#why must grease paint do this to me

[amnts-brutal]

corpse paint makes me so hot but my lips so dry

[jester-lover]

Blue Haired Boy

you play with Buggy's hair while the crew is away

Cw/ Fem! terms, food, fluff, whiny Buggy, OPLA! Buggy, he's just a head in this one lol

AN/ this is just me clowning around before getting my requests done, so not beta read.

Rolling over on the hammock for the fifth time, you grabbed at the thin pillow and shoved it off and onto the floor. Something about the situation was reminiscent of being stuffed into a wonton wrapper.

God, being the new girl sucks.

You thought the crew would have found some use for you, you were a jack-of-all-trades after all, but it seemed like there was only one role left to fulfill. And as the newest member of the crew, you were responsible for the more unsavory job.

“H-ello! I know you can hear me, broccoli hairrrr~”

Buggy’s singsongy tone reminded you of that very role, clown babysitter. Sighing as the throbbing headache in your temple mixed with the sharp pain in your back, you decided to stand up and get something done, anything that could distract you from your boredom.

The bag that held the clown’s head was on the kitchen table, much to Sanji’s chagrin. Other than the slight shaking and constant talking, he was an exemplary hostage.

As you walked closer to the bag, Buggy’s frantic ravings grew louder. Some empathetic little part of you felt bad for him, so you decided to use your better judgment and give him a little fresh air. That old sack must start to stink after a while.

As you open the bag and dump out the clown’s head, he immediately sprung up and winked at you dramatically. It was as if he was trying to max out his charisma.

“Why hello..~ You’re a new face, aren’t you?”

The deadpan look you tossed his way didn’t break his disposition, instead, it seemed to egg him on.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

Buggy’s head tilted to the side before he smiled brightly.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl…”

That comment got a little chuckle out of you, and he seemingly beamed.

Gently picking him up by his head, near his ears where he wouldn’t be uncomfortable, you placed him on the kitchen counter and pulled out a small kitchen knife.

“You hungry?”

Twirling the knife in-between your fingers, you looked at him expectantly. You had always had a deep sense of domesticity towards your crew, and as he was a temporary companion, he would be receiving your support too.

“Where do you think the food would go?”

Another laugh erupted from you, this one was genuine and hearty, and Buggy’s head laughed along with you.

Good point, clown.”

You picked his head up again and brought him to your makeshift little corner of the ship, laying in your soft red hammock with Buggy on your stomach as you examined him. Your fingers slowly threaded through his hair and adjusted his bandana.

He furrowed his brows slightly, trying to discern what your motive was for the affectionate act. Something clicked in his head as he met your eyes.

“Hey! If you're gonna get all sweet with me, you could've bought me dinner first!”

Laugher came from you in droves, and the clown, clearly proud of himself, bounced a little in the air.

As you continued to fix and adjust his hair and bandana, Buggy got a little quieter, and if you looked really close, you could see a little flush on his cheeks and (what was present of) his neck.

“This hair…it’s all yours huh?”

Your fingers threaded through a particular knot in his ocean blue locks, and he sighed a little.

“Y-yeah! I mean, I don’t dye it or anything…”

A softer smile appeared on your face as you patted the top of his gorgeous hair, sure, it wasn’t the cleanest; but it was still beautiful. The blue hair complimented his eyes, and framed his face perfectly.

“It’s so thick and voluminous, you could easily grow it out.”

Buggy’s painted face reddened more at that comment, the blush was visible as his grease paint began pulling off.

His silence sort of astonished you, but it was short lived.

“You think that would look alright..?”

Before you could speak again, only to confirm his thoughts, his head lept upwards into the air dramatically.

“ABSOLUTELY IT WOULD! ANYTHING WOULD LOOK GREAT ON A HUNK LIKE ME!”

Your shared laughter echoed throughout the night, a verbal symbol of an amusingly unstable relationship between the two of you blossoming.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Kind of a dumb request but how about team DEFY + any girls you want with an s/o who somehow managed to build a mech straight out of Armored Core? Insanely maneuverable, loads of guns, can fly, etc and s/o built it in a garage with a box of scraps lol

(GFL/Genshin Impact) Task Force DEFY, Amber, Jean, Fischl, and Yoimiya's S/O building an Armored Core Mech

(Video Source: Pongsifu on YT) Luckily for you, I have been binging Armored Core 6 for the past month, and will hop on ANY request to talk/write about anything Mecha related.

12 stared at the giant 10 meter mechanical behemoth that had suddenly made its home inside Griffin's Hangar.

(AK-12) "...We didn't always have that, right?"

The machine's chest slowly opened and revealed a cockpit containing S/O, waving hello from the seat.

Apparently, they had constructed the mech out of spare parts lying around.

(AK-12) "Impressive...But, why exactly did Griffin have that many parts lying around? And how did you find guns that big?"

On the battlefield, she watches the mech fly around at almost breakneck speed, watching them zip around and eradicate one base after the other.

Kicking tanks and shooting helicopters out of the sky, it was far more effective to watch them fight instead of having to do anything.

(AK-12) "Hm. We'll be out of a job at this rate."

94 knew this was going to happen.

T-Dolls would only last so long on the battlefield before they were replaced by the next best thing.

However, she sure as hell wasn't expecting S/O of all people to surpass her, with a mech constructed out of junk parts no less.

It was honestly awe-inspiring what humans could engineer for the sole purpose of destruction.

And it was also physically impossible. Something that size should not be quad-wielding miniguns and moving that fast.

(AN-94) "...How has your machine not collapsed from the Earth's gravity?"

94 is more confused than anything.

15 was impressed more than anything.

She knew S/O was an engineer, but to construct a mech out of the parts they had was nothing short of a miracle and logic-defying technical prowess.

(AK-15) "How does your machine constantly reload the missiles while on the field? It is the only weapon you seem to have, and no one constructed missiles that large, even during World War 3."

She can't help but wonder why DEFY was even needed if Griffin had engineers like S/O around.

Well, at least S/O was on their side.

(RPK-16) "I wonder if humanity will wipe itself out faster with these new machines."

16 is fascinated by the human desire to make machines to wipe out life faster.

Granted, Griffin usually just fought Sangvis which consisted nothing of machines, but it would only be a matter of time until everyone else had their own version of S/O's mech.

And probably not one constructed out of junk either.

(RPK-16) "I must ask, S/O. How can you be in the cockpit of that thing and not reduce yourself to jelly? Surely the G-Force alone would kill you?"

Well, it's not the first thing that humans have done that confused her.

(Angelia) "Hmph. Why did they even bother calling us if they had you here? And could you have done that this entire time?"

Angelia is impressed and annoyed.

If S/O could create a hulking machine of death before, why did they only decide to do it now?

She both dreads and admired S/O's tenacity. To make such an effective machine out of junk took a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

Angelia doesn't question it, seeing that it's working alright so far, but she definitely wants to look into upgrading it.

(Angelia) "S/O, with me. We're painting DEFY's logo on it."

(Amber) "THAT IS SO COOL!"

Amber could create Baron Bunnies with a lot of yarn, but S/O could make a machine that dwarfed Ruin Guards with some random pieces of metal!

(Amber) "You have got to teach me how to do that! And lemme ride it too!"

Amber demands to fly with S/O, even though she can't go nearly as fast as they can.

She watches as S/O wipes out entire nests of monsters before leaping away with its mantis-like legs to the next location.

Honestly, it made her feel jealous.

(Amber) "Heeey, can I ask one of those for my birthday! I bet it'll make flying around Mondstadt a breeze!"

Though as the outrider, she kindly asks S/O not to park the giant machine weighing presumably hundreds of tons in the city.

For obvious reasons.

The color on Jean's skin fades when she heard Klee helped S/O build a brand new toy.

One that put her bombs to shame.

And seeing it park itself next to the cathedral, waving hello to her as she was standing at the entrance-

She was about ready to faint.

(Jean) "S/O! Get down from there right this instant!"

Jean gives S/O and Klee an earful for making such an absolute monstrosity that could potentially damage the land and city!

But seeing it in action and fast it disposed of a Hilichurl camp, it filled her with pride and dread.

Pride for her S/O's creative ingenuity, but absolute fear for what S/O and Klee could make next.

Especially considering how fast S/O's machine moved, and the weapons it had.

Where did Klee find the gunpowder for quad-cannons mounted on it?!

(Jean) "I pray that it won't blow up the city on accident..."

(Fischl) "...WHAT?!"

Fischl completely breaks character upon seeing the giant machine staring at her.

(Fischl) "How did...Why...?! Get down from there and tell me how this mechanical monstrosity came to be!"

(Oz) "You just want to ride the machine yourself, Mein-"

(Fischl) "SILENCE!"

...But yes, she constantly nags S/O to let their Prinzessin give the machine a try.

She finds it so friggin' cool, and desperately wants one of her own, in purple!

She watches with some kind of morbid satisfaction watching S/O's machine wipe out their enemies in electrical explosions.

(Fischl) "I hereby dub your steel horse…Raven, of the 621th star!"

(Oz) "…Why 621?"

Oh, that's where all of Yoimiya's spare fireworks have been going into.

(Yoimiya) "HOLY CRAP! What on earth did you make, S/O?!"

The machine seemed like it leapt from another world!

Especially with how fast it moved, honestly she was amazed S/O wasn't vomiting their guts out as soon as they exited.

While it seemed like it would do massive damage, instead they used it for something even better.

As the machine soared above the skies of Inazuma, the cannons on the arms and shoulders fired toward the moon, the starry night exploding into hundreds of beautiful colors!

They had transformed their machine into a firework powerhouse!

And with how fast it moved, it was able to provide a show from one island to another!

(Yoimiya) "Next festival, you're letting me ride with you! I want to see the work we've done up close!"

[aerodaltonimperial]

katy i bet the inside of the bus is cold and lonely when all your friends have left and your opponent proved you wrong and you lost your belt in front of ten thousand people and you’re 2800 miles from home

All things considered, Jack didn't actually think the night could get worse until the bus doors slammed open with enough force to rattle the whole damn carriage beneath, and he's midway through tugging a new shirt on, one arm wiggling to find the right spot, so he's been good and thoroughly proven wrong. His heart flies up into his throat as every fear he's harbored for the past two years screams against his ears, but—

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jack demands.

Darby yanks the doors closed again once he's in, breathing hard and smelling of engine grease and burning motor oil, and then he slides around on his knees. "I gotta fucking hide."

"In my fucking bus?" It's a miracle Jack gets the shirt on after that, but his bones are gonna rattle out of his skin. "What do you mean you have to hide?"

Darby scoots back until his shoulders hit the wall. "They fucking came back."

"Who came back?"

Darby's eyes flicker up past the seat, to the windshield, which at this point, is mostly just reflecting the lamps the staff has on in the loading bay. There's really nowhere else to park this rig, 'cause it never fits into any of the spots, so Jack ends up just sort of angling it near where the big mack trucks unload. "Claudio and Pac."

"Why the fuck would I—" Jack stops and leans in, squinting. "Are you bleeding?"

"No one's gonna look for me here."

Jack huffs. "Yeah, 'cause I hate your guts. Claudio and Pac won't—"

"No, I mean no one will," Darby interrupts, drawing his knees in as his skull falls back and clunks against the metal wall. "There's no one here for you. No one's gonna come here."

And that... Jesus, that steals the air right out of Jack's lungs. Sure, Darby isn't even wrong, but it's far different thinking it and having someone put it to words like that, giving it life. He glares at Darby while the onslaught of all the shit he's spent the last hour trying to put to sea crashes into him, a tidal wave.

He must go silent for long enough that Darby notices, because the guy lifts his chin, regarding Jack a few feet away. "You lost tonight. You lost the belt."

"Yeah, well," Jack mumbles, throat thick. "Happens to everyone eventually."

Darby lifts his finger to his mouth, chewing on the skin near his thumbnail. It's red again; they're all painted red. They simmer in silence while outside, Jack catches the sound of footsteps passing near enough to echo. He doesn't even care if the Death Riders throw the back doors open and haul Darby out by his stupid pink coat, but Jack's breath catches anyway, involuntary.

Neither of them so much as twitches as the sound circles, pauses, and then, by some miracle, recedes again. Jack exhales in a somewhat rushed gasp. "What the fuck, Darby. What did you do?"

"Ran into their truck."

"With your face?"

Darby cracks a smile, and it seems genuine. "Ha. No, dumbass, with a car. What kinda fuckin' question is that?"

Jack shrugs. "Well, you hit the bus bumper with your forehead before, so it seemed like a logical jump."

"You hit my forehead with the bumper."

"Semantics." With the footsteps gone—and Jack doesn't even know if it was them or not, though it really doesn't matter��the tension has siphoned out of the interior. He stretches his legs out, wincing. He's gonna bruise the colors of the rainbow in the next few days. Then he sighs, looking at the red smeared across Darby's skin. "You're bleeding."

"Happens when your head bounces off the dashboard," Darby says.

"God, you're a dumb fuck," Jack grumbles, as he pushes up onto all fours and retrieves the first aid kit. There isn't much, but at least he's got antiseptic wipes. "I don't know how social Darwinism hasn't taken you out yet."

He ends up kneeling sort of half over, half across Darby's legs, and the guy doesn't push him off, so Jack thinks it's awkward, but acceptable. There's a lot more blood than he'd thought up close, so Jack gets started trying to clean up the worst of it streaked across Darby's forehead and temple.

"He was wearing his ring gear," Darby says, apropos of nothing.

"Who?"

"Pac."

Jack shakes his head. "So? What does that matter?"

"Everyone else was fully dressed," Darby says. "But Pac came out in his fuckin' ring gear, the little panties. That means he was riding in the truck the whole time, shirtless, with his fuckin' panties on. Just starin' at the god damn road while they all took their sweet ass time getting here, probably listening to some undecipherable German death metal." Darby's hands spread to either side. "Isn't that fuckin' weird?"

Jack can't help it. He fucking laughs, and he can't tell if he's pissed off about it or not. "You think Marina gave him some tittie-twisters in there while he was just chilling shirtless?"

"Dude, she's scarier than that fuckin' One Piece clown," Darby says, dead serious, "and she probably has nipple clamps in that fucking briefcase chained to her wrist."

And then they're both just gone. Giggling like schoolgirls as both of them try to shush the other one, and the only thing Jack can think about is Pac sitting stoicly in the driver's side of the Death Riders truck that Claudio has the AC blasting in while he's freezing his bare tits off. It's ridiculous. It's only funny because it's not actually funny, on account of the Death Riders doing a fantastic job of running through every person in the company who would tell them that ritualistic murder isn't exactly a great idea for boosting ticket sales if all the talent ends up dead, but Jack can't help it. The overwhelm of adrenaline loss and the hollow sensation sweeping through his stomach and the fact that he did think he was gonna be alone all night... it's too damn much.

It takes awhile for Jack to recognize that they're both just sort of staring at each other through it all; they've never really done this, been this close. Oh, sure, they've had their faces pressed against each other when they were trying to maim each other, but it never felt like this. Never... easy. Comfortable, in a way that shouldn't work at all but does.

Jack drops the hand holding the antiseptic wipe onto his thigh, mirth abruptly stolen. "Why'd you come here? I could have turned you right over to them."

"Yeah, but you didn't," Darby says, and runs his tongue along his bottom lip once, then twice. A bit of the blood must have caught there.

"Could still do it," Jack tries. "Could go out right now, call them back. Let 'em destroy you for the damage to their truck and dignity."

Darby leans forward. "Sure." He doesn't sound concerned, and he's leaning forward, and Jack ought to back away. "You could."

Jack lost the TNT belt tonight. He tried to prove a point, and he was wrong, and he lost the belt anyway. There's no one here to commiserate with because the Bucks fucked off without a good-bye and Okada disappeared in his fancy car. Danny is probably already gloating to the roster backstage with the belt in his hands, and Jack's here, in the back of his bus, kissing a guy he swore up and down he hated more than life itself.

He absolutely should not be doing this—shouldn't be prodding Darby's mouth open, shouldn't be slipping his tongue in across the corner, shouldn't be liking the way Darby sighs against him, the way the exhale echoes through his cheeks. But he lets it go for a little while, long enough for his thoughts to go hazy, before he draws back just enough to ask, "How hard did you hit your head?"

"So goddamn hard, man," Darby says, another laugh buried in there. So at least Darby has an excuse for this. Jack? He's gonna have to hope the defense of I'm experiencing what is probably an acute mental health crisis holds weight in court.

"Kissing me is a concussion symptom, I think," he murmurs.

Darby moves in to catch Jack's lip between his teeth. "Probably."

"Honestly, we should probably both go see medical," Jack whispers, because Darby tugging on his lip is doing way more for him than it should, and if he's going to have a full-on nervous breakdown, he thinks he shouldn't be operating any heavy machinery. It comes out muffled, on account of, well, Darby's mouth getting in the way.

"Okay," Darby groans, and clearly they aren't going to be going anywhere near medical, since Darby's hands slide out to find Jack's waist.

[sosadraws]

Haii, Sosaaa! Okay, so i wanna get into animation BUT I'm really new. Lucky for me I know someone who's awesome at animating (that's you btw) so I need your expertise. What program do you use, and also do you have any tips for a newbie?

Aww Jay, you flatter me~✨but before answering I must put the disclaimer that I'm just a hobbyst animator with no formal training, that during quarintine thought "Oh woah, these Multiple Animation Projects that people do in YT are so cool! I want to join them!" and started learning by herself. Take everything I say with a grain of salt.

First things first: I mainly use TV Paint. However I'm not letting you spent money on paid stuff you don't even know you'll like, so here are some free alternatives that I've used as well:

Krita is mostly a drawing program, but it also has a animation interface. The red and black parts of the Helena AMV were made with this.

Flipaclip is kinda neat phone/tablet app for when you want to animate on the go, but it can also feel more limiting since various features have to be unlocked by watching ads or getting the premuim version (in typical app fashion, I guess...)

Blender, while mainly meant for 3D animation, also has been developing Grease Pencil, that allows 2d animation in both 2D or 3D spaces. And the lines are vectors, so you can edit them after drawing them and such.

You can even use normal drawing programs. I've animated with Paint Tool Sai and Medibang by drawing all the frames, saving each frame as a image in sequence (001, 002, 003...) and putting them together in some editing program or gif maker. It's possible, but it's more work.

There's also OpenToonz, which is an open source version of the software used by Studio Ghibli in some movies?? I haven't used this one, but I'll leave it here in case you want to give it a try.

For editing (In the rare scenarios where I do fancy editing) I use After Effects. I can't personally recommend any free substitute, but as far as I've read, DaVinci Resolve seems like a good replacement.

Now, regarding actual animation advise, I won't explain the principles or terminology because:

It's very overwhelming since it's A LOT of information, specially for a beginner

I work mostly by vibes, so there are concepts I don't undertand well enough to explain to others

Instead I'll foward you this whole book that goes in detail about all that technical stuff.

That being said, at the end of the day, hand-drawn animation is drawing main poses (aka key poses) and then drawing a bunch of more drawings in between until the drawings together look like they move.

So yeah, it's a lot of work,

....but it doesn't have to be tedious work~ 👀✨

As a hobbyst I live for the philosophy of vibing during the process instead of chasing perfect results, and I'm assuming that you just want to try for funsies and not that you're trying to become a pro industry animator anyways. Here are my personal tips to make the animation process more bearable:

1- Pick something you love! Seriously, any long task becomes more bearable when it's about a theme or character you enjoy. There's a reason why most of my animations have been about HnK or Signalis,

2- SIMPLIFY THAT DESIGN! Before you even pick the pencil, I want you to really look at the design of whatever you're going to animate and ask yourself "Are all the details in this design really necessary?" Every extra detail really starts to add when you have to draw the same thing multiple times for a single second of animation. You don't need to add all the robotic details on replika bodies, or draw every single stripe a tiger has, to put an example.

3- Keep it simple! At some point you might have a cool idea of an anime style epic battle with looks of cool explosions, camera angles, awesome fighting choreograpies and whatnot; but you first have to start small or else you'll get overwhelmed and not finish anything (been there, done that). Start with something simple like a bouncing ball, or if you're feeling brave, a walk cycle or a character turning their head. In that same sense, remember the book I linked? Don't try to learn all of it at once, go one step at a time.

4-Use references! On google images there are multiples breakdowns of things like run, flight or walk cycles, for example, and you can even use youtube videos! (tip: pause the video and use "," and "." to move back and forth between frames). In case you need help with a very specific pose or movement, you can use yourself or a friend recreating the pose irl (yes, the process is very embarrasing, and yes, the results are worth it)

4- You don't have to animate/redraw everything everytime. We aren't going for Oscar winning levels of animation here anyways. It's ok to copy and paste across different frames, only animate certain parts of the body and leave the rest static, panning the camera to simulate movement... Listen, if actual standars profesionals cut corners, why can't we? We aren't even getting paid for this!

6- It's ok to suck at first. My first animation was this kitty back in 2016,

and here's this Elster from last year doing similar movements.

It's not perfect by any means, but I feel like both art and animation-wise there has been some improvement. And I guess that right now I could remake it and make it even better, but that's because I got more experience and a better eye at finding mistakes and how to solve them, and you get that with practice.

...So yeah, there's that, have fun in your animation endeavors 👍✨

[warsamongthestars]

There's a whole heaping lot of nonsense in TBB, honestly, and its not even the good shit.

I mean, there's bits, but a bit ain't a scene or an episode, yeah?

TBBshow seems to run on the idea of that character interaction, conversation, quirks or just breathers, are all filler--that anything that isn't immediately serving the (immediate) plot is pointless.

And I'm gonna tell ya--that's a bit like serving pie without the filling. That's like serving bread crust because the soft light bits were "filler". That is like creating the aroma of frying eggs or onions--and then just serving a cup of the resulting grease instead.

Like, congrats, you know how to mid-max speed run 100%... in the wrong fucking medium.

If you're wondering by now, what I mean by heaping nonsense--its literally the Plot Pushy Bullshit. Congratulations, doing things that only forward the maiden plot, makes your story stupid. If I want something that is simply pure plot, I would pick up a Pre-Schooler's Naptime book.

There's a reason the strongest episodes in TBB are those that center around its main characters (That aren't Omega)--the Single Crosshair and Single Tech episodes, are the strongest episodes and stories, on show, because they rely on the development of their already strongly written characters.

When you sacrifice Character for Plot, you have effectively boiled something down to being a blank pawn on the board.

Too many fall under the idea that everything that isn't immediately action oriented plot, must be Filler, and I gotta tell ya pal, if you don't have the patience to reach the story at it strengths--the problem isn't the story, its PEBCAK.

( Part of it is the environment we've all been in. High pace information environments have this bad habit of destroying natural animal patience. Which means actually sitting yourself down, and learning how to watch paint dry is probably the best cure for it. )

Any writer can do character. In fact, for example, most fanfics are nothing but character driven.

The strongest shows out here, are all character driven.

... Star Wars OG, while it started with being driven by plot stocks, became character driven by the end.

Most of the Prequel Series is character driven (if too dialogue heavy... )

The whole TCWshow is character Driven, in fact, it turned the Clones from CGI Carboard cutout redshirts into a full blown implied culture of people.

( In fact, TCWshow is So character driven, they had to plot out why these characters would have to fail come Revenge of the Sith, because at the rate they were going, they were about to hit critical AU and solve Star Wars before the OG trilogy could )

So "Logically Following Plot" is just as bad as characters "Following Logical Actions at All Times". I cringed every time I saw TBB try to "logic" its plot out every episode (which honestly makes me think that AI was involved as some point, because it was almost dream-like how it tried to march to... a conclusion. Certainly none of the ones we got, but some imaginary conclusion. )

( It air and write during the Writer's Strikes, and a lot of Disney stuff was AI written as a result. Lookin' at you, Wish. )

ADDENDUM:

Folks keep saying "If they only had more time". DUDES. OVER THE GARDEN WALL, BY CARTOON NETWORK, WAS ONLY 10 EPISODES, MADE (Written, Voiced, Animated, All of it) IN UNDER A YEAR, WITH CHARACTER, SYMBOLISM, SECRETS AND AN ALL STAR CAST. I am tired of hearing about "Oh they needed more time". That's an excuse at this point. No they didn't, they need actual Talent and Skill and a Love for the Process.

[sasster]

Funny Business

You know what I never do? I never talk about my character's pasts.

Okay, that's a lie.

Anyway. :)

Have a baby young adult Vineno, as your official introduction to the man!

If you see any typos, no you didn't <3

[Oh yeah, google doc]

--

It’s grisly work, what purple bloods are comfortable doing to their fellow trolls. As he watches yet another body fall limp at the blow of a flailing club, Vineno thinks that this might be a far cry from the actual responsibilities of the highest of the land dwelling castes. To say nothing of the smell of blood thick in the air and the deafening sound of laughter and horrified screams. It’s enough to give the purple blood a headache that’ll last him the rest of the week.

Needless violence, needless noise.

As if his prayer were being answered, all at once the shouting from either side of the fiasco is gone. Silence and the smell of death are all that hang in the aftermath. Vineno, for his part, is less than impressed by the entire display.

“Let me get this straight,” he speaks slowly as he steps around the carnage left behind by the subjugglators seeking to indoctrinate him into their sect. “There’s no real rhyme or reason to it? Wrong place, wrong time?”

That’d always been a burning question of his, but he was fortunate enough to make it this far into his life without having to deal with clowns this up close and personal.

“Maybe if they were faster and stronger, they wouldn't have anything to worry about.” One replies with a grin.

A few others roar with laughter behind her.

“Just that simple, huh?”

“Yep. You in?”

It’s not logic that he felt particularly interested in arguing against.

Easy enough to follow.

Vineno shrugs. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s about time I did my part in the name of the Messiahs.”

The other purple bloods cheer, quite boisterously, in response.

They are simple creatures.

“Alright, that’s what I like to hear!” The leader, he guesses, manages above her troupe. “Now we just gotta get some paint on you and the Grand Sunderer will be happy to meet ya’!”

What a name.

“Good plan.”

There is an increase in the volume of whooping as greasy hands pull him into the group.

“New guy has to get the drinks!” Someone calls from the back, and Vineno feels himself smile.

How contagious, their mirth!

“Easy enough.”

–

Hours must have passed from the raid, to the securing of drinks, to the two pairs of hands that slather his face in grease paint.

The two artists above him discuss the best design to adorn him with, barely glancing down to get his input on the matter.

“How’d you make it a whole ten sweeps without finding yourself a troupe anyway?” One asks.

He shrugs.

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

“‘Least he’s cute!” The other, awfully bubbly, chimes in.

This is more socializing than he ever bargained for.

Finally, the finishing touches are being put on his face and he is shown a mirror.

It takes a lot for him to bite back the laughter their handiwork conjures; Two thick gray markings, in a sea of white, come down from the bridge of his nose and around his eyes, then they skew sharply down his cheeks toward his neck.

Pure artistry.

“Snakes! They’re like. Minimalist snakes.”

“I see.”

“Sunderer will love to see it, we promise!”

He couldn’t care less. He only nods in response.

“Alright, alright. Let's get you out there!”

And then those greasy hands are on him again, tugging him up and out of the room.

What a handsy group of people.

–

“Vineno! Welcome to the family, brother!” Calls who must be the Grand Sunderer as he is tugged along by the two trolls that did his makeup. The pageantry of this lot is almost entirely too much to suffer.

They stand by a table at the end of a great hall that must be stuffed with all of the clowns this church had to offer.

Even better.

“Just like that?”

“Of course! Unless the drinks are bad.” The Sunderer is a large and jovial spirit, but the thinly veiled threat is a bit heavy handed.

They’re never seen outside of their church walls. Why should they be when they have such a good troupe to subjugate the masses?

Such a hard mark.

Vineno says nothing as the leader that got him into this mess brings him to the head of the table where the grand highblood pushes one of the drinks the newcomer supplied forward.

“You first,” their smile goes nowhere. “No funny business, eh?”

He eyes the drink for a moment before securing his hand around the glass and knocking it all back in one go.

“I am a terrible clown, I don’t do funny business.” He says as he sets the glass back down.

“Ah, there’s plenty of time to fix that!” Sunderer declares as they chug down their own drink which gets another uproar in response.

The rest of the clowns start to drink their fill.

–

The drinking lasts well into the morning and the following evening. If he’d known that these clowns were going to drink themselves into their graves, he would not have bothered wasting all of those vials of his poisonous mixtures in their booze.

Each of those morons must’ve had four times the amount he intended to give. Mixed with alcohol?

That sounds fatal.

Vineno steps around the bodies, twitching in their stupors, as he douses the last of the church in the gasoline from his pack. They were having so much fun they never even realized he slipped away from their celebration to grab it.

Simple, simple creatures.

As he passes by, the Sunderer grabs hold of his ankle. The grasp is much more feeble than their stature implies they should be capable of.

He says nothing as he looks down at them.

“What did you do?”

“Mm?”

Their face contorts into something that must be anger.

Vineno shrugs and dumps the remainder of the canister directly onto their face.

“Supplied the drinks.” He says finally, flashing a grin that shows off his fangs as he pats around his pockets for the matches.

[dc-polls]

Part 18 - DC Madlib Adventure

Jason hesitated, but then shrugged. "Why not. What's the worst that could happen?"

He walked over to Bane's cell and unceremoniously shoved the butt end of a sandwich into his mouth. It was only a moment before Bane stirred to life with a cough, and in an instant he was up tearing apart the cage like it was nothing.

"AAUGHH! What have you done to me?" he shouted, breath heaving and muscles pulsing.

Tim put his hands up defensively. "Whoa, big guy. We didn't do jack. It's Cheetah that's been keeping you mind controlled and sedated. All we did was give you... well let's call it the means to seek justice."

"Cheetah. I remember."

With that, Bane turned away from the others and shape shifted himself into an even larger version of himself, then ran off.

Jason made an apathetic face. "Not very creative."

"Not at all," Tim agreed.

With Bane freed, the anteater ran over and bounced to and fro to get their attention. "Must hurry! Stop Cheetah!" it pipped.

Jason nodded and turned back into a bird, while Tim grew himself spidermonkey-like features and a prehensile tail. They took off into the park in the same direction as Bane, gliding and swinging their way to Cheetah's hideout.

Deep in the Haunted Mansion, Cheetah bent over the ancient recipe book, scouring it for more knowledge. She felt sure if she amassed enough powers she could get The Painting. She had surrounded herself with many foods and other questionably edible items all laid out on a table to work with. She has just picked up a jar of marmite when a loud crash came from above and an enormous hulk-like creature bared down on her.

It was Bane. He pinned her to the floor just in time for Jason and Tim to rush in. Cheetah tried to mind control them, but the effects of her power had already waned. It wasn't enough. She lashed at Bane, but Tim was quick to bind her hands before she could try anything else.

While the others made short work of her, Jason looked around and spotted the recipe book surrounded by other items on the table.

"Well, well Cheetah. Looks like you've been busy. Sure would be a shame if I ate the fruits of your labor wouldn't it?"

Next

[noirineverysense]

She was on the steps outside the building, tears rolling down her cheek, painting the pavement. Well, so much for that.

She had ended up not talking to Zak and Ash about her current assignment. She should just get on with it, face her fears. Tell the man of her nightmares that he had no effect on her anymore, no matter how much of a lie it would be.

Besides they’d probably say she shouldn’t do it. Because they knew she was a coward when it came to things like this. She can hardly breathe at the thought of walking into that tower, she can’t tell if she’s breathing at all.

“Rosie?”

She looks up at the familiar voice to see Marcy suddenly standing in front of her. She realises she must look a total mess, hunched over with mascara running.

Marcy’s eyes narrow,

“Are you alright? Did something happen?”

She wants to reply, she wants to say everything’s fine that she’s just overreacting. But all that is stuck in her throat as her heart hammers in her chest.

The other girl kneels in front of her and holds Rosie’s hand delicately between hers.

“Breathe. It’s alright.”

She tries to slow her breathing under Marcy’s instruction and quiet encouragements until her heart rate finally comes down.

“I’m fine.” Rosie says finally. “I’m just overreacting.”

Marcy’s brows furrow, “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Then she stands and Rosie suddenly notices the twigs in her hair and the mud on her oversized woollen jumper.

Marcy stretches out a hand, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She pauses, trying to find the words to respond, but Marcy just gently pulls her up and starts to walk, letting Rosie trail behind her.

She should say she has a job to do. She should let go of the other girl’s hand.

She lets herself get led away.

-

Marcy drags her into a small takeaway shop, the glass of the windows was dirty, the fabric of the seats ripped and holes in the wall where she was sure mice would pop out of.

She hears Marcy rattle off an order and she just asks for the same. They take their seats and Rosie notices two men at a table on the other side staring at them. Despite both of their odd appearances that perhaps deserved to be stared at, Rosie found it quite rude regardless and sent a look a back. They turned away.

She felt good about that.

“So,” Marcy starts, not noticing the exchange at all. “Do you wanna talk or just want to eat?”

She wants to say that she’ll just eat but she thinks Marcy deserves a bit of an explanation.

“I just, my company sent me to interview a guy and I couldn’t. I know him and he- ". She breaks off, knowing if she went any further, she’d probably start sobbing again.

Marcy frowns, “So you didn’t go in.”

“Yeah.” She replies, her gaze drops to the table in shame.

“I’m proud of you.”

Rosie looks up at Marcy’s smile. But before she would say anything, their food arrives and Marcy’s smile widens.

The woman who wore an old grey uniform and cap sets their food down and she mutters a thank you. Rosie opens the box to find a cheeseburger and fries. She rips a part of the burger off with her fingers and puts it in her mouth. As she chews, grease falls out onto her lips and she cringes at the taste of overpowering salt. She decides to eat the fries instead. She looks up to see Marcy devouring the burger, sharp nails dug into the bread as she tore off shreds of meat with her teeth. They clearly had different tastes then.

She clears her throat and Marcy looks up.

“Why do you, err...” Rosie gestures vaguely at the state of Marcy’s hair and jumper who frowns in confusion before her eyes widen.

“Oh! I climbed a tree.”

“You look more like you had a fight with a tree.”

“Yeah but- "

“And the tree won.”

“Listen Rosie, I don’t appreciate this judgement.”

She huffs out a laugh and Marcy smiles back. “You should do it too.”

“What, fight a tree?”

“No, climb a tree. It’s good for you.”

Rosie scoffs.

“It is!” Marcy pushes, “I went up there and I could see for miles around, it felt like everything else was tiny compared to me. You should do it.”

“Why did you climb a tree?”

Marcy blinks, “Huh?”

“What made you think, ‘Oh I want to climb a tree today’?”

“Oh,” Marcy rubs the back of her neck, “I was pretty upset about something, then I saw a tree and before I knew it, I was halfway up.”

“Really?”

She shrugs, “Yeah, just did what I wanted to I guess.”

“What were you upset about?”

“Rosie, your journalist is showing.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She laughs. “It’s just- I couldn’t imagine just doing that without thinking.”

“Yeah, because you think too much about things. If you wanna climb a tree then do it. If you don’t want to enter a building then don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Rosie sighs and finishes the rest of her drink. She puts her tray of half-eaten food together with the scraps of empty packaging from Marcy so the diner staff can collect it.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll just go home.”

“Sounds good! Say hi to Zak for me.”

They pull out of the booth and Marcy waves before disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Rosie lets out a breath and starts to make her way home.

[indpaintnear952]

Industrial Painting Contractors Near Me: Local Experts in Protection, Durability, and Performance When it comes to maintaining the safety, appearance, and longevity of your facility, one of the smartest investments you can make is hiring experienced industrial painting contractors near me. These local professionals specialize in applying protective coatings that go far beyond surface-level aesthetics. They help defend your infrastructure against corrosion, chemicals, moisture, and harsh environmental conditions—all while ensuring your project meets safety codes and industry standards. Whether you’re overseeing a manufacturing plant, oil refinery, warehouse, power facility, or water treatment center, finding a trusted industrial painting contractor close to your location means faster service, easier communication, and greater accountability. This article breaks down what these contractors do, why they’re essential, and what to look for when hiring someone in your area. What Industrial Painting Contractors Near Me Actually Do Industrial painting contractors aren’t general painters—they are highly trained experts who apply performance-grade coatings to industrial surfaces. These surfaces include structural steel, tanks, floors, pipelines, heavy equipment, and concrete infrastructure. Their work protects your facility from damaging elements like rust, abrasion, chemicals, and heat, while often improving safety and operational efficiency. The benefit of hiring local industrial painting contractors is that they are familiar with regional climate conditions, building codes, and safety regulations that directly affect how and where coatings are applied. Core Services Offered by Local Industrial Painting Contractors Most industrial painting contractors near you will offer a wide range of services tailored to meet the needs of different industries: Surface Preparation Before any coating is applied, surfaces must be thoroughly cleaned and prepared. Contractors use methods like abrasive blasting, pressure washing, and chemical treatment to remove dirt, rust, grease, and previous coatings to ensure long-lasting adhesion. Protective Coating Application Once the surface is ready, contractors apply advanced coatings like epoxy, polyurethane, and zinc-rich primers. These products are designed for durability and resistance to extreme conditions like moisture, UV rays, heat, or industrial chemicals. Tank and Pipeline Coatings Industrial tanks and pipelines—whether storing water, oil, gas, or chemicals—require specialized coatings both inside and out. Local contractors can provide maintenance and recoating services that minimize downtime. Concrete and Floor Coatings Industrial floors endure high foot traffic, equipment movement, and spills. Contractors apply epoxy or urethane coatings to protect floors from damage, reduce slip hazards, and make them easier to clean. High-Temperature and Fireproof Coatings For power plants, chemical facilities, and other high-heat environments, local contractors can apply fire-resistant coatings like intumescent paint to help meet fire safety regulations.

[ks-archives]

You can't live off of an everything app

I’ve been stuck thinking about which software to learn to draw in. Whether I try to use Blender or Krita when it comes to learning how to sketch. While I have completed my cat study in Blender, I’m stuck thinking that I need to somehow also get used to Krita to get that painterly effect I wanted. I was a little bit… in denial and thought that I could just do it all on Blender. I even looked up videos of “2D painting in Blender.” While I wasn’t able to completely find what I wanted, I found a video by Blender Studio showcasing their new short “House of Chores” where they use the new Grease Pencil 3.0 features. But, as I skipped through the video, I noticed their texture artist using Krita to texture the roofs with better detail. It was then I realized that I was putting myself in too deep of a box—in studying only one program—when I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to limit myself too much to just using one program for the entire workflow when I can use multiple. That’s the beauty that I just completely glossed over. In my attempts to make Blender bend to my creative will, I forgot about the whole suite of tools I could use that would enable me to just unleash my creativity. KRITA’S FREE AND OPEN SOURCE TOO! I forgot about that, and it’s on me to level with the idea that I don’t need to put my eggs in one basket only. I must be better.

I’m reminded of the J.Cole meme at this moment:

Note: I took the “Everything App” from the joke “Why would I watch anything from youtube when I can just do it on x–The everything app” from the Yard Podcast.

[raffe156]

All Ghillied up and nowhere to go

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summery - Price teaches Tank how to blend in…

A/N- Just a little nsfw Drabble for an anon ask, also don’t worry Breakaway state part 5 is still in the works 😘

Warnings - Smut (18+) Voyeurism, Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26) Dom!Price, Brat!Tank, Sir kink, praise kink, unsafe sex, p in v, knife play and cock warming if you squint like really hard!

✨As always comments and feedback welcome ✨

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank

Tags: @fanficandartgal @deadbranch @soapyghost @shuttlelauncher81 @a-littlebirdie @boomtowngirl @chb-7 @noxspellxbound @brewed-pangolin

Sorry if I missed anyone❤️

——————————————

“Why am I doing this again?” You rested your cheek on the butt of your rifle.

“For god sake….I’ve told you…you need to “blend” in better! You shift about too much!” Price was losing his patience with you now.

“….blend in better? I’m dressed in tall fucking grass and weeds…in tall fucking grass and weeds how much more do I need to blend in?!” You dropped your head resting your forehead on the cold ground. The wind whistled around you. You didn’t even know where Price was but the clarity of the comms meant he was close by. The training field was silent apart from the wind.

“We’ve been out here for ages now..the suns setting..I think I’m pretty undetectable, send Soap out to try an spot me…” your voice was mocking.

“How about I send Ghost out?”

“……”

“I’ll take that as a no then kid? Start crawling back to me” his voice gravelly over the comms

“…I don’t even know where you are…are we done, I feel like we are done? can’t I just stand up?” You lifted your head, pushing yourself up but just as your shoulder came level with the grass you felt a sharp shot hit it. It didn’t hurt but you felt it. You looked down at the little blue ball.

“Did you just shoot me?…with a BB gun?” You rolled the little ball between your finger an thumb. You turned your face towards the direction it had come from.

“Yeh…a warning shot because if I was the enemy that would of been a real bullet also I would of shot you in the head….get back down” you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

“Fuck sake…taking the piss now” you muttered under your breath…he wasn’t that close to hear that surely.

“I’m taking the piss? Your the one pissing about Tank…get your fucking arse out of the air and get your body down to the ground or I will shoot you again…” he sounded close now, an he would shoot you, but you never did know when to stop.

“Thought you liked my arse in the air sir? Said it’s one of your favourite sights…” you smirked.

“….you being funny sergeant? Because I will wipe that smirk off your face…” his voice was louder now, he was close.

“I’d like to see you try sir…” you were baiting him now.Silence. You scanned your surroundings he should be north west of you, unless…you heard a shift behind you,but before you could turn over you were dragged back by you ankle.

“I did warn you…” Price growled in your ear. He had pulled you right back to him. He was practically on top of you.

“Your all talk…John” you didn’t turn your head to look at him, suddenly you could feel him unclipping the straps to the lower half of your ghillie suit.

“What are you doing? Does the fresh air an grease paint do it for you?” You laughed, but your head was pushed down low to the ground your cheek in the dirt once again.

“Ah fuck…” it took you by surprise, but rough Price only made the odd appearance, you must of really wound him up. You heard the soft ching of a knife being unsheathed and your eyes flashed panic, had you wound him up that much?

“John…what are you doing?” You tried to turn your head towards him.

“Stay still….very still” He growled in your ear again, as he used his knife to cut the seam of your pants, his intentions made clear you relaxed your body as you felt him finish the job with his hand.

“You’re not wearing any knickers? Can’t say I’m surprised…” He licked his thumb and pressed it to your folds, it easily slipped inside, causing a slight moan from you.

“Well that wasn’t difficult was it? I think the fresh air an grease paint does it for you aswell kid…or is it the thought of your Captain fucking you in a field?” He peered over your face just enough for you to see his eyes, the dark camouflage paint making them stand out.

“Abit of both sir…” you could feel his thumb thrusting into you slowly, you were leaking all over his hand. Your head was getting fuzzy, you could no longer hear the wind or the birds, just the wet sounds of his thumb inside you and the sound of your heart beat as it drummed into the ground. You felt Price shift and remove his thumb. You let out a groan, you hoped he wasn’t just teasing you, you wouldn’t make it back to base.

“You ready to put your training to the test Tank?” he removed his hand from your head to pull his zipper down. You could feel the head of his cock at your entrance. You didn’t need to be told to lift your hips up, it made him chuckle.

“Good girl” Price huffed as he slid inside, your walls adjusting around him. He placed himself right ontop of you, the weight of him pushing you down fully flat. His cock buried deep inside. He completely covered you his head right next to yours. You expected him to start thrusting but no he lay completely still, his cock pulsing inside you. Before you could question him, he snaked his arm under yours to position your face upwards to look through the tall grass, you mouth fell open as soon as you clocked what he was showing you…Ghost an 4 rookies were 300feet away from you.

“Told you I’d send Ghost out…now let’s see if you can blend in an not get caught eh?” As he spoke he began thrusting, strong, fast thrusts at first, it made the coils in your stomach tighten with each one he was dragging at your walls. It made your eyes roll back, you had to slap your hand over your mouth if Ghost didn’t see you first he would of heard you.

“Who’s getting closer? You or Ghost?” Price whispered in your ear. It caused a shiver up your spine an made your walls contract around him. He slowed his thrusts right down almost painfully slow…two of the rookies were a few feet away, Ghost had gone east with the other two.

“Keep yah head still, it’s gone be close” he whispered lowering both his head and yours as the rookies walked right past you. The suspense was agonising, but your walls were still fluttering around Prices cock which only seem to get harder. When you were sure it was clear you moved your hips under him, desperate for any form of friction or movement, Price gave in his thrusts rampant an deep, you moans came out strangled and restrained but your orgasm was bliss as you panted for Price to cum inside you, he grit his teeth burying his head into your shoulder as he filled you to the brim.

“Ahhh ahh fuck…have they gone back to base?” You turned your head to look.

“Not all of em Ghost is still in range…wouldn’t surprise me if he’s spotted us…” Price grumbled.

He was right the 4 rookies had wandered far away, but Ghost hung back his body turned to your location…surely he hadn’t spotted you…

“You two done fucking around out here?”

[mjolnir-steve]

Foolish

Frank Adler x fem!Reader

Word count: 5027 (oop)

Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:

Frank Adler

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Breeding / mutual pining 🥴

I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️

If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)

Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.

Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair. 

Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too. 

She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.

With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.

“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.

Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”

Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”

Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”

You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”

“And?” he looked at her expectantly.

“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”

You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot. 

Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”

Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.

You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.

You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”

Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you. 

He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.

You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”

And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.

The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings. 

You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night. 

Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.

Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work. 

You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.

“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”

You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.” 

You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.

Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.

“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.

“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”

You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“

“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.

You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.

He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.

Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.

The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder. 

Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.

Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”

“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.

He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”

You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.

“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”

“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”

You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”

You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.

“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.

You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”

He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.

Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.

“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”

You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d. 

The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.

“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.

You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?” 

You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.

You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”

He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.

You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.

He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.

The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.

“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”

“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”

He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”

“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.

“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.

“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.

He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”

“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”

“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.

“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.

You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides. 

“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.

He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”

You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.

“You’re evil.”

Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”

His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.

“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What if I told you I felt the same way?”

He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.

You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.

Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”

You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.

[jovialtorchlight]

Stranger Approaching You in a Bar

Stranger Approaching You in a Bar

“Wait a minute, I know you. Do you remember me? We were playing up on the railroad trestle, high up over the river, when my brother stepped on a paper wasp nest,”

You glance up from your craft IPA. It was a long shift, and you came to the familiar dive for a cold drink before heading home. The hefty man, unkempt, a bit wild looking, with a long red beard, picks up his can of PBR and saddles up next to you. Before you have a chance to respond, he keeps going.

“A big one. I remember looking at them, crawling all over, all over his bare chest and arms and legs, wriggling around, humming like they were electric, like they were waiting for something, some sign to start stinging.

We took to running. Wasps took to stinging. Brother got stung. Bad. Coroner said he had 200 stings, swollen on his bruised, broken body. Imagine that. 200 welts, still red and full of pus when they laid him out on the metal table,”

What the fuck, you think. How the fuck does he know--

“Oh yeah. Forgot. You didn’t see him die. Guess it hurt so bad he flung himself off the

bridge into the river. Heard him scream all the way down. I got stung a couple times. I don’t think you did, did ya? You got lucky. Jesus, we must have been ten years old.

Do you remember? When he was standing there, with the wasps, how the crows kept circling? Je-sus, it’s like they knew. He was crying, kept begging us to get the wasps off of him, but there wasn’t nothing we could do, right?”

There was. There was. Before Joey flung himself off the bridge, you could have picked him up. He was little, about seven years old, barely an armful. But you were scared, rooted in place. You froze.

You look back to the stranger, and are about to ask him who the fuck he is--some rando who heard about the deaths in some true crime podcast?

“Once the wasps got to stinging, it could have been us, right? When they found him, downriver ways, his waterlogged skin was blue and bloated and puffed and his eyes were swollen shut.

We couldn't have helped him none, right? Wow. What a trip running into you here, man. How you been, by the way?”

Billy. You think. Oh my fucking God, it’s Billy.

He leans across the bar, getting close to your face. As he gets closer, the air gets heavy, like you have to sip the oxygen through a straw.

You can see the rot deep set in his teeth, his scraggly red beard coated in grease. He’s wearing a ripped plaid flannel and jeans covered in paint and oil. His eyes, deep black, dart to yours. They’re magnetic, and you lock with them. You don’t try to avert his gaze, but if you tried, you would have failed.

“It should have been you,” he says, low. A chuckle rises like a belch from his stomach. Gas, bloat rising. You remember. Your eyes light up in realization. Panicked, irises bouncing around like ping pong balls in your pupils, unable to look away from the stranger. His skin darkens, turns blue even in the dim light of the bar. His skin inflates, like someone is pumping him with a tire inflator.

He grabs your arm, dead man’s grip, clammy, cold. A chunk of his red hair, dripping wet, coated with slime, like hair caught in the shower drain, plops onto the bar counter beside him. A chunk of black, necrotic skin slops off his arm and lands on your shoes with a wet slap.

The stench is unbearable. Swamp gas and rotting flesh, skin sloughing off of his body, shirt rapidly decaying, black mold lining the fabric, coated in discharge. His clutch is still firm on your arm.

He’s right, you think, trying to break eye contact. You remember. The wasps trailing behind. The pain, like getting stabbed with a hot butter knife. They seemed to want to swarm Billy. Like a cloud. The swarm of wasps, like a plague of locusts, closing in.

“Why?” the decomposing stranger asks and half his face slides off like butter in a pan. “Why did you trip me? Why didn’t you turn around and help?”

For the first time, you can speak. It comes out of your body involuntarily, like a yelp of pain.

“It should have been me,” you whimper. “It should have been me.”

“It’s not too late, friend,” Billy belches out. “May I?

You nod. It’s time for this to end.

Billy reaches, his hot dog, waterlogged fingers oozing black liquid. Two fingers gently touch your eyelids, pull them down, like a drawn curtain.

You’re on the bridge. Billy’s behind, a few paces. He’s screaming. The buzz is deafening. The paper wasps blot out the sky.

You have the raw, primal instinct to trip, to sacrifice Billy. The urge bubbles up. You pop it like a bubble.

You stop. Billy looks behind, not stopping.

The paper wasps swarm. A thousand hot knives. A freefall. Bones break as you hit the water.

Nothing after. Just bloated death.

[dreadfutures]

Hello hello! For DWC, how about these lyrics for Morrigan/Halevune: "Forget your mother's eyes / Come here and touch me" (from I Don't Hate You by Kyla La Grange, which is just a fantastic Morrigan song in its entirety)

Random late night prompt fill.

Morrigan x Mahariel

-:-:-

It is almost a contradictory thought, but Morrigan feels that she most resembles her mother now, as she wears ball gowns and traverses the Empress's court. She stares at herself as she dresses each day and tries to pinpoint why, but she cannot.

Flemeth was old even when Morrigan was young, and life in the Wilds had clearly not been kind to her before that. Thinning gray hair clinging with grease to a wrinkled and spotted temple, lips drawn tight across old, crooked teeth--once Morrigan knew what beauty could be, she understood that her mother did not possess it. She could hardly imagine the Flemeth of legend, inspiring men to hoard her away like a trophy. And yet Morrigan knew it was true, and so Flemeth must once have been beautiful, no? And she had somehow conceived Morrigan, and all her unknown secret sisters, from mortal men. Something must have ensnared them.

And yet it is not in her youthful and raven beauty that Morrigan sees her mother. In reflections, she sees her own face and her own face alone, fine-boned, fierce, and usually frowning. Her hair is cleaner than her mother's may have ever been, and her skin dusted in rouge and her lips marked in dark, vivid paint. l She has grown pale in her years in hiding from her mother, both in the crossroads and in the Orlesian court. She seems delicate, and she cannot imagine Flemeth being delicate.

She wonders if Halevune notices. Does he see her mother, the monster, lurking behind her eyes? Does he fear what she may become in time?

Morrigan looks over her reflection's shoulder at the man who lounges in her bed. He is still bare from their night's activities; half asleep, his head lolls against his arm as he watches her dress.

"Forget your mother's eyes, vhenan," he scolds.

She startles. "Why do you presume--"

"Long ago, when we discovered the truth of her plans for you, I saw the same look upon your face. You did not believe you had wholly escaped," Hal said quietly, without looking away from her. Pale silver eyes pinned her through the unassuming curtain of his lashes. "You thought I did not notice how you gazed into the mirror I gave you."

She had been wholly convinced that he had not noticed--that he had not known the extent of her fears. Even now she feels the familiar reflex of anger swell at the accusation that she had felt anything at all in the aftermath of her mother's death.

But it isn't an accusation in Halevune's voice. And what is the use? She knows, and he knows, that he was right then as he is now.

"Come here and touch me," he drawls, breaking her from her spiral of clashing anger and discomfort. It is a distraction he offers, but also the potential for comfort that will not insult her. She can bury her face in his shoulder, or she can take him by the jaw and kiss him with all she is worth. He has always been so good at offering her the world in just a few words, ready to deliver whichever facet she finds less offensive--or whichever one she is brave enough to admit she needs.

This morning she is not so shaken that she does not smirk at the more engaging option ahead of her, and she turns to face him wholly. "You have excellent timing, Hero," she says pointedly. "What am I to do? I am laced and cinched and buttoned, and if I appear at Her Majesty's side with even a hair out of place, they will no doubt realize they have allowed a bog witch in their midst."

Halevune smirks into his elbow. "You are to come here, he says pointedly, "and let me take care of you."

[dandelionflower]

She tours alone

Marinette had gone to sleep right after finding a hidden path back to the manor, thank you, Culpa the kitty, and woke up feeling refreshed. Since today they were going to be touring the ballrooms, she elected to wear her ‘composers outfit,’ inspired by Nickolas Lafin, an incredible musician who lived in the manor.

Nickolas was primarily a conductor, but he often composed his own symphonies and gavots as well. Despite his incredible work, Lafin wasn’t much of a prominent character in the manor’s history and instead was reported to mainly follow his girlfriend, Anya, around. After Anya drowned, it was said that Nickolas spent all of his free time in the attic, until eventually, the boxes and trunks fell on top of him and killed him instantly.

Marinette had on a long blue coat with black and white music notes dotted along the bottom. Her shirt was crisp and black, matching her pants perfectly. She also had on a pair of rectangular earrings and red bowtie that matched Nickolas’ favorite.

After a quick breakfast where Marinette checked in on Allegra again, Grace picked them up to check out the ballroom. Adrien sidled up to her with his earnest smile and the two walked hand-in-hand next to Alya and Nino.

“Alya seems a bit shaken, is she okay?”

“She’s okay, just had an allergic reaction to the ice cream she got.”

Marinette looked at Alya again. She was leaning heavily into Nino’s side and was giving wary glares at any cup or water container she saw. She’d have to make sure she didn’t get dehydrated.

“...and here is the grand ballroom!” Grace pushed open the doors with a grin. “It’s a bit dusty since we haven’t exactly been hosting any parties lately, but with a little elbow grease it’ll be spectacular!”

Marinette looked at the dark, dusty room. Thick curtains covered the windows, but it allowed for a small sliver of light to illuminate the flecks dancing from the ceiling to the floor. Even in the faint lighting, she could tell that it was beautiful; all pastels and silvers and golds.

“What a dump.�� Lila commented to Alix and Kim beside her. “Prince Ali’s ballroom is much better than this waste.”

“Actually,” Grace’s wide smile sharpened into something vengeful, “even in its current state, the Culpa ballroom is still considered one of the most lavish ballrooms in the world. Prince Ali’s ballroom isn’t even ranking.”

“I- ah well, it must have been remodeled since the last ranking.” Lila floundered, and after she looked at Adrien’s sympathetic face, Marinete almost felt bad for her.

Grace was looking casually at her phone. “Seems that the last ranking happened just a few days ago. That would have been when you were in Paris, correct?”

Almost.

“I guess I must have forgotten which ballroom I was thinking of.” Lila shrugged. “There’s been so many.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Grace mumbled with shrewd eyes. She perked back up. “Anyway! I was thinking, as your project for your visit, you can produce a replica of the infamous Ross ball. We can have people working with flowers, costumes, music, and guests.”

The class murmured their agreement already turning to their friends and discussing what they wanted to wear.

“Ooh! Can I wear a suit?” Rose bounced on her toes, hand waving.

“Of course! We have dozens of old clothes that could easily be refitted for you and everyone else! We just need a-”

“Designer!” Nino shouted, pointing down at Marinette’s head (tall people, disgusting). “We’ve got one right here!”

“Great!” Grace didn’t seem surprised at all, even though a teenage designer isn’t someone you meet every day. “Your main job will be refitting and redesigning all the costumes for your friends. That sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” Rose’s suit would of course need to be a pink, but a faint floral print on it too would look beautiful. Making it period accurate would be tricky, but the internet had all kinds of references for suits and dresses.

“We’ll need people for all the other tasks I mentioned, but for now just look around the room and check out the closets for anything you may need for the ball.”

The four of them immediately gravitated to the closets at Alya’s behest and Adrien’s adventurous spirit. There were instruments of all kinds and colors; it was like a sculpture and Marinette felt all kinds of inspiration welling up in her.

“Not much in this room.” Alya remarked. “Let’s check the next.”

“I used to really like music.” Adrien said as he followed Nino and Alya out the door. “Still do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Marinette stayed behind, pulling out her phone to take a few pictures. A rustle from behind the cello caught her eye, and she glanced back at the open door. Another rustle, and she committed to it, stepping forwards to investigate.

“Meow.” Culpa was sitting prim on top of a drum. He was looking at the ground then at her like he just noticed another being was in the room.

“Culpa!” Her hands reached out to rub the cat’s ears, fingers vibrating with the feline’s contented purrs. “Hey, kitty. What’re you doing in here?”

Culpa offered no answer aside from leaning further into her hand and purring louder. She’d take it. After a few minutes more of petting, Culpa batted her hand away and moved towards the very back of the room, tucking into a thin passage she hadn’t noticed in the dark. When he realized there wasn’t a presence behind him, he turned around and mewled for her attention.

“Right, right. Coming.” She slipped her phone in her pocket and slipped into the passageway, which was just wide enough for her to stand comfortably in.

She followed Culpa’s flashing blue eyes through the tunnel until she stepped into a wider, well-lit hallway. Unlike the closet or the ballroom, the hall was absolutely pristine. Both of the walls were decorated with portraits, and Marinette took her time inspecting each one.

It was the Culpa family. Each one through the ages until it ended with the image Culpa showed the most attention to; Felix, eyes cold, unseeing on the canvas. Right next to it was a small framed photograph in black and white; Bridgette and Felix, laughing while leaning against each other.

She lifted the picture and smiled down at it. It was much better than the painting; it showed much more emotion. And that dress! Marinette could totally design a dress like that. It would look beautiful in pink.

“It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” Allegra was standing in a doorway a bit behind her. She hadn’t noticed her come in.

“Yeah, they both look so… so happy. Why wasn’t this room a part of the tour?”

“We didn’t want people touching this part of the manor’s history.” She shrugged, walking forwards. “It just seemed right to keep it separate from the rest of it all.”

“Yeah, I get it.” This place seemed- sacred, in a way. She followed Allegra out of the hall and watched her lock the door.

“How’d you get in there anyway?”

“Oh, I found this cat and he led me through some passageway in the back of a closet.” She pointed over her shoulder to Culpa who… wasn’t there. “And he’s gone. That’s weird.”

“A passageway, huh? That’s cool.”

“I thought so too. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea to just go through it without telling anyone though, huh?”

“Probably not.” Allegra agreed

They walked a while longer before they were back at the ballroom. Alya and Nino were talking near one of the back doors that lead to the closets and looked up just as she walked in.

“Girl! Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over, come on! Adrien’s playing the piano.” Alya grabbed her and dragged her through the hall of closets. When she passed the one with the instruments, she glanced in, trying to catch a glance of the passage to show Alya.

She didn’t see anything at all.

.......

The rest

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