#Not enough time to play but it would be enough to read a few panels

[kaluawoo]

Soo what do you think of the recent Servamp characters

I have to admit I didn't read the newest chapter yet because I was stuck in Faerûn, making puppydog eyes at a different vampire 😔

The one before that I summarized as So funny but in SUCH A SAD WAY and I stick by that.

[choochooboss]

Submas Sketchdump Vol. 4 July 2022 Part 2!!

I knew that particular month beat my all time record for productivity multifold but I had forgotten SO MANY PIECES from the original collection!! I think I finally got them all?? More stuff under the cut!!

BREAKMAS!! WIP of the first piece I posted of them, here's the link to the final version! I tried coloring this first but the black & white had ultimately more impact so I went with that!

TRAINS!! I like this base color version too! Link to the final version!

The top sketch is a direct reference to Cluedo! A spinoff game, "Missingo", starring certain familiar characters trying to figure out what happened to Ingo/trying to prove their innocence in the case! Also WIP sketches for these two Breakmas comic pages!

As you may know I adore butlermas! For the classy and stylish look which appeals to me in general, and coincidentally I had played PLA & got hit by submas train only one week before butler Ingo's banner rolled out! The pure bliss of finally meeting both twins in a game I felt was incomparable!! This moment in the Curious Tea Party event was really entertaining to me! We got to see submas get serious and stand up against this selfish collector thief! Two towering train twinks with commanding voices looming over the unfortunate guy was enough to make him change his mind ahah! They truly are the protectors

1-hour submas challenge prompt "Descend"! This is the actual one hour result before I continued rendering this!

Mmmmm not my first attempt at drawing them hug and definitely not my best OR last. I want to make that moment something very special when I finally go all out on it!!

Comic cover vibing~

The scrapped last page for this silly comic! Sorry the dialogue is all over the place on the first piece, might be hard to read! I wasn't happy with how I presented Elesa, I wasn't familiar enough with her character back then so I thought of her carrying a toy taser to threat her friend even as a joke was too much and I couldn't come up with anything else for it. This held me back from posting the other three pages for another 5 months! In the last panel

I prefer to not mess up the twins too much but my brain is still very curious and conjures some peculiar stuff like this sometimes.. I think I may have broken his arms there looking at the anatomy, ooops! I hope you don't mind the photo quality or the two weird guys in the corner, they escaped containment!

Idea of warden Ingo, being projected to modern era by his Alakazam, walking through crowd on a train platform & Emmet standing inside a passing train. Their eyes meet for just a few seconds...

Pokemas Ingo practise!

Another WIP of a piece I posted! I started this piece like this but then later I decided to flip the whole thing.

YET another WIP of something I already posted! No idea why I went and mixed up his suits but I like this sketch! They rarely end up looking this clean haha

Sketch version of the self-defense practise piece! I love getting creative with action stuff! I barely ever think of how difficult they are to draw, I just get so excited and fixated on visualising the scenes in my mind I just keep at it, pull out refs and pose in front of mirrors until it looks good to me! I want to draw more action scenes but besides being challenging to draw my brain comes up with more silly and cute ideas than cool ones unfortunately ahah

One more WIP, here's the link to the final results!! I really like how genuine their expressions look here even if the faces are a little off. I recall spending a long time figuring out this perspective. I thought it would be fun to you to see how all these pieces started and... looking at the sketch above and the stuff before that, you can compare some range of my style!

RANDOM SUBMAS MISSILES GO

OHHH looks like some nasty passengers got the best of them!! If I recall correctly there was no fight because they managed to paralyse the two before they could act. Fully awake yet completely helpless... how convenient unfortunate. Thank you so much for checking these out!! Not every sketch is that exciting but I'm always happy to hear your thoughts on these!

Previous posts: Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022 Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022 Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

[yumeka-sxf]

According to this tweet from Endo, today's new chapter will be the final installment of the "Henry x Martha backstory" arc...and it definitely went out on a high note! The part where Martha meets Henry's wife was absolutely heartbreaking...in particular the below page, starting with an upside down view of the scene, showing how the world is literally warping for Martha, followed by shards and shreds of her various memories with Henry, all the while the "throb, throb" of her heart is overlaying all the panels. Definitely one of Endo's best portrayals of a truly shocking moment.

It's also interesting that we never see Lucia's face, despite her having a big panel when she first appears.

Endo has done this before with other characters, Loid's parents being the other big example. We also never see their faces, despite them appearing several times during his flashback arc.

With the few examples we've had, to me it seems like Endo hides the faces of characters who 1) appear as flashbacks only and 2) who have had a significant emotional impact on the character whose memories they appear in, but at the same time, that character has since done their best to get over the painful memories associated with them. So they basically represent some past trauma for the character (even if they don't necessarily dislike them) but in the current time, they've more or less left that part of their past behind. Hence why their faces are obscured in the character's memories. This is also why I think we'll never see Loid's parents or Lucia's faces outside of flashbacks. This is just my interpretation of course, and I'm curious if there will be more examples in other characters' flashback arcs.

But back to Henry and Martha, I also liked the fact that, despite her broken heart, Martha still saw Lucia as a good person and became friends with her. Henry seems to love her as well. This actually ties back very well to what Martha tells Becky at the end of her story about how dangerous it is to latch onto preconceptions and prejudices without knowing the truth.

In Becky's simple world, she would see Lucia as the "evil seductress who stole Henry away" and Martha has to get him back. But as Martha said, things aren't always that simple and don't always adhere to our preconceived notions. Sometimes things can't end up exactly how you want or expect, so you have to be grateful for what you have and see things as they truly are, despite living with lingering regrets. In fact, this whole speech from Martha at the conclusion of her flashback was extremely deep and profound. Not many people can write both comedy and drama so well, but Endo is certainly one of them.

Also, is this Wiesel's first appearance? Still waiting for the doggy play date chapter with Wiesel, Bond, Max, and Aaron! 🐶

Since it's been so long since I read the first chapter of this arc, I couldn't remember if Martha had actually revealed the identity of her lover in her story, but makes sense that she didn't. I can imagine Becky storming into school yelling at Henderson and causing total embarrassment for all 😅 Funny that she almost guessed correctly though.

I'm surprised we never found out how Martha started working for the Blackbells, but that's an easy enough mystery to solve - she needed work after the wars were over, and being a bodyguard suited an ex-soldier. Also seems like she never told Henry her true feelings either...maybe by the time Lucia died, it was too late and they had both grown somewhat apart by then, and/or they had some additional falling outs about Martha joining the other wars, etc. It just wasn't meant to be and the message of the story was Martha coming to terms with that and being wiser for it.

In conclusion, this was a great arc that really shows Endo's range as a writer who can do both comedy and drama very well. Despite Henry and Martha being side characters, I have a feeling that the struggles they experienced will have relevance later in the series. But for now, I look forward to seeing the Forgers and other characters again (and getting back to the last major uproar of Anya telling Damian about her powers...seems like ages ago, lol). Endo will be taking a well deserved break, so the next new chapter will be on August 19th!

I also have some new posts planned in the coming weeks, so stay tuned for those as well 😀

[needle-noggins]

(CW for SA, suicidal ideation) Here we go. My favorite and simultaneously least favorite panel of Vash and Knives.

I've seen a few interpretations of this scene and before we dive into the one that really struck me, let's start with the more... chill one. We're finally introduced to the third gun of Trigun, Vash's angel arm. And the way we're introduced to it involves Knives forcing him to pull the trigger. Of course, since no one knows anything about Knives, the people of Noman's Land blame Vash for Fifth Moon, and Vash likewise blames himself (this is kinda a spoiler but if you've been paying attention, it's just par for the course). However, he's not the one who pulled the trigger, Knives is. It brings up an interesting moral question of blame - do we blame the gun (and Vash, who is being used/objectified as a weapon here), or the person who wanted it to happen? Guns don't kill people, genocidal twins do!

Now for the awful interpretation, the one that makes me cry and wish Vash was real so I could hug him and pay for his therapy. And really highlights how awful Knives is and how far he'd go for his brother in his own, fucked-up way. I touched on this in a previous post about Legato and the Murder Cafe, and the whole time I was thinking about Fifth Moon but didn't want to say anything for the sake of spoilers.

So. Pay attention to the way Vash and Knives are standing. Knives, when he first grabbed Vash's head, was standing in front of him. He moves behind him to better control him and yeah, he's still controlling him via hand on head, and now he's got his other hand gripping Vash's chest, where feathers/wings are manifesting. Knives is assaulting him. If you wanna get crazy with it and say that the angel arm is kinda phallic, you could say... yeah. This is rape. I heard that specific interpretation once and while I accepted it I also don't know if that would be generally accepted or if I'd be called out for it, so I'm trying to tread lightly here.

It also doesn't escape me that of course the angel arm has feminine features like the plants - the plants that, again, humans are exploiting for their ability to create. There's a lot of feminist commentary to be made here but many people have said it better than me. Specifically I'm thinking of this one post I saw about gender fuckery and Tristamp Vash. Anyway.

Also, the atomic bomb/black hole/sun/whatever that is in the middle... It's just so powerful. It's terrifying. The eldritch body horror here is a punch to the gut. What the fuck, Trigun? I thought this was a funky space western!!!

Oh, and here's more commentary on the following few panels:

Vashussy shot, Knives is still right behind him. Yeah, I wasn't kidding about how bad this pose is for them. Knives, you sick fuck.

Vash shoots himself in the leg (a key difference from '98 trigun, lol), because of course he does, but it doesn't free him from the arm.

The arm's getting darker/the light inside is getting lighter! Stampede did an awesome job with their interpretation of the angel arm and I don't think I would have understood it without that. Also, on my first read I didn't notice that Vash is literally levitating, which is cool, but also terrifying because ?? he's not in control of that either??

Finally. A super painful, minimalist, double-page spread. Nightow loves 'em. Vash thinks he's dying (maybe?) and he wishes he had never existed. It's not suicidal ideation per se, but he wishes he didn't exist at all because he's already caused enough suffering. This is a low for him, because he believes so strongly in the concept of the Blank Ticket. (Come on, soupy brain bitch boy, get it together!) He's a monster, it's just how he was born, and he's not in control. Very specifically too, he says "we", and then changes it to "I"... he doesn't blame Knives at all, and that's very him. I want to shake him! Stop playing the martyr, Vash!

[world0fmadness]

TALK TO ME

lando norris x voice actress! reader

♡ general dating headcanons for lando with a voice actress partner!

୨୧ the game release dates are almost all wrong but just… shhh! you guys have been dating since mid 2022 <3

♡ related smau available here and related hc available here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: death stranding by chvrches - devil trigger by casey edwards

♡ sticking with the meeting story from lovely voice, i’ll expand on it a little!

୨୧ lando was streaming resident evil village one afternoon, wanting a switch up from his usual games and he’d heard good things about this one so why not play it?

♡ little did he know how much a video game would absolutely change his life <3

୨୧ within and hour he reaches castle dimitrescu

♡ he’s immediately in awe of one character, but it’s not who you’d probably think…

୨୧ instead of simping for lady dimitrescu, like most people do, he was down bad for bela dimitrescu who just so happened to be voiced by you!

♡ he was VERY vocal about how much he was in love with this character but especially her voice… almost demanding his chat to give him the name of her voice actress…

“ guys, who voices this character here? god, she’s got such a lovely voice hasn’t she? can’t just be me who thinks that… ” ( it definitely wasn’t just him, he converted almost his entire chat info bela dimitrescu worshipers )

୨୧ not long after he begged from the voice actresses name, multiple people in his chat post your social media handle and as soon as he sees it filling up the chat, he pauses the game to take a peek

“ bloody hell! that’s her? well the face certainly matches the voice, hm? she’s beautiful ” ( this clip of him goes absolutely insane on twitter )

♡ when you guys officially begin dating, lando goes on a binge, playing almost all of the games you’ve voiced a character in!

୨୧ one of the most infamous being until dawn, which he played on stream…

♡ he had no idea how easy it is to lose a character in that game and you didn’t tell him, wanting to see how far he could get before killing someone off

୨୧ it didn’t take long at all and the first character to die was yours :( you got your jaw pried open and head crushed by a wendigo

“ oh bloody hell, love! i’m sorry, oh fuck, that’s horrible, is it over? i’m so sorry, oh my god… ” ( you could be heard laughing so loud in your shared bedroom before coming in to offer him some comfort )

♡ safe to say lando was fucking traumatised… to see your face and hear your brutal screaming, it was way too much for him and he felt horrible! it was enough to make him restart the game

୨୧ on his second playthrough, he just wants to keep your character safe, all the others can get lost, he doesn’t care but his baby? she’s making it OUT!

♡ and your character does make it out! she was the only one left alive but lando is fine with that, as long as you’re alive

୨୧ whenever you’re on a comic-con panel, you’ll get a question about lando every once and a while

♡ like most voice actors and actresses, you the the motion capture for a lot of your characters too!

୨୧ this has led to a lot of footage of you and lando behind the scenes of games making into “ the making of ” documentaries!

♡ a fan favourite being the documentary for the last of us part II! it had quite a few clips of lando coming onto set and constantly making you laugh during scenes, making crude gestures towards you and calling you “ dotface ”

୨୧ he got kicked off set many times… but that wasn’t enough, oh no! naughty dog wanted revenge for how many times they had to reshoot a scene…

♡ so they got their revenge in the form of lying to lando! they told him they wanted to give him a simple, innocent cameo in the jackson section of the game! he’d be an innocent npc

୨୧ lando was so excited! he agreed right away, letting them take the 360 scans of his face and body, he couldn’t wait to see himself when he played it on stream!

♡ when he did play it on stream, he was incredibly confused as to where he was in jackson, he couldn’t find himself… but he figured maybe he just missed it! all the while you’re sitting in the next room, watching his stream with a downright evil smile on your face

୨୧ he comes across his face and body a little later in the game and oh boy, he was SO upset!

♡ his character wasn’t some innocent npc… oh no… his character was a wlf member that ellie, your character, has to brutally kill to proceed with the story

“ that’s me! for fuck sake! love, did you know about this?! ” ( of course you knew, but you were too busy laughing at how upset he was to answer his question )

୨୧ safe to say he never trusted a developer ever again…

♡ lando is a HUGE shipper for a lot of your character’s relationships!

୨୧ seyloy? he’d scream it from the rooftops, he was rooting for them to just kiss already for the entire burning shores dlc and he yelled SO loud when they finally did <3

“ finally! you know i was getting really worried they wouldn’t make it official… thank god ” ( again, you can just be heard laughing in the background before yelling out “ seyloy for life ” which he repeats back to you whilst chuckling )

♡ one of your favourite characters you’ve ever had the pleasure of voicing is clementine in telltale’s the walking dead!

୨୧ it was the first character you EVER voiced at the age of 8 and you really grew up alongside your character, always coming back to voice her in the following seasons as she grew up

♡ the final season at age 16 was especially special to you because it reveals clementine to be bisexual, just like you… and it’s how you came out to your fans too

୨୧ you and lando have said if you ever have a child, you’ll give them the middle name “ clementine ” because of how much the character means to you <3

♡ of course, children aren’t something you two plan to have very soon so you adopt a dog and end up naming her clementine ( you love calling her sweet pea too )

୨୧ you and lando treat her like a princess and take her everywhere with you guys! one time, you bought her a little replica of clementine’s hat and lando thought it was so damn cute, he made you wear yours and got a picture of you two together before sending it to EVERYONE he knows

♡ whenever you get new roles, he’s so excited for you!

୨୧ he loves letting you practice lines with him at home, though he can never stay serious for long and starts cracking jokes within ten minutes

♡ but he really is just so supportive! when your new game trailer releases, he’s sharing it on ALL of his social medias, flexing about how he has such a talented partner who has played all of these amazing characters and don’t even get me started about when he’s in the paddock… he talks about you to EVERYONE who’s willing to listen

“ well, she has a new game coming out soon so she’s pretty excited to see fan reactions to her character in that and then she has some panels to do as well ” ( it won’t be long before he’s pulling up pictures of some of your characters to show them too )

୨୧ and whenever he’s in the city, if he sees a billboard or any other type of promotion for your upcoming game, he always takes a photo before sending it to you! if you character is on the promotion, he’s asking if you know “ who that beautiful lady is ”

♡ if any of your characters get figurines, he buys them ALL!

୨୧ he has a shelf for them in his streaming room, next to the shelf with his racing stuff on it… two things he loves so much right next to each other

♡ since oscar is also a pretty big gamer and plays some games that you have a character in, it’s pretty common for him to send lando pictures of character at unflattering angles, jokingly asking him “ is this your girl? ”

୨୧ to which lando promptly responds “ yes, yes it is, and what? ”

♡ when you were nominated for a best voice actress award for your role as aloy in horizon forbidden west at the game awards in 2024, lando was ecstatic for you!

୨୧ you’d already won two previous awards, one for your role as clementine in telltale’s the walking dead and another for your role as ellie in the last of us part II in 2023, so if you won again, this would be the second award you’d received whilst dating lando

♡ he dresses up SO good for the awards, just as you do of course, and as soon as you arrive at the event and your pictures are posted to social media… oh it was a frenzy

୨୧ most people were going nuts over how good you both looked whilst some people said nothing would ever top him wearing the custom made cult of the lamb suit at the 2023 game awards

♡ the award show is going great, you and lando loving to see all of the other incredibly talented people receive their awards and chatting to people around you but eventually, it’s time for the winner of best voice actress to be revealed…

୨୧ lando holds your slightly sweaty hand in his, squeezing it as they read out your name as one of the nominees

♡ when your name is read out as the winner, lando lets out the loudest yell right in your ear before helping you stand up and giving you a tight hug

“ YES! oh i knew it love, i knew you’d win! go on, go get your award, i love you ” ( he gives you a quick peck before you walk off too, no doubt being screen recorded by fans watching at home )

୨୧ while you’re on stage accepting your award and giving your speech ( making sure to thank lando at least twice for his constant love and support ) he’s filming you and taking pictures of you on his phone, as if there aren’t multiple professional photographers doing that for him, he looks like a proud mother holding his phone up and very quietly cheering you on from his seat

♡ you guys go out for dinner with some of your co stars after the award show ends, lando constantly telling you how proud of you he is

“ i’m so proud of you, you know that? you deserve it so much, you really do, love ” ( he has so much love in his eyes whilst saying it, it’s nearly enough to make you cry )

୨୧ you spend the rest of the night enjoying a delicious dinner, your dream boyfriend by your side and close friends chatting amongst each other

♡ what a night it was…

landonorris: everyone say congratulations yn! my girl just won her THIRD best voice actress award! i’m so beyond proud of you love, my greatest achievement in life is being able to love someone as talented and beautiful as you

ynln ✔️: oh, lando 🥹

> ynln ✔️: thank you so much, i love you more than you know

> landonorris ✔️: love you so much more

> ynln ✔️: do you ALWAYS have to turn stuff into a competition? 😩

> landonorris ✔️: absolutely ❤️

landoynforever: congratulations yn! three awards is insane…

> loveyouyn: right? no one is doing it like her 😭

oscarpiastri ✔️: congratulations yn! speech could’ve used some work but i’d say it was decent

> ynln ✔️: i’ll pretend that last last little bit isn’t there, thank you oscar!

[undersprite]

2024 Comic Contest Results

Before we get started, I would like to extend a personal thank you to everyone who created an entry for the contest this year. Although we only got four entries this year, those four entries' dedication to telling stories that are novel and interesting for this community to enjoy is worthy of commendation in itself. For a while, I was scared we wouldn't even get enough entries to fill the podium; thanks to your efforts, this has not come to pass.

Since we have very few entries this time around, I'll be providing a link to each comic, with accompanying scores and excerpts from reviews. Now, catch the results under the cut:

Runner-Up: "The Undertale Game Comic" by FutureGamer25

(Average score: 15.5/50)

"As the submitter says, this was made in a day. I can’t be too hard on this out of principle..." - Soufon

"[...it] succeeded at making me laugh multiple times, thanks in no small part to how it deliberately wields nothing looking like it fits together." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"You know, honestly for being made in less than a day and being posted 5 minutes before the deadline, I gotta give you a lot of credit for that. I don’t even think I could have made that in a day [...]" - Mufeet

"The freaking car and the ending got me a good chuckle. I'll give you that. I congratulate you for tossing your coin." - Subna

3rd: "Frisk Visits the Store and Nothing Happens" by Trooper3

(Average score: 34/50)

"I thought Sans and ESPECIALLY Papyrus were super funny [...] I think we’ve finally reached a point where the skele-bros are just consistently characterized properly now, and I love to see it." - Mufeet

"The FunMart[TM] makes an earnest effort to capture the feeling of exploring an area in an actual Toby Fox game, and [...] captures at least a bit of that shine." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"I honestly like your idea, is funny and it works perfectly to show these OCs of yours in this format. I wish there was more content to see about them, I wish to know them [...]" - Subna

"As light as it is, I like having this kind of slice of life look into UT’s world, the comedy focus helping to make the comic feel more breezy than insubstantial." - Soufon

2nd: "Undertale: Pushing On" by Mouse

(Average score: 34.75/50)

"Of all the entries we got, this is the only one that really felt like it captured the essence of telling a story as if it were still part of a game—something I have sorely missed." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"Great story and great teaching from it. Can add up greatly to UNDERTALE’s world and...tbh I’d LOVE to play a full game with Alvia." - Subna

"[...] I like having who [Gerson] is in UT be because of Alvia’s actions, like how the orange soul kid is framed as responsible for the bunny family in Snowdin’s success - having all the soul humans impact the underground like that helps all of them feel real to UT’s world[...]" -Soufon

"I was captivated from beginning to end, and god, the ending [...] it actually made me a bit teary-eyed." - Mufeet

1st: "Knock Knock" by StarlightShores and ToMoChao

(Average score: 47/50)

"I was not expecting something like this out of this contest. Knock Knock is a substantial storyline, not a peek into an adventure, or a silly reprieve." - Soufon

"Even if it’s pretty lengthy, it keeps you engaged, to know where this is all going, all the way to the end." - Subna

"Flowey and Sans pair-ups are so rare, but when done it is ALWAYS such a fun time. They both play off each other so well, and it is no exception in this comic, especially towards the end where they start to bond over dealing with the loss of someone important to them." - Mufeet

"You created a story going on a thousand panels where, while reading it, my attention never flagged [...] You created a webcomic the Undertale fanbase will, if there’s any justice left around here, be obsessed with for years to come. It’s art, I’m afraid." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

Our full score card for the event can be seen here. The full reviews will be available in the Discord server on request.

With regards to prizes: the judge whom was contributing to our prize pool has begun college for the year, and unfortunately they were unable to set aside the money they had originally promised for the cash prize. The illustration prize is still available; winners, please reach out to fmsdraws on Discord to claim your prize.

And that leaves me...with this blog.

I'd like to write up a proper postmortem for this experience, but that can come in another week or two. For now, please enjoy the comics and celebrate the victors!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Play-mate[***]

Dark!Rhysand x reader

a/n: something so comforting about writing dark!character fics (is that worrying?)

Warnings: dark!Rhys, non-con, light choking, smut, fingering, degradation, brief impact ‘play’, overstimulation, squirting, nipple play, dumbification, breeding kink, this is a sequel to Desk Pet but can be read on its own

Word Count: 7, 245

-Desk Pet- -Two-Faced-

Perhaps the one pleasure you can still keep safe is those rare but precious nights he works late. The ones where you’re allowed to resign yourself to lethargy, fatigue soothing your muscles as you melt across the small pallet that lays beside his own, much larger bed. Relaxing into the soft sponginess of the plump bedding, silky smooth fur swelling around your body as the plushness dips, swallowed by the single thick blanket you’re allowed in the winters.

With the darkness covering the lands so swiftly, you often find yourself lighting a few candles, disliking the obtrusive glow of the fae lights, plucking a thick book from his shelves, and curling up to read upon your meagre but wonderful pallet. Something more likely to be offered to a pet than a fae, but somehow large enough to comfortably contain you.

In your world of passiveness, it’s the single joy you’re allowed—reading on a cold winter night, tucked up cozily with a book, left entirely to yourself. No rough palms bruising your jaw, no deft fingers pushing into the slippery wetness of your mouth, nor touches that hurt more than frostbite.

Hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end, raising across your bare body, still kept entirely naked for his ease, and you discard the book, noting the page number. The wet roughness of your tongue swipes across the soft pads of your fingers, suffocating the tiny flames swiftly, keeping your digits flush until the skin stings, careful to keep too much smoke from filtering to the air. You want him to think you’re asleep—he’s less likely to take interest if he knows you won’t be reluctant. Less likely.

Freshly oiled hinges swing open silently, but you know he’s entered the chambers and you remain mostly concealed beneath the thick blanket, the soft cotton brushing your shoulders, hiding the intimate skin of your breasts.

The night before he’d taken a particular liking to them, teething across the aching peaks, suckling them into his mouth one at a time, grinding for a seemingly endless period between your legs, only the cloth of his finely tailored trousers protecting you from him. He’d bitten, sucked, pinched and flicked at your breasts until he’d finally been satiated from whatever sexual interest had initially grasped him. Tongue soothing the raw peaks, swollen and freshly-licked from attention, gleaming in the low lights like candy.

Now they ache more intensely, small threads of soreness plucking through your chest, small throbs of pain soothed into your flesh like a balm being rubbed into skin until it’s absorbed by the surrounding tissue. Brought in and softened, slowly seeping across your breasts, nipples still aching most acutely.

You hear him now, walking on cat-soft feet across the wooden panelling, skin prickling with familiar awareness as his attention skates over you like how your eyes would have, at some moment deep in the past, scanned your own bedroom upon entering it. Counting your belongs, making sure nothing had been displaced or removed without your knowledge: potted plants still sitting pretty along the windowsill; candles still decorating the side table; clothes folded unobtrusively atop a chest of draws to be put away. And so as your eyes would have once mindlessly catalogued your belongings, now his brush over you, curled neatly to the side of his bed, waiting patiently for use.

The thought has a kind of disgust rising in your stomach, one you thought had long since been numbed. Becoming so warped and twisted it would never flare again. Yet here it is, sitting gelatinously at the back of your mouth, resting fully in your throat, as if waiting to be regurgitated—spat out and disposed of so it’s no longer a bother.

He pauses adjacent to your bed, and you wonder if he’s reassessing your positioning. If he should have instead set your pallet at the foot of his bed so he wouldn’t be tasked with travelling to the other side for access. Instead the sound of muffled fabric floats to your pointed ears, conditioned to recognise all of his noises: onyx black buttons being slotted through midnight blue holes; fabric whispering as it’s shucked off broad shoulders that can carry the width of your waist, having been unkindly tossed over it more than once; ties that rasp like rope, and he pulls them free, loosening the band of his trousers before leaving to prop himself upon the bed, likely removing the rest of the clothes before disappearing into another room.

Even in the moments of his absence, his sense clings to you, as if he’s somehow been granted ubiquitous sight, observing you while he should not be able to. His magic settles in the air, thick and dense, like the fog that pools in valleys, masking the dangerous potholes and rocks that manage to stumble themselves into one’s pathway, creating a lethal road to navigate.

Sheets rustle, and you realise he must have re-entered at some point, having gone undetected as your mind helplessly wandered, seeking escape from the dreadful pleasure he so regularly subjects you to, forcing you to take long, languid drives of his hips, hands pulling and tangling with your hair, intrusive power seeping into your mind, controlling you from the inside out.

It’s only once he’s seemingly settled that you allow yourself to consider a hell-free night. Liberated, if only temporarily, from his deep aches and contagious pain. How he enjoys putting his sickness into your body, releasing his cruelty upon your bones, like you’ve done something wrong enough to be deserving of his inflictions.

Sheets rustle again, and your heart stumbles despite even breaths, ones that are deep and regular, suggesting peaceful sleep in the hopes of remaining undetected by his attention.

“I know you’re awake,” he says lowly.

Your skin prickles tightly, littered with goosebumps as his words send small thorns pushing into your tender flesh. He shifts on the bed, and you can feel as his eyes settle, taking in your form and the things he’s free to do to it.

“You think pretending to sleep will save you from me?” He asks, mirth clear in his honeyed voice, softer than satin, softer even than a lover’s, like warm clouds and fresh feathers. “Do you have any preference for what happens tonight?” He asks idly, as if speculating upon an item from a menu, considering his options with careless interest. He will get a meal no matter what he decides on.

Roughened fingers grip your shoulder firmly, and you fight the jolt that urges to burst through, remaining tight but relaxed, melting into the softness of your floor bed, willing him away. Willing yourself to appear quiet and uninteresting. For a short moment it appears to work, his touch leaving your dirtied skin, pulling back into the great warmth his own bed, as if he’s a beast who’s curling his tail in preparation for sleep, coiled tight to whip out at a moment’s notice.

But then the sheets rustle again, and a firm heat snakes down, slinking down as his power pulls back the corner of your blanket, allowing the naked sturdiness of him to collect at your back. One arm slides beneath your rib cage, folding at the joint to wrap across your middle, his large palm gripping the curve of your waist, pulling you flush to his chest while his free hand trails between your breasts, fingers feathering up to your throat, wrapping around the comparatively small extension. A heightened pulse drums against his digits, bumping against his tight hold, alerting him to your own awareness. Lips stretch beside your ear, hot mouth grazing its shell as he strokes your hip like you’re a pet to be soothed.

“Nothing to say for yourself, or do you simply not care?” He asks mildly. The sinister question registers fully in your mind, already beginning to shut down in attempts to preserve what little pieces you have left that he hasn’t already touched. “You were so vocal for me last night. What happened?” He laughs softly, the arm beneath you shifting so his fingers can graze your ribs, stroking just below your breast, still aching from his rough attention. He squeezes your throat a little tighter, eyes prickling with the pressure, the burning in the bridge of your nose. You won’t ask him to stop—you’d only be wasting your breath.

The High Lord hums at your back as if he’s disappointed by your lack of a response, put off now you aren’t doing as he likes, a small reminder while he may have control of almost everything in your life, he cannot control your thoughts. Or rather, if he did, there would be nothing left of you to enjoy: if he continues to replace small pieces of yourself, is it still you he’s playing with?

He releases your throat in favour of dipping to your breasts, the arm beneath you skating over the softness of your stomach, brushing with a feather-light touch over your abdomen, feeling the slight flutter of tension beneath his fingertips. Rhysand brings his mouth lower, suctioning over a small spot below your jaw, trailing along the tendon keeping your head to your shoulders, following to your collar bone. “Should I give these some more attention?” He inquires, and you bite back a pained noise as he pinches your nipple, tugging lightly on the bruised peak.

His other hand drops lower, exploring the familiar area leading between your legs that you’ve preemptively tried to lock together. The digits pause, feeling your obstinance, your clear reluctance to let him touch you any further, and he hums approvingly, pleased with your resistance. “Better,” he murmurs onto your skin, even as his magic wraps tightly around your thigh and ankle, pulling you back to lean against his chest, guiding your leg over his hips. You squirm at the invasive press of him between your thighs, gently forced open as his mouth latches over the intimate skin of your throat, lapping up your flavour as if he isn’t in possession of such sheer power that he’s able to have you whenever he pleases—and fully takes advantage of it.

Lips part as he cups your heat, pressure building behind your eyes as his fingers splay across the intimate part, lazily taking his time, both going slow for his own enjoyment and for your torture, making sure it’s dragged out as long as possible. He doesn’t want this to be something you can switch off for a few minutes a day, he needs it to be hours long, twisting you until you fit the shape of him, so wary and worn from taking him you end up bending and slotting to hold his impression within your bones. His finger presses to your clit and he relishes in the flinch he feels within your stomach and thighs, desperately suppressed on your side in attempts to keep his hunger at bay, as if the possibility of remaining indifferent to him might stave off the ferocious starvation than comes alive in him every night without fail.

“One day, lovely lamb, you’re going to break,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, digits lazily circling as he plays with you mindlessly, so well familiarised with your body he no longer needs to pay attention to where he’s touching—it will always be the right spot. “You’re going to shatter for me, and fall apart at my feet. All soft and pliable. Begging for me to either give you the pleasure you’ve spent so long resisting and hating, or for me to give you your end right then and there.” His fingers slide lower, his touch dripping across your skin as he flicks across your nipple, drawing a pained inhale from your mouth, caught off guard.

“Would you like to know what happens after that point?” He asks mildly, as if he can’t feel the way you’re trembling in his arms from the effort of keeping yourself together when he can pull you apart with such ease. There’s always that edge of terror when you’re forced to lie with him, that he might one day tire of your resistance and pluck at your mind for good, banish your rationality and lock it up somewhere, or simply annihilate it completely. That one day, he might decide to go into your mind, and steal it from you entirely, take control of you and make you truly beg for him like he enjoys seeing, having you perform for him dumbly, crawling toward him across the floor, touching yourself upon his bed, pleasuring him of your own accord. The fear never leaves you, that he might one day decide to make use of his daemati powers, and leverage them against you.

His palm smacks across your cheek, digits digging into the soft muscle of your jaw as he grips you punishingly, drawing you away from the torment of your inner thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this dance tonight?” He asks lowly, able to feel the tautness of your limbs, how you’re trying not to squirm or recoil, trying not to fight against him. “I’m in a rather pleasant mood for once. I would suggest you try to appeal to my better side,” he advises coldly, hot lips brushing bare skin. “Is that clear?”

“Go to hell,” you manage weakly, tremors making their way into your voice.

The High Lord’s lips stretch into something wicked and pleased, hand sliding down to your throat, tilting your head so you’re leaning to give him more access, his grip swallowing your back whole. A low sound of pleasure drags from his chest, hips rolling languidly into your hind, fingers slipping lower to bask in the stiffness of your body as he presses to your entrance, leg still hooked over his hip so you can’t prevent it. Disgust crawls across your body, having your skin tighten with awareness and attention, focusing on where his touch is branding you, burning in his handprints so they’ll never leave your soul.

“You don’t like it when I touch you?” He provokes, hungry for resistance. “From the amount of times you’ve come on my fingers alone, I would have thought you like the way I can make you crumble.” His digits circle your entrance, keeping you pulled flush against his chest, forced to lean your weight onto his shoulder as he pushes in, and you want to scream at the invasion. How many times has it been, and yet it never gets any better, skin constantly soaked in oil, doused from head to toe in it so thoroughly you wish for a match to end you. One spark, and you’d be gone, blessedly free of him. Perhaps at last released to a place away from his touch, a world where you’re clean and safe, and you’d never met him.

Or at least, he’d never have forced you to be his.

Maybe there could have been a happy ending.

“I hate you,” you manage to hiss out, trying to ignore the sensation of his fingers pumping slowly, curling against spots he has no right to know or touch with such familiarity, digits dragging in and out until slick has begun to coalesce to prevent pain. Again he hums, and it sounds encouraging, like he wants you to repeat it, like the words give life to him, allow him to continue to thrive and feed off you. “I hate you,” you say again, voice breaking from how many times you’ve said so, and yet it never encapsulates the depth of betrayal that squirms in your gut, the anger and frustration that once burned in your chest at the severe maltreatment. Things could have turned out differently, if only…

“I hate you so much, Rhys.���

Pressure spills over, quietly dripping down your cheeks, hot water splashing down into the pillows. You don’t want to cry in front of him, don’t want to allow him that emotional proximity. He’s taken so much from you, it’s unfair that he will ruin this, too. His fingers graze a spot deeper, and your breath catches, familiar heat beginning to take root in the pit of your belly, that disgusting, shameful arousal he puts into your body, something you shouldn’t feel, ever, for him.

“I’m glad to know you feel so strongly for me,” he replies lowly, nipping at the tip of your ear, reminding you of all the other unpleasant things he’s served to you, the ways he’s used those teeth upon your body to summon pain to your skin. You wish he wouldn’t. If just for one night he would soften his touch, lessen the brutality he likes to play your body with.

If you gave into him…would he be nicer? You don’t understand where the thought comes from, but your mind has taken a severe turn since he first put his hands on you, rarely anymore surprised by the things that come and go, drifting by like leaves on the wind. Instead you allow yourself to ponder it, plucking it from the mellow streams of thought, cupping it in your hands to examine a little longer. Would it be worth it? The degradation of following along with him to grant yourself some reprieve? If it’s the only way to maintain your sanity, to keep yourself intact, isn’t that all that matters?

You dare experiment, trying to soften the tension in your muscles, to force yourself to melt over him, to reduce the tautness that’s been tightly stitched into your seams, until you’d become rigid and stiff. He’s surprisingly comfy, body slotting against yours, fingers continuing to slide in and out, and you manage to lean into him, skin pressing to skin, bare and prickling with awareness. You could swear one of his exhales sounds eerily like a laugh, like he’s enjoying watching you attempt to save yourself, but it’s something different, something more sinister you have yet to guess at. That perhaps he’s got some larger plot, and you’re falling nicely into place, manoeuvred by an unseen force.

“Enjoying yourself, lamb?” He asks beside your ear, a shiver passing down your spine at the lover’s caress. Teeth bite together against the sickening pleasure he’s bringing out of you through pumps and curls of his fingers, the base of his palm rolling into your clit. A small sound jumps from your tongue, a wash of heat soothing the pressure across your abdomen. Words of agreement rise to your lips in answer to his question, but you swallow them down thickly, feeling the syllables lodge in your throat beneath his palm. “I hate you,” you repeat, the only things left you can use as a defence, but even those three words seem to be losing their bite as your head lolls against his shoulder.

“You hate me?” Rhys breathes as he drags his fingers out fully, wetness trailing up your abdomen as he raises his hand to your mouth, just another obscene act he likes to watch you perform. The fixation he has with your mouth has never previously taken your attention, seemingly appearing as a familiar gesture when having intimacies with another person, yet you dwell on it for a little longer than usual when he runs the slick pads of his fingers over your lips. The digits part, and you can make out silvery strings connecting them together, like the threads of a cobweb.

“Open,” he goads, and your mouth parts without having to be asked twice. The taste blooms across your tongue, stark arousal that sparks heat in your lower body as he presses his fingers down, causing you to choke, gagging lightly as your throat contracts. His hips roll into yours at the sound, and you’re reminded of what other horrors he has yet to inflict upon you tonight.

“Aren’t you being good,” he whispers beside your ear, soft as silk, warm as freshly baked bread. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this docile. Feeling tired?” The remark should have been a warning to stay aware, you know firsthand that he’ll pounce at the first sign of lethargy. “Answer me,” he orders, but it’s with an ineffable lilt you’re unable to put your finger on. Like he’s finding something amusing, taking pleasure in being able to understand the bigger picture while you’re left to dumbly stumble to and fro, seeking the right path that he can see from high above and chooses to keep secret from you.

The words form in your mind, yes. I am tired. yet they come out softened and muffled, contorted as you babble them onto his long, elegant fingers that are lightly massaging your flavour into the hot, wet muscle. Fatigue weighs atop your lids, and you try again, I am tired, and I wish I could sleep myself away from you, but again, your words are scrambled, garbled into a slushy mess of syllables that feel like froth. Like trying to bite down on sea foam.

He laughs lowly, hips grinding into your backside, pulling his digits away, revealing the wetness that’s now soaking them, slathered in saliva, dripping with silvery weight and you watch distantly as they make the pathway back down your body, sliding effortlessly back into your heat. They push in softly, easing in their return, curling against spots that have you pulling against the urge to widen the stance of your legs.

The fight is often on both sides: why he’s so draining to be at the mercy of. On one hand there is your despair, the visceral hatred and frustration, the betrayal that could splinter your bones with its ferocity; on the other there is the overwhelming pleasure, coming with an intensity that regularly and repeatedly threatens to upend you entirely, to buck you off your wobbly standing and throw you to the floor with the sheer pleasure he knows how to deal you.

Shallow pants reach your ears, and you realise they are coming from your own mouth, pouring like a babbling stream as the unwilling sounds of pleasure crest on your tongue, skin heating as he presses tighter to your naked body, skin flush to skin, sharing heat in what should be an intimate display of affection, not such a gross abuse of power. Humiliation burns across your cheeks as you move your leg further over his hip, leaning more heavily into the supportive expanse of his chest, hands clutching the silky fur of your pallet.

His laugh whispers against your neck, breath fanning erotically across your throat and you shiver, inhaling softly as his long fingers continue to curl inside of you, beckoning you forward to the high he’s pulling up to blossom and bloom across your skin. “Does that feel good?” He asks softly, mischief prominent in his tone. “Knowing you’re going to be coming on my fingers? That I’m taking this from you, too?” A garbled sound floats from your mouth as the heel of his palm rolls across your clit, digits playing with you lazily, drawing pleasure up from the depths of your body as if his fingers possess the powers of dowsing rods, actively seeking out the spots that will swell with heat, flood your body with mind numbing goodness to have you melting into him.

The ridges of your nails scrape against the bedding, breaths stuttering out as he licks up your neck, gleaming white teeth grazing across the well-bitten skin, having been nipped at and had his mark stamped into you endlessly the night before. He hums absently, hand releasing your throat to drop lower, trailing between your breasts, and a drop of dread is dispersed across your conscious, like ink into water. “No…” you breathe weakly, heat building behind your eyes as he thumbs across your breast. “Rhys, please,” you mumble desperately, anxious to spare yourself from the sensitivity, the pain you’ll be exposed to should he choose to continue with his recent fixation on your breasts.

He groans at your back, palming at your chest, arousal concentrating in his veins as your body arches against him, bowing from his torso as pleasure and pain twine together. “Stop it,” you breathe, flinching as he pinches lightly at your nipple, rolling the abused peak between his fingers, tugging to call up more of your sweet pleas, the words that fuel his sadism, stoking the embers of his hunger, whetting his appetite for your reactions. “No? You don’t like this?” He croons beside your ear, talking down to you as if his words need to be dumbed down to be digestible. “Want me to touch you somewhere else?”

The High Lord grazes the ridge of his nail over the peak of your breast, and you gasp, body recoiling into his chest, scent wrapping more firmly around you, infiltrating your lungs, short circuiting your mind as your lids flutter. Your breaths shallow, mindlessly trying to seek out the source of your pain as pleasure pools between your legs, his fingers summoning heat. Weakly, your hand fumbles across the bedding, blindly searching for an end to the soreness. Nails scratch at his knuckles unintentionally, but his hips buck nonetheless, biting gently at your neck. Clumsily you grip at his wrist, muscles weak from his ministrations as you try to pull him away, breathing heavily as you paw at his hand, desperate to find reprieve. Fingers slide between his, curling over into the top of his palm, weakly trying to pry him from your breasts.

“Please…” you pant, hips rolling down onto his fingers, tingling pleasure becoming more and more difficult to ignore, grabbing for your attention as slick drips across your thighs, Rhys creating a sloppy mess with his hand, palm wet as the heel glides across your clit. “Rhys…” you pant, fingers trembling, unable to release him, hands entwined but at least you’re being spared from his pain-soaked touch.

He inhales softly, nosing at your throat, groaning as he feels you tighten once around his fingers, and he knows you’re close, that once again he’s going to pull yet another piece from you, like separating raw cotton, the pieces weakly grasping onto one another, as strong as water-soaked paper beneath his hold. “Ready?” He asks, and you gasp, trying to shake your head, nails digging into his skin as you press his hand to your sternum, as if in doing so you have some sort of control over what he does to you. “No,” you cry softly, “not again. Please, I can’t. Please no.”

A rough groan grazes your skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake. “You don’t want to come?” He murmurs, his breathing pattern shifting, hand pulling away from yours with despairing ease, sliding back up to your throat, hand gripping your jaw and the tingling pleasure begins its countdown, the slow ticking until you shatter, unable to do anything save for squeeze your eyes shut, hands scrambling to try and pull away from him, writhing weakly in his dominating hold. “Rhys…Rhys, please…no…!”

He roughly tips your jaw, flinching beneath his touch, gasping from shock before he puts his mouth over yours, tongue dipping in as he angles you correctly. A shocked whimper spills into his mouth that he drinks down hungrily, caught off guard as his body shifts, sliding slightly out from beneath you while his fingers continue working you. Fear pounds through your body, heightening the acuteness of pleasure and you writhe in his hold, struggling violently but somehow it only results in your legs spreading wider, hips bucking fervently onto his hand, grinding against his palm as you moan into his mouth, jaw opening wider as he takes you for his own.

The piercing edge of of terror sharpens your pleasure, and you cry out into his mouth, sounds the High Lord steals away, satiating himself as teeth nip at your lips, hand squeezing your throat, reminding you of his dominion over your body, his touch demanding utter submission as you flutter wildly around his fingers, hips stuttering against his palm. The pleasure explodes across your skin, body arcing off him, grinding against him in a way you know you’ll hate yourself for once the buzzing sensations subside.

He laughs lowly once your high fades, fingers pressing back in fully as he detaches himself from your mouth, partially atop your body as he gazes down at you intently, attention pinning you to the pallet as he curls his digits gently but firmly, taking in the rise and fall of your chest; the way your breath hitches; your brows curve, eyes gleaming with wetness he’s anxious to have spill over. “Such a whore,” he whispers onto your mouth, more tenderly than he’s ever spoken to you. His hand finally retracts, dragging up over your clit, puffy and sore from attention, and you feel yourself fracture a little more from the humiliation.

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe out, forcing venom into your tone, his hellish mouth parting into a feline curve. “You’re the one who just came on my fingers,” he says with silky smoothness, “should I remind you?” Before you can protest he’s rolled on top of you, keeping you pinned to the pallet as his fingers again slide between your lips. You struggle weakly, but he presses his hips against your own, keeping you incapacitated with frustrating ease, feeling the evidence of his own arousal poking obtrusively into your lower body.

“Can you taste that?” He laughs, watching as you struggle pointlessly, his hunger becoming harder and harder to resist, grinding against the alluring wetness of your heat. “Taste how much you liked it? See how wet you got?” He groans as he glides through the slick between your thighs, coating himself, bucking his hips as his fingers press down on your tongue. “Gods I’m going to fuck you so well,” he says lowly, mirth clear as he taunts you. “You’re practically dripping onto your bed, getting it all wet and dirty,” he muses breathlessly. “Such a whore.”

Your hands grip his wrist, both of them desperately trying to pull him out of your mouth, making his lips curve with amusement, enjoying your struggle. “Don’t be so ungrateful,” he drawls, pushing his fingers in further until you gag, throat constricting around his digits as tears gather at the edge of your lashes. He curses lowly, colour tinting his tan skin as saliva gleams on your lips, spilling over like how your cunt does when he stuffs you full, dripping down your thighs and creating a slippery mess. “So pretty,” he murmurs breathlessly, rubbing his fingers over your tongue, feeling it’s velvety heat. Your breath catches at the murmured praise, so rarely compensated for the harsh treatment he forces on you.

His own breathing patterns have turned irregular, arousal piercing his mind as his gaze remains locked with your own, and that starving hunger returns in full force, eyes rolling briefly as he settles on what he’s going to use you for tonight.

The High Lord pulls away from you, allowing you not even a second’s reprieve before his hands are pushing your legs apart, raising them up as he rolls his hips forward, gliding through your wetness. “So wet,” he groans, fingers biting into the soft flesh of your thighs, slick somehow having made its way even there, and he can’t bring himself to wait any longer.

You try to brace yourself for the intrusion, a mix of disgust and hatred building in your stomach with equal parts arousal, knowing from experience how sickeningly right it feels, how he fills you up so completely you’re rendered temporarily mute. “Don’t,” you beg, heart pounding as he lines himself up, tip pressing to the soft indentation between your legs. You close your eyes briefly, hands still weakly trying to push him off you despite his overwhelming strength. “You can’t do this,” you cry out, knowing how sensitive you are, how he’ll no doubt take full advantage of that and not in a pleasant way.

“Shut up,” he grits out, violet flicking sharply as it pierces into you. “Don’t you ever get tired of protesting so much? Whining and complaining at every moment no matter how well I treat you. Such a selfish brat.” He practically spits the words, and humiliation burns through your lower body, opening your mouth to spew back vitriol but he pushes in, hips flushing tight to your own, feeling the bump he’s put into your stomach. He groans lowly, panting as he grinds against your cunt, abdomen rubbing over your clit and your toes curl, back arching at the fullness, having his teeth flash in a vindictive grin.

“You fucking like this, don’t you?” He accuses, pushing your thighs wider, raising your hips, allowing him to settle deeper, feeling as he presses further, stealing the breath from your lungs. Lips part as you try to form words but you’re unable to do anything, grasping for thoughts but it’s as though he’s shoved everything out of you. “Such a liar,” he groans out, hands leaving your thighs to settle further up your body, caging you in as he draws his hips back. “Is the reluctance part of your act? Pretending to resist so you can feel how helpless you are? How easy it is to shove you down? Fuck I could take you whenever, wherever I liked.”

You tighten around him as he sinks back in, pressing flush to your heat, adding a roll to his hips so he rubs against those spots he’d abused with his fingers, having you gasp sharply, nipples peaking as your back arches. “You’re a monster,” you pant, unable to focus on his hazy figure as pleasure sizzles in the pit of your stomach. “You’re…you…I hate you.”

“Say that again,” he breathes, picking up the pace, hitting those overstimulated spots and your press your lips together, trying to keep your cries to yourself. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss out, feeling him twitch inside you, and you realise the protests are turning him on more. Disgust crawls across your skin, realising you’ve been complicit in his pleasure. But the words have already started, and you’re suddenly unable to control it as your thoughts begin spilling from your lips. “I hate you so fucking much,” you cry, “so fucking much. I hate you. I hate you so much. You’re a fucking psycho, sadistic bastard. I hope you fucking burn.”

His hips stutter, panting as he pulls away from your body, fingers biting into your hips as he begins slamming in, making you bump up the pallet as he fucks you into the bed. “Gods you’re so perfect,” he growls, brows furrowed; pupils fully dilated with hunger. “And you’re all mine. All mine, every hour of every day. Do you like that? I can do this whenever I want. Make you scream. Scream until your throat is raw and your legs are shaking.” His hips buck roughly and you bite back a cry at the sharp pleasure, the overwhelming fullness. “I’m going to fuck you so full,” he groans, and for some sick reason, arousal blossoms across your abdomen, a fresh wave of wetness slicking your thighs, squelching noises spilling from your cunt as he drives into you with a conviction that’s both terrifying and obsessive.

“Yes…!” The word is out before you can censor it, and he laughs darkly, pouncing on the lapse greedily. “I knew it,” he growls, “fucking liar. You like this. Can you feel that?” Before you can get a handle on your thoughts again, a moan flutters from your tongue, hands grappling wildly for purchase, seeking stability as his hips drive roughly into you, bucking with a fervour that has you arching from the bedding, scratching at his forearms. His hand splays across your abdomen and you cry out as he presses down, the orgasm building much faster, pleasure ringing in your ears as a heat like sunlight blossoms across your body.

“Rhys,” you moan, brows pulled tight and it’s as though that one cry urges him on, pounding harder, pace increasing as magic flares, the ghostly outline of wings emerging at his back. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head so you’re forced to look at him as he pounds into you. “Gods you’re such a slut. You should see how you’re taking me, practically swallowing me whole, such a greedy cunt, isn’t that right?” He pulls back, landing a hard smack to your cheek before gripping your throat again, dragging you up from the pallet as your thighs are forced apart from how he’s pressing against you. “I’m going to fuck you so full you won’t be able to move without my cum spilling out. So full you won’t be able to think straight, that you’re going to be able to feel how much is inside you, tucked away where it belongs.”

Your mouth parts in a moan, hands being forced to lock over his shoulders to relieve the pressure on your spine. “Would you like that? Do you like that idea? Knowing you’ll have part of me so deep inside of you at all times? Gods you’re going to swell up from how full I’m going to fuck you.” His words splash across your skin and pleasure spills between your legs, heat coiling in on itself before breaking across your skin, fluttering around him.

Rhys watches as you come, body writhing as he keeps you trapped on your pallet, cock driving in repeatedly as the overwhelming pleasure has your eyes rolling back, muscles seizing, butterflies fluttering as you jerk from the force of the orgasm. “Please, Rhys stop! I— I can’t—” you gasp, body going taut from the sheer intensity. “What was that?” He pants, lips curving as he fucks you through it. “You want more? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think? What a good girl.”

In one movement he’s flipped you over, roughly handling your body so you’re forced onto your hands and knees, arms shaking, mouth parting to scream for him to stop but then he’s slamming in again, picking up the pace from before but now you’re so much more sensitive and tears spill down your cheeks, utterly undone. A soundless scream parts your lips, his hands putting bruises into your hips as he slams you back onto his cock, slick spilling down your thighs as overstimulation fries your brain.

“Fuck that’s it. Finally learning to take what I give you. You like that?” Your eyes blink wildly as the pleasure becomes too much, tears dripping down your cheeks. “Say it,” he snarls, “come on, admit how fucking high I can take you. How you love the way I fuck you.” You babble messily, words fluttering nonsensically, crying, screaming, panting as saliva spills from your open mouth, unable to shut it and your lungs can’t take the intensity. “I-I love it,” you cry, “please, R-Rhys…!”

His hips buck sharply against a spot, breath hitching from your obedience and it triggers something in you, pleasure unlatching as you gush around him. Rhys curses, low and viciously as you squirt, arms shaking as his magic presses up against your abdomen, the pressure making you dumb. “So fucking perfect,” he moans, “say it. Say you’re my perfect little toy, tell me how much you fucking love what I do to you.” His hand drops to your thigh and you scream when he cocks your leg, the angle turning you into a sloppy mess, arms giving out as your face buries into the bedding, back arching deliciously as you soak him.

Rhys snarls, power wrapping around your hips to keep slamming you back on him as his fist tangles in your hair, pulling you up. “Say it,” he snarls, “fucking say it.”

“I love it!” You scream, voice breaking as your thighs are spread wider, his hips bucking to target the spots and terror burns across your skin as overstimulation turns into fresh pleasure. “I’m— I’m your perfect…your perfect little toy!” You scream again, another orgasm bursting across your skin and your world is spotted through with white dots, body trembling as his hips smack against the backs of your thighs, feeling at last as he twitches once before releasing deep inside of you.

Even in your daze you can feel how it’s more than usual, much more. Feel how he fills you up, spilling out, stomach inflating with how much he’s pumping into you. He releases your hair, returning to grip your hips, pounding into your puffy, swollen cunt, allowing you to flop forward into the bedding, head down ass up as the shockwaves of his thrusts pass through you, dumb moans babbling softly from your mouth, muffled by the soft but damp fur of your bed.

His thrusts turn sloppy, hips grinding against you as his breathing stutters, cum spurting from his tip, continuing to fill you up over and over, panting heavily, sweat glistening on tan skin. “Fuck,” he pants breathlessly, “you still there?” He asks, pulling back a little.

A muffled whimper floats up to him, and he sighs contentedly, gaze dropping to the smooth curve of your spine. He gathers his energy, body curving over yours as he roughly pushes his hips back to your own, tight to flushed skin and you cry out weakly. His hand presses across your abdomen, the other curving round your throat, pulling you from the bedding. Tears have dampened your gleaming cheeks, lips swollen from having teeth pulled over them and he grinds against you to spark a reaction. You sob weakly, body trembling beneath his as the pleasure continues to overwhelm you.

Rhysand pulls back, broad palm splaying across the slope of your spine, keeping you pinned down as he rolls his hips firmly to yours, making sure his release is being kept nice and deep. “Want another one?” He asks lowly, and you shudder, sobbing softly with exhaustion, shaking your head numbly, tears long since dampened the fur beneath you. “No?” He smiles faintly, reaching between your legs, “can’t take it?”

He swipes across your clit, and you can’t even muster the energy to jolt away, forced to take the sharp beats of pleasure as he gently oscillates his finger. You babble mindlessly, and his lips curve, pleasure gleaming in his gaze. “I thought you liked it,” he taunts quietly, “thought you loved being a toy for my cock. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Shame crawls across your skin and you try to weakly squirm away, but it just has him touching more spots inside of you, a fresh wave of tears saturating the bedding. He laughs lowly, his arm banding beneath your front to pull you up against his chest. “Want me to stop?” He taunts softly, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I won’t know if you don’t tell me.”

You scramble for words, struggling to function. “I don’t… Can’t,” you manage weakly, body trembling from pleasure.

He drops a kiss to your hair, and relief has your muscles utterly giving out, turning soft and pliable beneath his touch.

“Good girl,” he soothes, hips dragging back from your dripping cunt, pulling out until it’s just his tip inside.

“But when have I ever listened to you?” He muses, pushing you back into the pallet, muffling your cries.

Silencing your pleas.

Aftercare fic

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[alotofpockets]

Private not secret | Elizabeth Olsen

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Summary: You and Lizzie are both part of the MCU and attend a panel together, what happens when an interviewer tries to press Lizzie to talk about the ring she's wearing when you're keeping your relationship private from the public? A/n: This interview gave me inspiration for the ring part.

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 1k

From the moment you first laid eyes on Elizabeth Olsen at the table read for Captain America: The Winter Soldier you knew she was going to be someone special in your life. As you expected the two of you grew close quickly and eventually started dating. It’s been ten years since that table read and she has become the most important person in your life. With both of your celebrity statuses, the conversation of privacy had come up pretty quickly. You had each voiced not wanting to have your relationship to be public, your relationship wasn’t a secret, you just preferred it to be private. 

As you were checking out the outfit you picked out for Marvel Con in the mirror, Lizzie walked up behind you. She snaked her hands around your waist and rested her head on your shoulder. She admired you in the mirror, “You look so beautiful, baby.” You smile at her compliment, she always knew how to boost your confidence. “Thank you, darling, you look amazing yourself.” Lizzie held one of her hands out in front of her, “I don’t want to take it off, how would you feel if I kept it on?” You lace your fingers with hers and kiss the ring on her finger. You admired the ring you had picked out for her many months ago, the ring you had chosen to ask her to marry you with last week. “Yeah, I’m good with you keeping it on. Are you ready to go?”

The convention was so much fun, you met back up with so many friends and coworkers. It was rare that you were all together besides filming, as there were so many of you. You also got to meet a lot of fans, take pictures, hear their stories, and admire the art they made. You were on a few panels, most were without Lizzie, while Lizzie had her own panels, like the WandaVison panel with Paul Bettany. To close off the convention there was one last big panel for CA:TWS, there was one big couch and an armchair, for the six of you. The interviewer welcomed everyone to the stage, “Welcome everybody to the last panel of the day, give it up for Scarlett Johansson, Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Anthony Mackie, Elizabeth Olsen and Y/n Y/l/n!” The crowd cheered and the first four sat down on the couch, making it full. You and Lizzie look at the armchair which isn’t exactly big enough for two people and laugh, you tell Lizzie to take it and sit down on the armrest yourself. The interviewer offered up her chair, but you assured her that it was all good.

“Thank you all so much for joining us, the ten year anniversary of Captain America: The Winter Soldier is coming up, Chris, how does that feel?” Chris takes one of the mics, “It’s so crazy to think that ten years ago we started filming the first movie of the MCU. I’m so thankful for being able to play this character and how much we’ve got to expand this universe to the big screen and introduce all these new heroes. Yeah, it’s been great.” The interviewer says it’s time for a question from the audience, you turn to face the person standing at the mics and all say hello. “Hi, I’m Ryan, and I have a question for y/n, what is your favorite memory from filming the movie?” Lizzie hands you the mic she was holding, you smile at her and thank her. “Oh, that’s a good question! I have so many good memories from that movie.” Your eyes move over to Lizzie for a moment only to see that she was already looking at you, you smile and focus back on the crowd. “I think I’m gonna have to go with the fight scene where we’re running through an office. So, papers had to be flying off of desks and the amount of times they had to be picked up to be able to shoot the scene again was just so funny.” 

Another fan comes up to the stand, “Hello, my name is Ellie, and my question is for Elizabeth. You’ve spoken a bit about your anxiety and I was just wondering how you manage to keep that under control with big crowds like this.” You hand the mic back to Lizzie, “First off I want to emphasize how important it is for me to talk about subjects like these, so thank you very much for your question, Ellie. “Secondly, for me, having people around me that make me feel safe is very important.” Lizzie places a hand on your knee. “For instance, I know that if I were to start feeling overwhelmed, y/n would notice and help me stay grounded.” 

The interviewer continues after all the fan questions are answered. “So, Elizabeth, I noticed a pretty ring on your finger.” Lizzie looks down at her hand, “Yeah, it’s beautiful right. it’s a cocktail ring, my fancy ring.” The interviewer presses on, “Is it a cocktail ring though?” You want to step in and tell the interviewer she should stop pressuring Lizzie, but before you can speak up Scarlett does. “Before we have to go, I’d like to ask you all a question. I would love it if we could take a big group picture, would you be up for that?” The crowd cheers. You all kneel down at the edge of the stage so that everyone fits in the picture. “Thank you.” You whisper to Scarlett as you move back to your seats. 

Once the panel is over you head to your backstage room with Lizzie. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to the lady.” Lizzie grabs your hand in hers, “You’re all good. That would probably have been more suspicious than how Scar handled it. Let’s just enjoy the rest of our night. “You’re right.” You share a sweet kiss before heading over to your friends.

[briefhottubcoffee]

Hey so I love spyxfamily, yet I have some issues with the pacing lately. I miss The Forgers like crazy and I am desperate for more Yor content. I suppose that’s what I’m most worried about, she’s not getting fleshed out enough and being used to her full potential. She’s such an amazing character!

That said, I do have complete faith in Endos storytelling capabilities. He’s created a truly amazing story with compelling characters (side characters included) awesome world building, and both light and dark themes. I think, in pointing out the slow pacing and lack of the Forgers recently, we’ve forgotten all the awesome directions the story can take with all the different plot points Endo has set up at this juncture of the story.

I feel like, based on the narrative, the story is about to reach a big climax, a change in the status quo for the Forgers. Exciting things have happened, but nothing has truly changed the status quo, or the relationship dynamics between the main characters. Since we have reached 100 chapters, and the way the narrative is propelling upward, I think we are due for a big shift. Not the biggest, but a change for sure. Just remember all that’s been set up! Here are a few things I’m fairly confident is gonna happen soon to the Forger’s in the story:

Manga spoilers obviously!

- Twilight is going to continue to try to distance himself from the family, because of the Wheeler stuff, but he will be challenged on that and face a work vs family thing. This is a big theme of the series obviously, and it will take a lot to break down his walls. But it will happen.

- Twilight will learn something about Anya’s past. Most likely related to her knowledge of classical language. Perhaps her history with other families or where she is from. I doubt he’ll learn about her mind reading, that would be huge, but I’m honestly kinda hopeful he does because I don’t want Anya to have to hide anymore. Whatever he learns will affect him and hopefully bring him and his daughter closer in the end.

- This means we will finally get the Anya backstory Endo’s been hinting at for a while! Again, I expect this to lead up to a sweet family moment that brings them closer.

- A new Yor arc. We are truly due for one and I don’t think Endo is ignoring her purposefully. It just may take a while to set up because it will be a big climax of the story. Perhaps Garden lore. A big assassination that affects her character or the plot.

- Yor will get closer with Melinda and maybe find out what the heck is going on concerning her relationship with the other Desmond’s.

- As this happens I think Garden will come into play. I don’t think they like the Desmond pro war agenda. Yor may report her findings from Melinda to them or something. This would be a continuation into that one panel of the Shopkeeper when Yor brought up that Loid was interested in their politics. They will start questioning Yor’s husband as well.

- Damian will confirm Anya can read minds, but will keep her secret. Maybe Becky finds out as well. Dimitri will come into play somehow. I would love to see Damian stop bullying Anya so severely and truly start treating her like a friend, while still struggling with his crush.

- Some Authen’s chapters with some information on their backstory. Are they related to Anya’s mind reading stuff?

- We were recently introduced to Chloe! Yuri’s co-worker and potential romantic interest. I think we will see more of Yuri x Chloe. This will hopefully help him in his crazy obsession with Yor lol.

- Yuri maaay become more suspicious Loid is Twilight (a reach I think). He may also start to like Loid more! (an even bigger reach lol).

- BUT I do think Endo is setting up a funny chapter where Yuri has to stay over and Loid and Yor will have to share a bed! That’s been hinted at several times!

- I also think we are leading up to a big moment between Twilight and Yor. Some type of physical affection. (I’d love a hug, but I’ll take some erotic hand holding once they’re forced to share a bed or something) It’s not a reach, the setup is there for a shift in their physical relationship. This will obviously change things between them. Again, Twilight will be confronted with his feelings after the Wheeler arc and struggle with his feelings for Yor.

- Yor is definitely going to realize she is in love with Loid.

- Finally, after the Wheeler arc, Handler gave Fiona some important patient files for Twilight. I think this will lead to a big break for Strix. He may also meet Melinda as Loid Forger in this capacity.

So yeah, based on basic narrative storytelling, we are due for a climax and change in status quo in sxf! I’m excited to see which way the story goes, there are so many different directions. I’m confident some of these points will happen sooner rather than later. Of course Endo could throw us for a huge loop. But he has setup all of these points and it’s bad storytelling to leave them open ended with no closure or shift in the story.

We have to remember Endo is setting up a truly big story! We should be excited about that. I think it’s fine to criticize the slow pacing (and lack of Yor) but I can only hope it is just building to something big!

[doggernaut]

#19 for the ask game!

19. What headcanon do you always include in your stories?

Headcanons! I love them! I have a few. Some I explicitly include and others often (always?) inform my writing, even if they aren't mentioned on page. Here are a few favorites:

Jack Zimmermann is bi and demisexual. Full stop.

Suzanne and Coach Bittle aren't bad, homophobic parents. They are maybe a little clueless and awkward, but they want the best for Bitty and once he comes out to them they accept him. This is a little tangential, but I will always believe that that scene of Suzanne telling Bitty that she wants him to come home for the rest of the summer after he comes out to her would take place even if Bitty were straight and his partner were female. My read on her is that as the mother of an only child, she's terrified somebody is going to come along to take her son away from her. I think (and canon backs me up: see Coach and Jack reacting to the jam argument in Christmas in Madison) Coach is more awkward but ultimately more easy going, and ends up really being the voice of reason/ally Bitty (and Jack) need over the years when dealing with Suzanne. I've incorporated this into a few different fics.

Bitty can be his own worst enemy. He makes a lot of assumptions about how people perceive him and it often gets him in trouble (or, at the very least, causes unnecessary stress). This character trait is established in canon ("Jack hates me." "My parents will reject me if they know the truth about me.") and it's fun to play with it in fic.

Jack, in retirement, has a dad bod. Look, twenty-five-year-old professional athlete Jack Zimmermann, with abs that can grate cheese, is the subject of twenty-year-old Bitty's very detailed fantasies and exactly what he wants at that point in his life. But forty-something-retired Jack, who has nothing left to prove, is comfortable enough in his own skin to relax a little and has a body that reflects his life with Bitty (dessert every night). That Jack is the subject of forty-something-Bitty's very detailed fantasies and exactly what he wants at this point in their lives. He's the dad all the kids and pets want to cuddle with and is still strong enough to carry all the kids to bed at once. Still strong enough to carry Bitty to bed. It should be assumed that this softer Jack is the Jack that shows up in any fic I write in which he's no longer playing professional hockey, even if not explicitly stated. (Related: Bitty has a much harder time with getting older and frequently needs Jack's reassurance that he still finds him attractive. I think Bitty's logic about this is something like: "I know Jack loves me and finds me attractive BUT he didn't notice me that way until after I cut my hair and started eating protein and doing all the squats, so even though aging is inevitable, if I don't maintain that standard he's going to stop finding me attractive." See: what I wrote earlier about Bitty making a lot of unfounded assumptions about what others think of him.)

Jack's anxiety comes from Alicia. Look at Alicia's eyes in 24 Hour Celly. Those are Jack's anxiety eyes. (I know those links go to the whole comic not the exact panels but they're there, I promise.) I'm currently working on something that digs deeper into this headcanon.

Tater + Vanessa Channel 7 = 4 Eva. Why? It just feels right.

Oh, and one more. I know a lot of people headcanon Chowder as being from San Francisco proper but I have always headcanoned him as being from San Jose and growing up playing youth hockey with the club affiliated with the Sharks.

Thank you for this question! This is probably way more than you were asking for!

[kodamafc]

Had to give my thoughts on this chapter as it was a real turning-point in Yashiro and Doumeki's relationship. It's all still incredibly messy and complicated, but I think we can all agree at least, that the relationship between the two of them has changed irrevocably for the better. 

Doumeki was brilliant in this chapter. He pushed and pushed. He was not leaving without an admission from Yashiro of his feelings and he got it. But he knew where the line was the whole time: 'The body chemistry is mutual'. Lightly worded, but his face in the previous panel! Doumeki is a man of very few facial expressions and here his pain and repressed feeling is written all over him. But he doesn't want to spook Yashiro with the weight of it. I've got no doubt that if it was up to him he'd want to tell Yashiro he was beautiful and how much he loves him over and over again, but he can't do that and is smart enough to know it. But the most important thing is he knows now that Yashiro has real feelings for him and there's no going back now. Yashiro will be his priority going forward, come what may. And what may come I'm sure is going to be very difficult to navigate with all the other story lines around them. 

Yashiro is brilliant and brave in this chapter. He lets Doumeki know where his behaviour has upset him. I predict Doumeki will never speak to him harshly again. It's the most open we've ever seen Yashiro. His face during the 'confession'... there's lots of different interpretations of what Yashiro says and means here. My rose tinted interpretation. Isn't he essentially saying: 'I like the way you do it/I want what only you can give'? It's certainly what he gets, at least. Doumeki is all passion and gentleness from here on. I feel like the message was received. Because now we see Doumeki doing things the way he wants to. He just wants to worship Yashiro's body. That's the kind of sex he wants and it seems to me Yashiro gives his permission. 

As for the end, again I feel so optimistic. Yashiro's face when Doumeki replies to his question of what kind of sex they are having is ambiguous for sure. So I might be way off here. But look at how Doumeki looks at him after he tells him it's just sex. Again, he's a man of few expressions and yet here he is so intense. And then a slow lean in towards Yashiro. And the tongues touching, a handshake of sorts. And Yashiro likes it. I think Doumeki played it perfectly and Yashiro was reassured. It allows Yashiro to take the next baby step. He can't suddenly play the part of a loving boyfriend, it's a role he's never had before. Where to start? This is better for them. A perfect first step towards whatever next. 

I'm probably way off on all of this but felt the need to put it out there. Love reading all your thoughts and thank you @itwearsadress for the translation. I would wash your feet in gratitude 😆

And lastly a few favourite moments. Yashiro's face after Doumeki swallows made me laugh out loud. Especially the second panel. 

And the way they are wrapped around each other when Yashiro is against the wall and Doumeki has him in his mouth. Yashiro's arm wrapped around and gripping Doumeki's head and the other around his shoulder. And Doumeki's hand wrapped around Yashiro's leg and the other... And the way they are curled around each other. So pretty.

[homestuckreplay]

Webcomics at Day 100 #2: Penny Arcade

Pages read: 11/18/1998 – 8/20/1999 & 4/13/2009 – 8/19/2009 (including accompanying blog posts); about 180 pages

Reason for selection: Penny Arcade is important. The Gamer Webcomic is kind of the archetypical webcomic, and Penny Arcade is its most famous example. But PA has crossed over into the world of mainstream gaming and nerd culture enough that it’s transcended just webcomics, hosting major gaming conventions, pioneering the medium of TTRPG actual play, and running a successful charity. Their projects are known by people who don’t read the comic itself, and they’ve arguably played a role in normalizing video games as a hobby in broader culture.

Current status: Has updated three times a week pretty consistently throughout its entire run. In 2024 the two main characters are still wearing the same shirts they wore in 1998.

Content warnings: misogyny, sexual humor, general period typical humor including slurs

Overall thoughts: Penny Arcade relies so much on references to real-time video games and nerd culture moments that it doesn’t read well as an archive. I enjoyed the 2009 comics more than the 1998-9 comics simply because I understood a lot of the 2009 cultural references while the 90s ones go right over my head. Without that context, reading it feels like sitting on a bus behind two guys who are having a loud and opinionated conversation about their own lives. Playing the same games and running in the same circles as the creators is near essential to enjoy the work.

Penny Arcade doesn’t do anything with the webcomics medium that wouldn’t be possible in print – they primarily make three-panel strips with text and still images, and since 2002, these have been accompanied by blog commentary from one of the creators. Despite or because of this, Jerry Holkins and Mike Krahulik are the platonic ideal of Guys Who Make Webcomics. Cishet white men in their early twenties (when PA began) who didn’t have any formal training in comics or any previous notoriety, but who had internet access in its early days, a sarcastic sense of humor, and strong opinions that they really liked to share. The first few years of strips have their text written in Comic Sans, and an early strip (‘A VERY Special Penny Arcade!’ February 17, 1999) features Mike (‘in character’ as Gabe) proposing to his then-girlfriend Kara.

These early strips are far better preserved than the average 90s webcomic, and I do think that reading the full archive would be a fascinating case study of how the PA brand was built, and more broadly how a creator develops their skills and grows their audience. The art style has become more exaggerated and distinctive over the years, and the lettering looks like a published comic book. Even though there’s no narrative to the strip itself, there’s this classic American Dream, come-from-nothing narrative to the first decade of the comic’s history that I think is compelling to a lot of people, especially to gamers in the 2000s when gaming is still an often ridiculed hobby.

Capturing this, there’s scholarship on the economics of webcomics that discuss Penny Arcade and how its creators managed to turn the comic into a well-paying day job. I hate thinking about money and can’t stand economics as a discipline so I didn’t read these, but I did read Bryanne Miller’s 2007 Master’s thesis ‘Making “Cents” of Subcultural Capital: The Preservation of Authenticity and Credibility in Penny Arcade Subculture,’ a really fascinating exploration which includes interviews with fans talking about their experiences with the comic and community. According to this, PA fans see themselves as a subculture within a subculture, a particular flavor of grassroots gamer who is skeptical of major games companies and journalism. To them, Holkins and Krahulik are the witty spokespeople for their underdog gamer sect fighting against the mainstream.

The thesis also delves into the major controversies PA has been involved in, where they’ve picked fights with more powerful celebrities, as well as their open resistance to advertising even while participating in it. It also discusses Child’s Play, PA’s official charity, set up with the explicit purpose of changing the public perception of gamers at a time where the ‘video games cause violence’ panic was at its height in mainstream media. I don’t know how calculated vs truthful PA’s image of being against corporations and commercialization is, but I have to give them some credit. PA accepts donations and sells merchandise but is entirely free to read, and always has been. This is in contrast to PvP, another popular gaming webcomic of the 2000s, which has fully paywalled its archive.

Finally, ‘two gamers on a couch’ may be PA’s main mode, but it’s not their only mode. In June 2009 they posted the first pages of Lookouts, a fantasy woodland survival adventure, and Automata, a 1920s noir with artificial intelligence. These are formatted more like comic book pages, with distinct art styles, and both of their first pages are effective at establishing their worlds, which are immediately intriguing and honestly both feel like great settings for TTRPG campaigns. Comparing these to a 1999 strip gives me a lot of hope for how much I could improve at writing and analysis in ten years. Also, ‘No Heart, No Soul, No Service’ is a great line.

Relevance to Homestuck: Without Penny Arcade, Homestuck might not exist – the first MS Paint Adventure, Jailbreak, was originally hosted on the PA forums (as was early Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff). The formal ties go further - Penny Arcade is one of around fifty webcomics linked from MS Paint Adventures beneath the heading ‘No Shortage of Good Websites,’ and Andrew Hussie announced in July that their PA fanart will be featured in the upcoming PA book The Splendid Magic of Penny Arcade. I also found this gem in a forum thread from March (s_o is Andrew Hussie) and while I don’t think this directly incited Homestuck, it was definitely prophetic.

Penny Arcade’s writing style, where the writers use unnecessarily obscure and archaic words to suggest intelligence paired with a tone of aggression and self-superior humor, likely influenced Homestuck given that Hussie was a regular, popular user of their forums. I see GameBro magazine as in part a parody of PA’s blog posts and their ‘gamers against mainstream gaming’ perspectives. I wonder if anyone has ever made something like Dave’s GameBro review blog but for Penny Arcade.

Continue reading? I will definitely read more from a ‘learning about internet history’ perspective, but I won’t read this for enjoyment. To be honest, I see enough gamers yelling on the internet without specifically seeking it out in webcomic form. I do think I'll read the short form narrative comics, like Automata, that the creators have made.

[oldfaneworld]

I would like to prefix all of this with saying that I don't know how hard it is to be a professional writer of any kind, or have any understanding on how things work behind closed door and what's cut and what's not. But i would like to thank all the writers and artists that gave us the Sonic idw comics because i really love it!

After getting my hands on Sonic issue 74 when I was at lunch yesterday and reading it once I got home I loved 90% of it. I do have a few issues with 74. The first problem I had with it was near the end of 73 for the Diamond Cutters’ part we were left on a cliffhanger with Tangle falling to her “doom” and there's just not a real resolution to that. We just time skip to all the important characters on one of the translucent tracks almost as if the fight didn't happen. Tangle is fine, we don't know how she gets saved or if someone saved her or if she just woke up mid fall and got her bearings under her. We just don't know and that feels like a broken promise to the readers. 

My biggest problem I have with 74 is that near the end of the Diamond Cutter’s part in 73 in the middle of the fight Lanolin is told by Tangle that Sonic is the Phantom Rider and she sees this with everyone else in the crowd. So why are we retreading this as if she doesn't already know or seen it herself? I know we need an excuse for Mimic but everything he says could have just been inferred by Lanolin if we were allowed in her head. 

Why not take out most of the scenes with Mimic talking and give us more scenes to show how hurt Lanolin is as she rides after Sonic and up to the falling ship without saying a word to the others or Whisper reacting to just how betrayed Lanolin looks. Knowing very well that betrayal and going behind someone's back is the very cause of the original Diamond Cutters death.

I see what they were going for but I just feel like it misses the mark a little bit or just doesn't have enough room to breath. 

I just wanna add this, I love the second page, the focus on the Diamond Cutters, especially the panel of the Diamond Cutters racing behind Sonic with the city in the background. 

I know many people dislike Lanolin and say that this arc is designed to make her look bad, I honestly just don't see it. At the beginning of the arc in 69 i can see why people don't like her, she’s a bitch, i however find that funny though. Though heading forward after that I just don't see it, in 70 she’s just reacting to the Phantom Rider knocking someone off their board with no guarantee of someone saving them. Especially seeing as Sonic told himself that he wasn't going to save them because it would affect what he was doing. He was just lucky that the Diamond Cutters were as close as they were to save that racer. Later in 70 when Lanolin goes too far and plays a major hand in destroying a large part of the track she immediately regrets her actions. Just like with Sonic she’s lucky that the rest of her team is as close as they are and everyone is saved.

The biggest thing that I don't understand about the Lanolin hate, is when people say she doesn't change or isn’t learning from her actions. even though Heading forward from 70 we see a few things happening and change one she becomes more frustrated and reserved after her major fuck up, in 71 and in 73 when she see’s the Phantom Rider both the real one and the fake one (even though she doesn't know he’s a fake) in those respected comic issues she doesn't immediately attack, she tries talking to the riders/demand them to stop. She doesn't want to risk more lives than she already has (which tells me she’s learned) because she does that, it leaves her open to the fake to attack her and take her out of the race. While in 73 it leaves her open to being stopped by Kit. On top of all that when the Phantom Rider appears she makes sure her team surrounds him instead of trying to go 1v1 like in 70 which shows she’s changing her approach. 

A big thing that bothers me about all of this is at the end of 71 when Lanolin is in her room giving the boxing bag a one two combo. It feels like people are ignoring that Duo is even in the room and that he is the one talking shit about the other half of the Diamond Cutters. Tangle just happens to be on the other side of the doorway listening in. I know people are saying that Tangle is afraid of Lanolin and you can make that argument with how Whisper puts herself between the two (in 74) but I don't think so. I think Tangle is letting her empathy get the better of her and I don't think she knows how to really handle someone who is frustrated. (especially someone who is frustrated with themselves, at least that's my thought for Lanolin.) Tangle has shown to be a very empathetic person, she knows how to handle a person who is angry at an outside force, someone who’s crushed under their own emotions. She’s able to pull people back from dark places but someone who’s frustrated who’s not willing to speak about what's making them mad I don't think she knows how to handle that and I think that's what we're seeing. With how Tangle tiptoes around Lanolin about if she should or shouldn't tell her about Sonic seeing the state she’s in.

with how 73 and how 74 started and went for the Diamond Cutters, Lanolin doesn't look at them with any suspicion at all. (if i'm wrong please show me/send me the panels) I don't think she put any real weight on any of the words Duo said to her in 71. In the same way it seems she didn't put any weight on Silver’s or Whisper’s words about Duo because of how they targeted him at the end of the Misadventure arc.

A few things I have seen that have become brainworms for me is someone saying that what Sonic is doing is equivalent to a prank, which is wild to me. Seeing when Sonic is playing the Phantom Rider role he is unintentionally putting normal people's lives at risk. Another thing I've seen that I somewhat agree with is that I don't think that Sonic cares what the public think of him. I do however think he does care about how his friends feel and how they are affected by what he does. So I think that's why he is so nonchalant about letting Lanolin throw the book at him after everything in the ship is dealt with, seeing as he can see just how much what he did hurt her. He may have been annoyed with her in 69 but that doesn't just get rid of all the good will the two had with each other at the end of the Urban warfare arc. 

So this has been all my thoughts I've had in the past day about issue 74 and a few other things I've seen. So if you read all this thank you so much and thank you for your time. Hopefully I don't sound like a whiny little bitch.

[witchofthesouls]

I just read your seeker bird kiddo (Jack) and Truck dad Optimus adventures and I beg for more content, I adore it all and the spOoky cryptic parts are 👌

👁️👄👁️

Jack accidentally triggers mechs’ protective instincts because he makes baby bird noises to mimic the local corvids. It doesn't help that Jack parks himself at the entrance to the Ark and plays games with the more playful blackbirds. Dadimus is very much used to Jack’s imitations, the rest of the Autobots (and his counterpart) are most definitely not.

The chirping and screes are reminiscent of newsparks’ calls for attention and care, and it drives the resident Seekerkin up the wall because he is the only sparkling in the vicinity and Jack punches the Seekerkin-coding into activity after four million years of dormancy.

There have been a few jokes to take a recording of the sparkling’s noises and play it to the Decepticon Seekers after the Autobots had seen their own Seekerkin with the kid. TFP Optimus is immediately No. Stop. Control, Alt, and Delete that terrible plan. He will take Jack and run into the most remote environments he can find.

No one knows how Jack did it, but the blackbirds got into gambling, and everyone blames Smokescreen. 

He's partly to blame with the cards, but the dice is Bluestreak's fault.

Jack is a polite menace. The kid knows his manners, but that doesn't stop him from skipping up the walls, hanging on the ceiling, and popping into places that he shouldn't have access to. At all.

Mechs were confused why Dadimus pinged out so often but then realized that's the most reliable way to actually tag Jack as he's a slippery little thing. Sometimes the sparkling responds, but usually he doesn't.

Red Alert is on the verge of having an aneurysm since Jack can bypass all the security measures. Mechs have taken to looking up to see if Jack is trapezing on the panels or checking under the tables and desks because of near unfortunate incidents of almost shooting the kid or shock-related delays with time-sensitive chemical reactions that nearly turned the ship into a massive crater.

Dadimus was highly disappointed and upset by the last part as Jack knows better as he had done similar stunts when they were upon research vessels. Not only Jack had to apologize to Skyfire, Wheeljack, and Perceptor, but he wasn't allowed to stray from Dadimus' field for a month. ("Curiosity cannot override safety protocols.")

On one camera, Jack would be at a corner by the entrance with organic birds, and between blinks he would then disappear and reappear across the ship, talking excitedly to a random corner with a different group of birds.

(If anyone catches them at the right second, at the right angle, at the right frame... the raven/crow/jackdaw/jay will ripple. Feathers dripping and flowing like an inky waterfall and eyes splitting into multiple, countless pairs as Jack's shadow expands- And then, the watcher will blink because they have to, and the footage will reset. Devoid of Jack and blackbirds.)

There's talk about new cryptids going around. It's silly Halloween and superstitious nonsense… until it isn't.

Due to Smokescreen, Bluestreak, and the Aerialbots constantly monitoring the perimeter or setting traps that are becoming more elaborate each week, it's becoming a new running joke. It's the Autobot snipe-hunting. All because of Jack's devoted drawings of strange, contorted creatures.

They're adamant that something is outside.

(They’re right).

An eerie thing begins to appear at the nearby dunes by the Ark’s entrance. It’s vaguely canine and its size is constantly changing. They can smell a wildfire in the air and taste ash upon their tongues as it beckons them to follow with a heavy, burning gaze. 

Before anyone follows, a racket of shrieking blackbirds breaks them out of the trance. When the piercing noise fails, then a nasty peck to some skin or exposed protoform is enough to bring them back to their senses.

“It’s looking for something that can’t be regained,” Jack speaks with a keenness beyond his age and a lilting cadence. A flurry of pictures of the same dark canine by a campfire with multiple individuals and groups sitting by it. It remains unchanged, despite the others’ fashions and vehicles it managed to beckon to it. “Don’t be taken by its ancient sorrow. You won’t escape its grasp.”

Between the space of desert and forest, there’s an old barbwire fence and a seemingly endless dusty dirt road that has never been updated to proper asphalt, despite its existence for over a century and all the grumbles and complaints by humans and Cybertronians.

When it rains, a phantom of a massive stag appears. Dark and regal, it gently trods along the path, always towards the forest, never in the opposite direction. Perched upon its twisted antlers is an owl with multiple wings, spread out and spotted with many painted eyes, a feathered and watchful halo with a cry that echoes in everyone’s ears and audials. It leaves no tracks, just deep puddles with flickering shapes in its vast depths that immediately dry when people look away.

The mechs start to understand that the local humans’ grumblings and complaints are half-hearted, and when it starts to drizzle, everyone stays inside. 

“It’s older than all those that vaguely remember its beginnings,” Jack murmurs to a window full of drawings in the condensation, sleepy in the colder weather as he curls in a heated seat. “Dreaming and wandering, yet always returning to the place that crowned it King.”

[delta-pavonis]

Dreaming Week 2024 Day 3

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 3 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): solarpunk, painting, meet cute, massage

Dreamling || Rated T || 1093 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, passing mention of biological consequences of being tied to chairs for days on end, confessions

Read Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

(In chronological order, Part 2 comes before Part 1 and this comes after Part 1. Mentions events of Part 1 and events discussed in Part 2.)

“When we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”

They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.

Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the building in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin. 

The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time. 

They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are. 

Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.

Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's. 

“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Start back up properly, like old friends might. But we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”

“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, when you walked into the Guildhall while I was trying to convince them to hire me. I can even still hear the swissh-click of your airwalker boots on the wooden floor.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again. 

But it doesn't last.

“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.

No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”

“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”

“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.” 

Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”

He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through. 

They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it. 

Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.

When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-” 

“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”

“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”

That something in Dream breaks.

“I will not leave without my Mate!”

For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.

“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”

Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.”

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

So I was reading Phantom of the Opera and some of Erik's descriptions made me think so much of Gil! I remembered how amazing your Hades and Persephone fic was, and I was hoping you could do something with the Phantom too? Thanks so much!!!!

Hello, Anon! I absolutely adored Erik in the book, and now that I read your ask, I can easily see the similarities, too~ I grew up on a weird blend of the book, musical, and both the 2004 and Lon Chaney films; I tried to honor that blend in this a bit, but a majority was pulled from memories of the book. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your patience~

The theatre was filled to bursting, the audience awed, riveted, mesmerized, your voice weaving an enchantment over hundreds of unsuspecting admirers.

He was proud of you.

Your voice reached him even in the highest and most of isolated rafters, a platform forgotten- abandoned- by the stagehands stationed several stories below. Your voice was full, carrying all of the strength and conviction and passion as the character you were playing.

Gone was the timid spirit he had stumbled upon all those years ago, broken and shattered from loss, left with only the protections of a then-aloof guardian and a firm, dispassionate teacher.

He was drawn to you from that first day, a twist of compassion, of understanding; in spite of your upbringing and (even then) impressive talent, you were still an outsider, your peers and the other students keeping their distance, leery of your background, and some envious even then.

Yes, the companionship and camaraderie would come in time, but in those first few months, he saw the same loneliness and sadness in you he'd once carried so heavily himself, and his heart ached to comfort you.

The first time he spoke to you was purely accidental, a slip of a whisper he prayed you would dismiss as a ghost, or mere imagination. He had grown too comfortable in answering you when you were alone, his voice always near silent as you spoke to your mother, your father, and sometimes the angels themselves.

It was the latter with which you had caught him, crying out with a broken heart after discovering another student had sabotaged your satin slippers, intent on seeing your failure, your embarrassment, and (as likely was the case with that particular little shrew) your dismissal from the school.

But you persevered, successfully completed your performance, never once showing your distress until you were away from the others. It was only then, hidden away in a forgotten practice room that you showed your anger, your sadness, your hopelessness. The mask had fallen, and he was once again struck by the beauty of the fractured soul he admired so deeply.

"Please," you whispered, and it broke his heart to hear it, "I feel so alone."

It ached, being unable to comfort you, seeing your progress and healing of the past few months tested so needlessly. He ached for you; he was angry for you.

"You are not alone."

It was a fleeting, foolish slip, his temper and his longing both getting the better of him. Your sudden silence choked his own breath, his entire body freezing in terror.

For a moment, for an eternity, there was naught but silence.

He didn't dare move, fearful of how even the slightest shift of fabric could give him away, could startle you, could-

"I was half-afraid I had gone mad, speaking with shadows and expecting them to finally reply."

You were... teasing him, only a little, though at the time he was still petrified that you would demand he reveal himself. You had moved closer to the false panel, studying it closely, seeking out any faults that might give away its secrets. For a moment, your eyes were perfectly level with his own, and he feared you could hear his heart racing in his chest.

But soon enough you had drawn away, crestfallen. "Perhaps I have gone mad," you murmured, sighing in defeat. "Perhaps the rumors are true, and you are nothing but a ghost."

Memories of his time spent serving in the court of a distant empire flickered to memory, a rueful sound resembling laughter slipped past his defenses. "Of the many things they may wish and claim me to be, dead is not yet among them."

Your focus once more returned to the panel, and he instinctively took a step back. "Please-" he began, quickly cutting himself off.

Where others would have pressed forward, you paused, then took several steps away from the wall, granting him his distance, a warm sense of appreciation, and another he couldn't name at the time, sparkling to the surface at the warm breath of relieved laughter you released soon after. "You- You're really there."

That moment, one he could still so clearly remember as the peripeteia, the decided, unexpected change to a familiar script, one which would set the trajectory of both of your lives for the next ten years. It would lead to many late nights spent in practice, in conversation, in debates about the literary characters you loved so dearly. "I am always here."

Your aria had drawn to a close, the spell broken by the deafening roar of the audience's applause, and Gilbert was pulled from his memories, unable to conceal his smile.

Brava, Schatz. Bravissima.

He stood to his full height and began to make his way towards the nearby ladder.

For your role, another scene yet remained- a joyful reunion between your character and the valiant hero following the defeat of the jealous villain, a happy end to a romance so riddled with tragedy.

Gilbert needn't see the ending; it was a tale as old as time.

His footsteps were silent and certain, following a path he could traverse in his sleep; he had already paced it many times in his dreams.

Of all the false doors he had constructed in his opera house, there was one he had yet to pass through, one which now loomed before him. The room beyond was bathed in the ethereal golden glow of candlelight, a world outside of the darkness, fueling even more of the torment already plaguing his mind.

He was haunted by his doubts, by his need to... His need to properly introduce himself.

You had risen so high, could fly even higher, could rise above anything the fools in this theatre could ever hope to imagine. With your voice, your grace, your elegance, and your perspicacity, he had no doubts you could soar to a realm where only angels once dare tread. Perhaps it was wrong to want to burden you, to-

Movement on the other side of the glass brought his thoughts once more to a standstill. You were laughing, carefree, glowing with happiness and a brilliant light which followed everyone through the corridors after a triumphant performance. His heart fluttered to see you so beautifully framed, a living portrait he yearned to touch.

He frowned at the thought.

These feelings...

He had cared for you when you first arrived, a deep friendship slowly growing, even as he never allowed you to glance upon him. Slowly, then almost in an erupting whirlwind, those feelings had adapted, deepened, solidified. He was left hoping, wishing...

You were an Angel, in the most benevolent, compassionate of ways, but even an Angel would surely shun a Devil's Child.

For that was what his eyes and his appearance had always been: that of a devil. And surely-

Another figure was entering the room, and you were quick to abandon the comfort of your velvet settee, rushing to embrace-

No.

You were laughing, falling into conversation with an ease that only came-

You were familiar with this... this boy.

Perhaps even intimate, his traitorous thoughts interfered, the herald to the invasive darkness which followed.

It was a cold, bitter thing, rising from the depths, twisting and corrupting his every breath.

He had been careless, allowing you your freedom, allowing you to slip away to the gilded sanctuary of your guardian's maison de ville.

This boy dared to presume he could even look upon you, let alone embrace you, speak with you so candidly, even addressing you by your given name-

Gilbert felt his rage, his envy, grow stronger, even as that bedamned Raoul finally departed for the evening, leaving your bright smile in his wake.

You often called Gilbert your "Angel of Music," a bringer of light to your once dreary and dark days. You used it affectionately, a term of endearment for one you saw as a companion, a compatriot in curiosity.

But much like his namesake, Gilbert was Fallen, cursed, a creature of shadows and Night.

It took so little to pull him back into the Darkness, and now, with the sting of envy plaguing his every thought, Avarice and Doubt whispering in his ear, his ambitions had changed.

You were his.

He would ensure no one else could dare claim you, would have the slightest chance at your heart.

With skill honed from years of practice, Gilbert silently slid open the trap door, his voice carrying over to you in a tone he himself barely recognized. "Insolent boy. The impertinence of him, sharing in our triumph."

You startled at his voice, turning to him instinctively, your eyes widening in disbelief, before you graced him with your brightest smile yet.

Your joy glittered with more radiance than any star in the heavens, but its glimmer eclipsed your awareness, obscuring the darkness in the figure stealing ever closer.

"Hello, Engel."

Thanks for reading!

Special shout-out to @the-scribe-and-her-scribbles for unwittingly inspiring me today to finally sit down and write. She's an amazing writer, and if you haven't checked it out already, I highly recommend her ongoing series It Will Come Back.