Looks like the old Ginga/Silver Fang Fandubs drama from December is back, huh? I'm not gonna say HOW I found out, but I've found out that someone on Tumblr named @lithiumcommunr (their blog is completely hidden and unsearchable) has been impersonating me this time, trying to start drama and spread lies to our old ex-mod AGAIN
I really don't know what to say about this. I've had my Tumblr asks, replies, and dm's turned off for this very reason.
I guess all I can say is if someone by the name of lithiumcommunr reaches out to you pretending to be me, trying to spread gossip, BLOCK THEM. Don't interact. Because that is NOT me. Though it seems this person is just hiding behind anon whining on other people's blogs, so if some anon comes onto your blog claiming to be Raine/Sketch and brings up some Ginga fandom drama, THAT IS NOT ME. IT IS A TROLL/IMPERSONATOR.
Reblogging since this also applies to me. I’ve also turned off anons, and I haven’t dealt with any one in the Ginga fandom outside of the fandub group in months. To whoever’s spreading all this misinformation, I suggest you find a hobby or something. Life’s too short to be doing all this.
Hi. As some of you might have caught on, this is my current alt/backup account for my original main raine-of-auroria blog, which today was terminated for literally no given reason. My original art side blog raine-art-blog was also nuked along with it.
I've sent a help ticket to Tumblr staff on the matter already. Here's hoping they can restore my original account. But if not, this will eventually transition to my new permanent account.
In the meantime, my backup art sideblog is @raine-art-backup. You can also find my other socials on my Carrd.
___
IMPORTANT NOTE: IF you're also viewing my blog after receiving an anonymous ask complaining about me doing disgusting things, please refer to this Google Doc. I have been dealing with a persistent troll who has been spreading a lot of misinformation about me. Feel free to dm me more on the subject.
I've been longing to make Errol content again. I've also been watching a lot of Deltarune theory videos. I don't care for Deltarune as much as Undertale, but I've played with the concept of Errol in Deltarune way back when we only had Chapter 1. I may explore this a bit more (like a Dark World form), but we'll see.
(Changed Errol's talk sprite a few times. . . I think I'm satisfied with it now.)
Fun Facts!:
Errol is Asriel's twin brother in the DR universe, though stuck around in Hometown after just barely graduating high school.
He didn't like Kris at first, finding humans weird and off-putting. He'd often tease Kris for being different, going as far as to hide the horn headband as a cruel joke. They would, however, eventually grow to bond over pranks and video games. Ironically, Kris is the one member of the family Errol still has a decent relationship with.
Errol's Super Smashing Fighters main is Desert King (Ganondorf).
He was friends with Dess and shared her interests in punk culture, and was a little jealous when she and Asriel showed signs of dating each other. Errol did not take her disappearance well.
During the events of Deltarune, Errol stays in an apartment he rents and works multiple part-time jobs. He begrudgingly helps Asgore with bills and food but wishes that his father would have some self-respect and, in Errol's words, be as cool as he used to be. He refuses to interact with Toriel.
"It was frightening, becoming intimate with him again. Toriel searched Asgore's eyes, dreading to see the animal that drove her from New Home all those years ago. She could not see him. Instead, her Gorey looked back at her."
I missed Mother's Day/Asgoriel Day because of artist's block, stress, and a malfunctioning art tablet, but now I'm here to rectify that. I hate that, even now, there's so little Asgoriel content out there. Guess I gotta make more myself.
Why are tadc fans constantly trying to find some kind of trick in Ragatha's kindness?😪😫
Literally nothing in the show talks about this.
If she was just waiting for kindness in return, she would have stopped doing it a hundred times already, because she doesn't get anything like that.
Kindness is sincere, but aggravated by trauma, what makes her feel like she's not doing enough and that she's letting everyone down. She does not expect the same kindness in return, her maximum is the desire not to be hated. Moreover, Ragatha is likely to feel uncomfortable feeling kindness in return, because she will not feel that she deserves it.
Sigh, guess I don’t have a choice but to make a pinned post about this shit.
To whoever has viewed my page after getting anonymous asks mentioning me and accusing me of doing disgusting things, these are COMPLETE LIES spread around by some psychopath who is beefing with me.
Me and some other users believe this is anon is the user Kelsey/Kremlin/Sonichu who used to be on the website Gingaboard before they got banned, and are now harassing people on Tumblr while hiding behind anon. Nothing is confirmed, but there's a strong possibility.
Regardless, my ask box AND dm's are open to people who would like to clear this up with me, and so I can disprove the lies. This idiot claims to have "evidence" of me being a zooph*le, abusing animals, abusing others, etc... In actuality everything anon has accused me of doing is taking harmless things I said/did and completely changing the context.
Conversely, I on the other hand have actual evidence of this unhinged anon doing despicable shit to ME and others:
anon spreading all SORTS of misinformation (including p*dophilia and r*pe threats) about me and my team who worked on the Ginga Densetsu Weed English fandub project
anon calling me racial slurs, being fatphobic, and using "autistic" as an insult
anon throwing more zooph*lia accusations at me
anon sending me death threats while also weaponizing my irl family drama (fucking wow)
anon sending death threats to another user
anon sending hate to another user while impersonating me
Btw yes I've already reported every single ask and mention already. Tumblr removed the option to send anonymous asks without being logged in, this idiot anon can't escape from this.
_____
I hate that I've had to make this post to replace my pins commissioned post, so fuck it I'm taking this opportunity to also self-promote myself.
So on the other hand, please monetarily support me through my commissions, either by ordering or just sharing.
One of my Post-TP headcanons is that Asgore starts attending church, and one day invites Toriel and Frisk to come with him once his and Toriel's relationship starts improving. They start dating soon after.
After uploading my previous post, I realized I should probably upload some of my Kivvic Hunger Games stuff here. This story isn't canon to Soollum, nor is it related to the other Fritz and Locket story I've written. That one was meant to be more canon-compliant. This one's just based off this Hunger Games event:
Enjoy! This story has all the edge you'd expect from the world of the Kivouack, so if casual nudity and violence isn't your thing, this is your warning.
Locket had excused herself in the midst of Yeshua’s grand performance. The Lady said no words as she moved past her peers, who hurried to move their feet from her path, some uttering swift apologies. It was laughable, though Locket restrained herself. Instead, she hummed a bit to the music, a distraction against the sensation plaguing her body. It was not often that Locket felt the urge to indulge such bestial desires, but this particular visit to the Circus saw her gaining that want to dominate. She could not think of its cause. Perhaps she had played the role of “civilized Lady” for too long, and her body was reminding her of what she was deep down. Whatever the reason, Locket had decided that she would quell the beast’s hunger, and return to Yeshua’s gala with a clearer head on her shoulders.
In time, Locket emerged from the Empire, snow finding a home upon her crimson antlers and covered shoulders. The streets, perpetually bathed in red light, saw little foot traffic. What Kivvas Locket did see were mostly occupied with bodies, gritpipes and alcohol. Some did acknowledge her presence, but only with long, fascinated stares. A bold thing, it was, for the Kivic Queen to wander, alone, in a place of such carnality. Locket kept her head high, though in her chest, her hearts were racing. A part of her wondered if she was going mad. After all, there was a very real chance that her head would be snipped, no matter how small it might have been. Locket thought to turn around and try to drown out her desires with the music after all. She thought against it. She could not think of denying herself her animality. To be an animal was to take risks; that was her ideology. Locket would keep going.
Piece by piece, the Lady stripped herself, a challenge for those watching. She endured the bite of the frigid air, the fuzz on her ashen skin standing on end. Her clothing lay in the snow behind her. She would come to collect it later. Or, perhaps, she would return to the Empire naked. She was not ashamed of her body. She thought she spotted someone taking a step closer from the shadows of an alleyway, claws extended. When she paused to look at them, however, they shrank back. Locket turned to face them, her own claws drawn, lips curling to expose more of her teeth. The challenger’s eyes widened, and in a hurry, they took off into the alleyway. Locket’s golden pupils grew into diamonds. Her feet crunched the thin layer of snow beneath her as she gave chase.
Tiny veins of living light were her guide through the alleyway. Her prey stank of fear, and it fueled Locket on. Onward, she ran, feeling that rush of animality for the first time in stanzas. Her would-be challenger appeared in the distance, slowing, panting from exertion. They made a sharp turn, and Locket heard a yelp and a thud. She slowed to a halt, hot despite the lower temperature. She could smell another Kivouachian, as well as blood and vilt. Cautiously, she peered around the corner and saw her quarry trembling as a larger male stood over them.
Fritz, the wandering Blackhall, had come to the Circus with a few companions from his hometown, Soollum. They had gone ahead to the Empire for the gala, while he lingered around the district streets. He was not one for big events and crowds, only coming at the request of his friend, Beatriss. They would share a dance later. For now, Fritz hungered. The Blackhall had caught a Fowler for the local Chopshop, but found his trip interrupted by the Kivva who had run into him. They collided with his torso, falling onto their back. Fritz stared at them, unsure of what to make of the situation. Looking up, the Blackhall’s silver eyes met pools of emerald and ruby. Locket came from around the corner, looking between the Kivva she had chased, and the Blackhall staring down at her. For Fritz, it was as if an Inker sketch had come to life. The Grand Voice, of all Kivouachians, standing in front of him? What were the odds?
Taking advantage of the situation, the panicked Kivouachian squeezed around Fritz and rushed off, leaving the Blackhall and the Lady to continue staring at each other. Fritz could not think of anything to say. What could he say? Perhaps it was best if he simply left. She seemed busy. Fritz stepped forward, extending his arm so that he could push his way past. Locket, still driven by that want for combat, caught Fritz’s arm, sinking her claws into the scaly hide. While she did not draw blood, as Fritz’s skin was quite thick, the Blackhall reflexively swung out at her. Locket grunted as he caught her chest, knocking her back a bit.
“Keep yer ‘ands off me,” Fritz warned in his low, Scottish drawl. Grand Voice or not, the Blackhall did not care to be grabbed.
Locket blinked. It was rare someone spoke to her without the usual adoration or fascination she was used to. It intrigued her. The Blackhall was a bulky thing, beating her height by a foot, and his skin proved difficult to penetrate. He was a challenge, far better than bending some quivering coward. She watched as Fritz attempted to walk away, and her right arm began to morph into a hard club. If she could not pierce flesh easily, then she could bash in his skull with a few good blows. Teeth gritting and nostrils flaring, Locket leapt onto Fritz’s back, her left arm wrapping around his neck. Fritz’s eyes widened, and his maw fell open as he hissed. He grabbed Locket’s arm as she raised her club-arm to strike. Dropping his kill, the Blackhall staggered back towards the wall behind him.
THWACK!
The club made contact just as Fritz smashed Locket against the wall. While Fritz roared as the waves of agony rippled through his head, Locket croaked as the Blackhall’s weight pressed into her. The claws on her toes kicked out, desperate to get him to move and allow her to breathe. Fritz lurched forward, his black tongue hanging from his mouth and darkness forming around the corners of his eyes. He shook his head. He would not be felled like this. He had to stay awake. Blowing hot air from his nostrils, Fritz reached back, clutching Locket by her mane and yanking her off him. Locket cried out as the Blackhall effortlessly flipped her over his head and onto her back. He then raised his foot to step on her head. Locket rolled out of the way quickly, standing on her feet, chest heaving.
There was a brief respite as both Kivouachians caught their breath, staring each other down. There was a shimmer in the Lady’s eyes, Fritz noticed. She seemed to be enjoying herself. He snorted.
“Walk away,” he demanded, wiping blood that trickled from the gash on his head. “Don’t make me kill ye. Yer too pretty t’die.”
Locket broke her silence. “Spare me your flattery. It won’t save you.”
“Why’re y’doin’ this?”
“I simply must.” The muscles in Locket’s legs tightened as she prepared for a pounce. Her club-arm was raised. “This isn’t anything personal, understand that.”
“Hmph. So y’won’t let me leave?”
“No.”
“C’mere, then. Let’s finish this.”
Locket sprang upward at Fritz’s head. Spinning around, Fritz’s thick tail swung at Locket: his own weapon. Locket hit the ground, breathing in sharply as the stone cut her. Fritz charged at her, and though the Lady tried to get to her feet, Fritz threw himself upon her, his fangs on her neck. The club-arm morphed into a pointed blade, which Locket plunged into Fritz’s softer abdomen, piercing thick muscle. Fritz groaned into soft neck flesh, his claws raking the stone beneath him. Nevertheless, he tore into Locket’s throat, wanting nothing more than to end this fight. Locket struggled, choking and gurgling, but to no avail. Her tongue slipped from her mouth, her eyes began rolling back, and with an involuntary shudder, she gave in to the darkness as vilt spilled from her. The Lady’s dollfaced head tumbled away. Locket had been defeated.
Fritz lay atop Locket’s body for some time. When he felt brave enough, he pulled himself free of the black blade, pressing his hand against the wound.
“Ugh. . .” groaned the Blackhall as he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “Bend me backwards. . . Now why’d y’ave t’make me do that, ol’ lass?”
Fritz had half a mind to crush Locket’s head, bring her body to the Chopshop and call it a chime. Alas, there would be consequences for killing the Grand Voice. Locket was spoken of fondly by many, and they would all be after him if it was found that he was the reason she was gone forever. He would return the head to its body later. For the moment, he needed to rest and allow his wound to heal. At least Locket’s body made for a good pillow.
"Tiny veins of living light were her guide through the alleyway. Her prey stank of fear, and it fueled Locket on. Onward, she ran, feeling that rush of animality for the first time in stanzas. Her would-be challenger appeared in the distance, slowing, panting from exertion. They made a sharp turn, and Locket heard a yelp and a thud. She slowed to a halt, hot despite the lower temperature. She could smell another Kivouachian, as well as blood and vilt. Cautiously, she peered around the corner and saw her quarry trembling as a larger male stood over them."
A scene from a story I wrote during the 2025 Hunger Games event in the Sam Fennah server. It was tons of fun, and my oc, Fritz, got pretty far (fifth place, if I remember correctly)! Lately, some Hunger Games art and stories have been featured, including some of my own, and I got reminded of how much I enjoyed the dynamic between Fritz and Locket. This particular story ends with Fritz beating Locket in combat, and this piece is their first meeting.
Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin — locomotive, my motives are insane | January 2026
Twenty One Pilots, Tally // Isle of Dogs (2018) dir. Wes Anderson // Romans 7:15 ESV // A Boy Called Charlie Brown (1969) dir. Bill Melendez // u.k. // Twenty One Pilots, Heavydirtysoul // via @/lamignonette // Marina Tsvetaeva, tr. Elaine Feinstein, Poem of the End // Romans 7:18-19 ESV // The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) dir. Wes Anderson // caption: Romans 7:25 ESV, Twenty One Pilots, Screen
Slowly getting out of my art funk. I've drawn this character before; if you've read my Soollum fic, you might recognize him. This is Saul during his younger days, back when he served the Yolsh. He was a wilder Kiv back then.
A simple drawing for Valentine's Day. I wanted to draw Asgore and Toriel in the months before Errol was born. I've been meaning to draw more Undertale art in general, but this year's started off rough for me.
(NOT Deltarune or Pre-Undertale btw, I think people are getting confused, but this is meant to be post-True Pacifist lol)
For those not in the Fennah Discord, I submitted one of Kivs to the Hunger Games event they were having (and as of posting still, still hasn't ended). The events in it are random, but the repeated encounters between my OC and Locket were so fascinating that I had to write an encounter between them in a more canonical setting. You don't have to have read Amygdala in its entirety to understand this story. Locket may not be fully in-character, but I think I wrote her as best as I could. Enjoy!
Fritz entered Katch Laughhouse, greeted by soft singing and the plucking of stringed instruments. The light was a mix of deep garnet and soft lavender, a contrast to the harsh carmines bleeding in from outside. The Blackhall released a contented grumble, shaking the melted snow from his ossicones as he made his way to the bar. The building was not as busy as it could have been, no doubt because of the Vambalaya Gala. Of course, Kivouachians still desired their trades, debates and songs, so Katch remained open.
While he normally went without clothing, this chime saw Fritz wearing a plum, velveteen tailcoat. He was not the biggest fan of the way it hugged his belly, but it kept him warm, and its pockets were useful. From the right, he pulled out a black-leather tome, hugging it against his chest. Passing performing Dollies and groups engrossed in games, Fritz eyed a sizable rotter awaiting him, its gelatinous belly greased and glossy. He swallowed before his mouth could overflow with saliva. Keeping his eyes on the Laughhouse’s collection of drinks, the Blackhall seated himself.
The Jester was quick to approach, giving Fritz a much-appreciated distraction from his thoughts. Trade was simple: a plain, silver band for an old bottle of liquid laughter. The Jester was happy to be rid of it; his regulars deserved the freshest of brews. Fritz, meanwhile, was not very picky with his alcohol, so long as it did what it was supposed to. While the Jester attended to other clients, Fritz fished a rectangular tin from his left pocket. In it were a few goldenberry biscuits for him to snack on. He nibbled one as he studied the cover of his book. ‘Freyda: An Analysis of A Chaotic Mind’ was written in silver text. Beneath it was the embossed image of the titular Kivouachian’s head. Fritz gazed into the beast’s eight eyes for a tick, before creaking the book open and reading it. Fritz was deaf to everything around him for a time, eating, drinking, and learning. Nothing tempted his eyes away from the pages, not the cackling of drunken Kivouacians as they watched their companions rottulate, not the ceaseless performing of working Dollies, and certainly not when Locket made her entrance.
The Grand Voice was seen around others of importance if she was to be seen at all, so her appearance at Katch Laughhouse was a surprising one. The excitement died down as the Lady made her way to the bar, finely dressed and overwhelmingly perfumed. She was a diamond amongst quartz, and everyone kept a respectable distance. Their awe of her was predictable, yet Locket paid it no mind. She was here for a good drink.
The Jester was quick to present a glass of black dye grin before the Lady, at first denying a trade, but eventually accepting an erillion bracelet. Sitting elegantly on a rotter of her own, Locket drank, letting the alcohol do its work, warming her up, easing her tensed muscles, and coaxing a smile from her lips. Light danced on her coiling antlers as she turned her head, observing the others around her. Most adjusted themselves immediately, feeling her gaze on them with the intensity of a lit gritpipe end against bare skin. One Kivva, however, was still preoccupied.
Fritz drank noisily from his bottle of laughter, his throat bobbing with each gulp. After that, he would set the bottle down, swipe his tongue across his lips, and reach for another biscuit. Locket watched him pause, his eyes widening. Fritz then belched, followed by a low snicker. The Jester looked mortified. As they frantically wiped down a glass that did not need cleaning, they cleared their throat in hopes of getting Fritz’s attention. After a few tries, Fritz glanced up at them.
“Hmm?” grunted the Blackhall. The Jester nodded in Locket’s direction. Fritz blinked at him. “. . .Twinge in yer neck?”
Locket, pleasantly amused, spoke up. “Must be a good book.”
The new voice grabbed Fritz’s attention. He turned, now seeing Locket lounging on the vessel beside him, legs crossed and an arm propped on the counter. His pupils contracted. The Lady was a figure he had only known through articles and biographies. Even the book he read now mentioned her as a legendary killer, the feller of Freyda. And yet, she seemed casual. This female, who was just tall enough to look in the eye, was the revered Lady of Blackenrend? Fritz could not be sure what to make of her. Locket’s expression became one of expectancy.
“Are you hard of hearing?” she asked. “I spoke to you just now.”
“. . .Good. Aye.” Fritz cleared his throat. “Aye, it’s a good book.”
“Hmm.” Locket’s head tilted slightly. “I see.”
The Lady held out her hand. Fritz stared at it before slowly bringing the book towards it. Once it was in her grasp, she scrutinized the cover. A moment later, and her eyes were on Fritz again. The male’s claws tapped against the wood of the counter. It bothered him that he could not read her expression. His lips curled to reveal clenched, conical teeth. All the while, the Jester watched on with bated breath.
“He’s mad!” someone whispered to another.
“Let him try something,” was the hushed reply. “She’ll make short work of him.”
Locket suddenly began to laugh, a low, unbothered titter. It cut the tension with a knife. The working Dollies caught a nod from the Jester and started another song, fast-paced and meant for dancing. Normalcy began taking hold. Fritz, however, had not relaxed yet. Still, he exposed his teeth, his body ready for the worst. Locket settled down and made a beckoning motion.
“Come with me,” she ordered. “Bring your things with you.”
The Lady did not wait for a reply as she stood, taking Fritz’s book with her to a dimly-lit booth. The Jester nodded after her.
“I’d go with her, if I were you,” they said. “Oh, and. . . fangs away, will you?”
Fritz thought it over, but soon relented. He wanted his book back. Grabbing the biscuits and laughter, he stood from the rotter and followed the Grand Voice’s lead. She was seated by the time he arrived, thumbing through the tome and having another sip of grin.
“Interested in Freyda, are you?” asked Locket once Fritz joined her.
“. . .A bit, aye,” said Fritz as he set everything down. Locket took this as her opportunity to swipe a biscuit. Instinctually, Fritz grasped her wrist, not hard enough to do any real damage, but the threat was obvious. He thought he imagined the look of surprise on the Grand Voice’s face, as it was gone as swiftly as it arrived.
“Think carefully about what you’re going to do next,” Locket warned. “You may have an interest in Freyda, but you’d do well not to act like her.”
“. . .Y’could’ve asked.” Fritz startled himself with his own boldness.
“I could’ve, yes. I admit, you’re faster than you look.”
“Don’t like thieves.”
“Clearly. Alright. Would you kindly release my wrist and allow me a biscuit?”
“Mmph.” Fritz let go, arms folding over his chest as he watched Locket nibble a goldenberry biscuit.
“Anyway. . .” Locket tossed the book onto the table. “I was going to say, before I was interrupted, that you could find better information than this nonsense.”
Fritz raised a brow, but did not speak. Locket explained herself.
“It’s written by someone who knew nothing of life when Freyda lived. You’re better off reading the referenced texts, things with actual facts, none of this useless speculation. It’s a waste of ink pondering some alternate reality never to exist.”
Fritz shrugged. “I was enjoyin’ it.”
“The fiction genre might suit you better, then. This?” Locket jabbed the black leather cover with a long, dagger of a claw. “Glorified fiction, describing a Freyda that cannot and will never exist. Books studying the mind ought to focus on what’s objective, rather than begging Kivouachians to pity a beast on the basis of what she could’ve been.”
Fritz could not find a response. A small part of him wanted to apologize for reading the book at all, but he thought against it. What did he need to apologize for? If Locket did not care for the book, that was that. He wanted to understand the text for himself; he would not have bothered borrowing the book if he wanted it explained to him and nothing more. The Blackhall noticed Locket taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. She seemed. . .on edge.
“Y’alright, bonnie lass?” he found himself asking.
“I take history very seriously,” Locket replied once her eyes reopened. “Rewritting it in order to appeal to emotion is incredibly dangerous. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Sure.”
Locket downed the last of her drink. Fritz gestured towards the biscuit tin.
“‘Elp yerself.”
Locket did so. The biscuits seemed to help. Her ears lowered, and her nostrils stopped their flaring. However, the seams on the sides of her face opened, revealing hidden fangs, making her appear as if she were always in pain. Fritz felt something in that moment, a sort of understanding that he could not put into words.
“. . .Fetch another bevvy fer ye,” the Blackhall announced as he began exiting the booth. Locket waved her hand.
“No. Not right now. I think I’d rather dance. Do you dance?”
Fritz blinked. “Sometimes, aye. Plan on dancin’ later at the Gala.”
“Let’s see what you can do, then.”
Fritz watched Locket rise from her seat and extend a hand to him. Without a word, he followed, taking her hand as gently as he could. In contrast, her grip was firm. Like a huntress, she held tightly to her prey. Some were already dancing to the song of the Dollies, and made room for the Grand Voice when she arrived with her partner. Fritz’s free hand rested on Locket’s waist. An intense sensation ran through his arm and spread through his entire body. He only danced with a few Kivvas, and they never made him feel this way. Perhaps he wanted to kill the Lady. He was always excited during a kill. Then again, that was probably due to adrenaline. He was in no danger of being slaughtered or losing a meal, so what was there to be excited about? Fritz could not be sure.
Locket took the lead, stepping to the beat of the music. Fritz followed, his gaze shifting between Locket’s eyes and their feet. He did not want to step on hers. There were moments where his eyes lingered on her body, the silk, the metal, the exposed skin. Beautiful, Locket was.
“You never told me your name,” Locket broke the silence between them.
“. . .Fritz.”
“Fritz. What do you do?”
“Blackhall. Odd jobs. ‘Untin’ Fowlers.”
“Hmm. You don’t talk much, do you?”
“Nae.”
Locket smirked. “At least you don’t bore me with prattle. If you did, I’d have to take your tongue.”
Fritz said nothing.
“I jest,” Locket clarified.
“Ah. . .”
Locket changed the subject. “On the subject of Freyda. . . if you’re looking for good books, factual books, you might want to try the Hammerlow, if you’re ever able to get work there.”
“One chime, maybe,” said Fritz. He could hear the music slow to an adagio, sweet and sensual. Without thinking, he pulled Locket closer.
“Mind yourself,” the Lady whispered. Her free hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, tapping it with a warning claw. “The alcohol’s getting to you.”
Fritz had begun panting. “Aye, sorry.”
Neither spoke after that, instead communicating solely with their bodies. Locket continued to lead, though there were moments where Fritz took over, fueled by the emotions building within him. At one moment, he lifted her, spinning her as if she weighed nothing at all. Locket’s claws dug into his shoulders, though he hardly felt it. How long they had danced, Fritz could not be sure, but after a while, Locket had a new expression on her face: disappointment.
“I’m expected at the Empire,” she informed Fritz.
“Right now?”
“I should start heading that way, yes.”
“Ah.” Fritz was also disappointed, though he supposed the Grand Voice had to return to more important things eventually. “Me too. Could walk ye there, if ye want.”
“Finish your biscuits,” said the Lady, pointing to their booth. “Before someone makes off with them.”
Fritz deflated, but nodded. Locket patted his shoulder.
“You could use some work, but you’re not a bad dancer. Remember what I said, won’t you, Fritz?”
“Aye,” answered the Blackhall. “I will. Maybe I’ll see ye again sometime.”
Locket had already started walking away. “Maybe. We shall see. Farewell, Fritz.”
Goodbye, Lady.”
Fritz did not return to his booth until he watched Locket exit the Laughhouse. When he arrived, he sat, took a deep breath and sighed. The smell of her perfume had yet to fade.
“What a lass,” he murmured as he tucked the black-leather tome away into his pocket. One thing was certain, he had quite the tale to tell his friends at the Gala.
I wish people who had issues with me would actually be open and honest rather than make some Sherlock Holmes ass plan to try and cause drama. My messages are always open. If you have something to say, say it.
Commission from @inu-jiru! Her Undertale OC's Errol Dreemurr and Howelle against an autumn background.
I'm not part of the Undertale fandom myself btw, was just commissioned to draw art of it. Though this year has been FULL of people commissioning me to draw art of games I've never played lol
