, and socializing.

there was no plan B for her!! it was always to be an author. if it didn’t happen right away, she was going to find a job that would get her by until plan A could come to be.

her favorite author growing up was Garth Nix. She longed for books about badass women. She got to meet him and write a blurb to be on one of his books! She cries when she meets her favorite authors.

Talk about character names!

her character names come from everywhere and nowhere

sometimes she’ll just hear a name in her head and think “that’s it!” (Rhys, for example)

she needs to know the name to write the character

if the name doesn’t immediately come to her, she spends a lot of her time on baby name websites and makes lists until it clicks

sometimes the names just... connect. sometimes she doesn’t mean for them to.

it will always be uncommon. never “Frank” lol

Writing about Nesta!

on a “surface level” she loves writing when Nesta comes out to fight. for example, her favorite scene in this aspect to write was the bog scene. As soon as she got to it, it flowed out of her. The final product was almost identical to the first draft. She wrote it in one session, from the terror & tread to the “who am i?” to when she emerged--she went YES. MAJOR Mic Drop moment for her.

going deeper: definitely her overall journey was one of the favorites she’s ever written. From the dark place she’s in at the beginning to the very end. 

Writing about Nesta meant so much to her because of her own mental health. She channeled a lot of her own feelings and went on the journey with Nesta.

it was a lot of “how do you face mental health in a fantasy world without therapy and medication”

it was easy to get into Nesta’s mind but emotionally intense.

ACOSF’S BIG MESSAGE: LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. YOU ARE WORTH OF LOVE.

YES there is a book planned for Elain!

As soon as Nesta and Elain came onto the page again in ACOMAF, she knew they’d get their own journey.

Nesta grabbed her by the throat in book 1

She was originally contracted for only the first three books but realized there was more she wanted to explore. Essentially the “what comes next” after ACOWAR in this new world with out the wall.

FUN FACT: while editing ACOMAF/writing ACOWAR, she drunkenly told her editor at the time, “hey guess what happens next?”, and it turned into a two hour conversation about everything she wants to happen for Nesta, Elain, Mor, Azriel, etc. TWO WEEKS LATER, she gets a call saying they want to buy the stories!! Obviously, she said yes.

This allowed her to start planting the Easter eggs for these stories in ACOWAR. She knew she did not want Nesta to be sympathetic at the beginning of the book! But she did not want people to hate her.

She always has one eye on the horizon for future books.

If she could visit one court for a day, which and why?

She LOVES the season Autumn, it’s her favorite. “BUT EVERYONE IN THE AUTUMN COURT IS AN ASSHOLE”. She would want to visit the Autumn Court when no one is there so she can enjoy the beauty of Autumn.

But also she would want to go to the Summer Court because she has a thing for Tarquin but only if it’s not gross and humid.

She would ALSO want to go to the Day Court for Helion and all his libraries.

ESSENTIALLY she would want to go everywhere but Spring because Tamlin sucks and is an asshole lmao.

BEAST FORMS

SJM’s beast form would be something totally not cool or majestic like a sea otter.

Nesta’s beast form would be something terrifying and beautiful like a snow leopard/dragon hybrid, a griffin, or a sphinx. **WANTS SOMEONE TO DRAW THIS**

FUN QUESTIONS

Nesta’s favorite smutty book would be JR Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. She reads these books for the distraction, of course, but also for the comfort they gave her that everything turns out okay for the characters.

Nesta’s Starbucks order: cappuccino- something simple, nothing with too much sugar or whipped cream. Elain’s would be a Frappe- something delicious and sweet. SJM’s is a flat white, iced or not, but never after 2PM.

SJM usually listens to classical music and movie scores while she writes, but she’s gotten used to write in silence so that she can listen for her son’s shenanigans with Josh.

“Stay Together for the Kids” by Blink 182 semi-inspired the scene when Nesta and Cassian go back to her family’s cottage. She can hardly explain why.

WRITING ADVICE

Write what you love, not what you think you should be writing.

Give yourself permission to suck. Her first drafts are shit and are usually accompanied with an email that says “I know I need to fix this, this and that” lol.

WRITE THE DAMN THING. Vomit on the page!

YOU CAN’T FIX A BLANK PAGE.

Her least favorite part about the publishing process is the first pass of copy edits, those last minute checks and balances. But once it’s off to the printer, it’s not her problem anymore.

She’s every publisher’s worst nightmare because she sends it off to the printer at the LAST possible minute.

For reference: Throne of Glass was finished almost... a year and a half? ...before it hit shelves, but ACOSF was finished this past fall.

MAIN CHARACTER TALK

All of her heroines have a piece of her.

SJM’s personality is a hybrid of Bryce and Nesta.

Feyre and Nesta got most of her in terms of learning to be empowered.

She has to have a connection to them in order to write them. It’s an out of body, method acting experience.

MISCELLANEOUS

She said “CC2 is a year from now.”

She started writing ACOTAR in 2008 before she published TOG.

She loves the story and dynamic of Elizabeth and Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Cassian is Elizabeth. Nesta is Darcy.

And that’s all I have, folks! Thank you for reading, I hope you got something out of this!

[tubbietommo]

MY TOP 10 F1 HELMETS OF 2020 (AS A GRAPHIC DESIGNER)

With finally that dumb rule about amount of helmet changes out of our system, I’ve been enjoying seeing all these different helmets this season. There have been beauties, some that I’m still thinking about till this day and there have been some uglies.. some also which I’ve been thinking about till this day and literally thinking: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!? to the drivers that wore them. 

As I’m getting my official graphic design ‘papers’ I wanted to give my opinion about my top 10 helmets of this year: 

10: Daniil Kvyat Abu Dhabi helmet

This is his last helmet and honestly I’m a fan of this one. It’s a pretty simple design and usually I’m not a big fan of the colour red being used in a helmet. Mostly because I find that colour a bit overdone in helmets. But it being sparkly makes it extremely beautiful and it’s the first Alpha Tauri helmet that I’ve seen that match fully with that big ass logo on there. With most of the Alpha Tauri helmets I feel like the helmets designs have two parts to it, the design and the big ass logo. But with this one I find it matching extremly well. Good job on that, love it.

9: Pierre AustrianGP helmet (fan made)

Oof, the front and the upper part of this helmet is just so fun. I’m a big fan of using a dark background with a very bright color scheme combined and I love the fact that this was a competition where fans could design Pierre’s helmet and that a beautiful design was chosen. I would have loved it even more if the alpha tauri logo wasn’t there. Especially that big. It would have looked so cool and given me an 80′s disco vibe if the whole colourful design was fully around the helmet, without the logo. But I guess with this one I just pretend the logo isn’t there. It's still so good though.

8: Sebastian Vettel Abu Dhabi (ferrari tribute) helmet.

Now I wasn’t sure which helmet of Seb I liked more, this helmet or the Styrian helmet. I decided on this helmet, because it’s such a Seb helmet and reminded me of one of his Red Bull helmet (which is prettier than this one tbh). But also because I think there’s a special concept to this helmet. This obviously could be wrong but to me this helmet is a bit of ‘self reflect’ for Seb. You obviously have the achievements with Ferrari on there and his famous quote ‘grazie ragazzi and the helmet has a bit of a mirror effect. but the colours to me that especially are being used in the number 5 tells me his F1 adventure (past and future). The colours start (in the number 5) with the Redbull colours, than goes into the red(Ferrari) which blends in with a little pink and goes straight to the green(AM). So I really like this little detail even if it wasn’t on purpose, which sorry but I am convinced it is. 

7: The pink Hulkenberg helmet

I’m not gonna lie, I kind of had forgotten about this helmet, but as I’ve been looking back at these helmets this one has been really catching my eyes and is so well done. I find Pink a very hard colour to work with anyway, definitley the bright pink that just screams at you. And the fact that the bright pink isn’t overpowering with the pastel pink and white makes this helmet just nice to look at. The things that needs to grab your attention, grabs your attention and the fact that it has stripes going vertically over the helmet is one of my favourite design choices you can do with helmets so I absolutely love that. If a driver is doing a pink helmet, then this is what I love to see. Very beautiful. 

6: Jack Aitken Abu Dhabi helmet

Now this one I was pleasent surprised by. Lets just put it this way: It’s a busy helmet well done. This is also a helmet that is just nice to look at it. Using these kinds of shapes that go from small once to big once is not easy to make it not look messy and the way they've done the white spaces inbetween the shapes is really well done. It looks like a puzzle that fits well and I have nothing bad to say about this. The color scheme with this one is just amazing. Really really love this one.

5: Lewis Hamilton purple helmet (bahrain)

I haven’t been a fan of Lewis’s helmets before BUT LET ME TELL YOU, this season he has really been bringing it. I am in love with the use of purple. Such an underrated color in this sport. And why? I have no clue. Purple is creative, magic, rich colour. How has it not been used more? It looks so good on this helmet, especially the Bahrein one with the glitter. Very pretty, good job Lewis. Finally! I have nothing bad to say about this helmet. The stars for his champions, the blm message on it. A good helmet right here. 

4: George’s Abu Dhabi GP helmet

I guess a lot of drivers saved their best helmet for last... When I saw this helmet for the first time I was legit in love with it. I love that this helmet is for Frank and Claire and showing the success of Williams which haven’t been showed the last couple of years. But the use of the two dark blue shades with the white lines is complimenting all three colours so beautifully. I really hope George keeps those three colours and make a different kind of design as his main helmet because this looks beautiful to me. I wouldn’t even know anything bad to say about this helmet. Love it.

3: Alex’s Abu Dhabi GP Helmet

Now this one might come as a surprise and I don’t think anyone would’ve picked this one out as a number three BUT HEAR ME OUT. I’m absolutely OBSESSED with the cartoonish design that’s going on with this and it stands out a lot more compared to all the other Red Bull helmets that have been designed since 2015. To me they’ve been all looking kind of the same but this one to me is just so unique while still being a very RedBull helmet. The black outlining makes all of the colours pop out so much more and just the whole cartoon vibe is just right up my alley. If I were to design helmets, the whole cartoon vibe would be what I do and I think that’s one of the main reasons why this helmets speaks to me so much. Like I absolutely love it.

2: Seb’s Tuscan GP helmet

This was the hardest decision, because to me this is a clear number one. I have something with old designs coming back. And I LOVED Seb’s 2019 Monza helmet which was a love letter to the old helmets and I LOVE this helmet for the same reason, but even more so of how creative this is. Obviously it was the 1000GP for Ferrari so there was the inspiration. But I’m just obsessed with the way the old side looks. How they used an old drawing of the old racing car and made it really work. Like it almost looks like an old world map but to a racing driver. I’m obsessed with this side. But also I’m obsessed with the way it goes from the old side to the new with the old looking colours to the vibrant almost neon ‘now’ colours... is just amazing. I probably would’ve loved it even more (if that was possible lmao) if the old side was all around the helmet, but you just have to love this concept. For a 1000gp celebration it’s so good and well thought while still keeping your main design helmet in there. I would love to have this helmet. So cool.

1: Sebastian Vettel diversity helmet

Is it really a surprise that this one is on number one though? Now I’m gonna be honest with you, even though I absolutely love this design, it’s the combination of the design and the extremly strong message this helmet brings to the table that makes this helmet a number one of the season. This helmet is so special I will be thinking about this helmet in probably 10 years still. Now let me talk about the design. The stripes of rainbow where usually the German flag is (which I said before) something I’m obsessed with. I really love a helmet that has stripes going vertically over the helmet. I don’t think a lot of drivers use that and obviously Seb’s Ferrari helmet is known for that design and is so iconic. Your eyes will go straight to the vertically stripes, which in this case are the rainbow colours. But that’s not all. On the side you have all these unique illustrated people. Every character on there is differently that you almost could say you could ‘find yourself’ in there. It really shows the message of this helmet. What I also love and probably is a detail that is a forgotten detail, is how the number five slowly fades with the background. I’m very curious if that’s just a design choice, but I almost would think there’s a concept in that alone. Overall this is just a mind blowing helmet. I have nothing bad to say about it. It’s a beautiful design with an amazing message that should be talked more about in this sport.

[darklightmiwxo]

MIW history

Hello I want to make a history and facts post of MIW. I been a fan for a few months so I may miss some stuff out. New fans can check this out to understand more of the band.

Motionless in white members:

[IMG=OAA]

Name: Chris motionless (cerulli)

Full name: Christopher Cerulli)

Age: 34

Birthday: October 17 1986

Zodiac: Libra

Birth place: Scranton Pennsylvania

Height: 6'1

Role: main singer

Relationship Status: single

Chris says he doesn't want to get married.

Fear: heights and flying

Personality: a really kind person who cares for his fans he's funny and has a dad humor. Everyone just see him as a dad to them.

Interest: Chris really loves dogs. He plays video games halo and call of duty he plays it all the time. His fave bands is slipknot,marlin manson,korn,HIM,and more rock bands.

[IMG=EOZ]

Name: Ricky Olson (horror)

Full name: Richard Alison Olson the third

Nick name: Rick

Age: 32

Birthday: September 1st 1988

Birth place: Seattle WA

Lives: Scranton Pennsylvania

Zodiac: Virgo

Height: 5'6

Uni: he studied film production in college but dropped out for the band.

Role: rhythm guitarist and backing vocalist

Relationship status: taken by Jamie L

Fear: dying alone,being hated,failing

Personality: he's a calm sweet person he's very smart and also really kind. He's a good caring friend. However he can be a troll sometimes and mess around with everyone because he loves doing it. He loves his fans so much. He's a shy boy.

Interest: he loves to write,draw,edit,take photos, record videos,run his YouTube channel,create a mini sketch video to post on his channel, being a director,he loves cats and reading books.

Ricky fave bands is: muse,HIM,afi,slipknot,BMTH,Ariana grande,Ellie goulding.

[IMG=NEP]

Name: Vinny Mauro

Full name: Vinchenzo Mauro

Nick name: vin,chenzo,sachetti

Nationality: Italian American

Age: 27

Birthday: Nov 22 1993

Birth place: jersey shore Pennsylvania

Zodiac: Sagittarius

(he's also a Sagittarius Scorpio cusp)

Height: 5'6

Uni: vinny study computer programming but he dropped out of college to join the band in 2014

Role: drummer

Bands: MIW,suffer club,trap demon

Relationship Status: single

Fear: being hated by people

Personality: in most of Ricky vlogs vinny seem extroverted he is loud around friends and has lots of fun being silly. But in reality there is a side to him that isn't easy to see you can see it in his twitch stream. He's actually really introverted he said this himself. He's calming and sweet he interact with fans a lot and making sure fans respect each other. He loves to be alone in his room for many days avoiding human contact. Vinny mention being too shy to go up to new people but he is fine if people go up to him. He doesn't feel comfortable talking to new people. He likes being alone.

Interest: creating rap beats,playing video games,making music,dogs and cats,playing drums.

Vinny fave artist are: Fall out boy,paramore,korn,panic! At the disco,HIM,my chemical romance,arch enemy,maroon 5,emeiem,Ariana grande,dua lipa,Mack millo,doji cat,bring me the horizon,pierce the veil,sleeping with sirens,all time low,black veil brides,Rihanna,linkin park,green day,evanescences.

[IMG=XHH]

Name: Ryan Sitkowski

Age: 30

Birthday: Jan 8,1991

Zodiac: Capricorn

Birth place: Pennsylvania

Height: 5'11?

Uni: he dropped out of college to join MIW

Role: lead guitarist

Relationship Status: taken

Fear: spiders

Personality: Ryan is a chill person he's shy and caring to fans. He's also a troll he loves to mess around with his friends.

Interest: guitar,video games,trading card games.

Bands: the same as the rest of miw probably.

[IMG=QFE]

Name: Justin morrow

Age: 32?

Birthday: May 11th

Birth place: Caledonia, New York

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 6'1

Role: bassist

Relationship Status: married

Fear: ?

Personality: Justin is a kind chill person who cares for his fans and his friends. He left ice nine kills to right away help MIW on tour. Justin is also a troll he loves trolling his friends.

Interest: videos games but not a nerd like the others,bass,cosplaying,putting makeup on.

Bands: the same as MIW

Motionless in white history:

The band started in high school of 2005

Chris,Angelo,Frank p,Kyle white being the first members of the band. Later after college and the bands demo releases Josh joined the band. Frank moved to bass. Micheal and TJ join as guitarist. Later on micheal left the band and Chris met Ryan. Ryan then joined as guitarist of the band. Chris met Ricky in 2009. Frank left the band and Ricky was the new bassist for MIW.

MIW got more popular in 2009 when they tour around the state's in a van. Tj left the band a year later to join escape the fate (Ronnie radke of falling in reverse old band and bless the fall singer Craig band) Ricky then became the new rythmn guitarist of the band. Ghost (Devin) join as the bass player of the band. During the infamous album creation Angelo was feeling ill he couldn't play drums well anymore he gets tired easily and his drum skills wasn't good at all he was eating bad that it make him weak. He couldn't drum anymore so he left the band. The band had other drummers help record their albums. Brandon was the touring drummer for the band till the end of the reincarnated album. The band met vinny and he became the new drummer he was in the reincarnated music video playing drums but you can't see him much in the music video. Vinny then became a member of MIW not a tour drummer anymore but a actually member of MIW. Josh left the band around this time. In the graveyard shift era after the making of the album the whole band kicked ghost out of the band because the fans told the band what ghost did to fans which was very gross. The band kicked him out and Justin from ice nine kills join the band as bassist then he quit ice nine kills to be working full time for MIW. Disguise is the first album where the whole current members of the band created songs without other people doing it for them.

Chris history from high school to now:

Chris grew up in Pennsylvania. He met his friends who end up being the band members of the band he wanted to create he wasn't expecting to be the main singer. At a young age Chris started getting tattoos everywhere.

Chris cared about the band and just went for it.

Demos of the band was created. Chris is a perfectionist he wants the album to be perfect so he was judging everything in order to make a album he liked. Band members left but he didn't quit the band he try to find new band members and try to meet new bands. He worked hard for the band he carry the whole band and make sure the band was doing well. Chris thanks Ryan and Ricky for being the most loyal band members staying with him all these years and not leaving him. Chris had the fear of failing the band breaking up and Chris dreams crushing down but Chris didn't let that happen at all. And here we are today.

Ryan Sitkowski college to now:

Ryan dropped out of college to join MIW at age 17. He was new to the band and Josh didn't like him at all. Ryan was at a young age traveling all over the state with the band. Ryan haven't shared much of his life on the internet he kept it more private. Ryan got a girlfriend and then when the lockdown happen he started streaming on twitch to interact with fans and made a discord too.

Ricky Olson high school to now:

Ricky is the oldest of his siblings. When Ricky was young he was playing with his friends sports and something hit his tooth so half of Ricky teeth is fake. He mention he cry to his mom on the phone because of it. Ricky in middle school wanted to be in a band because his friends played instruments and he wanted to join them. Ricky in high school was a shy boy who had a few friends but they were mostly fake friends. Ricky Olson begin to play guitar and write stories because of the inspiration of Ville Valo from HIM. He became obsessed with HIM. Ricky was in a band in high school as the lead singer but was kicked out for sounding like Ville valo. One of Ricky dreams was to be in a band and also a film maker. In college he study film production. While also working in band merch booth selling band merch to people. But since Ricky was too shy he got yelled at for not speaking up and selling more. Ricky was in a bad time around 2008 and 2009. He share this in a blog years ago about this. He was in a lost place had a bad past and he was thinking of the past all the time and future worrying about failing the future he wanted to be in a band but he was so lost he had no idea what to do in his life. He would day dream about being in a band and then cry to sleep every night about his life. He had depression and gave up with everything in his life. He drank achoul every day. One day on his sister 16 birthday Ricky was drunk coming home from work to go to his parents house his sister was sleeping in her bed.

Tw// self harm and suicide attempt:

Ricky was laying in his sister's bed he cut his arm with a knife it was a lot Ricky was sobbing while watching the blood going down his arm to the floor his dad saw what happen and ask Ricky what happen. Ricky was sobbing and yelling he wanted to die many times. He passed out and went to the hospital he lost a lot of blood and the achoul level was really high he drank way too much. He almost died. He end up getting better and went to see a therapist. He went to see MIW with a friend. Ricky met Chris and the band thought Ricky was cool so he invited them to stay at his house. Chris text Ricky being like should join our band. Ricky would often say idk if I should he didn't know if he would be good enough for the band.

He later on join and quit college but Ricky mention still feeling depressed while in the band. Josh ballaz disliked Ricky when he joined too. 2 years later Ricky moved to rythmn guitarist but he wasn't used to playing guitar since he mostly did bass so he often made mistakes on guitar. He was still learning to play guitar. Things got better for Ricky. But his dream job was always filming he does some film stuff on tour and at home. Though he knew he probably won't be a film maker for movies like he dream of doing he makes whatever he can make. Ricky has stomach problems he often went to the doctor because of it.

Vinny Mauro childhood to now:

Vinny is one of the youngest children of his family. He has many siblings. Vinny mention on stream that he had a bad past. He mention that his dad would take achoul all the time and not give a fuck about vinny. Vinny mom would always go after Vinny. Vinny as a kid was a trouble maker he would disobey his parents and think it was funny. His mom would throw stuff at him and threaten him. His dad gave him a drum set so vinny end up learning to play drums he self taught himself to play drums. He listen to music and got into new types of music he likes all types of music. In middle school a girl that he liked asked him if he can play paramore on drums and vinny played it for her.

In high school vinny was a outcast and loner he made friends in his neighborhood but at school he had no friend. He didn't fit in with anyone. He mention in Ricky Olson podcast his high school life. Ricky ask him how he didn't find friends in high school. Vinny mention saying he didn't fit in with anyone he is also a shy person so he doesn't go up to new people. He was more a loner and was fine with it. Vinny went to uni to study computer programming but he didn't like it at all he was often bored he posted videos of him drumming on his YouTube channel. He knew a guy who knew MIW. MIW was looking for a drummer and they asked vinny to try out for drums in another country which was Australia. Vinny dropped out of college and told his parents what he was doing they weren't happy about that but he end up going over there trying out drums but he was very nervous. He met the band and then went to start drumming. Chris and Ricky were in the same room as vinny they were watching him play drums. Chris being very judgemental. He often scares Ricky when he's on guitar and Ricky fear to make a single mistake in front of Chris and vinny felt that fear. He even said I think I mess up a few times on drums. After he finish drumming. Ricky and Chris went to talk said not a single word and vinny was sweating so much thinking he made a mistake and he won't be part of the band. Later on Chris made vinny part of the band. Vinny became the tour member of the band then he became a member of MIW.

Years later vinny decided to interact more with fans since he had time to so he livestreams on twitch and has discord to interact with fans.

The lock down happen and vinny spend time interacting with fans. He lives with his friend in a house together. But something about vinny these few years mostly months to now that was starting to show. Vinny was suddenly showing signs of depression he often tweet depressing stuff but each year got worst for him. 2020 was the start of vinny's down fall. He had so much self hate he hated his hair,his body,his looks everything about himself he hate. He even tweeted saying I'm sad so I'm going to make a song. He release alone. Even he tweeted about something sad saying 2020 was a bad start for him and Ricky ask if he was ok and hoping vinny was just joking around. During December vinny had back pains because of a sneeze that hurt his nerves so vinny was in so much pain and he didn't see a doctor he thought he could fight it himself just taking pain meds to him. In Jan of 2021 the start of vinny down hill. He was in so much pain he couldn't leave his room or chair he couldn't even drum. He was very depressed. He hated life so much. A month later he got better and went back to streaming but still he was struggling there was some bad stuff happening anyway with him. The covid shot made him sick Saying he didnt eat anything for 4 days he felt like throwing up he even woke up in the middle of the night thinking he was going to do it and other stuff that made him depressed. Around April of this year small amount of fans notice something was going on with vinny he mention so much self hate about himself. In May he mention he was fine but a week later he said he was depressed and talking about what happen months ago and years ago. Sharing something about his family past and he stopped himself saying he doesn't want to get too into it. Vinny mention that he was eating food once a day because he felt like he is fat for over eating food all the time so he end up just eating dinner only everyday. He done it since the beginning of March and still is doing it. He wanted to loss weight. So he doesn't want breakfast and lunch but he eats dinner.

Around may vinny was in rock bottom he talk to no one at all even Ryan was 30 mins away from vinny and he ask him why he didn't go to see him and vinny said he didn't know why. Vinny mention saying he talked to no one for a week straight he also mention he isn't the kind of person to go up to people he said he's very introverted. he stopped streaming for weeks because he was doing bad. He said he felt burnt out and tired.

He took his break off social media for many weeks. Around this time many fans notice vinny was really not doing well.

Then he return to streaming around the 18th of June. Just to say hi he said he miss his fans but he plans to stream again a few weeks later. He mention that he have been avoiding all human contact and was staying in his room playing video games and drums all day still with the once a meal thing he does. Vinny said he's not depressed but people ask him about his depressing tweets and he said is it really depressing. Someone ask him why he is listening to sad music and he said am I not allowed to enjoy music. Now more fans are worried about him. Many more fans noticing that vinny isn't ok and he's hiding it.

That's basically all of MIW history I could give.

I will update and add more to the list later when something new happens. The vinny stuff is true I been watching his streams a lot and he mention those stuff so I just wanted to share what he said. I been a MIW fan for 8 months so I may not know Ryan and Justin as much as the others. Since they don't share much about themselves.

Hoping you enjoy this. Free feel to comment somethings I forgot to add.

Please don't argue about ghost ok. Ty

[thenickelportrust]

Scene Practice 2

The second of my scene practices! This one is experimenting a bit more with Ricky as he starts to question his sexuality with a non-female MC.

Specifically, in the space between a friendship and a relationship, where everything is in a bit of a grey area already!

This one is less of a specific scene-that-will-appear-in-game and is more of my practicing the idea and vibes of that time in the MC and his relationship!

Enjoy!

_______

“Okay, so I’m here.” You fold your arms across your chest, staring across the dark wooden desk to the man who, despite being the one who asked you here, keeps his blue eyes trained on the paper in front of him.

Ricky Dempsey doesn’t move to talk at first, which is the whole reason you spoke up first, but fine. With a sigh, you pull out one of the chairs from across his desk and plop yourself down into it.

Well, if you’re going to be bored…

“Guess you asked me here just to stare at your pretty face then?”

… You might as well try to find a way to entertain yourself. And entertained you are. It’s taken quite a while to figure out what makes the stiff-upper-lipped politician tick, and to be entirely frank you’re still not entirely sure what it is that gets a reaction from him… But you’ve gotten better at it. At least, you’ve gotten better at eliciting more than a sharp glare and the whip-like snap of his silver tongue, so quick on the trigger to insult. Sometimes, although this is a rare sometimes, but still, sometimes, you’ve even gotten him to blush.

Small triumphs.

Small triumphs that you’re not privy to now, as despite your not-quite-best efforts Ricky Dempsey turns away from his papers to pass you his usual narrow-eyed glare. “Are you truly that incapable of sitting there patiently for a mere moment?”

“Yeah, I am.” You grin in the face of his minor irritation. It’s more than a shit-eating grin, and it’s one that Ricky meets with a sigh and, miracle of miracles, places his pen to the side. Victory achieved!

“So,” You drawl, rubbing your hands together as you sit forward on your chair, “What’s up? Why’d you ask me here anyway?”

He remains silent-- victory substantially less achieved-- but he’s still looking at you, not the papers. Victory partially achieved?

Ricky stares at you for a long while, long enough that it even starts to make you uncomfortable. You can’t read his expression, and you’re not even sure he’s trying to read yours. Hell, you’re not sure he’s even really looking at you. He’s more just… looking in your direction. But he’s not spaced out, his gaze is as sharp and attentive as ever. He’s just… thinking. “You, uh, okay…?”

He blinks, and Ricky reaches for his pen for a moment, before his hand pauses, halfway between himself and the pen, and slowly falls back to his side. “Yes. I am fine.”

“You sure? You seem a bit… unusual.”

“Unusual?” He repeats, his chair turning slightly to the side as his head swivels with it, looking out the back window to his view. The corporate heart of Nickelport. You see smoke in the distance, a small stream of it, and something in the back of your mind-- the Rust instinct drilled into you over your four years of working for them-- thinks that there must be a fight going on. One just starting. It thinks that maybe you should be there to see it.

Living in Nickelport, and working for the Rust, it must have worn down your survival instinct.

“Yeah.” You force your gaze back to the politician’s profile. His jaw is set tight, his eyes locked somewhere unspecific on the horizon, maybe he’s looking at the smoke too. What’s his instinctual reaction to it? It’s probably different from yours. Probably. “Unusual.”

“I wasn’t aware unusual was a state of being. Perhaps unsure, or unlike myself, but unusual is more of a personality descriptor, or perhaps a physical description, I’m not so sure one could go from usual to unusual. You could also say I am unusually something, but you didn’t,” He turns his chair back around to you now, “At least, you would most likely have to say unlike my usual self, which I’m sure is what you meant to imply, but it is not what you said.”

“Yeah well then you’re being unusually deflective, and an ass at the same time, but that’s usual for you.” Still grinning.

Ricky doesn’t smile. “I have a request for you.”

Ah, and there was the meat of the meeting. “Oh? What’s up?”

“I…” He trails off, his gaze breaking, looking down, looking away and-- the tips of his ears seem red? Is he… blushing? But you haven’t said or done anything to make him flush and…

You lean forward, concerned, and reach for his hand, “Hey, Ricky, what’s wrong?”

His hand, which snaps back the moment your fingers make contact, “Nothing is wrong, do not assume.”

“I’m inferring, cause like we’ve established, this really isn’t like you.” Your voice is gentle now, sincere, and sincerely concerned.

Ricky Dempsey holds his hand as if it had been burned, unable to look you in the eyes. “I…” he swallows heavily, “I have a request.”

“Right,” You nod along slowly, “What do you need?”

“I need nothing,” He corrects, ever so specific.

“Fine, then what do you want?”

Somehow, that word seems worse to him, and again Ricky falls to one of his prolonged silences. It’s only broken by a small curse leaving his lips as he drags a hand up and through his hair. “I’d… my request is that, should you be willing, that you… kiss me.”

Now it’s your turn to blink, “What?”

The red on his ears begins to creep slowly towards his cheeks, “Is that such an unreasonable request?”

You don’t respond, your brain is still processing what Ricky “I reject any offer of friendship even if it's so much as implied” Dempsey has just asked you to kiss him. “What?”

The red has claimed his nose now, too, and is starting it’s charge down his neck, too. He grabs his pen with the violence of a knight drawing a sword to go into battle. “Nevermind.”

Your hand instinctively snaps out, grabbing his wrist before he can drown his mind in the distraction of his work. “I--” Your brain starts to catch up to the present again, slowly resetting, “I’m sorry-- but-- really-- what? Why?”

He doesn’t pull away this time, but his skin is burning under your palm, and he still won’t look you in the eyes. “Do I need a reason?”

“I mean it’d help, yeah.”

Ricky clears his throat again, squeezing the pen. “I… have been… having… thoughts… or-- no-- that doesn’t sound…” He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, stopping, and falling slowly as he exhales in a measured count. “Recently, I have been questioning some… assumptions I have made about myself. I have also been questioning… assumptions I’ve made about our… interactions. And my… interpretations of them. So, I thought, perhaps, when it comes to a hypothesis as… otherwise unfounded as the one I’ve been coming to-- to see, well, perhaps, a bit of experimentation was not-- is not… unwarranted.”

You try to translate from his work-around words to something more logical. “Ricky, do you have feelings for me?”

He jolts in his chair, finally pulling his hand away. “My entire life--” He answers lamely, softly, “My entire life I have believed myself to be one thing. I have not-- every person I have been with has been-- I have not ever questioned whether or not certain truths of  myself were not so true after all. It is not an… easy revelation to come to. Please do not ask me anything else. If you are incapable or unwilling of fulfilling my request then that is fine. I apologize for taking up your time.”

He’s apologizing. For Ricky, that is never a good sign.

“Hey,” You try to keep your voice gentle again, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize, and-- I mean-- I can’t say I’d be unwilling,”

He looks up, a small spark in the back of his blue eyes. But you hold up a hand,

“But,” You add on, “You don’t seem like you’re wholly on board with it yourself, yeah? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem very comfortable right now.”

His lips press tightly together, a small, hesitant nod bobbing his chin.

You smile, not your shit-eating grin but something small, “Hey, that’s okay. And it’s okay to be questioning, too, it’s not a bad thing.” You reach out, but stop halfway. Ricky seems to pull his hand back, so you pull yours back, too, and let it lie in your lap instead. “Take some time, okay? If you wanna ask me again, when you’re really comfortable with the idea, I’ll be here. Until then, no rush, yeah?”

Another silent nod, some of the red has drained from his face. Strands of his hair have fallen unnoticed onto his forehead, Normally, he would never have let even a single thing out of place-- not even a wrinkle on his suit or a hair from his head. But now the put-together Ricky Dempsey seems to be… shaken. And you lean back in your chair, “Do you wanna grab something to eat, instead?”

He looks up at you, meeting your gaze once again, finally, and that lets you see just how unsteady in his own skin he is right now. “Eat…?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m here, I haven’t had lunch, I’d put money on the idea that you haven’t, either,” And you don’t want to push the subject right now. “I’ve been trying to try this cool-lookin’ Thai place around the corner but it’s way out of my budget. But lucky for me I have this rich politician friend who, yknow, could out of the kindness buried deep, deep, deep--”

He sighs, settling back into himself as he brushes his hair back into place and rolls his eyes, “Of course. I should have expected you to have an ulterior motive.”

“You know me.” Back to your grin, back to normalcy as he finds his feet and stands once again.

“Very well,” Dempsey straightens his tie, “But you owe me.”

You hop up as well, clapping your hands together. “Sounds great! Let’s get going then, I dunno about you but I’m starved.”

[qqueenofhades]

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?���

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

[nelllraiser]

no good deed | luce & nell

LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @divineluce​ and @nelllraiser​ SUMMARY: luce asks for nell’s herb supplies to help with her phoenix cleansing. absolutely NO emotional talk or introspection follows. CONTENT: discussion of the lydia plot without specifics, very brief and vague sibling death allusion.

Luce washed her hands in the sink, wincing as the hot water and soap stung the healing wounds. She glanced at herself in the mirror-- she looked like she’d been through hell. Deep purple bruises had blossomed across her skin, but most were covered by winding bandages she’d wrapped over the jagged cuts that ran along the back of her legs. Her back was a mess and it made sleeping a nightmare, but she couldn’t do much about it. A crooked butterfly bandage kept the cut over her eyebrow shut, and the wound was purple at the edges. She looked like shit and she felt it too. But, she couldn’t stop now.

Leaving the bathroom, Luce returned to her room and sat back down at the books she’d borrowed from Rio. The ash had been collected, a piece of the cursed earth for good measure too. The Bloodroot sat in a vase next to the window, the stems dying the water a light pink. Which left… tears, from a phoenix and cleansing herbs. The tears wouldn’t be too difficult-- Leah had said she’d help her with this, so she’d probably be alright parting with a few tears. The cleansing herbs though. Luce couldn’t pretend to know which ones were best suited to a ritual like this. Plants had never been her thing and she didn’t have the coven’s knowledge at her disposal anymore. But… there was someone else who might know. Taking the book with her, Luce made her way out to the greenhouse. And, as she suspected, Nell was there. 

Knocking lightly on the door, Luce spoke up, “Hey.” 

It was no surprise that Nell was puttering about her greenhouse after everything that had happened over the past week or so. In reality, it wasn’t all that much in comparison to the things she’d weathered before. The mad rush to save someone she loved, the devastating blow of losing that same person merely days later— though it hadn’t been in the way she’d anticipated. Frank hadn’t been the one to fell the curtain between Nell and Bex by stealing her life, it’d been Bex herself that had made the severance. The witch wasn’t trying to throw herself a pity party, it was simply that the only way she could think to keep her storming thoughts at bay was to create something, and to care for the plants she nurtured with a gentle hand. The greenhouse had always been a sanctuary of her’s, a place of peace that was her’s and only her’s where she could be alone with herself. She never needed to find the strength to draw her armor within its walls because she didn’t need it’s defenses between the fragile glass panels lining the perimeter. Here she was free to be happy, or hurt, or whatever else she might be feeling at the moment.

But with the sound of a soft knock that changed, and Nell rolled the softness from her shoulders as she went to the door, setting them into their usual and proud position. “Hey-” she began thoughtlessly when she heard the sound of her sister’s voice. A moment later shock was flitting over her face, brows drawn together with concern as she took in the ugly picture Luce made with her collection of injuries. “Luce- what the fuck. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you? I could have closed whatever cuts you have instead of whatever shoddy job you made of your legs,” she chastised while she took in her sister’s bandages. 

A grimace spread across Luce’s face as Nell stared at her, face shifting to an expression of surprise. Maybe she should have put on a jacket or something. Heatstroke would be preferable to getting a lecture. “Slipped and fell on a hike.” Luce said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d been on a hike and she had fallen. Nell didn’t need to know that Morgan had helped with the fall. That Morgan had shoved her down, that she’d thought the other woman was going to kill her. “Yeah, you know me. I’m shit with first-aid.” She said offhandedly, glancing down at the haphazardly wound bandages. “It’s fine, though, I’ll be fine with some time.” Moments like this reminded her of how lucky she’d been all her life-- their mother had always been an option, even if they didn’t necessarily want her help. Now? Mixed messages aside, Luce was never stepping foot in her parents’ home again, not if she could help it. She didn’t need her mother’s help. She didn’t need her pity either. “I’ve got a question for you,” She held up the leather bound book and flipped it open to the page she’d been staring at. “Do you have any idea about what sort of herbs would be used for this sort of thing?”

Nell fixed Luce with a scrutinizing look, arms crossed over her chest as she decided whether or not she wanted to fight her sister on the lackluster answer she’d given. But for once in her life she decided that she was simply too tired, and Luce could give her the answer in due time. Nevertheless, that wouldn’t stop her from mildly calling the fire witch out. “Right. Slipped and fell.” Another disapproving glance flitted over her face before her chastisement continued. “Yeah, but you live with someone who has an entire greenhouse of healing herbs. I’m literally just upstairs in case you forgot. I could have at least scabbed the shit over and lessened the amount of ‘time’ needed.” The mention of a question and the book being presented was enough to spark Nell’s interest, if only for the sole reason that it could provide a distraction from the pity party she’d been throwing herself, wondering how she’d so spectacularly failed at teaching Bex. She should have known. Just because she wasn’t the girl she’d been a year ago didn’t mean she was suddenly equipped to take in a baby witch with her newfound emotional maturity. For a long moment, Nell scanned over the text, lips pursing further the longer she read. “This is about the phoenix that Adam told me he was helping you with? Loved finding out about that from him and not you, by the way.” 

Luce wearily rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot across her forehead. “It’s a long story.” She said lamely. She knew that answer wouldn’t be enough for her sister, but hopefully it would do for now. Later. She’d tell her the details later. Right now, she needed to focus. She had the flowers, she had the ashes, she had the dirt. She just needed the herbs and then the hard part-- the phoenix. And the fire. She didn’t have any idea how she was going to get that whole situation figured out, but… she had to try something. Hopefully the ritual wouldn’t be too affected by a couple cans of gasoline. “I mean, no time like the present? Care to help a sister out?” Luce joked weakly.

At the mention of Adam and the phoenix, Luce blinked. Ah. Yeah, that made sense. They were dating, Adam was a decent guy. Of course he would have told Nell about the situation they had on their hands. “Sorry. I’ve been caught up in trying to figure out how to fix shit. Spent a lot more time in the scribrary than I wanted to. Rio-- Winston’s ex? He’s lending a hand with it. Hence the book.” She said, holding the book up again.

A long story. Nell was growing increasingly tired of the ‘long stories’ that seemed to make up the majority of her life since she’d returned to White Crest. How many ‘long stories’ could someone fit over the span of a year and a half, anyway? “I’m sure it is,” she mumbled lamely, once again proving herself to be uncharacteristically not nosy for the time being. Luce had meant her words to be joking, but Nell failed to continue in that vein, unable to find the energy needed for sarcasm in the moment. “Of course I’ll help you,” she said a little too seriously, clutching onto one of the only constants in her life now that she’d lost yet another person in the form of Bex. It was beginning to look as if the only people she’d always have in her life and at her side would be her sisters, and that was a gift she couldn't afford not to treasure. Leading Luce towards a nearby chair, she began to gather the healing poultices she’d made, the ones their mother had taught her. “So you need lavender and sage.” It wasn’t a question as she took another look over the book. “That’s easy enough.” Squinting at the last plant, she was already beginning to search her brain for what the words could mean. “And a white flowered herb?” Of course a ritual wouldn’t be complete without a sufficiently vague ingredient.

“You know I could have helped ‘figure out how to fix shit’.” Nell had failed at making sure Bex didn’t feel alone, she wouldn’t do the same for her sister. “You mean the guy you punched, and then refused to apologize to?” Perhaps she was still a little bitter about the argument she and Luce had following the happening. “Yeah, that makes sense that he’d help. He’s a good guy.” 

A wave of guilt washed over Luce at the defeated sound of her sister’s voice. Fuck. “It’s-- just don’t fucking… fly off the handle, alright?” She said before running a sloppily bandaged hand through her hair. She paused, not entirely surprised by how quickly Nell figured out what kind of purifying herbs they’d need. Sage and lavender. She should have known that. But she’d never paid attention to purifying rituals, she’d never really paid attention to the plants they used at the coven meetings. She’d just accepted the bundle of herbs and lit the ends, allowing the smoke to waft through the air and mingle with the combined power of the rest of the coven. How she’d taken it all for granted. “Cool, yeah. You’ve got that growing in here, right?” Luce said as she followed Nell to a chair, looking around at the greenhouse as she walked. She’d done enough lavender tattoos to be able to spot the tall sprigs of purple. But, she refocused on her sister and stared over at Nell. “The white flower-- it’s Bloodroot. It grows at Lyssa’s Peak and I needed the stuff that grew at the top. Lunar cycles, drawing power from the moonlight, you know.” She said. Rip the bandaid. Just tell her sister what happened. No more secrets.

“I went hiking up there to get to it the other day. And I ran into Morgan. She showed me a way up the mountain and we got to talking and I was in a… mood about shit. About… Lydia.” Luce said, wondering if Nell would understand why she was in a mood, if her sister would get just why the killing didn’t sit well with her. “And she kept trying to figure out what it was and I snapped at her. And then she snapped at me. Because she’d cared about Lydia. Even though she was a fucking…” Monster. Murderer. Torturer. “Even though she was what she was. Morgan lost her cool, I lost my footing, I took a tumble down the peak. But, it’s fine. She helped me down the mountain.” She didn’t need to. She could have kicked me off. She could have let the coyote finish me. She could have let me die up there. 

Swallowing, Luce blinked at her sister’s words. Yeah. Nell could have helped her. Bea probably could have helped her too. But, again, she’d felt like she’d needed to do this on her own. And where had that landed her? Right fucking here, with no magic to speak of and just struggling to make things work. “Sorry. Old habits. And I’ve said that before, and I’m sorry. I just-- fucking, it’s hard to remember that I don’t have to do everything alone.”

“Me? Fly off the handle? Where would you get an idea like that?” There was the sarcasm Nell had been missing before, but it was short lived as she unwrapped the bandages from Luce’s legs, her frown renewed while she took in the extent of the scrapes and cuts. “Yeah, of course I’ve got those growing. They’re pretty good staples. So the sage is obviously for cleansing…” That made sense, she supposed. They had to rid the phoenix of whatever it was that had made them this way. “And the lavender...it’s for healing.” Healing couldn't take place without the cleansing. After all, you had to clean the wound before it could properly heal. Otherwise you risked it becoming infected, a festering thing that wouldn’t even get a chance to scar, let alone fade. “Sure- the moon. It makes sense.” The great glowing woman in the sky was like butter to a witch’s bread, always ready and willing to lend her strength to those who sought it. 

But the mention of Lyssa’s Peak had Nell remembering her own time in the shadow of it, watching the yellow-eyed wolf and Layla attempting to murder Adam while she and Ariana did their best to prevent it. “Lydia?” That hadn’t been a name she expected to surface, and Nell hadn’t heard it since the brief conversation of guilt she and Luce had following her death. Besides, what did Morgan have to do with Lydia? The zombie had cared about the woman who kept innocent people in a basement? Nell wasn’t all that sure what to make of that— especially when paired with the recent revelation that Morgan had befriended Miriam as well. “Her losing her cool was related to you losing your footing or not?” There was a vagueness there that Nell wasn’t ready to let go of. Not when it concerned her sister, and her injuries. “You tumbled down the fucking peak,” Nell hissed, knowing that Luce was lucky to escape with her life, let alone her bones intact. 

Nell sighed, knowing it was hypocritical of her to call Luce out for refusing help while she was guilty of the very same. She knew accepting assistance wasn’t so easy as flipping a switch. “I know.” Apparently Nell was in a forgiving mood, too tired to fight in the wake of the heaviness the past few weeks had held. “Why are you helping the phoenix, though?” Nell knew her sister had a decent heart beneath her barb-like exterior, but she’d never much gone out of the way to help an utter stranger. “Obviously I’m glad someone is- I just didn’t expect it.”

Settling into the chair, Luce cast Nell a wan smile as she listened to her sister speak. As she unwound the bandages, Luce could see just how sloppy a job she’d done. Nothing looking infected-- she wasn’t that stupid, she’d done enough tattoo aftercare to know how to wash wounds-- but it didn’t look great either. The roses on her legs were bleeding red angry cuts, the backs of her knuckles were scratched and raw, and she knew her back looked fucked to hell. None of them seemed too serious though, so with enough time, they’d fade away. “Sage for cleansing and lavender for healing.” Luce repeated, wincing as one of the bandages pulled at scabbed skin. “Good to know.”

“Hey. What did I say about handles and flying off them?” Luce reminded her sister. She’d had a brief vision of what would happen if Morgan had let her die up there, if Morgan had shoved her just a bit too hard. And it was that endless cycle of blood and vengeance, one that she didn’t want Nell to continue. It didn’t matter that she was hurt, it really fucking didn’t. “I’m alive, aren’t I? Didn’t even break anything.” She said with another grin, though the motion made the cut over her eye sting.

Why are you helping the phoenix, though? Luce looked down at her hands. The million dollar question. Why. Why was she doing this? Why was she helping them? Because it was the right thing to do? That had never mattered much to her before. “I don’t know. Because I can. Because I should.” But even those weren’t quite right. She’d never been more powerless in her life, she didn’t possess the flames to be able to really help them. She didn’t need to help them, they were nothing to her. “I just… I don’t want more people to burn. You see the news?” She gestured to the night sky through the glass of the greenhouse. “There are fires sprouting all over the forest, burning shit, running animals off their land, threatening people. Adam called me to help him deal with the situation. And I know more about fire than almost anyone in this town.” Except Mom. And Dad. And probably Bea. “And fuck, I have to try and do something.” 

While Nell continued to work with Luce’s legs, she nodded in confirmation as her sister repeated the words. “Cleansing and healing- and lavender’s also about serenity, and the peace that comes about healing.” It was clear enough why these herbs had been chosen for a ritual such as this, used to drive out whatever had brought the phoenix to this point to begin with. Cleansing, healing, peace. It was a cycle she herself hadn’t yet mastered, not even sure whether she’d washed over the wounds of the past years. If Beltane was anything to judge by...Luce had taken better care of her spiritual wounds. But the problem with letting wounds heal was that you didn’t remember them as vividly once they were gone, no longer a thorn in your side as a reminder of how they’d come to be in the first place. Healed wounds could make for complacency, and make one forget to be cautious enough to avoid the same cuts and breaks a second time around. Her cuts made her stronger, more willing and ready to take care of the people she loved. More vigilant. Was it right to give that up?

A healthy eye roll later, and Nell was tugged from the stormy seas of her thoughts, all too ready to deny Luce’s words. “You know better than to think that’s flying off the handle,” she teased back. All three of them had more than healthy tempers, though all in their own ways. Nevertheless that didn’t stop them from burning bright and hot when the time called for it. Morgan losing her own temper was something of a surprise, but Nell knew Morgan would have never willingly hurt one of the Vurals— even in the case of Luce and her tendency to push away the kindest of people. Morgan was family as well, and she wouldn’t steal another sister from the Vurals. 

Lydia, the phoenix, Morgan, and not wanting to burn others paired with the fact that Nell was more than familiar with the expression on Luce’s face had the younger witch’s sneaking suspicion reaching a boiling point. She knew the look- had seen it and felt it enough in her own features to recognize it in a face that was half her own with their family resemblance. She let loose a long sigh, shoulders deflating while she finished working with Luce’s legs. “I’m glad you wanna help. And you’re obviously right about knowing fire. But it...doesn’t fix it. It won’t fix that way you feel inside about things that already happened.” Bringing food and caring for the families whose loved ones she stole with a rampant shark demon hadn’t fixed it. Hadn’t made it any easier. “I want you to help with the phoenix I just...don’t want you to be disappointed. If it doesn’t do what you think it’ll do when it’s all over.”

The peace that comes with healing. As thought such a thing existed. And maybe it did, but it wasn’t something that Luce was familiar with. But, had she ever really healed from the wounds that she’d suffered this last year? She didn’t know. Maybe this was part of the healing process too. The pain and the anguish and the guilt. Everyone thought of grief as just being sad and healing as just recovering from pain. When her grief had never just sadness-- it had been deep-seated rage and helplessness, frustration and guilt. And so was healing. “Sounds like it’s just what this person will need.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know how much I’ll need but I think a lot? The more we have, the more potent?”

Luce arched her good eyebrow at Nell, nonplussed by the eyeroll. “And that’s not what I’m talking about. Seriously, Nell. I’m okay.” She said, reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand, to squeeze it tight. Her hand was still hot against Nell’s skin, still burning with the flames that refused to listen to her call. She was still here. And she didn’t want Nell to go off and do something that might change that. 

Watching as Nell wound clean bandages over the wounds, freshly daubed with healing poultices, Luce reflected on how things had changed. A year ago, this would never have happened. A year ago, she would have licked her wounds back at the safe isolation of her cabin, maybe drowned her feelings away with more whiskey than she ought to have, and have pretended as though she was fine. But, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She was too tired to play those games, to pretend that the world was anything other than it was. But, as Nell’s words continued, Luce’s gaze snapped up, expression shifting. “What do you mean by that?” She asked abruptly. “I know that this doesn’t change anything I’ve done. And I’m not-- What do you think is going to happen? Nell, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to keep trying. I’m not letting this go.” I’m not letting them go.

Nell held Luce’s gaze for a long moment, feeling far too tired to actually address their shared trauma at the moment. They both knew what was on each other’s minds, and that was enough. She was so tired. They’d both been fighting for so long— all Nell had ever truly known how to do was fight. To refuse to give in, refuse to let the day win and simply allow herself a moment’s rest. She didn’t know who or what she would be without that fight, but occasionally she wondered what it was like for those who allowed themselves peace, whether they were truly happy with the battles they’d let lie, or if regrets haunted them as well. Maybe there was no actual winning. You just lived with the path you chose, and that was it. “Yep- sounds like just what the phoenix doctor ordered.” Not that she actually knew all that many details of the phoenix, but all anger stemmed from somewhere, and most often it was a product of hurt. “Sure, the more the merrier. It’s not really like you can over cleanse something when it comes to things like this.” 

The feel of Luce’s hand against her was enough to melt a little more tension from Nell’s shoulders, and the distant memory of crawling into bed with her sisters as children to hoard their shared elemental warmth was brought to mind while she let herself feel the momentary salve of nostalgia. “I know,” she assured softly. “I’m glad you are.” Her overprotectiveness wasn’t subtle, and Luce understood the source of it better than anyone in tandem with Bea.

Nell straightened from her place before Luce, standing as she began to rifle through the greenhouse towards her sage plants. “I just mean...I don’t know if this is what you’re thinking or whatever but- helping people isn’t gonna make the past sit right. Not really. And also...saving someone from something you think you’ve gone through isn’t gonna fix you either.” Hadn’t she just finished learning that with Bex? Or maybe they’d just been too different. Maybe the feeling of loneliness wasn’t as universal as Nell had thought, and she couldn’t fix her own by putting love into another person who was caught in the throes of it. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s gonna work, and I know you’ll keep trying. I just don’t want you to expect something of it that’s not gonna come.” 

Good to know that burning fuck tons of sage and lavender wasn’t going to create some kind of flower monster-- christ, Luce realized how fucking little she actually knew about magic outside of the flames. But, at least she had Nell here to help. Because she did, even if Luce didn’t often think about it that way. Her sisters were here. They were all here and, ever since they’d been excommunicated, they were all each other had to rely on. She had Nell, she had Bea, they were three and… in the past six months, she’d somehow forgotten about that. She’d drifted back to her old ways, of trying to handle things on her own. But she couldn’t now, it was impossible. She needed them, needed people. She couldn’t do this alone.

“Yeah. Same here.” Luce said, giving Nell’s hand another squeeze before slipping away, pulling the sloppy bandages from her hand to treat the wounds on her hands herself. The poultice stung a bit as she spread it over the open cuts. She kept her gaze trained on Nell as her sister moved away from her, aware of the distance that had just grown between them. “I’m not trying to make it sit right with me. And I’m not trying to fix me, either.” She said sharply. “I know that what I did was fucked. And maybe you don’t think it is, but I do and I’m making… some kinda peace with that.” She wound the bandages back around her hand, covering her raw skin once more.

Staring down at her hands, Luce could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was just the crushing weight of everything that she’d been going through that had finally pushed her to the breaking point. Luce cleared her throat. “I just want to do something good, Nellie. I want to be someone good again.” She said, though the words came out as broken and hollow as she felt.

“I didn’t say that,” Nell replied instintcively in a defensive tone, even if she thought Lydia was far better off dead from what she’d heard. Even though she’d shared her own surprisingly introspective conversation with the fae, there was no question of whether or not the woman was doing more harm than good in the world. But she knew Luce wasn’t as accustomed to life and death judgements as she was, not when she’d simply been an artist with a grumpy streak. She didn’t want her sister to become wrapped up in such things anyway, not when it most often led to a life of constant stress, or having a target on one’s back. “But if you want peace...then you deserve it,” she finished stubbornly, her tone not quite matching the well meaning nature of the words. 

The hardness in Nell’s voice was washed away instantly as she looked over her shoulder back to her sister, recognizing the picture of a person desperately trying to keep themselves together at the seams. Had Nell been so wrapped up in her own world that she’d completely missed what was going on with Luce? She’d known her sister’s fire wasn’t in the best of straits, and that in itself was a flashing red sign in the direction of emotional turmoil. But she hadn’t thought— hadn’t realized it had gotten to such a point as this. Had Nell been too wrapped up in her own troubles and world to see it? A flash of guilt spread through her chest, and she went back to the other side of the greenhouse, moving to check over the bandages Luce had wrapped around her hands.

I just want to do something good. Nell could understand that— when one got to the place of wondering if they’d gone past the point of no return, and grasped at straws for a win. Nell needed a win, too. The feeling of being unclean after going too far...she’d felt it herself on more than one occasion though it was less centered on the suffering of her victim, and more about the shockwaves her actions had set into motion. Adam with August. Jared with the Ring. Bex with Frank. Dave and the shark demon. She’d made more than enough mistakes to know the feeling of desperately wanting to look for the light in oneself no matter how dim it might be- to know that you weren’t just darkness and sharp blades, as much a monster as the thing you’d killed. “I understand.” If this is what Luce needed to face the days coming, Nell would do anything in her power to make sure her sister got what she needed, that she crossed the finish line with arms raised, and a peaceful expression on her face. “So if that’s what you need...then that’s what you’ll get.”

Luce continued to stare at her hands, remembering the way that the blue flames had spread from them to consume the flesh from Lydia’s body, burning away the sinew and skin until there was nothing left. “Sure you didn’t.” Luce said, tone neutral. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to rationalize shit like… she would have hurt other people if I hadn’t killed her, she would have come back to kill us. But there’s no way of knowing if that’s true because I made a call that took away any chance she had to change her ways. I decided that I knew better. And I’m not… that’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay.” She said.

When Nell took her hands again, Luce let her sister fix the bandages wordlessly. For a year, it had seemed like everything she’d done had fallen into the same cycle of anger and rage and pain-- sometimes on the receiving end of that punishment, other times delivering it to others by her own hands. The anger and rage would burn wild and out of control until everything was dead and charred to dust. And it would lie low for some time, before flaring back to life because someone else was hurt, someone else was hurting her-- and endless fucking cycle. She just wanted to be free of it all. This phoenix situation, it was something... different. It was something that she could do and know, without a trace of doubt, that she had done something good. She just wanted to prove to herself that she was still capable of that. Of being more than just an instrument of death, bringing fire and ruin to the world around her. She just wanted to do one good thing. “Thanks Nell.” Luce said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”  

Nell couldn’t rightly say she agreed with Luce— not when she’d been ready and poised to kill Frank in the middle of the Outskirts. He’d been a threat so she was going to eliminate him. It was as simple as that. Except it hadn’t turned out to be so simple as Bex had begged for his life, and Nell had withdrawn her knife. How many chances did people deserve when it came to changing? She’d given Kyle his chance in that basement with Morgan and Bex, even taken it upon herself to help him succeed. But Kyle wasn’t a woman keeping people in his basement. It was different...wasn’t it? “I didn’t know Lydia well enough to know whether or not she’d change.” That was the gamble you took with people, the not knowing. And there was always the chance they could change back if they decided their new route was too hard. Would Lydia have made a 180 turn back to where she’d started if she’d decided ethical eating wasn’t quite the same? What was the straw that would break the back of Miriam’s new life?

“I don’t know if it was wrong,” Nell finally admitted. “I don’t know if it being wrong would have kept me from doing it, too. Probably not. And I’d probably still do it if no one stopped me or you hadn’t already done it.” She was selfish with her wanting to protect the people she cared about. “But I...don’t think it’s fair to condemn yourself with it. Maybe rationalizing it isn’t the answer, but burning yourself at the stake isn’t either.” Nell swallowed briefly, still not all that accustomed to being so open and honest with her sister. “And...I think you deserve to forgive yourself instead of needing to use a phoenix to prove you’re worthy of it. I think you’re worth it on your own. Just because of who you are. I think you can be good without having something to point at as proof.” 

But it wasn’t about that. Not really. Why did Nell want to summon the murderous selkie to her? For control. To have just one thing she knew she could do right. “But I think I get it. Sometimes you just...need one thing to go right. Just to know that...that you’re not a fuck up who ruins everything they touch.” Nell didn’t have fire like he sister’s, but she’d always been just as destructive. “There’s one thing you can do, and not burn a hole through. So...we’ll make this work.”

“Neither did I. But Morgan seems to think that she could have. And maybe she’s right, maybe she’s not. But we’ll never really know.” Luce said wearily. She’d spent so many nights mulling over that exact question. “I don’t want to make those calls, Nell. I don’t want to hold someone’s life in my hand and decide that I’m worth more than them. Because that’s exactly what happened to us and I’m… I’m fucking tired of it.” This town, this fucking town. She’d grown up here, been a part of this world but only now had she really learned the price that White Crest demanded of the people who lived here. This town was steeped in blood and suffering and senseless death. She didn’t want to contribute to that anymore than she already had.

“Maybe.” Luce shrugged, before regretting the action as a fresh wave of pain ran down the wounds on her back. “I also think you have to say that as my sister.” She said, a ghost of her old sarcastic grin flitting across her face. Luce stood up from the chair, collecting the herbs that Nell had gathered for her. Sage and lavender. Healing and cleansing. And the promise of her sister to help her see this through. Side by side, they’d be able to move forward. Luce didn’t know how Nell was holding up with all the grief and trauma they’d experienced in the last year and she wished that she did. Once this was all over, once the dust settled and she could finally rest… She’d try harder to be there for her sister. For both of them. Maybe Nell said that she didn’t need to prove herself, but Luce couldn’t believe that. If she couldn’t be a good person, at the very least, she could be a good sister. 

Reaching out, Luce took hold of Nell’s hand again, looking at her sister intently. “We’ll make this work.” 

[paint-lady]

for the artist ask meme if thats okay. 6/7/9??

6. tag your favorite artists/inspirations!

I take inspiration and lessons from a variety of sources. Some I have met in person and studied with. Some I gaze longingly at their artbooks, aching for the opportunity to see them at a con. Some are long gone.

Heavy Inking Style: > Tim Bradstreet: known for his VTM drawings and black and white and grey drawings. I prefer bradstreets ink style and realistic detail to Lief Jone's more cartoony (but absolutely fitting) methodology. Below is one of my favorite pieces, and you see it all over the place for VTM things. I did my inktober challenges to teach myself his style. And I haven't regretted a single moment that I can utilize this technique.

Frank Cho and Sabine Rich Now. I use this artist more as a frame of reference of what not to do. However, there is technique. How Cho does his crosshatching to convey depth and form is wild to me. I have attempted this a few times and my results vary. Freehanding with ballpoint pens isn't easy. Keeping consistency with all your line work and weights BY HAND is harder. He tends to have a harsh outline to all of his comic book characters- which I find visually appealing. I borrowed his stylistic hatching and outlines in my work- and i really dig my version of it.

Sabine Rich is Cho's go to colorist. I find her soft shading a challenge to replicate, but ultimately it has aided my comic book style. I really like how she does shiny surfaces and how she utilizes blues/turquoises for highlights. Her ability to see shadows and highlights in plain lineart is really cool.

Comic Styles Inspiration:

MONSTRESS by Sana Takeda and Marjorie Liu

Yall. This comic is beautiful. I study this one for details and monsters, and watercolor style. It is absolutely breathtaking- every single page.

The Marked by David Hine, Brian Haberlin, and Gierrod Van Dyke

This one reminds me "less is more" in a very magical way and modern comic book style. The movement in each panels is always really compelling- even when the story isn't. There is a wonderful pacing their panel work enhances that some comics do not have.

I also take a lot of techniques from my scenic art studies and from the lord of the paint, Bob Ross. Work background to foreground and there are no mistakes, only happy accidents. I translate this to this:

The beauty about paint is if you mess up, you just go over it. The beauty about digital art is if you mess up, you press control z.

7. do you prefer sketching, outlining, or coloring?

Depends on the day and my mood and if Artemis has been given proper tribute. I really enjoy sketching, but sometimes the movement is not with me. I find coloring very relaxing, but a lot of times go back and change my colors because I don't like the way it looks when it has color. I like my line art to be crisp and clean, which counters my rough sketch style and paint techniques. So probably sketching.

9. what drawing program do you use? (if the artist does digital art)

I use a variety of programs. Mostly, I use Clip Studio Paint EX. I paid real people money for a Pro License and right now pay a monthly subscription for EX's publishing software. When work is more steady I will bite the bullet and fully upgrade. Clip Studio has a free version, with some severe limitations. I purchased the Pro license when they had a sale, reducing the cost to 60 USD. Absolutely worth it. The downsides to Clip Studio: It sometimes markets itself as Vector Software. IT! IS! NOT! Its vector capabilities are geared towards animation (iirc) and that differs from Logo design and text art. There is no need to purchase EX unless you are animating, creating webcomics (like me), or doing massive files (like me but thats just cuz im dumb and couldnt find the purge button).

Prior to CSPEX I used Autodesk Sketchbook. It is a much more basic software, but let you get decent resolution on BIG canvases. I recommend it to people who have tablets but find Photoshop overwhelming. I recommend it for people that want to do digital art on their phones but Photoshop and Clip Studio drain their battery.

I use Adobe Illustrator for text. Clip Studio's text editor is GARBAGE. It is slow, clunky, and has limited options to manipulate the text. I tend to use the program to create placeholder text and speech bubbles, but then do all the real editing in Illustrator.

[dindjarindiaries]

Thunder - Chapter 8: Hail

summary: Time winds down until Frankie has to leave Luciana, and suspicions start to grow as to what’s going on between them.

warnings: anxiety attack, angst, fluff, mentions of death, references to sex

rating: R

word count: 4.82k

masterlist

chapter 8: hail

Waking up the next morning, Frankie’s almost certain he’s ascended to heaven. The warm glow of sunlight’s peeking in through the window of the guesthouse bedroom, bathing the woman who lays asleep on his chest in an angelic light. Frankie feels more at peace than he has in a long time, even with the prospect of what’s to come nagging at the back of his mind. He knows he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than where he is in this very moment—even in the air.

But then, it all sinks in: he’s still here, with Luciana, in the guesthouse, in the morning—and not with everyone else.

Frankie curses under his breath and gently starts to sit up, stirring Luciana from her sleep. She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes half-lidded in a way that Frankie thinks is adorable but can’t dwell on right now. “It’s the morning, Luce,” Frankie informs her, his voice soft yet panicked. “The guys could be up, and they might be looking for—.”

He’s cut off by Luciana leaning in swiftly to kiss him, her hand brushing over his cheek in a way that makes him forget everything else he’d been worrying about. When she pulls away, she stays close, her nose brushing against Frankie’s as she looks him deep in his eyes. “Relájate.” Luciana adds a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just say we woke up early and decided to go for a walk—and we brought the umbrella in case it rained again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath and nods to agree, earning a smile from Luciana in praise as she kisses him one more time. “You always think on your feet,” he tells her, earning a soft chuckle as she moves off of him. She frees herself from the sheets and stands, and Frankie can’t help the way his gaze admires her body once again. In this light, where it’s brighter and even more angelic, he can see more of the outline he’d tried to burn into memory last night, and he can’t help his heart from beating faster at her sheer beauty.

“Now, don’t relax too much, Morales,” Luciana warns Frankie, pulling him from his trance. “I don’t think we have time for another round before things start to look more… suspicious.”

Frankie ignores the blush on his cheeks as he shrugs, starting to untangle himself from the sheets. “Are you sure ‘bout that?”

Luciana raises an eyebrow at him as she starts getting her clothes from the night before back on. “Don’t insult yourself like that, babe. I’m sure you could last much longer than what we’re being given.”

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, trying to hide his smile of amusement as he also dresses himself back up. Once they make the room neat to the way it’d been before—including new sheets as provided in the closet of the room—they walk out hand-in-hand to the main part of the guesthouse. Frankie reaches for the umbrella and, before he can reach for the door, Luciana pulls him into another kiss. It’s deep and full of the desperation of not knowing when they can share another, lips parted and tongues dancing like their bodies had during the later hours of the night. Frankie’s hand cups her cheek as they pull away, a thumb brushing over the skin there as he watches the light dance in her brown eyes. “I love you,” Franke confesses in a voice that’s hushed yet honest, “and one day, the whole world will know it.”

“All in time,” Luciana assures him, a phrase that he knows he needs to hear because the guilt of not being more public with their relationship has started to eat away at him. She gives his hand a squeeze and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you, too.”

They share a gaze for a few lingering moments and then they open the door of the guesthouse, making sure none of the guys are around before they pretend to return from a morning spent walking through the trails of the surrounding wood. Thanks to their chemistry not only as lovers but also as friends, it’s easy for them to begin making light and casual conversation, making things look natural as they walk back up to the main house. Once they walk inside, they’re met with surprised exclamations from the guys who sit around the kitchen table, except for Santiago who works some eggs in a pan on the stove.

“We all thought you were both asleep, gonna be honest,” Benny admits, drawing a sip from his water with a raised brow.

“Us? Up later than you?” Luciana lets out a playful scoff as she teases him. “You should’ve known better. We were up early and decided to go for a walk. It’s beautiful around here.”

It’s true, Frankie thinks to himself, wishing he could say it to Luciana. My view this morning was really beautiful.

“I’d say that surprises me, but it doesn’t,” Tom mumbles, a small smile growing on his lips as he looks between the two of them. “One day, we’ll switch it up on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Luciana demurs with a chuckle. “Maybe after you’re done with bootcamp.”

And, as much as that’s meant to be a joke, those are the words that make Luciana’s mind take a darker route the rest of the day.

It continues just like the day before, the majority of it spent down at the dock—swimming, boating, kayaking, whatever else to have fun and cool off in the midst of the summer heat. She’s allowed herself a few extra drinks, which she realizes now likely wasn’t the best choice. Luciana sits here in one of the Adirondack chairs, taking a moment to bathe in the sun as she watches the boys toss a football around in the shallower part of the lake, and lets herself think too much.

She’s the only one being left behind. Luciana will have to stay here while her brothers—including one by blood—go off to serve, losing any kind of the contact she’s had with them ever since they all met and gelled together. This includes the love of her life, a man she’s known for longer than the rest aside from Santiago, someone she’s not sure how to live without anymore. Even before the love bloomed, he was the crutch she didn’t realize she was leaning on, the other half that kept her in check and balanced and excited to grow in life. Luciana knows she’s been the same thing for him. She doesn’t often think about what could happen to him while she’s away—not just in the line of duty, but in his mind and his heart. She knows there’s darkness there that even she hasn’t gotten to fully explore, hurt from the things that’s happened to him that he shouldn’t have to deal with on his own. Now, he has to be alone.

Her gaze jumps from person-to-person as they jump and move around in the water—from “grumpy” ol’ Tom, to young, wild, and free Benny, to less-wild-but-still-kinda-crazy Will, to her dearest and fiercely protective Santi, and finally to her entire heart, the caring and kind Frankie—and she can’t help picturing what would happen if this was the last time they were all together. If something happened and she lost one of them, or even all of them. If this little family of theirs that’s dysfunctional yet beautiful in its own unique way was harmed in any way, shape, or form. Luciana’s not sure how she’d be able to carry on. Picturing a life without them, one without Tom or Benny or Will or Santi or Frankie, is enough to knock the breath right from her lungs.

And that’s exactly what it does. Suddenly, Luciana—the one who’s been revered as never being afraid of anything—feels more fear than she’s ever experienced before in her life, and now she can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Luciana tries to take a deep breath but it stalls. The place where she’s supposed to feel the soft rise and fall of her chest is instead engulfed in burning flames, feeling as if they’re full of sand as she tries to get the air in. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead as she blinks a few times, trying to compose herself because she doesn’t want to break down like this, to show that she’s weaker than everyone thinks she is. But then she tries to breathe again and she still can’t.

She moves to sit on the very edge of her seat, hoping that’ll help somehow as she tries to expand her lungs. It does nothing. Instead, the heaving of her chest becomes more obvious, the cold sweat providing a glare of the sun’s rays, and she realizes she’s drawing attention.

“Luci?” her brother’s voice calls to her, but it feels far away, much further than the few feet he stands in the lake away from her. “You okay?” Santiago comes closer, stepping out of the water as his brow furrows in concern. Luciana looks at him and sees his eyes widen upon viewing the horror in her eyes and the evidence of struggles that go deeper than he was anticipating.

She shakes her head.

Santiago runs over, now, kneeling in front of Luciana and taking one of her hands in his. “What is it, hermanita?” he panics, his free hand touching her cheek and grimacing at how flushed it is. “How can I help?”

“I can’t breathe,” Luciana manages, the image of her brother blurring before her thanks to the tears of fear, shame, and stress that cloud her eyes, now. “I—Santi, I can’t breathe.”

Luciana sees Santiago bristle with more panic as he turns and addresses something to the boys that Luciana can’t take the time to listen to now, fully capturing their attention.

And when Frankie sees what’s happening, he just about feels his heart drop out into the water. It takes everything in him not to sprint over full-speed and take Luciana in his arms right then and there, instead rushing out of the water with the guys to better see what’s going on. Frankie instantly recognizes the behavior because it’s something he’s not unfamiliar with: an anxiety attack.

“Don’t crowd,” Frankie instructs the guys, shooing them to somewhere further off on the dock. He kneels beside Santiago in front of Luciana, placing a hand on her knee as he looks up at her calmly. “You’re having an anxiety attack, Luce. You just need to breathe in time with me, okay?” He earns a struggled nod at that, and he gives her a smile of praise. Santiago looks nervously between his brother and sister. “Breathe in real deep with me, like this.” Frankie takes a deep breath in, and he watches as Luciana shakily does the same. He holds it for a few seconds before going on. “And now let it out.” He exhales as Luciana repeats his motion. He smiles again. “Good. Keep it up.”

Frankie breathes with Luciana until her heaving diminishes and she’s able to get the air in on her own. A few beads of cold sweat still cascade down her head, though Frankie can only see her gaze looking into his—one that’s full of horror and longing, a longing to be comforted by him. But he can’t.

“You’re alright, hermanita,” Santiago assures his sister, hands reaching for the sides of her face as he brushes his thumbs over them. “Feel a little better?” Luciana just nods at him, eyes flickering between her brother and her lover. Frankie tries to ignore the heavy ache in his chest. “I’ll take you to the house and we’ll get you some peace and quiet.”

Luciana nods again to agree, letting Santiago help her to stand up as they start to walk up to the house. Her gaze lingers for just another moment on Frankie when Santiago stops to place a grateful hand on Frankie’s shoulder, and he feels helpless as he begins to stand up slowly from where he’d been kneeling, wishing more than anything that he could be the one going with her—and needing to know what was going through her mind and heart in this moment. Though, he’s pretty sure it has to do with the words she’d cried to him last night, and that thought alone breaks him into pieces.

Once Santiago and Luciana are further out of sight, Frankie walks himself to the edge of the dock, sitting with his legs in the water as he rips his hat from his head. He kneads the material in his hands, his gaze looking endlessly into the rippling water ahead of him. It’s at times like these when he thinks that she’s worth the sacrifice of losing flying. That maybe he can find another skill, another passion, so that she doesn’t have to be alone here and suffer like this. He’d be more than willing to try for her. But she’d never let him.

This is just the first time of many where Luciana will have to suffer without him—and Frankie knows he has to get used to this feeling of pain.

Frankie’s slightly startled when the dock rocks next to him, his gaze looking up to its source as he watches Will sit gingerly beside him. He lets out a heavy breath before he meets Frankie’s gaze, his brow lifting. “You okay, Fish?” Will asks, his voice full of genuine concern as he folds his hands in his lap.

Frankie offers a nod. “Yeah,” he tries his best to assure him, smoothing a hand over his hair before placing his hat back on his head. “I’m just glad that she’s alright. Anxiety attacks are terrifying.”

“Yeah, me too,” Will agrees, his gaze shifting out to the water. “It was scary for me to see her like that. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for you.”

Frankie furrows his brow, his heart starting to beat a bit faster as he looks over at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will looks back at Frankie, his expression of nonchalance never changing. “Well, you’re both really close, wouldn’t you say?”

Frankie looks between the water and Will’s gaze. “Uh—yeah, we are, I guess.”

Will remains stoic for one moment but crashes into soft laughter in the next one. He shoulders Frankie in a playful manner. “Fish, you’re a fuckin’ terrible liar.” Frankie can feel his eyes widening as Will raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re in love.”

Frankie’s mouth goes dry as he seeks some kind of response but can’t find one just yet. When he does, it’s incoherent. “I’m, I-I’m in—what?”

Will laughs again. “Don’t worry. She loves you, too. And that’s why you’re together. As you should be.” Will then offers a smile, one that isn’t cynical or threatening. It’s genuinely friendly and warm, as if Will’s been waiting for this to happen as long as Frankie has. Thinking about it, he probably has.

Frankie’s in such shock that he truly can’t speak, now. His lips are parted, but he can’t even begin to think of what he can say. He thought he and Luciana had been doing a good job at keeping things under wraps, but they must’ve slipped somehow. He guesses it was this morning. He wonders if Will’s the only one who knows.

But, just as any good brother would, Will practically reads Frankie’s mind as he continues on. “We all know—everyone except Pope, and I’m pretty sure that’s only ‘cause he’s in such denial of it happening that he refuses to see it.” When Frankie’s eyes only widen more, Will chuckles again. “It’s alright, Frankie. We saw this coming for years. It’s about damn time.”

Frankie finally thinks of something to say, swallowing hard as he tips his hat on his head. “How did you find out?”

Will looks out at the water, pretending to ponder greatly for an answer. “Let’s see.” He hums, and Frankie can tell it’s all an act as he chuckles under his breath. “Leaving all the parties together? Well, that’s just how you two are. No, it was probably when I saw you two dancing at the bar.”

Frankie nearly chokes on air and he feels his cheeks and neck burn red as he runs a hand over the skin there. “You, uh… you saw that?”

Will looks back over at Frankie. “Don’t worry, Frankie, I didn’t stop and stare. And I was mostly drunk. But how could I forget it? My long-time dream couple finally taking their first step together?”

Frankie shakes his head slightly, trying to hold back a smile that’s growing on his lips. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Will shrugs. “I thought you two would be all lovey-dovey after that, but you seemed… normal. So, yeah, I didn’t.”

Now, Frankie’s too curious for his own good. He furrows his brow as he faces his brother. “What else did you see?”

Will’s gaze drifts up to the sky as he thinks again. “I saw your looks at each other on the semi-formal night. I saw you dancing together there. I think that’s when I really, really knew.”

“And the guys did, too?”

“Oh, yeah. We all talked about it when you and Santi and Luci weren’t around. We wanted to help make it happen.”

Frankie feels a realization hit him as he sits up taller towards his friend. “You purposely made sure Luci was left alone in the house the day of my mom’s anniversary, and threw the party the night before graduation at Benny’s frat house so we could be alone, and covered our asses for Pope whenever we snuck away after that.”

Will nods once to agree. “Yep.” He pops the “p.” “And don’t forget the guesthouse.” He gestures towards the path in the woods with his finger, and Frankie can already feel his face turning more red than the color of Will’s swim shorts. “Going for a walk so early in the morning, huh? On the same trail as the guesthouse? What a coincidence.”

Frankie laughs a bit and sighs in defeat, nodding as he looks at Will seriously. “Yeah. We’re together.”

Will slaps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time comin’, brother.” He then wrinkles his brow in concern. “But why’re you trying to be so secretive about it?”

Frankie lowers his voice, gaze falling to his hands as they play with the hem of his t-shirt. “Pope.”

“I figured. But… why?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, looking back up to meet Will’s gaze. “A little while before that night at the bar, Santi, he uh, talked to us. Luci and I. Separately, of course. But he told us that he doesn’t think we should be together because it’s too risky for the dynamic—you know, our family thing we got going on. He’s afraid that if something goes bad between Luci and I, it’ll tear us apart from him. So he made us promise not to get together.”

“And now, you’re together.” Will finishes the idea for Frankie and he nods. Will curses under his breath. “Shit. That’s a dick move on Santiago’s part.”

Frankie shrugs. “He’s just protective of his loved ones.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should have to hide your relationship in the fuckin’ shadows, Frankie. You two are made for each other. We’ve all known it since day fuckin’ one.”

“Then why do you think he made us promise that?”

Will shakes his head, looking at the lake. “Like you said. He’s probably afraid that the closer you two become to each other, the more you’ll drift away from him.” He looks back to Frankie. “He’s afraid of being alone, Frankie.”

Frankie understands that fear. He’s lived that life, experienced that feeling of being so utterly alone and abandoned in this world by everyone he’s loved. That’s why he can’t bring himself to be mad at Santiago, and that’s why he keeps bending to his will and keeping his love hidden.

“You gotta tell him eventually, Fish. He deserves to know. She’s his twin sister for God’s sake, and you’re the closest brother he has out of all of us.”

“I know.” Frankie feels the guilt from earlier resting heavily on his shoulders, now, a hand wiping down his face as he watches his feet kick in the semi-clear lakewater. “I just… now isn’t the time. We’re about to go to basic training and he doesn’t need this shit in his head while we’re doing all that.”

Will nods understandingly. “I get it, Frankie, I really do. But the longer you wait, the worse his reaction will be—especially when it comes to the guesthouse.”

Frankie’s eyes double in size. “He will not be told about the guesthouse.”

Will laughs at Frankie’s panic. “An unnecessary detail. Your secret’s safe with us.” Will places his hand on Frankie’s shoulder yet again, giving his brother another warm smile. “I’m real happy for you both, Frankie.” Frankie returns his brother’s smile. “Just make sure we’re in the wedding. Alright?”

Frankie burns red yet laughs, standing up along with Will as they walk back towards where Benny and Tom are seated in two of the Adirondack chairs. Benny tilts his sunglasses down his nose upon their arrival. “What were you two ladies gossiping about?” Benny jokes, causing Will to snort. “The fact that we know this man’s fuckin’?” He gestures to Frankie who just about adapts red as the permanent color of his face at this point.

“Now Benny, what did I tell you about reducing the state of their relationship to sexual intimacy?” Will retorts, raising his brow at his brother.

Benny blinks a few times at his brother. “Was that English?” he finally asks.

The guys laugh, and Will nudges Frankie’s shoulder again. He points up to the house. “You should go check up on her,” he says lowly. Frankie nods to agree, the ache for his lover still prominent in his chest as he starts off towards the pathway that leads to the house. “Tell Pope we’re ready for another round of tossin’ if he’s up to it.”

Frankie holds up a thumb in acknowledgement, refusing to do anything to slow his movements towards Luciana as he heads up to the house. Once he’s made his way inside through the sliding glass door, he sees Santiago standing by the fridge in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water that’s no doubt for Luciana. He doesn’t see her around, though, and he wonders where she’s gone.

“Hey,” Frankie greets gently, not wanting to startle his brother. Santiago looks at Frankie with eyes still panicked for his sister, but they relax a bit upon seeing Frankie. “How’s she doing? How’re you doing?”

Santiago shrugs as he closes the fridge door, resting the glass of water on the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s alright, I think,” Santiago informs him. “Good enough to not want her twin brother fussing over her anymore.” Frankie chuckles softly at that, as does Santiago. He then grimaces, though, a sigh falling from his lips. “But she said it was because she’s worried for us, Frankie—all of us. That makes me feel like shit. I don’t want to have to leave her behind.”

Frankie’s own heart breaks apart at his words. “Me neither, Santi. None of us do. But she’s strong, and a moment like this doesn’t change that. I’m sure that once everything falls into place, we’ll all be a little more at ease.”

Santiago nods to agree. Frankie hates the way his brother seems so down and guilty still, so he walks towards him and holds out his arms, accepting him in a tight hug as he pats his back a few times for reassurance. No words are spoken as the two brothers share a moment of strength, trying to comfort each other over the same woman—to one a dear sister, and to the other a passionate lover. Frankie has a feeling everything will be okay even as he pulls away from the embrace, smiling at Santiago.

“Will said they’re ready for another round if you are,” Frankie informs him. “I can keep an eye on her if you want me to.”

Santiago returns his smile. “That’d be great, Frankie. She’s sick enough of me already.”

Frankie chuckles again, shaking his head as he takes the glass of water off the counter. Santiago steps outside and heads back down to the dock, and Frankie tries to compose himself for what’s to come as he looks around for Luciana. He assumes she’s upstairs, now, and so he heads in that direction with the water in hand. When he comes around the corner of her room, he gently raps his knuckles against the doorframe.

“Santi, for fuck’s sake, I already told you that I’m fin—.” Luciana cuts herself off when she sees Frankie’s image appear in her doorway. She’s since slid on a sweatshirt following the incident, her arms hugging over her stomach as she sits with her legs criss-crossed on the bed. Her brown eyes twinkle at his presence. “Frankie?”

He doesn’t speak just yet as he walks closer to her, setting the glass on the bedside table as he seats himself on the edge of her bed. He reaches a delicate hand to brush away a loose piece of hair from her face, and she leans into his touch without ever breaking his gaze. Frankie can feel his eyes softening at her. “You alright, baby girl?” he finally says, his voice so soft that he wonders if she’s even heard it.

But she must, since she offers a light smile in return. “I’m fine,” Luciana assures him, one of her hands covering the one he still has on her cheek. “I just… got a little too lost in my thoughts.”

Frankie shakes his head at her. “You don’t have to keep it all in here, Luce.” He takes his free hand to gently tap his finger against her temple, earning a larger smile from her. “You have me, too. And Santi. And your other brothers.”

Luciana sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to look…”

“… weak to them?” Luciana nods, and Frankie shakes his head again as he holds her face between his hands. “Luci, having anxiety like that and thoughts like those doesn’t make you ‘weak.’ It just proves how caring and protective you are over all of us. We’re all feeling the same things you are even if we’re not vocalizing them. You being able to say them aloud would prove that you’re actually much stronger than all of us.”

Luciana grabs one of Frankie’s hands to press a kiss to his palm upon hearing that. “Thank you.” Her voice is quiet but never falters, her mesmerizing gaze settling in Frankie’s as she continues smiling at him. “I love you, baby.”

Frankie beams and his heart warms at her endearment. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss against her lips, one so soft that it can barely be felt. He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. “I love you way more.”

With those words, he wraps his arms around her and shifts his position on the bed, encouraging her to lean into him as he strokes her hair softly. Frankie hopes it can bring her even more peace that she so desperately needs right now—as does he. Yet, he also knows he needs to get his recent conversation off his chest and inform Luciana of what’s been said.

“By the way, Luce… the guys know.”

Luciana lifts her head momentarily from Frankie’s chest, her brow furrowed. “About what?”

Frankie’s eyebrow lifts. “Us.”

Luciana doesn’t even look surprised as she lets her head rest against his chest again. “Oh. Yeah, I figured.”

“You did?”

“We’re not very good at being secretive, Francisco.”

Frankie chuckles at that. “I guess you’re right, Luciana.” Luciana wrinkles her nose upon hearing her full name. “But… your brother deserves to know. Soon.”

“Like I said this morning, babe… all in time.”

Frankie nods to agree with that, planting a kiss in her hair before resting his chin against her head. He continues to stroke her hair as he closes his eyes, absorbing the touch and close intimacy while he still can. The future’s unclear as of now, between his flying and her working and whatever the hell Santiago’s gonna do when he finds out about this, but he knows one thing for certain: Luciana will always be there. “All in time.”

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[ducktracy]

190. porky at the crocadero (1938)

release date: february 5th, 1938

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky)

at long last, frank tashlin has succumbed to putting porky on a diet. this is the first tashlin short to have a slimmed down porky, officially putting an end to “fat porky”’s reign.

the story credit goes to lew landsman—a bit of an anomaly, considering this is his only credit. much of the scoop on him has been lost to the sands of time, but evidently he was a gag artist, selling comic drawings to magazines and even touting showings of his art throughout the ‘40s and ‘50s. you can read more about him here.

porky aspires to be a bandleader at the prestigious crocadero (a parody of the cafe trocadero, a bumping nightclub on the sunset strip from 1934-1947), but quickly realizes he’s too poor to afford its flashy admittance fee. he works as a dishwasher, hoping to catch a whiff of the festivities, but is quickly let go after he proves too incompetent for the job. nevertheless, an impromptu change in plans finds porky at the bandstand conducting a number of acts, including a high-energy cab calloway finale.

the typography of the title card melts away, the camera panning out as we get a full view of the crocadero, illuminated by the moonlight and its flashy neon sign. pan back in to the sign and fade to a standee:

all of the selections are references to pieces of music, with said music serving as accompaniment. the score begins with “little man, you’ve had a busy day”, switches to “in the shade of the old apple tree”, and closes with a carl stalling favorite, “the lady in red”. 

pan over to porky, eagerly ogling the sign. volney white’s animation and mel blanc’s vocals combine to make an energetic performance that will only grow in fervor. “hot duh-dee-duh-dee-duh-diggity dog! all thuh-the-thee-the big shots in person!” the detail of porky’s little hat flipping around, staggering in time to his stutter, is not only funny, but elevates the energy of the sequence. “someday, i’m uh-guh-geh-uh-gonna lead a band, too! s-see?”

porky unfurls a diploma, to which we get a close-up of his not-so-trustworthy credentials (fingernails and all):

volney’s animation continues to be full of character as porky blabs on about how he’s gonna become a famous bandleader. “and meh-muh-mee-mm-maybe i’ll be eh-feh-eh-famous, like eh-leh-lee-le-leopold eh-seh-stokowski!”

a nice change in camera angles as we turn to an upshot of porky, furiously conducting his imaginary band to a rousing rendition of “poet and peasant overture”. 

the mood changes from fervent conductor to crooner as he chooses to mimic rudy vallee, conducting along to vallee’s 1937 “vieni, vieni”, complete with a hilariously amiable facial expression--a stark contrast to the fit he was throwing mimicking stokowski just seconds prior.

another seamless transition in tone to an impression of eh-buh-bee-beh-benny goodman, the song this time being “sweet georgia brown” in the stylings of the king of swing himself. the changes in mood and tone, in both the animation and the music, are as smooth as butter, especially for such drastic shifts in expression. frank tashlin doesn’t skip a beat with his pacing. this is especially true as the camera pans over to another nearby sign, a hilarious sight gag quickly putting an end to porky’s festivities:

dejected, porky rifles in his pocket and pulls out a lone coin emblazoned with a skunk—“one scent”. he trudges along solemnly, away from the crocadero, when all of the sudden a sign catches his eye: BOY WANTED. though porky has been slowly growing more consistent in his characterization, his age still fluctuated from picture to picture. frank tashlin would also portray him as a young boy in wholly smoke just a few months later.

tashlin flaunts his need for speed as porky wastes no time doing the signature volney white eye take and darting into the crocadero, a cloud of dust and the swinging of the doors serving as the only indication of his presence just milliseconds prior.

although the sign doesn’t elaborate on what job it is that porky is doing, the tower of dishes blocking the screen as we fade in to the new scene answers any lingering questions. pan out to porky, happily scrubbing away, while his boss, a pretentious walrus whose vocal stylings are hilarious and borderline incomprehensible orders him around. the bargain—if porky does his job, then he can “watch the orrrrrrchestrey, maybe, hmmm?”

a throwback to the days of working with disney, carl stalling “mickey mouse”’s a little penguin waiter—that is, his quick little steps are fervently timed to the jaunty tinker of an xylophone. the walrus blocks the diminutive penguin, peddling a platter of soup. after they inadvertently do a tango of side-stepping, the penguin wordlessly slides down the walrus’ back, zigzagging around a sea of tables, and right over to a lone giraffe, elevating the table like a car jack to fit the gjraffe’s height. the giraffe laps up his soup with ease. though not the funniest gag ever, tashlin’s quirks—the quick timing, hiding the penguin behind the plethora of tables, etc, make it more endearing.

back to porky, carrying a dangerously tall tower of plates with him. a fly causes him to nearly spill his goods, but ducking in place renders the pig safe. that is, until he throws all of the dishes in the air, swatting the fly spastically. the music cue of porky ducking, looking around to make sure the fly is gone, sounds eerily similar to the stylings of norman spencer, who scored the cartoons up until mid-late 1936. 

without a break in pace, porky catches all of the dishes he threw into the air in one fell swoop. more buttery pacing from tashlin, who is able to switch tones and moods at lightning speeds without missing a beat. this is INCREDIBLY difficult to pull off, and he makes it look too easy.

as to be expected, the fly lands right on porky’s snout. instead of attacking it without hesitation, porky slowly reaches for a spoon on the kitchen counter... and THEN disregards his duties as dishwasher, carelessly tossing his pile of dishes aside to swat furiously at his foe.

the pompous walrus from before spots porky’s silhouette from outside the kitchen doors, flailing and waving around like a madman. “der loafer!” his boss interprets porky’s frantic waving of the spoon as a frantic imitation of a bandleader, promptly tossing him out. porky recovers in the back alley, left with his diploma and metaphorical birds of cartoon pain as the boss scolds “today, you are a ham!”--a take on the bar mitzvah declaration “today, you are a man”, which has been spoofed previously in cartoons such as egghead rides again.

it doesn’t take long for the boss to eat his own words. frank tashlin does a great job of creating a genuinely anxiety inducing mood as a crowd of people, now filling the crocadero, chant “we want mu-sic! we want mu-sic! we want mu-sic!” the musical accompaniment is more akin to the stylings of scott bradley, in the sense that it’s purely atmospheric and contextual, rather than an actual melody. the chanting and disconcerting music get louder as we cut to dramatic up shots of hands clapping to the beat, down shots of foots stamping, etc. it’s genuinely unnerving--and the manager agrees, pacing circles around his office, muttering incoherently to himself about the absence of “the musicmaker”.

knocking on the door serves as a symbol of hope as the manager whips around. “who’s dere?” 

“telegram, i bet’cha!” inside bursts a total loon of an old man, his long, white beard whipping in the wind as he does donuts on his bicycle inside the manager’s office. if it weren’t for his looks and speech patterns, which already tell a story, carl stalling’s score of “the woods are full of cuckoos” certifies that this old coot definitely has some screws loose. 

the old coot reaches into the depths of his beard and pulls out said telegram. “y’ owe me sixty cents, i bet’cha.” the manager unceremoniously dumps a handful of coins into the coot’s possession, who does a few more donuts in the office, indicating his exit. that is, until he suddenly halts, tipping his hat to bid “g’bye, i bet’cha.” such a scene is nonsense--and it’s hilarious nonsense rather than perplexing nonsense. it makes no sense, and yet it’s speedy enough to get its point across AND not overstay its welcome. had the same gag been executed by someone such as ben hardaway, who probably would have LOVED this gag, it would have been milked to death and bloated to ensure the audience “got it”. here, frank knows when to start and when to stop, an incredibly valuable skill not all directors possess.

contents of the telegram include a rather morbid nod to the hit ‘20s song “i faw down an' go boom”:

to add insult to injury, the old coot sticks his head in the door and adds “yeah, and they won’t come ‘t all, i betcha!” before slamming the door. though i can’t place the animator, the style of the animation looks eerily similar to that of izzy ellis’, from the spiral motion lines to the thin, squished look of his face. izzy ellis would animate in the clampett unit after leaving ub iwerks’ studio, later animating under norm mccabe, frank tashlin himself, bob clampett again, and then bob mckimson. an example of some of his work under frank tashlin here. 

back to the crowd, still demanding their music in the same unnerving drone. the manager continues to pace in his office, until a bright idea hits. “that sving dishvasher! i must get him back schnell!” 

a moment of frank tashlin greatness: the entire cartoon screeches to a halt as a narrator explains “ladies and gentlmen, ‘schnell’ means ‘quick’!” and, just like that, cartoon hijinks resume. this joke is hilarious 83 years later--imagine the reaction it evoked from theatergoers in 1938. once more, the matter-of-fact execution of the gag is what sells it. no build up, no cool down, no bloating of anything. short, sweet, and to the point. it’s so hilariously and purposefully redundant that you can’t NOT laugh at it.

speaking of quick, that would be an understatement to describe the rapid cutting after the fact. the manager rushes outside, whipping around street corner after street corner to find the dejected dishwasher he berated just minutes prior. he finds his target, grabbing porky and rushing backwards--the same way he came at the same exact lightning speed--all while monologuing about how porky can be a bandleader and break all of the dishes he wants.

again, no breaks in momentum whatsoever as the bandleader tosses a nonplussed porky into a bandleader’s outfit, stuffing a pillow under his shirt (had this cartoon been made a few months prior, there’d be no need for a pillow!) and giving him a fake mustache/curl of hair via makeup. “pull de vool over dere eyes!”

thus cues the music portion of the cartoon. a spotlight shines on a sign introducing porky as “the jazz king”, much to the pleasure of the audience. a giraffe in the orchestra introduces the song with a clarinet solo of “rhapsody in blue” before getting down to business.

porky, dressed as paul whiteman, conducts whiteman’s “avalon”, as indicated by the music stand. volney white does some great animation here--porky struggles to keep his own weight afloat, his giant pillow-stomach sinking to the ground. he readjusts himself a few times, enjoying the spare seconds of peace where his outfit stays intact, only for the same charade to repeat. fun eye takes and volumetric animation from volney. it’s no coincidence that he was one of tashlin’s best animators.

the crowd shots in this cartoon are not to be overlooked--kudos and apologies for the poor people who had to ink and paint all of that! the crowd dances along to the stylings of porky’s music, including a pair of kangaroos and their joeys slow dancing together.

back to the little penguin waiter from before, tinkering along to deliver a drink. a spare trombone sucks up all of the goods in the glass, prompting a hilarious grimace from the penguin who just stands still, silently glowering before traipsing backwards (mickey mouse timing and all) to refill. 

cut to porky, who appears much more jovial. a clever pan out reveals that he’s enlisted in the help of a car jack to keep his extra weight afloat. and, with that, curtains (animation reused from the introduction to tashlin’s porky’s romance) close out on the pig. applause from the audience.

next up, “guy lumbago and his boiled kanadians”, a not-so-flattering nod to guy lombardo and his royal canadians. porky, dressed as a canadian mountee, directs “cryman lumbago”. carmen lombardo, brother to guy, was often poked fun at for the excessive vibrato in his voice--people would liken him to sounding like an old man on his last legs. not only that, but even by the ‘30s, guy lombardo’s music was often dismissed as slow, sappy “old person’s music”. the 1954 woody woodpecker cartoon, real gone woody, also makes fun of lombardo, also dubbing him as “lumbago” and calling him a square.

indeed, cryman lumbago is a decrepit old man with--you guessed it--lumbago, singing in a hilariously obnoxious vibrato. even the dancers in the crocadero stagger along to his vibrato, their dancing stuttering. the benign facial expressions of the crowd, despite all of this, is the perfect cherry on top. one wonders if guy/carmen lombardo ever saw this cartoon, and how they reacted to it...

just as the gag threatens to overstay its welcome (and, admittedly, it has), a screwball assistant who looks like a relative to another random screwball in porky’s duck hunt scoops lumbago into a wheelchair and wheels him off stage. the audience applauds, and there’s a feeling that they aren’t just applauding the music.

cue the most controversial, uncomfortable, yet also complex part of the cartoon: a tribute to cab calloway, or, as he’s dubbed here, cab halloway.

for today i’ll spare you the imagery, but we’re greeted by a (thankfully) rare anomaly in the porky pig-verse: porky and his orchestra are dressed in blackface, conducting a rousing rendition of “chinatown, my chinatown”.

obviously, any and all blackface is abhorrent, but this is an interesting case. it’s clear that this was meant to be an homage and celebration of cab calloway’s music. a certain level of care seems to have been put into this sequence—it’s not a cheap throwaway “haha blackface” gag purely just for laughs. the animation is FILLED with a surprising amount of energy and vitality, and the vocals of the calloway impression are eerily spot on. analyzing the animation from a technical standpoint, it’s VERY skillful. it is NOT easy to convey such high energy and such elasticity. the animation is vivid, rapid, and invigorating. for 1938 especially, such energy is jarring. this feels more like the climax of a 1945 bob clampett cartoon, not a run of the mill 1938 porky pig cartoon.

BUT, with that said, it’s still extremely uncomfortable--blackface is blackface, and just because the techniques behind it are good doesn’t mean the material being animated is good. as i mentioned, the intentions don’t entirely feel as nasty as other examples we have/will seen, but that doesn’t negate the harm it does. you can have affectionate homages to cab calloway and his music without blackface--look at betty boop’s snow white. plus, because the song is “chinatown, my chinatown”, any nuance this scene had is discredited when porky switches from blackface to dressing up as a stereotypical chinese man. uncomfortable and unnecessary--THAT is a cheap throwaway gag. 

nevertheless, it’s not in my place to preach about what is racist and what isn’t. speaking purely from a technical standpoint--the techniques and processes that went into the animation itself--this is a very impressive performance. high energy in both music and animation. the elasticity, speed, all of it is very impressive. the content BEING animated, however, has aged like rotten milk. though this isn’t as meanspirited as other instances that we’ll explore, it still absolutely has its problems and definitely encourages mindful thinking.

regardless, the number ends to uproarious applause, and porky successfully lives his dreams of being a bandleader. the cartoon closes on the penguin waiter, once more peddling a drink. just as the offscreen trombone threatens to steal his drink, the penguin swallows it all in one go and blows a raspberry to the trombone as we iris out.

an interesting entry for sure. frank tashlin’s talents cannot and should not be understated--his speed and timing of the cartoon are certifiably one of the most impressive aspects of the cartoon. indeed, a lot of fun music in this one, whether that be underscores or otherwise. the design of the cartoon holds up very well--tashlin’s streamlined backgrounds and layouts are always a treat to look at. porky is very endearing, especially in the beginning with his imitation of all of the bandleaders, and the incomprehensibility of the walrus is too funny not to laugh at.

of course, the elephant in the room is the ending tribute, which we already discussed. from a technical standpoint, the vivacity of the animation should absolutely be commended and appreciated, especially this early on. the music is VERY fun. but blackface is blackface, and it just hasn’t aged well and comes off as uncomfortable--at least--regardless.

with that, whether you choose to watch this cartoon is up to you. i think this is definitely one of tashlin’s best porky cartoons, and despite its gags and references that have now become dated, it still serves as an enjoyable watch. the whole blackface thing, however, is why this isn’t a cartoon i frequent often. i would trepidatiously recommend this, either skip the calloway sequence or watch it with an open mind. in all, a fun cartoon that i unfortunately can’t quite appreciate to its fullest extent.

with all that said, here’s a link!