#note that his art style has changed its been a year since that was made

[totallyalamp]

made by @moonflower012 (oldd from last yyyeearrrr :/)

i had no part in making this at alll

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[seoul-bros]

The Future of Jikook

After watching the video and GMA soundcheck performance on Friday and then seeing all the contradictory reactions on line to the song and its reception, I have been quietly mulling things over here in my little corner of the internet.

There are so many fan feelings conflating here. Those who want JK to turn into the BTS Harry Styles, those who are still smarting over the way changes to BB affected the trajectory of FACE, those who feel that the breakout of one member is a threat to ever seeing BTS as a band again. It makes for a tense, emotional and chaotic time on-line especially on Twitter where people tend to have a knee jerk reaction to anything that is said and nuance is completely lost.

Look into yourself and I am sure you will find a whole load of contradictory emotions lapping at your consciousness right now. What I have found myself thinking however, is how does all this noise affect the members and in particular Jimin and Jungkook?

Making Choices

One question that came to mind was why did Jungkook pick this song for his solo debut. What is it that he likes about it and how does that differ from the way SB sees or is marketing the song. During Festa 2023 I commented on the transformation that JK has been through since last year. He has made a conscious effort to shake off the maknae part of the golden maknae starting with his deal with Calvin Klein and all the swooning I am seeing on Tumblr shows that he has succeeded. As Yoongi said, JK is all grown up.

Then I was thinking about JK's musical choices, who and what he listens to and I remembered earlier this year he sang the Sam Smith and Kim Petras hit Unholy on one of his lives. If you also recall he later scolded Jimin for being prudish about the song on his own live.

Twitter Link

JK was obviously ready to move into more explicit territory even then. So what about Seven made him think this is the song that launches me as the new and more mature JK.

I think for one thing, the lyrics are sensual and not gender specific. I am in the "loving you right" lyric camp because it gives a more mutual gratification feel to the song in keeping with the other lyrics as opposed to the macho stud, I'm a sex machine, version.

Jungkook wants to ease his lover's mind, he want to trace their lines, he loves how they wrap around him when they make love, he is devoted, his love runs deep and when they are together he wants to make sure his lover is satisfied and feeling that afterglow.

So yes JK is going to be talking about sex from now on along with almost everyone else in the Western music industry. Along with Jimin for example. As a side note, I still don't quite understand my overwhelmingly visceral reaction to the Like Crazy MV. It's f**king art and so is he.

Now SB and his cronies know the audience they are playing to and we will get symbolically het videos both for this and what is rumoured to be his completely English speaking solo album but even this video, which to be honest I have dumped in favour of the live performance and the choreo video, went for humour rather than full out fangirl wish fulfillment. I mean that may also come but I get the feeling that somewhere down the line they are going to need to pivot hard.

What do jikook want?

Secondly, I was thinking what do jikook want both severally and individually. All the members have an enviable work ethic and a deep love of music but the emphasis that these two and JHope put on performance is legendary. Look at Jimin here monitoring between shoots for his music shows in the behind the scenes video this week. He is serious about giving his best even when he himself is not in the best physical condition.

They are both ambitious and are looking for longevity in the industry and importantly, and prefacing this with an, in my opinion, this is something they want to do together. Neither wants the other to get left behind and I think that is what they are fighting for right now.

Whatever you think about their bond, it cannot be dismissed and the sequence of events of the last few weeks for me just reinforces that. Everyone noticed the way their relationship was highlighted in the Beyond the Story book (just started my copy yesterday but I couldn't resist the spoilers last week) to the extent that Variety went on a fishing expedition which JK expertly deflected.

Jimin is in New York right now and Jikook were seen dining together the night he arrived. We don't know what Jimin's schedule is but we can assume that he will take advantage of the visit to also support Jungkook as he has done with the other members when his schedule allowed. Jungkook is important to Jimin and vice versa.

Has everyone already forgotten the amount of promo that JK has done for Jimin over the last few months. Here he is listening to JKIVE's Golden Hour who we later found out was collaborating with Jimin on Angel Parts I and II.

So this is the perspective that I am going to adopt from here on in when I react to content. I am going to ask myself does my reaction help or hinder jikook in being able to continue working together towards their aim of further success in the music industry. I will veto anything designed to drive a wedge between them, be that from the company or the fans and I will continue to work hard for them in the way that a fan can buying, streaming and supporting their music and their content. There is even word on the grapevine that there maybe some jikook collaboration and/or content on the way. I'll be watching out for that.

Wow quick update something is definitely coming.

Post Date: 16/07/2023

[project-sekai-facts]

hi, just wanted to provide a little help on the balloon cover art ask.

its hard to find evidence for (and i dont have the time to do so) as its one of those things where its kinda "you had to be there" to know it even happened + it was well over two years ago, but there is something of an implied reason "charles" has a different cover art between versions!

after enas first focus, insatiable pale color, and i mean like directly after the event ended (at the same time "infinitely gray" got added), they suddenly changed the cover art on "charles". since release it had been the cover you can see with the vocaloid ver., but after ena's focus, they changed the sekai art to be what it is now, the flowers (what seem to be lilys) on the pink background. i cant remember if it was ever *directly* confirmed, but it seems to be implied that the current art on the sekai cover is something ena made herself! even matching it up to art we've seen previously of hers, such as during release campaigns, card arts (rainbow canvas and portray yourself), and other places, it seems (to me at least) to be in something of a similar style with somewhat-rigid lines and monochromatic palettes, just more simplified and digital!

as for "nomad" and "ame to petra", theres no real known reason why they have different arts. its possible they intended to have something similar to "charles" with "nomad", seeing as its enas second focus song which coincidentally had different arts like "charles" does, but thats purely speculation, and "ame to petra" has no reason to have different arts. its possible they just like giving balloon songs different arts :0 which isnt exactly exclusive to balloon songs either, "inochi bakkari" has a different art depending on the version youre using. maybe it has something to do with the producers themselves, but thats just more speculation.

sorry if this is a little vague and unhelpful, but this is something i remember being pretty big around the change of the art and i guess it mustve faded into obscurity with the expansion of the game and wider community. hope this helps give a little more info! :)

Mm yeah I could see that being true. I'm not entirely sure how the story of that song would connect to the event but considering the date it was changed and the style, it does add up.

Nomad has a different cover because all commissions have a unique in-game cover, adding the original for that as well, alonside the two jackets for Ame to Petra, was probably just to be consistent with Charles having two.

and i actually might be able to give a reason for Inochi Bakkari. Looking at the image history on the wiki, the jacket was added ~july 1st, which was just before the Saying Goodbye to My Masked Self event. and if you look at the lyrics, the song fits a lot with mafuyu's arc. also note the purple butterfly on the jacket, i think it's a nod to Kanade's immiscible discord card.

[fleshwerks]

Thoughts on new Dragon Age "teaser"? You have the best takes.

I'll be deadly honest, I didn't even realise it was out, that's how checked out I am, but I will always fall hook line and sinker for a delicious bait made of things I can chew on, so let's seeeeeee. I'll do first impressions for now. I'll warn you, I haven't done 'takes' in ages, I've seriously lost my edge and resemble someone yelling at a cloud more than someone with intelligent or at least entertaining takes. Proceed on your own volition. Note, I have not been keeping up with DA4 updates. At all. I am literally grasping at straws and screaming out of my arse.

I'll say this. I believe Mark Darrah who had retired from BioWare was brought back on to save this tattered ship that had failed to launch how many times now? If you were with DAI and Anthem especially, you know that when a vet of that calibre is being brought on board towards the end of production, you're fucked. The sheer scope of the regions visited in the trailer... I wouldn't blink an eye if it was a turn-based strategy game, but it is not.

I'm surprised how shit the game visually looks, but it's been my criticism with the thus far released art, and now, environment assets. And again, I'm coming off of Anthem, and Anthem was truly, truly gorgeous. Now someone might argue that every DA has had its distinctive visual style. Well I thought DA2, for what it was, sure did look inspired. I didn't enjoy the game or the characters, but I enjoyed looking at it. Dragon Age Inquisition kind of lost me aesthetically, but I see what they did there. It was more generic, certainly not attempting to be photorealistic, but I saw the idea and accepted it.

Now this though? What is this? The panning over what I presume is Treviso literally looks like a mobile game ad.

Ok, fine, I'll not go in on the visuals, I'm too fresh out of art college and I'm so anal-retentive that my o-ring's more pinched than a pinprick about this stuff. Moving on.

I believe the new PC is an Antivan Crow? Since when are they fighting for all of Antiva? Everyone??? Since when?! Zevran's canonically not returning, and even he was compassionately practical on his best days. The Crows are not good people. They buy kids to train for miserable jobs meeting miserable ends. Oh, so we had a whole character who gave the Crows a finger for being the shitshow they were, but now they're this resistance task force? What, why, because the 'Islamic Borg' invaded?

Then. I feel like I'm missing a fuckton of contest because I haven't read the preceding comics and stories, I have one comic book from the DAI-DA4 interim and it ended so disappointingly, I never bothered after that.

We're really retconning all the complex and complicated factions into freedom fighters, aren't we. I guess such is the state of our real world. Always a plucky band of people belonging to formerly shitty fucking organisations suddenly saving the day like heroes, possibly somewhere along the way ruminating for 2 seconds on whether they deserve to pat themselves on the back, landing on 'but we will change how we operate, and we will save the world, always!'

I'm into the Rivaini squid though. I've never been fond of Rivain, not just because parts of the fandom like to present this place that has barely been talked about in canon like some haven for... idk. I just didn't expect squids. And you people know I love marine invertebrates. You know what, fuck it, here's my 'best take': have squid, will travel!

But that port city ravaged recently by the dragons in ruins looks like it's been in ruins for the past 2000 years, only recently excavated. It's so clean. And here I go again with the aesthetics.

Anyway, Falon'din and/or dirthamen is fuckin' around in Rivain, aren't they. Because I believe that head shape, multi-hands etc were presented in many of the statues we saw in DAII, and given that Falon'din's proverbial crows, envy and nightmare were so prominently featured, and sexyman Solas' outright resentment for former master Dirthamen and the vain Falon'din, welll... risen gods. Dirthamen at the very least was associated with watery depths, but they're twins (or are they? Perhaps the facets of one person altogether)... Anyway, I'm more interested in what the fuck is happening in Weisshaupt. That part genuinely interests me. Circling back to Dirthamen, Razikale is the dragon of Mystery. Associated with Dirthamen, at least according to my theory, while Urthemiel was the Dragon of Beauty, and we keep getting indications that Falon'din was pretty, aggressive, and exceedingly vain. So Big Dirty's up next. Falon'din had the crows, right? Both defeated in DAI. He's out, more or less. And again, Solas most likely was Dirthamen's student before he decided that he himself didn't want to be but totally wanted to be revered. So my take is that Razikale, who got mentions in DAI is waking up as well.

The villain gods of this mess, the classic Dragon Age false gods we fight in every single game as end bosses, will be connected to Dirt. Eh. Same eagle, different liver.

Anyway I have a doubt that this kind of scope will end anywhere nice. The production's been fraught as fuck to the point where the panic button has been pressed many times. The art looks like a significant downgrade, the production has been filled with veterans just clocking the fuck out.

It doesn't sound interesting. I'm tired of saving the world as an Eastern European in late 2023. This kind of story does not speak to me at all anymore. Not after 2019, not after 2021. It looks dated and mediocre, the story is so old that if it goes where I think it will, it has no relevance or message for anybody but perhaps some American audiences (some). I'm just... I'm not.

The rah-rah I got from that clip leaves me ice cold. There is no rah-rah in such widespread misery. There are only curse words and the sound of grinding teeth, and everybody's a dick, and everybody's dick past is dredged up hard. No retcons.

I don't want it. It better receive insanely high marks for me to play it. And I loved this franchise, two of the PCs have gone on to be archetypal in my private works now.

The mystery is gone. The power creep... I don't want to hang out with gods. They should have never been brought into the story as characters you can extensively hang out with. Edit: basically the entire thing sounds about as exciting as a somewhat well-produced mobile game. Which is fun to fuck with while taking the metro, but...

[phantom-ellie]

The Lost Children of Ikatera for the OFMD Reverse Big Bang!

I am so excited to share this fic with you all! I have so much to say about it which won't fit in my Ao3 post, so I will be writing it all here and reblogging for subsequent chapter posts. But first, the link:

This post covers general information on this fic as well as chapters 1 & 2. I will reblog it with further posts covering the different chapters.

What you need to know is that this is a Victorian AU based on the novels of Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, and other similar authors of that era. The author of this novel is Jonathan “Calcut Jack” Rackham, and is told entirely from his perspective. He is a highly unreliable narrator due to his tendency to focus on his own selfish needs and desires rather than to truly pay attention to what is going on around him. However, I hope that I succeeded in making him a bit nuanced and interesting throughout this work.

I would like to give the biggest thank you and credit to TheQueenHasNoLife (on Twitter), who is the artist for this RBB as well as the one who came up with the, frankly, brilliant prompt idea for this fic. Every single idea and suggestion they had made this work twice as interesting and complex as it had been before. I have always admired them since I first stumbled across their own fanfiction last October, and am beyond honored to have helped to bring their vision to light here. I hope there will be future collaborations in store for us!

I would also like to credit the following users: @Ghost_Deb_ on Twitter and DeathStranded who were my beta readers for this fic and gave incredible feedback and insight on how it read, @Tiny_Book_Worm on Twitter who was kind enough to answer my questions on the transmasc experience while writing for Izzy, as well as Mod Jay (mortenavida) who answered endless stupid questions from me throughout this process and helped to determined Jack’s fate in the final chapter with their deep knowledge of Floridian lore.

Despite strenuous efforts I was unable to obtain a beta or a sensitivity reader for the sections of the fic that deal with Maori language and culture, for which I apologize. If I have gotten anything wrong on this subject, feel free to DM me on Twitter or Tumblr, and I will make the changes necessary. I am open to criticism and safe to DM on this matter.

Last note on the art in this fic: In addition to the absolutely stunning and detailed art by TheQueenHasNoLife, I have peppered this work with several authentic drawings/documents from the 1800s. I have credited my source for each under the image.

On the Narrator/"Calicut Jack":

This fic is told in the form of an adventure novel written in the style of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Only this time, its author is Jonathan "Calicut Jack" Rackham. This is the bit that interested me the most about this prompt. If you've read these kinds of novels before from this time period, you've probably noticed that the narrators are all assholes. They are sexist, racist, and disgusted by everyone who isn't 100% exactly like they are (and also enamored/obsessed with/totally gay for men who are 100% exactly like they are). I wanted to write this novel from Jack's perspective in the most loquacious, verbose manner humanly possible to give him the illusion of respectability while showing through his actions that he's actually a total trash bag. He's an incredibly unreliable narrator. There are massive plotlines and character arcs going on throughout this story that he barely touches on or mentions because he doesn't notice them. He is completely self-absorbed and has absolutely no capacity for emotional depth. That being said, that doesn't mean I intend for him to be 100% villainous and evil. He's pathetic and sad, while not quite sympathetic. What you need to know about Jack is he fears change more than anything. He is still the same drunken fratboy he was 15-20 years ago, he hasn't changed at all, and he's terrified that his friends and the people he knows will grow up and move on without him. He doesn't understand that this is his fear because he has no self-awareness. The fear is just there. And he will jump through whatever mental hoops he has to to convince himself that everyone would be happier if they were like him: stagnant and unmoving.

Story Setting/Background:

This fic is set in 1872 in an alternate Victorian universe which is not exactly the same as the one we know of and are familiar with. Homophobia and transphobia are at this time seen as terribly gauche and passé, and people are more or less allowed to love who they want and be who they are without facing societal backlash or institutional discrimination. In addition, while unfortunately colonialism and imperialism still exist, in this universe they are much less of a thing, and public approval for either has been waning for some time at the start of the story. Because I am a loser, I attempted to create a loose historical justification for these changes. It all started during the reign of Louis XIV. This super gay dude (actual footage, 100% real) (don't watch the rest of that musical it is heinously bad) was the brother of the king. His name was Philippe. He would be very open about his relationships with men, and would also dress as a woman whenever the opportunity presented him (so it's possible he wasn't a dude at all). Surprisingly, most people at the time accepted it and were totally on board, because a gay man wasn't seen as a threat to his brother's throne. They encouraged the fuck out of that shit. In this particular alternate universe, Philippe's sexuality and gender expression became en vogue among the French noblesse during Louis XIV's reign. Cavorting with members of your own sex was suddenly seen as desirable and fashionable, regardless of whether there was actually any attraction there. Louis XIV encouraged this trend, for it allowed him to more easily control and steer French nobility (especially when they were bearing fewer children and were caught up in all sorts of dalliances with one another). This was, after all, the main objective of the grandiose lifestyle which he promoted: to keep the nobles poor and distracted so he could rule as he wished. Eventually, the acceptance of same-sex partnerships grew and spread through the courts of many European countries which sought to mimic France's, and this acceptance eventually permeated the general culture shared by everyone. Though acceptance of same-sex relationships (as well as transgender people) was not immediate and took several generations to really take hold in these societies, by the mid to late 1800s the general trend was to be accepting of same-sex relationships. Being homophobic and transphobic is seen as really fucking gauche. Therefore, in this universe there is little to no discrimination of anyone based on their sexuality or gender. It's just plain allowed. This open-mindedness lead to other kinds of acceptance as well. Judeo-Christian religion had a much weaker stranglehold on the populace and the ruling classes of these countries. The weakening of religious dogma made it more palatable for humans to seek out positive cultural exchange with others rather than antagonizing them with forced conversion attempts or flooding indigenous lands with missionaries. While nations did engage in attempts in empire-building (Britain most of all), there was less public will for it due to the populace not really minding if the indigenous people from these areas were "heathens," and it was easier for them to be viewed as people. As for the money to be made from colonization, well, acceptance of gay people may have "trickled down" from the nobility, but the money they were making overseas sure wasn't. This world is in no way intended to be read as utopian, because it just isn't. It still sucks. It just sucks a little less. I wanted to be able to write a world in the 1800s where Edward Teach could become a famous and respected man of science, and where men loving men wasn't a scandal or disgusting or unacceptable. The effects of colonialism have still made their mark in this world which will show throughout the story... it's just that in this universe, people like Ed have more power to actually do something about it.

Chapter 1 Notes:

I wrote this chapter with "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" open in another tab in order to mimic the beginning of both stories and let me tell you, this chapter has NOTHING on that wordy overdescriptive mess. I toned down the descriptions and asides a bit later on in the fic.

Nigel’s ship is called the Disraeli because Benjamin Disraeli was an imperialist asshole and you know they’d be all over that.

Source for Jack’s Cloak Tent and other Stupid Victorian Inventions

Tawhiri a Utu - This means (roughly) “Tawhiri’s Revenge,” although the word ‘Utu’ is more similar to balance/making whole than revenge. Tawhiri is a Maori wind deity.

Edward’s nickname “Man-eater” was given to him by Jack, who was impressed by his skills with his tongue when it comes to, well, eating out men. Like the show version’s nickname of “Blackie,” this nickname is intended to be a rather uncomfortable one due to the racist views Western colonizers have had towards the practices of Indigenous cultures (despite the fact that white Europeans themselves engaged in cannibalism through the early 20th century, believing that certain human body parts could cure diseases, though they would never admit to cannibalism because their ‘medicine’ came in neatly-labeled bottles). Jack, however, lacks the emotional intelligence to determine if Edward is happy with this nickname. Perhaps he will find out.

I spent way too much time researching stupid crap like available ports in 1872 and authentic sailing routes/passenger ships. Like, 2 or 3 whole days just for that, and honestly it was so useless and a waste of time.

I can't allow any more children to be in this fic because I used up every single Victorian-era word for them in this one.

The language Ed speaks with the kid at the end of the chapter is not intended to be Maori, but Rarotongan (because that is the island where they landed). I used the internet's lone Rarotongan dictionary and my decade-old linguistics degree for this and future sections. As far as I can tell there are no Rarotongan betas in existence, sorry about that!

Chapter 2 Notes:

Aquatic Tripod Image Source

I wanted to draw a diagram of the system that holds the Oceanid captive, but I'm not that talented. I tried to think of as many plot holes with it as possible, but my betas thought of a couple I didn't, such as how the weight of hauling an Oceanid in and out of the ocean would probably cause the ship to tilt or even capsize. Whoops! Honestly, it's a really stupid contraption, but Nigel Badminton designed it, what do you want? He's an idiot.

I didn't include a translation for the language spoken between Ed and the Oceanid (which was again Rarotongan) because Jack doesn't know what the words mean and isn't going to bother to find out. However, I've provided them here (again, I did my very best to construct these phrases in a language I don't speak, I hope I got it right). I did not use a translating service for any of these, just studied the crap out of grammar and different examples of sentences and tried to figure it out.

Edward: Ae! Ae… ‘oa… (Hey! Hey�� friend…)

Edward: É ’akamoe’au, é taku ‘oa… ‘akamoe’au… (Be at peace, my friend, be at peace)

Edward: Mãrie… meitaki… (Slowly… safe…)

Mystery Oceanid: E tauturu… (Help…)

Edward: Ãe, tauturu! (Yes, help!)

[stry-someone-to-remember-you]

Didn't have much for you today. Concept Art!!!

So I thought I'd share a color sheet I did back in early November 2022 when I finally came to a conclusion of Dave's final look.... this isnt the Final Look, but the first sketch of what became his final look.

I made this in November on my phone. I was playing around with character colors then.

Also...

This post is my confirmation....

Dave's name is for the comic.

DEWEY

*Hands shaking*

*Breaths in...*

*Breath Out

BREATH IN!!!

Now...

I have something I've been needing to admit for a while now.

It's not bad....

But...

It's about the story....

It's still coming out 😅😅😅(soon actually)...

Dont worry about that....

So what's up?

I want to make sure I've told you... This Comic is officially ONLY inspired by Henry Stickmin.

This comics been 3 years in the making, along with the novel that I write along side this... and 6 months in, back in 2021 around May, when I literally found out Google docs has a character limit which all my notes and writings by then exceed.... I came to a hard choice. With how hard I've been working on this, do I make it original or keep it fanbased?

It was a long thought. But... after 1 1/2 years going back and forth, over this time I let several people I've known for years look at it. Many who are trusted... and they all without knowing my dilemma gave me the same advice "Make it Inpsired, cause I want to see this published" (talking about the novel and little comic stuff they saw).

By this last summer, around when my surgery and emergency happened I made my decisions after on of the last people asked to see it and told me the exact same words.

After several gave me the advice. I decided, what my gut was telling me six 6months in was this needed to be it's own work. I already was changing so much and... honeslty it's the best decision I made for the comic.

Starting August the comic and the novel have grown immensely (as though a short work break also halted it, it hadn't grown more then several pages since tranferijg from google doc). I already planned on changing the art *hense the few pics I posted with faces not exactly proportional, early concepts from the early days of changes already being made). The comic will be made more manga human style. But that's not to say their wont be an occasional non human entities about.🤪😏😉😉😉

I couldn't thank the people people who all told me to go a different t direction or even all you still supporting me and those who supported me since the start. I HOPE YOU STAY AREPUBD FOR THE COMIC STILL... with this know . I hope it's cool to still post the old art work. And if it's okay with you since this was completely inspired by Henry Stickmin, I still hope to post in the fandom. Comic updates and such.

How will You Know Who People, Places or Things Are?

I'll make changes clear, especially when asked.

I had to make these for copyright reasons, including characters and such. But most should have something about them that makes it clear who they are or were in the original game.

I will say the direction while headed the same way... their are definetly story lines as a original work I didn't plan on or at least wasnt headed towards, or used as some inside joke that was a red herring to make you guys think maybe I was headed a direction to throw people off. But with the changes made even that has become a actual plot and no longer is a joke hint.

But all elements from codes, secret languages, mysteries, and the overall story have remained. They've like everything else just grown from what they were. So have the characters. Some character aspects and personalities may have slightly changed but otherwise their still I hope going to be enjoyable to you guys and you can see who they were inspired by.

Wait CODES (SPILL THE COFFEE!!!😱😱😱 WWWHHHAAAAAAAAATTT!!!)

Yep😉😏😊 Its a secret I've been keeping a long time. You can look back at my oldest posts on the S.T.R.Y page give you a hint if you look far enough of codes being a thing.

How are you using them???

WAIT is this...😶😉😏 Like that

TWINS OREGON MYSTERY Show with a certain evil force Type Deal???

😏😏😏

Ding... ding... ding...

we have a winner. WInner Winner Chicken Diner...! However, the types of codes used may change up so keep a look out. You don't know the lengths I'll go even in the fan art... to hide secrets (mahaha!!!)

Phew you dont know How Nervous I am Admitting this...

I'M SUPER NERVOUS!!!

But hey that's the fun if it.😊😊😊 Right???😅

This post is along time coming.

I've made different ones, but I honestly get so nervous about this. Admiting it's just inspired fandom piece but not a fancomic. One that Hope's to become a novel and thus I had to make changes in order to have no issues with copyrights.

Theirs things that allude to game events. But they dont happen the same more like the idea of the evtns is there but they rent the same events.

Just the idea of something that you can pinpoint, like Oh this is a reference to that experience in game. But it's a completely different tale, different journey with several new characters and characters similar to those you love while being their own. However, if asked I will confirm if a character is fully inspired by a HS Character or are their own entity.

Alot of characters from in game I used aren't often seen characters anyways. But I still dont want to fringe on copyright. Some may have a single name similar. But it's rare. In some characters I kept like an Initial the same. But names came ot have meaning in the story, so I can't promise for how many this remains true as names changed a few times before locking in as they are now.

EX.

I admit Ruperts name I still haven't changed but the rest of his name is changed. It's just I got in the habit of saying Rupi or Rup depending on the character talking and I got to attached to it...if I have to change it maybe I'll go for Ruberto... Or Something that way. But I like rupi especially as Rupi used to be a form of money, the name... in the old story this held some importance.... so it's something that changed while the rest of the character remained. In other words they have human apperances as previously stated and because this was original those who had hair I couldn't give their old hair styles. It was hard but I found stuff I liked for everyone. Oddly enough it worked out cause funny envy RHMs hair I had in mind was a nightmare to draw. I wasnt looking forward to drawing it, but I coukdnt find other ways I liked ti. This allowed me to go a completely new direction. (HE'S still a Red Head)

It's also why I've been so careful with what I post Admiting this has been one of the hardest things for me.

I hope you guys still will still strick around and enjoy what I will bring. It's still a fan work being inspired. It's just the names won't be what you expect. And the world though similar isn't the same.

Will all the favs show:

YES!!!

Yes favorite characters will show, most of the mains have a character of somesort that who they are is greatly inspired by them..

Henry-The character whose this stories Henry Character, DOES HAVE POWERS SIMILAR to the game... Powersare important to the story.... But I did have to make rules and differences so they arent a copy of them..

Because of this, I will have characters that Allude to all the favorites (Also same favorite ships... Copperright is part of this story... just they are the same while they arent... their names arent the same nor are their features but one still has brown hair the other red. And yes they run a "Mysterious Clan" of Thieves that a branch fo the Government called the BATs (Battalion Against Terrorism) goes particularly after.

Sadly,

There are characters who didn't make it in, I intended to have everyone as a fan work earlier. But its a lot of work, then there were the original characters since the "Main Main" character would have different people she'd run into as her story was going on kn the background of the game, and long after... It just even when a fan work didnt make sense to have all characters. My least favorite cut was not having Policeman Panza in it. I really wanted to fit him in... it just didnt work out.

WILL asks still be a thing???

YES!!!! ABSOLUTELY!!!!

How????

Simple, I will still be making short comics on occassion that aren't part of the weekly updated ones. And this is where characters can still have interactions. I'm considering using the simplified more Stickminverse version of the characters, kinda also so the comic never loses its inspirations and where it got its start from.

SO Asks, Anon Magic Fun, all that will still be a a part of it. Just not within the main comic. But maybe some things still will occure in comic we'll see. It's literally up in the air situation.

Do familiar places still show up???

Confidently YES!!!

Bats has alot of meaning like Batsh@t crazy. You chat be just anyone to be in that chain if service. Most civilians dont even know it exists.😏😏😏 why is that???

What are the GOV'T must a new form, their own branch of armed forces. As stated above Battalion Against Terrorism.

But the people who are recruited also, aren't the easiest to work with, often are the ones who'd ahve been sent home. But if they ahve potential often they're recruited for a league that need those who dont have a normal mind of a soldier to go up against the GENTS...

GE TS, I'll explain another time what they stand for. As theres some spoiler territory I dont want to get into.

The Wall, shows in a new prison form (the design I came up with looks like a creepy medieval Boss level prison)😬😬😬😬

It's a name people dont want to evoke I fear of disappearing. Even those who work there arent safe... or gaure teeded sanity. You either disapear or you dont come out the same.

It's called 'The Grave Pits'

It's even nastier then the name may sound. It's not someplace you want to work or be prisoner.

Lastly,

CCC

Exists as, CAC or CATCA. I don't want to say the name fully now. I think I did in a prior post. But if I ddint I want to lime GENTS acronym keep the meaning secret. Otherwise, whoops of I ddi say it in a prior post.😅😅😅

Actually all of these decisions most civilians dont knwo about or believe are TALL Tales.... WHY IS THAT????

You'll have to find out in the story.

(Yes unlike HS world most of these places arent known by the greater populace and most are sworn to secrecy about them. The only widely known somewhat confirmed real is Grave Pits. Only die to the state that Anyone Employee or Prisoner goes in they dont come out!) Theres more going on in its depths if you care to dig.😈😈😈

All the usual sites as described will be seen but obviously dont have the same look and while a similar function dont serve under the same reasoning eaxactly... Just in new ways.

Towns and cities, are another thing that obviously changed and the direction I'm going, I decided to make completely new landscapes. Do we start in a desert town/city with a corrections facility/jail Yes.... but the surroundings even the layout of the Jail is different. Has different functions, etc.

Is there a city with hinted mob activy.

DDOUBLE YES!!!😊😊😊 That I couldn't pass up... But the cities different. It also services a new purpose and focus then in game for the story. It's become something totally different then the site of a museum. Obviously Dewey, as you can tell is originally Dave Panpa and will still be a Sevurity guard. He just doesn't have the same events happen. And while a Museum lime that in the game, will play a small roll. It's not going to be the same purpose it held in the game. Nor the main place of his work. Thus the whole purpose of teh city is completely changed...... and as stated there's a prison like The Wall (*cough* the Wall seems tame in comparison when this place is introduced *cough*😅😙🎶🎶 Had nightmares after writting its first introduction. It wont be the giant of heart when things occure there.)

Like I said everything will show, you can easily see what was inspired by. But in order to be its own work it holds a lot of it own location, sites, stories and such.

It's really exciting. And I do hope everyone stays with me for it.

I've just been so nervous admiting this. I need to finally say it all clearly.

So is ths another blah.... blah.... blue BORING Convolutedly llloooooooooooooooooooooonnnggg Worded Super wordy Post???

😊😅😅😅 LOL, You definetly spotted my bad habit.

<<<Maybe I should thi I of having a moderator to help!!!😅😅😅>>>

BUT Nope,...

I BRING YOU

Timeline UPDATES: PROGRESS AND POSTS TO COME!!!

I will in the next few days post the Valentines art (my hours are still off after taking care of my grandma and being up at graveyard shifts from dusk to dawn in that order with her... So I admit my bearing on time for the next few weeks may be askew and off)....😅😅😅

Once I have that, I'm going to have for the Five main characters a little sneak surprise art that shouldn't take more then two weeks to have all of them out if all goes well.. just like a little teaser reveal of them.

Then within a week or two following that (due to Holidays East and Mothers Day occuring by these times I'm also giving leeway fo three qeeks)

Then I'll post the five main characters profiles, maybe a height chart if I get around to it.

After then. I should be Posting my Henry Stickmin Art from original concepts of characters ect when it was a fan comic exclusively... and/or Comic art periodically at least once a week. Or at least some form of an update.

AM I STILL MAKING HENRY STICKMIN ART??? Yes

I will admit, I'm still making Henry Stickmin art. I still have a few Animatics that have either been in the works or planned for a while. (When you have a song that inspires you... you cant help it... you know what I mean)😊😉 So I'm still Making Henry Stickmin Art. I can promise you that. Some are big projects.

Also dont forget S.T.R.Y wasn't my First Planned HS comic. I still plan to work more on the first comic I had. I just am focused on this one. But have looked at in, as mentioned in a late last year update and I like what I had. I just have more work to do on it.

But this is FAR FRON THE END oF me MAKING HENRY STICKMIN COMICS AND WORK.... So if that's what you want.... My main blog will be the place for it.😊😉💗🤩😍

RELEASE DATE???

I've done a rough estimate. And long as everything goes well I should have some form of the comic out to you by the the next several months. I can't gaurentee if that's 2-or six months. Again I periodically help take care of family members and am currently job hunting. I just know it will be soon.

As shown concept for a later scene was made a while back in rough sketch form and posted a progress in February about it.

That shows how far this is coming.

I am doing something different. I'm treating the comic like a novel, so I plan to long as I get a job soon and have the first ten chapters where I want them see if I can get professional beta readers (and if theres such thing as an editor and beta readers for a web comic). And also I hope to get an editor. If you notice I even when tedious miss mistakes in words and grammar (mostly cause I'm using my janky phone and not my laptop) and am constantly editing thanks to it l, as I'm a perfectionist. I know that can't happen in posted work. So I kinda need that for myself. I know its gunna cost money to hire. And I want to see if there are ones in the industry who would work with a weekly webcomic format.

What are the comic plans???

Currently, the plan I have in place after doing research is going to be to have the first 10 chapters done before the first chapters are posted. Posting three the first day and from then on once a week.

I say I want the first ten done. As the last three years have allowed me to know my schedule and with a job that demanded alot of me prior I have a better feeling of that type of work and what it will take to get this done. This will allow me to stay ahead and not have to many breaks between.

If there are Holidays then I will jump to a fun mini comic episode rather then post a regular post. Cause I think it's nice to have a break fun one. Even if the middle of the story.

The comic will contain a MULTITUDE of arcs. Be warned small details may become important later. (There are small details hidden in my Dave Panpa pic that have not changed in the comic... as are early post tags have some strange wording???)🤪🤪🤪

[Honeslty, good luck deciphering those codes from my old posts. SADLY, I lost my personal notes of a key for them. I've looked high and low on my devices and where I would save them. I seriously, Can't find them anywhere. Honestly, if you crack those codes I did leave let me know. I'm glad it happened since it allowed me to find a new way to save these for the future]

The Story so far is split into what I've been calling when talking about the comic 3 ACTS and when talking Novel 3 BOOKS

SO to say the least it's a big story. But it's worth it. It's a journey and I have fun writting it. It's all planned out just haven't finished writting the whole thing. I have my outline and timeline of events locked in. So dont worry it's a work that knows where its headed. and what needs to happen to get to the end.

Lastly, I should Mention:

The DEEADED PATREON and Tumblr Pay:

WHAT OD I HOPE TO ACCOMPLISH WITH THEM????

Not now, but closer to the comic I have plans.

I've decided for myself since I can't put humor, lightheartedness or fun little stories like the end of some webcomics or even some animes after credits theres usually a simple fun little goofy comic.

I'll be having either a goofy comic or some mini comic based on some even in the story. These will use simplified versions of the characters. But they could appear like full versions. This is so whne I'm dealing with heavier topics, for me I cja find a place to get the edge off. And I feel this will be the incentive I will post there, along with early looks at the art. And some early access.

But otherwise I'm not blocking you guys from enjoying the comic. Because it deals with secrets. I'm not going to post the comic early, I'll give sneak peaks on there. But that's it, they won't give away that weeds codes or anything like that.

I want to make it a fair system.

I only have them started but not set up. I'm in no way obliging anyone to support me on those sites. I just want to qualm worries, and give the promise of what I'll be doing. I may eventually release those fun minuses on here.without the pay. But I can guarentee those will have long times between. And it's not a gaurentee yet. Like I said I'm trying ot work out a system so no one feels there missing out on some fun they can have here.

Are these minisodes the same asks the asks ans other fub???

No that will remain here. The ones that will be in there are purely ones I come up with for each episode. I'm thinking Peanuts stule strip tyle situation. So hey if that's your jam, I'll let you no more when I ahve the structure of these more planed out.

SO THOSE OF YOU WHO HATE MENTIOSN OF IT... Don't worry I'M ONLY MENTION IT TO PROMISE to you that I'm not LOCKING ANYTHING from you guys. So I can be completely clear to you what up. Or why I ahve that up. I'm still learning my need tooz for it. Only thing normal people wont see is something I'll do only for paid. But again you wont miss out on the main fun. As that comic will be me releasing steam and being free and just comedic. Again it doesnt mean that I won't release those eventually to you guys. So you will get all the same content you can enjoy on here as there in a sense... theres absolutely not when I have them ready will there be any obligation to support me by paying to enjoy my content. I've lived litterally with no money to my name even when working, I know how it can be and the struggle. So seriously I dont want to make anyone ever uncomfortable. Which is why I'm making my last note here. To clarify everything to you guys.

I just wanted to tell you more on that situation. The funds would go towards way of living and/or if I manage to get someone to at least help edit of not the comic at least the script and paid beta readers... then it may go toward that. WHILE I hope my job when I get a new one will better cover living expenses... AGAIN THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THAT IS OPEN YET. ITS STILL BEING WORKED ON.. Dont worry...

ABSOLUTELY NO PRESSURE to pay... IM MAKING this last part of trh post... TO MAKE THAT ABSOLUTLY CLEAR. I DONT WNAT ANYONE EVER PRESSURED INTO ANYTHING!!!

~~~~~

With that always hard to talk about later topic lut of the way...😅😅😅😅

I do really hope you enjoy it.

And I hope those of you on either blog stay with me for it. And continue to enjoy this awesome journey together. Cause I'm excited for what's to come and hope you are too.

It took alot finally admitting this out loud.

I appreciate and love all of you for all your support!!!

💗💗💗 THANKS FOR READING!!!💗💗💗

Have an incredible day everyone!!!💗💗💗

[eviltext]

i went to a local art gallery the other day! it deserves a good long chatty post so here it is !

so this gallery is riiiight in the middle of the busiest part of town, aka the main road, so it's really accessible and approachable for locals and tourists alike. it's dedicated to the work of a local family of artists: Irina Lebedeva, a widow who works on quilts, her late husband Mikhail who made sculptures from found objects and graphic art, and their son Dmitriy who is a ceramic artist.

the building itself has a history that goes wayy back. built in the first quarter of the 1800s to serve as a protestant church (chapel?) for a wealthy merchant's wife, it's one of the oldest in town (among those that were built for people to actually live in). it was later sold a couple of times and seemed to be the hottest venue for balls and socialite gatherings. they retained the house's inital floorplan, keeping their changes minimal and mostly purely for function, allowing it to serve as kind of a blank canvas for the art displayed inside. i have mixed feelings on this decision. sure, i love old houses and their charm, but i'm not too fond of the old staircase that's severely eroded. a nice detail they kept functional was all the old vents and a quaint little balcony with a view:

however the bare brick walls don't work too well with the quilts (i keep trying to type tapestries and correct myself. they're quilts.). bare brick is kind of a busy backdrop for the bold and bright fabrics.

moving on to the artworks themselves, the quilts are stunning to look at. they were made by Irina Lebedeva, who has been making fabric art since she was a kid who locked herself up in her parents' closet with scissors. by about 12 she made clothes for herself and her dolls. her quilts are colorful, heavily patterned and very masterfully made. most have an abstract geometric pattern,

others tell a story (cell division and night city lights were my favorite)

or showcase a scene. and some of them are huuuge! the sizes range from about the size of a large pillowcase to around the size of a door frame.

Irina Lebedeva is a remarkably skilled artist and craftswoman who still continues to work to this day.

her late husband Mikhail is also an artist in his own right, though his works are a bit more grounded and familiar to gallery goers (?). it's stated on the information stands that he made sculptures from found objects like old screws and buttons and such. i wasn't able to find a lot of these on display apart from this horse:

most of his works featured in the gallery are very quaint depictions of the town and its people. old houses, a busy market, churches, fountains and cozy little nooks in the town's underbelly. these are done in a charming graphic style on toned paper.

it really makes me want to pick up some charcoal and the wad of packing paper i used for plen-air sketching some years ago. well, someday i'll do it! it's interesting to note that both he and his wife are alumni of the college i studied at!

their son Dmitriy is a ceramic artist, and his work has a special place in my heart as i'm aiming to be one as well.

he works with red clay and uses primarily traditional techniques. these not only yield a whimsical and cute look to his sculptures, but serve to keep these ancient practices alive for longer. among the techniques he uses are milking and blackening for finishing, apart from the usual glaze or burnishing. most of the sculptures he has on display are also whistles! this is also part of a traditional local craft.

what i like about applied arts is that they are allowed to let go of the snobbism and elitism or fine art. they're also very approachable to the general public. the bulk of applied artists come from a humble upbringing. also the sculptures can be silly and funny-looking!

one of my favorites from these is the little guy #8, which is simply named "beast" <- pretty on the nose lol that is definitely a beast.

the centerpiece of the gallery is a sculpture group by Irina Lebedeva, which depicts many of the most instantly recognizable buildings in town.

any local would be able to tell you what most, if not all of these buildings are! we have the old round mosque and minaret, the big orthodox cathedral in town, most of the old merchant mansions, the old market with its thick columns are all cherished parts of the town's image. of course, they aren't really arranged this way in real life. but this composition serves as like a bite sized look into the history of the town.

what's also a sweet touch is that this gallery is a venue for many master-classes and art lessons! i really love that this project continues this recent trend of leaning into the approachable artistic aspect of the town's identity. as a gallery it's open to the public only a few days a week, but when it is, it's extremely affordable and accessible to most of the townspeople. however it's not wheelchair accessible. being located on the second floor of the building, access is blocked by the aforementioned eroded staircase. but all in all, it's a sweet little spot to go and shield yourself from the town's bustle if you don't really have anything to do. and if you catch it open.

[thefandomjournalist]

Welcome to the Future of PBS Programing

The front entrance of the Vegas PBS building, aka where the magic happens  Credit: Dulce Pixabaj

Vegas All In is the newest show being released Monday, March 25th at 10pm by our very own Vegas PBS branch. Branding itself as a first of its kind release for the network exploring all things Vegas local, it brings with it a new calling for our beloved PBS. Airing weekly, it’s a can’t miss for anyone who has always wanted to actually know more about the neon city. 

Media has been important to Las Vegas as long as anyone can remember. Content is king as they say. But long gone are the days of The Frank Rosenthal Show. The future has come for us, and it’s hitting the jackpot. 

To show you the heart behind the show and why it deserves a chance I spoke to one of its producers Tommy Caprio. 

He recently moved to our fair home two years ago, but has recognized it as party central in his youth. Since then, he has fallen in love with the people you can only find here.That’s why he and his admittedly small team have taken on the show. Caprio firmly believes in the three E’s; Educated, Empowered, and Encouraged. That is what their content has to be. Not just because it hails from PBS, but because this is the content our city needs. 

Despite focusing on some tourist attractions like The Linq, Magic Mike, and Spiegel Word they have taken the effort to highlight locals of note. Micheal Yo, Mark  Shunock, Wayne Skivington and Conner Fields are all people that call Las Vegas home, and have given part of themselves to it in the name of art. 

Producers Tommy Caprio and Jeremy Halal behind the scenes at Magic Mike Credit: Tommy Caprio 

As an intern for Mr. Caprio myself, I’ve gotten to hear a lot about what it takes to make the show. Entertainment is tough, but what else am I here for but to learn? Hands-on experience in the making of something real is always valuable. But internship or not, Vegas All In excites me. It’s exactly what I’m looking for as people of my generation are moving in to take over the industry. It shows me change is possible in entertainment and journalism as a whole, which is certainly more hopeful than what some professors have told me. It’s always so bleak talking about news these days, but knowing work like All In exists warms my heart. 

When Vegas’s broadcast television history began in the 60’s with KLVX, aka Channel 10, nobody knew what to expect. Years of fundraising and mob antics later, the Friends of Channel 10 was founded. Beginning in 1971 and aiming to showcase more than just Vegas antics, as one of the earliest public broadcasts designated so by the government, it became a hub of education. Which is why when it eventually became our local PBS station, it was no surprise. But since then the station has made no major attempts to stand out. This is no longer the case. 

What it now wants, and what we as the audience want, is something that stands out. As a testing ground for the new future of PBS, they are open to criticism. “If people aren’t calling in with some kind of opinion, we’re doing something wrong,” says Caprio. 

While frightening and off putting to some, we don’t need to be afraid. Vegas All In is one of many productions, shows and products ushered in by those aching for change. It is exactly what Las Vegas needs after being known for so long as the city of sex, sin and secrets. Now we have a shining light on those most deserving of it, in a way some of our other beloved Vegas shows just didn’t have time for. Caprio has promised me they aren’t taking themselves too seriously. We love traditional broadcasting, but it’s not where the future lies. They intend to achieve this by incorporating techniques like breaking the fourth wall, film style camera angles, and out of the box concepts for episodes. 

Onsite for filming at the Neon Museum with UNLV professor Micheal Green Credit: Tommy Caprio 

Vegas All In has the right mix of passion and polish old media is hungry for. It’s the show we deserve, and the one we need. It understands that traditional media is a thing of the past, but that it doesn’t mean our desire for knowledge stops. If you’ve ever desired to learn more about our fair city, but don’t have time for anything without top notch production, give Vegas All In a chance. 

[adam16bit]

People must really hate Spider-Man. Green Goblin is one of his very first foes dating back to 1964, and he's appeared on a lot of the cartoons since. Heck, I saw him on Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends in the 1980s and today's toddlers see him on Spidey and His Amazing Friends, where the Green Goblin was in short supply back in 2022. People want this character, and for good reason - he's got a glider! And a wacky hat! While most incarnations of him incorporate some sort of pumpkin bomb, this one does not - but it has gorgeous packaging that serves to ask why. It's a beautiful piece of art that makes the figures look better, and the graphic design on most modern for-kids toy lines have boxed that are somewhere in the neighborhood of acceptable - I can't help but wonder if that may be nudging the appeal of new toys down a bit, but I digress. We're here to talk Kenner-branded goodness today.

Click here to check availability at Entertainment Earth. Click here to check availability at eBay.

Hasbro used the same basic buck for most of the toys, but mercifully Green Goblin got some new parts to make him better. The hands, feet, satchel, and head are all new, as is the glider accessory. The chest, arms, and legs are recycled from several figures dating back a few years. It would be nice if he was a bit different in his build than the younger Spider-Man, but hey, whatever, we got one and odds are they'd be skinny had Kenner made them in the 1980s. Due to parts reuse, the green "skin" lacks the scales or detailing from the old comic books, but at least you get the pointy ears and giant, silly hat. Of note, that hat is a separate purple plastic piece affixed in palce - it looks great and should hold up to play wear. Assuming anyone were to play with it, that is. The satchel looks nice and fits well, and the figure's curly boots slip right in to the glider - but the glider won't balance with the figure standing on it. That's a downer. You'll need to make him lean forward with his arms out to balance, or put something under the glider to keep it up.

I love the bright colors, and he stands great on his own. Green Goblin fits in old Kenner vehicles quite nicely, although the disconnect between the nicely detailed hands and boots from the rest of the body is kind of weird. It's also the kind of thing Kenner frequently would do, taking a comic/movie-style Robin action figure, altering the head to the stylized 1990s animated look, and releasing it with no additional sculpt changes. I know it's kind of a slam to have lower expectations for some Kenner-style figures, but taking shortcuts is very much the kind of thing we saw a lot back then. It's still a nice figure, and that pink bag certainly adds to the sculpted detail without having to change the torso - and the belt is merely painted-on.

I'm being greedy, but he should have had more accessories. The Green Goblin needs the glider and the bag, but the bag is there for his pumpkin bombs. Other incarnations of the figure (including cheaper ones from Hasbro) had the accessories, and it would have been a real treat to see them included here or with another figure as an accessory somehow. Alas, it was not meant to be. But at least you can appreciate the crazy painted white teeth and creepy yellow eyes.

The Marvel 375 Retro line doesn't really feel like the kind of thing Kenner did, but you could make a convincing argument that it isn't far off from what Mattel actually did do with its Secret Wars line. I'm glad Hasbro managed to squeeze in a few Spidey villains in a line of mostly good guys, and I hope they can somehow find a way to get us a few other baddies before the line goes to the big closeout bin in the sky. I assume Hasbro made an adequate number of these because the going rate as I write this is pretty close to retail price, but I don't know if I've ever actually seen Norman Osborn's green alter ego on store pegs. (I bought a case from work.) If you are old enough to see the Bronze Age of comic books as definitive, I'd recommend picking up this figure and as much of the line as you like. From where I sit, it scratches the super hero itch in ways previous lines didn't, to the point where I'm eyeballing my 6-inch Legends and considering selling most or all of them off.

--Adam Pawlus

[herrlindemann]

Nuremberg, October 1, 6 p.m. The Rammstein performance begins in just under three hours. Hectic activity backstage. Last meetings and checks for the bombastic show with its sophisticated pyro effects, in between a man. 1.92 tall, all in black, with scary burning eyes - Till Lindemann, the singer and face of Rammstein.

The time has come: The RE team is shown into the master’s dressing room. In the box hang black, bizarre jackets and coats, the legendary seven-tailed whip, leather boots in between. A strange feeling is spreading in the stomach area - what will we expect: Till, who never laughs. Till, who becomes an animal on stage and goes through all the agony of his lyrics himself ... then he is there, sits down, lights a cigarette and says friendly: “Hi, I'm Till!”

He tells us about his life before Rammstein: “I drummed in punk bands and sometimes Paul and Richard were there too.“ Richard soon after formed what is now today's cult band. The otherwise so serious Till cannot suppress a slight grin at this memory: “We also sang English songs - that sounded terrible! The harshness of the German language does not come across in English.“ This also applies to the very latest plans to conquer America: “Some of the things will be translated, but the most important things will remain German. Maybe people get curious and try to translate themselves!" Anyone who knows Rammstein has a burning question on their lips: "Which sick brain writes such texts?" But Till does not want to know anything about dark and bloodthirsty content: "I am forever accused of being misogynist, sexist, and hostile to relationships, but everyone only hears what they want to hear. I only write what others don't dare to say. Apparently there is a need for it - success proves it! My music is art!” And this art appeals to a wide variety of audiences: from the stylish manager in CK-Anzung to the herd-banging long-haired rocker.

Since Rammstein became a mega seller, a lot has changed for Till Lindemann as a private individual. The 34-year-old, who becomes an animal on stage, is a single father of a 12-year-old daughter: “Nele was always with me, but because of the many live acts I have almost no time left. Therefore she is with her mother during the tour. She is both proud and annoyed about the many fans. She always has to take things home from school to sign!” When asked about a girlfriend, Till initially said spontaneously: “Yes, there is someone." Then after a moment's thought: "But actually I'm at home to camp.“ Finally his final comment: “I don't have the time for a serious relationship!”

On the rare days when there are no appointments to be made, Till prefers to lie around and watch TV: “But most of the time I’m writing texts or develop new ideas for the show.” Till does not want to commit himself to a preferred style of music:  “I listen to everything - from classical to techno.”

The former top swimmer is still training because the intense shows require a well-toned body. “I don't like swimming, but if I haven't been in the water for two weeks, I notice it immediately!” Till is really enthusiastic about snowboarding though: “Last year I even took the opportunity to go up a glacier before a gig in Austria!”

And what does this friendly Till himself say about the transformation into the animal that lets out its primal urges on stage? “I am Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde! I stand on the stage, hear the first note and no longer know what is happening to me. After the show I'll be back to Citizen Lindemann!” - Till Lindemann in Rennbahn Express - November 1997

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[bonny-kookoo]

Under Your Skin (JJK x Reader) | 🔞

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Goth/Punk!Jeon Jungkook x Secretary!Shy!Reader

Genre: Tattoo artist!AU, Badboy x Sweetgirl AU, Idk what else

Tags/Warnings: Ultimate goodboy Kook, He looks grr but is actually sweet, shy reader, smol reader, Kookers is WHIPPED, Also a tease, Dom!Jungkook because how could I not, Sub!Reader, Babygirl!Reader, Its not heavy on the whole ddlg-stuff but yeah they be having some vibes y'know, don't come @ me don't I'm not forcing you to read it lol, anyways moving on, because smut, yes I mean it's my content, and yall nasty admit it, slight hair pulling, manhandling also only a little, oral (f & m receiving), praising, mentions of emotional and physical insecurities, but Kook be supportive so we good, back to the nasty, body worship yes pls, biting, fingering, because why not, protected sex because we keep it clean in this household, light-hearted sex, kook being a romantic goof, yeah I think thats it?

Summary: Jungkook looks like absolute trouble; like one wrong look could set him off, and turn him into an absolute murderer. But oh well, ever heard the phrase 'Never judge a book by its cover'?

A/N: you might have noticed me only putting one emoji up top. I have decided to from now on only mark my adult fics with emojis (which is basically almost every single one lets be real). Also; stop reading my fucking fics if any of the tagged/warned things make you uncomfortable. I'm tired of everyone clowning in my inbox telling me how disgusting ddlg/smut content is. You can't even tell me you 'read it by accident' because that's why I'm always putting the cut underneath my fics =) so pls go finish preschool and then we can maybe shake hands. Maybe not. Covid and all. Yeah.

On the outside, Jeon Jungkook seems like absolute trouble.

He's working at a tattoo and piercing studio, dresses in all black, clattering chains and heavy boots always alerting everyone around of his presence. His long black hair is never truly tamed, his nails painted black, and his face expressionless most of the time. He's a talented artist and well trained piercer, always visiting conventions to keep up with the newest trends, styles, and equipment there is. He takes his job seriously- and is proud of it, knowing that he had proven his family wrong by now. They had been worried about him; especially his mother had scolded him that he shouldn't throw his time away trying to make it in a world of art many had already failed. But last year, he had finally invited them over to his rather nice apartment, showing them that he was living a good life, with nothing to really worry about.

Jungkook had made it.

Well, not quite.

Because as of currently, Jungkook had a new mission, a new goal.

"Ah, Jungkook!" You say, eyes sparkling as you smile at him when he enters the shop he works at. You had recently started to work there as well, since Taehyung was absolute shit at keeping files in order and track of schedules. You hadn't applied for the job specifically, that's at least what his coworker had told him- he had known you prior already, and was aware that you had wanted a change these days.

And Jungkook had been painfully crushing on you ever since you started.

"Your schedule for the week is already here- I uhm.. didn't put it on your desk cause, I didn't want to intrude your space and all.." You say, giving him a small black booklet where you always noted down his appointments. He appreciated it a lot- knowing how much of a hassle it could be to move dates back and forth just to somehow make it fit. You always made sure that he had enough time in between multiple daily pieces in case something took longer or less so you could make sure to be able to move things accordingly. You didn't want him to get overworked, you had said. He had smiled.

"Thanks- and you can go inside, no problem." He says, and you nod. "I know you don't make a mess, like someone else here." He says, hinting at Namjoon, who was known to be quite clumsy- yet a mastermind when it came to designing pieces he struggled with. Jungkook stayed at your front desk for a bit, making you tilt your head a bit, as you tried not to stare. He always took so much care of himself, you would have had to be blind not to see how attractive he actually was. But then again, you didn't get your hopes up- after all, he was nice to almost everyone around. "You've never been in there, right?" He asks, and you shake your head. You haven't been in his space at all- too scared to invade his privacy and making him upset in the process. "I mean- you got time right now? I can show you around." He casually tells you, and you look at your computer screen in front of you. Everything had been filed for today- so you probably had a bit of time to spare.

"Sure." You said, taking your phone and standing up from your chair, making sure to lock the pc so no one would accidentally make a mess out of your tabs. Or worse; close them. God knows all hell would break loose.

Jungkook had to really force himself not to let out any noise as you walked next to him.

You were so tiny next to him.

He wasn't that tall to be honest- with Namjoon and Taehyung both taller than him, he knew he was average at best. And for the longest time, he'd had a thing for tall girls, all elegant and confident. He still liked their aesthetic, yes- but now that he spotted you, he could really see the appeal of having a shorter significant other.

You were so cute.

You carefully stepped inside when Jungkook lifted the curtain that was used instead of a door, surprised to see how.. organized everything was. A little.. off- some things seemed to be randomly put somewhere, but in general, it seemed like everything had their proper spot. "I like to have it like this." He comments, and you nod your head to that, finally spotting his tattoo-gun. It was made out of purple steel- polished, and changing its hue depending on how you looked at it. It was absolutely beautiful, even though you had a rather limited understanding of these things. "Was a present from Taehyung last year." Jungkook says, sitting down on his chair. "I never asked- are you inked at all?" He asks, leaning backwards as you stand there a little awkwardly. "You can sit down somewhere, don't be so tense." He chuckles, and you look around, before you sit on the stretcher across from him. You shake your head, and Jungkook isn't surprised. Your pink converse sway back and forth as you sit on the stretcher, legs too short to reach the floor anymore as you rest your hands underneath your thighs; hem of your dress revealing more of them than he can usually see.

"I don't have any tattoos yet, but I've been talking to Namjoon about it." You said, and Jungkooks saliva tastes a little bitter at that. He doesn't want to pout or give away that it's bugging him at all that you're not talking to him about it- but he fails miserably. "Namjoon actually said I should talk to you about it, since the style I want fits you best." You say, and he can't hide his smile, bunny teeth on full display as he leans forward a bit.

"You'd let me tattoo you?" He asks, and you shrug, before nodding. "What do you have in Mind?" He instantly asks, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

If only you knew that it's because of you; and not just because he's gonna be the first to ink you.

You've both agreed on a design you want, and Jungkook can't deny that he thinks it's absolutely perfect on you.

"Are you scared?" Jungkook asks you as he prepares everything, his sweater's sleeves rolled up, revealing his own body art to you, as well as some bracelets; one that you recognize as the wooden-bead bracelet you had gifted him last year for his birthday. It was weird to see him wear it.

"I.. no. Just nervous." You say. "I'm worried I might cry and make a fool out of myself." You say with a laugh, and Jungkook chuckles, placing a reassuring and warm hand on your upper arm.

"It's fine. I've seen grown man cry like kids on this stretcher before." He casually says. "Don't worry; I won't think any less of you just because of some tears." He says with a smile, and you nod, turning your head to look at his room's walls instead; covered in drawings, sketches, and pictures of finished works he was most proud of. "Do you want anything to hold onto?" He asks, as he starts to shave the skin of your thigh to make sure he can work as best as possible. He's so into his work, so concentrated on doing everything perfect, that he doesn't even take much into account that you're laying in only your panties and oversized sweater; skirt neatly placed on a chair in the corner of the room, to get it out of the way.

"It's fine" You mumble, although you really want to. So instead you curl your fingers around the fabric of your sweater- something that doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, who decides not to comment on it for now. He simply throws the one-time razor away as well as the tissues used to clean your skin, before he carefully places the tracing paper onto where he seems fit.

"I think it would look great right here." He says lowly, carefully removing the paper to reveal the lines he's gonna trace with his gun in a few minutes. "You wanna look at it again?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Alright." He says, before he gets up and walks out his room; only to return with your small squishy and round unicorn plush that's usually sitting on your desk. "To hold onto." He winks, and you chuckle at that.

Jungkook really pays attention.

"So, Taehyung has told me you're a bit younger than me." Jungkook says to start casual chit-chat, trying to help your nervousness as his tattoo-gun starts to buzz to live. "Only a Year if I remember correctly." He says, and you nod.

"Yeah.." You say, and can't hide your dissapoinment flooding your voice. Jungkook, until now, only had relationships with girls older than him. He's even said before that he just likes having someone older than him around- which made you even more nervous around him.

"You sound upset about that." He chuckles, and gently holds onto your thigh as you jump a bit when he first presses the tip of the gun down. "Sorry. I'll be gentle." He lowly tells you, and you swallow.

Not the time Y/N, not the time.

"Uhm.." You say, fingers digging into the squishy plush in your hands. "I.. there's someone I like, but he.. only likes older girls, so.." You say, and Jungkook glances at you. You're already interested in someone? He continues to trace the lines, wiping afterwards to get the excess ink and blood off. "But I mean, then again I don't think I have a chance with him anyways." You chuckle, and Jungkook can't help but shake his head. Even if you're interested in someone else, he shouldn't let you have thoughts like that.

"Highly doubt that." He says. "If he doesn't see you, he's blind." He tells you, and you giggle, glad that he's able to make you feel a bit better about everything. "I'm serious." He says, and you nod at that, watching his inked arm flex every now and then as he draws with absolute concentration; black facemask hiding half of his face. You can see the way his eyebrows furrow, eyes fixated on his work as he moves with absolute routine. "Do I know the guy?" He casually asks, before he dips the tip of his gun in the tiny pot of ink again.

You don't know what to say.

He looks at you for a second, and decides not to dig. "You don't have to tell me. Sorry if I seemed nosy; didn't mean to." He apologizes, and you shake your head to let him know its fine. It's quiet for a moment afterwards, only the buzzing of his gun and your occasional whine of pain. "Sorry; it'll hurt a bit more now since I'm getting close to your inner thigh- that's always a little more sensitive." He comments, and you really hope he doesn't pay much attention to your panties.

When you can see his eyes stick to them for a second, you really want to just disappear.

He doesn't comment on it though. What is he suppsosed to say? He really doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, and considering that you already have a crush on someone else, he doesn't want to get himself in too deep as well. He simply works away, finally finishing the thin and delicate outlines of your piece- the first step, before he will see you again for color and shading. He finally connects the last line, and doesn't think twice about what he says next.

"Good girl."

It takes a second that feels way too long for the both of you to register the words, and Jungkook quickly occupies himself with turning off his gun and cleaning up your skin and his workspace to get the awkwardness out of his room. You try to instantly stand up, but his palm holds onto your leg- silently ordering you to stay put, which you do. He rubs something over the piece, before he gently lifts your leg to wrap it. "I'll give you a bottle of lotion for it. Leave that bandage on for.. I'd say until tomorrow morning at least. Afterwards, apply the lotion everyday to help it heal properly." He lectures you with a gentle voice, before letting you sit up.

"Thanks." You say, grinning eagerly at the now hidden artwork on your leg. Jungkook chuckles.

"We're not done yet, but I'll take it." He says. "I uh.." He starts, as you jump off the stretcher and go to take on your skirt. "uhm, you up for some fast food?" He asks, a bit hurried, before he can chicken out again. And he hates himself for a moment, because you had literally told him just half an hour before that you already had interest in someone else. But maybe you were too innocent to get his innuendo, maybe you wouldn't get that he was asking you on a date-

"Like a date?" You ask, and he really wants to hit himself.

"I mean, if you want it to be?" He says, swallowing as he averts his gaze, a sight very weird. His hand runs through his hair, chain around his neck and piercings on his ears clattering against each other and making sounds as he moves, his combat boots nervously tapping the floor a little. "It doesn't have to be.. I know you're already-"

"I'd love to." You say however, now fully dressed again, as you grin with your bright sparkling eyes.

And Jungkook feels like he's won the lottery.

It's your third time laying on Jungkooks' stretcher like this- waiting for him to work on your art, finishing it today. But the energy is different.

Things are different between you two in general.

After some casual movie dates and rounds of overwatch, Jungkook had admitted to you that he had a crush. It was rushed, while he was driving, so he didn't have to look at you and instantly get hit by your reaction. But then, you had told him that you felt the same- and the two of you agreed to let things process from then on. Whatever would happen; you would let happen.

And Jungkook was starting to flirt with you.

It was a little weird to get close to him like that. While everyone seeing you two was a little taken aback- with your dresses and skirts, and colorful and almost childish personality, he seemed like the absolute opposite- quiet, all dark and dangerous while carrying your milkshake so you could put your phone away into your purse.

"Alright doll, let's finish this." He said with newfound enthusiasm, winking at you as you laughed at his demeanor.

"You seemed more excited than me!" You say, and he chuckles. "You're really desperate to have me gone?" You say in a playfully upset tone, and he simply huffs out a breath, before cockily looking at you for a second.

"That's not true." He says. "I'd just rather have you laid out somewhere else than in my studio, that's all." He casually says, and you shut your mouth at that, cheeks red as he laughs at your cute display of embarrassment. He routinely prepares your skin, before he starts his gun. "Too much?" He asks, and you know he's not talking about the pressure of his ink filled gun on your skin.

"No-" You start, and he now seriously speaks to you, voice a bit muffled through his facemask.

"Please tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable." He says. "You're not upsetting me if you tell me I'm going to far." He says, and you nod, knowing that he now needs a proper answer. Jungkook is way more attentive and romantic than people may think he is. He's a gentleman pulled out of a dictionary- careful and gentle with you, and always keen on getting to know you for you, and not for the person you like to portray yourself as. He wants to know what you like, what you don't like, what you dream of, and what you hate about yourself.

"Don't worry- I will." You say, watching him work on your skin. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply to let you know he's listening. "Is it okay if I sleep?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Didn't I tell you not to stay up for too long before I left yesterday?" He teasingly retorts back to you, and you pout at him- with no hard feelings behind it. He had left last night after eating with you for dinner at your place; and he did indeed tell you to go to sleep a little earlier since he knew you would have an early shift today, opening up the store. "I'm really tempted to say no." He says, eyes now on your skin again as he dips the tip of his gun in a pot of color. "You know, as punishment for not listening." He mumbles, and you almost don't catch it.

Almost.

"Jungkook?" Taehyung stands in his doorway, finally finding him sitting at his desk. "Oh?" He says in a surprised tone, spotting your sleeping figure on his coworkers lap- head resting against the inside of his shoulder, with your arms around his middle.

"Yeah?" Jungkook asks, not at all shy or fazed by the fact that Taehyung is looking at you. "What is it?" He asks again, as Taehyung smiles, giving the younger man his small booklet that you usually give him every morning.

"Nothing left for today." He said. "Just wanted to tell you good work and send you home." The older one explains, zipping up his own jacket. "Guess she'll be coming with you?" He asks teasingly, but Jungkook doesn't bite the bait at all.

"Yeah. Don't burn the house down while we're gone, you two. " He says, slipping the booklet into his pocket before he pats your back. "Come on doll, let's go home." He tells you, waking you up at least enough to put on your shoes and lead you out the store to his car.

He buckles your seatbelt as the engine comes alive, radio playing its tune softly in the background as he drives you home. "You awake doll?" He asks, and you nod your head, turning towards him with barely open eyes. "You haven't had anything proper to eat today, so I'll make us some ramen at my place, ok?" He asks, and you nod, before your eyebrows scrunch up. "What is it?" He chuckles, and you now grow more awake.

"Wait- but if we eat at yours then you're gonna have to drive me home late." You say, and he shrugs. "Noo, Kook, what if you crash the car because you're sleepy?" You tell him with a whine, genuinely concerned for him, as he has the audacity to laugh. "Kookie, it's not funny I swear to god-!" You say, and he apologizes.

"I mean." He starts, casually dropping what he had wanted to ask you for a couple of weeks now. "You could always just stay over." He tells you, and you look at him, meeting his gaze at the red light he stops at, his head turned towards you for a moment until the lights turn green again.

"We.. would have to stop at mine so I could get some stuff though.." You mumble, and Jungkook looks at you with newfound enthusiasm, setting his turning lights to enter a different road.

It's in a parking lot that you first unintentionally confront him with your biggest insecurities and flaws.

You've tripped over a stray stone you didn't see laying on the ground, leading you to fall onto your hands and scraping your knees open. Just like any normal human being, you dust yourself off, instantly hoping that Jungkook inside the shop hadn't seen you fail at something so basic as walking. You had carried some of the items you two had bought into the car while also returning the shopping cart while he had payed- and by the look on his face, he had definitely seen you.

He wasn't laughing, or hiding his grin, or anything alike. He looked concerned, taking his card back from the cashier before walking out the store, jogging towards you, who sat in the open trunk, ready to get laughed at. Even though somewhere deep in your mind you didn't think he would, past experiences had led to you now having that fear, no matter with whom. "Are you okay?" Jungkook asks, looking at you as he squats down to take a look at your bleeding knees. He reaches into one of the shopping bags, taking out a water bottle and a pack of tissues, before he wets it, one hand holding your leg by the backside of your knee, while the other carefully cleans the small wound. "You gotta be careful Baby." He chuckles a little- nothing like the laughter you had expected.

"I'm fine." You say, not looking up at him.

"It's okay to cry, you know?" He says, and you stay quiet, trying not to breathe too much as you desperately hold them back. "I won't laugh." He promises, deciding not to look at you as to give you a bit more space.

"People will stare though.." You quietly murmur towards him, and he finishes his job, before he goes to throw the now used tissue away in a nearby trashcan. When he returns, he's taking his jacket off, the item way too large on your form as he throws it over you, pulling the hood up as you look at him for the first time since your little accident, eyes sparkling with unshed tears when he pulls the sides of the hood towards him a little. "There." He says, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now no one can see you but me." He tells you. "And I will never, ever, laugh at you." He promises, and pulls your head against his chest, as you start to let go.

He really hates to see you cry- but he's glad that you're letting him in enough to let him see you this way.

Jungkook is frustrated.

He tries not to really show it, because he doesn't want to blow up in your face like that, but then again, you're kind of the reason he feels the way he does. Because even though he thought you both had a genuine connection, you're yet to let him touch you.

And not just hugging and holding hands.

It's not that he's impatient- its because he knows you, at one point, wanted him that way as well. But something happened, something he didn't notice, that made you take ten steps backwards from him. You seemed to be retreating, giving up, and he has no idea what he had done to make you react that way.

As far as he knows, he had done everything right.

But then he sees them; the messages sent back and forth between you and Hana, a returning customer at the shop- well known to flirt with everyone around here. Jungkook himself had actually considered hooking up with her once a year back, simply to make her shut up, but then again, he wasn't into one-night-stands. And she had never truly been his type anyways.

'Ah yeah, just re-schedule that then, I don't mind at all! Just make sure we have enough time together, since we haven't had time to catch up on things recently, if you know what I mean.' She had sent, a week ago; exactly the timeframe you had started to distance yourself. He knew he shouldn't look into it, but then again- this was his business too. He had the right to know.

'Sure? I can give you an appointment at around 4 PM then, so you'll be the last one. Would that be okay with you? Again, sorry for re-scheduling on such short notice.' You had written, and Jungkook can't decide if you had been oblivious to her implication (which was bullshit), or if you were simply too polite to call her out. But it's the next messages that make him fume.

'Again, no troubles. As I said, I only care that its Jungkookie, I don't really trust anyone else with my body that way ;). 4 PM is perfect, you guys still close at around 6 PM right? He's got skilled hands, I'm sure we don't need much more time, if you know what I mean.' she has the audacity to write.

But its your answer that makes him fume.

'Good to know.'

"Jungkook?" You say, looking at the screen, as you suddenly dash forwards, trying to shut the screen off- as if that would make any difference. But he catches your wrist with ease, holding it in his palm as he looks at you.

"Do you think I'm sleeping with her?" He asks, and you try to escape his grasp; and he lets you, staying at your workspace however as he keeps you locked in place with his gaze. "Y/N." He urges, making you look away from him.

"It's none of my business." You say, shrugging. "I.. No, it's-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"No, finish that sentence. 'No' what?" He says, and you've never heard him talk like that.

"I just.. didn't think you'd.. do that." You meekly say, murmuring it as he tilts your head gently upwards to look at him; his face now more relaxed as he softly smiles.

"That's good that you think that way." He tells you. "Because I don't do that at all." He says. "She likes to start drama all the time- was probably bitter I turned her down so much. You know what?" He suddenly says, turning towards the screen as he clicks to change the account, opening his own Inbox as he starts to write an E-Mail.

'Appointment is cancelled, be glad I'm not suing you for defamation. JK.'

"Jungkook-" You say, trying to get him not to send it- but it's already gone. "Why would you do that? Just because I misunderstood?" You whine, and he chuckles, shutting down the system as he looks at the clock, signaling that it's closing time.

"No." He says. "But because I don't want her around anyways, and this gives me a proper reason." He tells you, ruffling your hair as he looks at you. "You coming?" He asks, and you nod, taking your bag and coat before following him out the shop.

In the car, you finally speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums out a reply. "Do you.. think I'm attractive?" You ask, and he clears his throat at the unexpected question.

"I- what?" He asks, unsure what you mean.

"Just.. Namjoon said, that he thinks you.. see me as a friend only? Because I'm nothing like the girls you dated before.. If I misunderstood something here then Oh my god-" You start to ramble, and Jungkook laughs suddenly.

"You think I'm not into you?" He asks, and you shrug. "Of course I want to fuck you doll." He casually comments, and you can't help but feel your cheeks redden. "Wait- did you really think I didn't?" He asks, face showing genuine horror as he looks over at you.

"I mean.. you never really initiated anything so I thought.." You started, and he groans out.

Thank god you're staying the night.

"Looks so pretty, does it?" He hums out, palm running over the tattoo on your thigh, delicate lines and well-placed shadings complimenting the colors perfectly. "You know why I love it most?" He starts, hand suddenly gripping the flesh for a moment, before he pulls you closer on his lap by the small of your back. "Because that's mine." He says, before he leans in, placing an open mouthed kiss against your pulse. "The ink that's under your skin, the design, the idea-" He mumbles against your skin. "And the body it's drawn on." You whine at his tone, dark and low, as he urges you back and forth on his clothed thigh- your panties suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Isn't it like that, baby?" He asks, and you nod, furiously, and he chuckles. "Hm, you seem out of breath baby.." He grins at you, like a predator.

"Jungkook.." You whine, not knowing what you're asking for.

He wordlessly moves, helping you lay down on his bed before he crawls over you, his lips instantly attached to the skin of your neck, hands helping you out of your dress wordlessly, as he can't help but let his gaze linger on your body for a moment. "I can't believe that-" He says, pulling off your overknee socks. "-you'd ever think of yourself anything less than perfect." He says, placing a gentle kiss to the colorful image now forever placed under your skin by his skilled hands. He continues to display his affection over your skin, wandering over your stomach up to your chest, where he playfully bites just above your breast. He struggles with the front of your bra for a second, unsure how to open the undergarment without breaking it, as you help a little; letting them spring free. But only for a moment.

Because in the next, he's got them in his hands, palms gently moving over them, feeling their softness as he groans. "You're so sweet." he comments, as he finally kisses your lips, smile interrupting him every now and then. "So soft." Another kiss. "So delicate." Another one. "And all mine, yeah?" He asks, and you nod, smiling as he grins back, the expression making him look so young and carefree you can't help but wonder how anyone could ever think he's a bad man.

He's anything but.

He's so careful touching you, so delicate in moving his palms over your skin, as if its the most divine thing he's ever felt. He's still smiling, as if in a trance, while he can't stop kissing you. Your hands move into his hair- way softer than you thought it would be, and he groans into your mouth at the feeling of your fingers running over his scalp.

There's no urgency in anything he does.

He slowly moves again, hands opening your legs for him as he sits back on his heels, playfully pulling you closer by the backs of your knees, making you giggle. "You sound so sweet baby." He tells you, innocently, as if he's not currently placing his hand onto your center, ring finger collecting your already leaking wetness before he spreads it, moving his thumb over your most sensitive bundle of nerves while his ring finger enters you slowly. You whine at the feeling, not enough to get you as riled up as you'd like to be. Also; this is the first time you're genuinely experiencing foreplay. You don't know what to do- and Jungkook seems to pick up on that. "You good?" He asks, and you nod.

"I.." You say, breathless as he tilts his head, smile still present on his lips. "What should I do?" You ask, as his eyes widen.

"You?" He wonders, before he stops for a moment. "Don't tell me- this is your first time?" He asks, now genuinely worried he might've gone too fast.

"No.." You admit. "But uhm.. no one's ever, like.. you know, what you're doing.." You say, and that's when it clicks for him.

What kind of guys did you date before him that never gave you any attention like this? He's upset by it, but also weirdly cheered on by that simple fact; it gives him even more reason to make sure you'll get the most out of it. "Ah, I see.." He humms out, letting another finger stretch your entrance for him. "..well, I'm not like that." He explains, before he moves, face now close to your center- and you're unsure what he's going to do. "Trust me." He says, mumbles out, before his tongue places itself flat onto your clit, licking painfully slow as you move your hands over your mouth, trying to keep your noises in. "nuh-uh baby." He scolds, free hand pulling yours away. "Let me hear you." He demands, before he places his mouth back where it was.

Your mind is completely blank at this moment, the only thing you can really concentrate on being Jungkook, working you up so quickly you feel dizzy. It's new, and it's a little weird- but it's more than anything you've ever experienced before. And it brings you towards your end so suddenly you suddenly gasp out, back arching off the mattress as you grab at the sheets below, one hand grasping for Jungkooks, who lets you ride out your high to its fullest. "So pretty." He comments after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at your blissed out state.

"Kook-" You say, moving as you sit up, less shy now that your brain is still clouded by pleasure.

"Ah- you don't have to." He tells you, but you shake your head, and he lets you. He slips out of his clothes, finally bare, and you would've taken time to look at all the different pieces of art decorating his body- if it wasn't for his cock, red and ready in front of you. Usually, you would've let your insecurities and doubts get the best of you. But this was Jungkook. And you wanted to really believe that nothing you would do could ever be judged by him. So there was no hesitation as your hands reached out for him, gently moving, before you took him in, your lips wrapping themselves around his tip, before you moved downwards, fitting as much as you comfortably could. Meanwhile, Jungkook himself was steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, while the other was buried into your hair, his own head thrown back as he closed his eyes.

Of course he had fantasized about this every now and then; but he had never thought you'd actually be comfortable doing it. And even if- nothing he could've imagined would've ever compared to the real deal happening. There was something absolutely mindblowing about the way that you handled him, your sweet and pretty presence looking so divine doing such a sinful act with him. He had to pull you off by your hair, gently, because any more, and he would've been a goner. "G-Good god baby." He chuckles, pushing you a bit so you were on your back again, reaching for his bedside table to search for a condom. "I swear to god if I- HAH!" He tells you in victory, hands making quick work of opening the foil package and wrapping the safety over his length. "I swear I would've run out butt naked to buy one if I wouldn't have found this." He says with a grin, making you laugh.

"That's weird." You comment, and he chuckles, entering you slowly as to not hurt you, his breathing labored as he still kept the lighthearted energy going.

"You think?" He asks, and you nod, giggling as your eyes close, the feeling of him filling you up too good to keep them open. "Hm no." He said breathlessly. "Would've probably put on some pants maybe." He says, before he starts thrusting. "Doesn't matter if it means I'd get to fuck you." He says, and you giggle again.

"Kook!" You scold him, and he still continues to thrust into you, exhaling forcefully as he kisses your neck.

"What?" He whines high pitched as if to imitate you.

"Be serious!" You tell him, but can't help your own smile either.

"Oh, why though?" He says. "We're making love, not war baby." He whispers into your ear, and you still laugh at it.

"I can't believe you!" You complain playfully, moaning out when he suddenly thrusts with more force, obscene noises now interrupting you two as he picks up his pace, clenching his jaw.

"And-" He starts. "I can't believe how fucking good you feel." He presses out, hand now reaching between the two of you as he brings you towards an earth-shattering orgasm, making you mewl as you can feel yourself bursting. "Good girl!" He praises, watching as you squirt all over him, his own orgasm hitting him soon after as he grunts out, finally slowing down until he stills completely, his mouth attached to your neck to place gentle kisses and teasing bites near your pulse point.

"I love you." He mumbles out, and your eyes sting.

Because yeah, you love him- you absolutely do, but hearing it from him, hearing it in such an honest and warm-hearted tone, having this final proof of his own feelings towards you, makes you emotional. "Baby, why're you crying?" He chuckles out of breath, wiping your tears as you smile, and finally look at him with glossy eyes.

"Cause I love you too." You say. "So much."

And he can't help but grin at you.

You really are the sweetest thing.

You watch as Hana walks out of Taehyungs studio, arm wrapped up in clear foil as she walks towards your counter, pulling out her purse. "Taehyung agreed on 345." She says, until Taehyung yells another number out of his studio, making her eyes roll. She wasn't supposed to come back- but Taehyung had agreed to finish her piece at least. "Alright, here you go." She says, watching as you counted the money. "Does Jungkook work today?" She asks, and you nod. "I'm just gonna go say hi then. You can finish the receipt yeah?" She says overly sweet, and you're about to tell her that Jungkook doesn't want anyone entering without his permission, but he's already walking out his studio, black sweater and silver necklaces on full display as he walks towards you. "Jungkookie!" Hana exclaims, but her face drops almost chomically as she watches Jungkook walk up behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder as he looks over it onto your screen.

"Oh, looks like I'm done for the day. You need anything Hana?" He asks innocently, one hand on your desk while the other rests on your chair behind your back.

"I- just wanted to apologize for uhm.. the emails. I didn't know you'd read them." She says, and you slowly close all programs, while Jungkooks humms out something.

"Yeah, I figured." He says, before he shakes his head. "As I said, I'm letting it go. No hard feelings." He says, shrugging, before he walks towards his studio again, stopping in his tracks for a second. "Ah, baby, can you text Jin-Hyung and ask him if we can come now? I'm actually starving I swear." He says, and you nod with red cheeks, pulling out your phone.

"Huh." Comes from Hana, as she takes the receipt from you. "I honestly.. would've never thought." She mumbles, before she simply leaves, without any more words.

Yeah. You would've honestly never thought either.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi.com/bonnykookoo. Thank you for reading.

[biolizardboils]

Sooooo i wrote up the whole Dog Man Comix thing for r/HobbyDrama! Link to that here, full copied text below. (Note to self: pin this post if it ever starts spreading again)

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Finally done with my first Hobby Scuffle! It’s not a full Drama because I was involved, and it’s not History because it’s been happening on an off for five years now. A special thanks to u/nissincupramen, u/ailathan, and u/Dlight98 for showing interest and giving advice!

(Disclaimer: All profiles linked were public at the time of posting. Please don’t harass anyone involved, they probably don’t remember said involvement anyway.)

[Literature] Dog Man Comix: How a children’s book page fooled the Internet

Dav Pilkey has been making children’s books since 1987, and has earned nearly every award the career can offer (Caldecott, NYT Best Seller List, getting banned for trivial reasons). Captain Underpants, his biggest claim to fame, is informed by his experience of growing up with ADHD and dyslexia in a less-than-accommodating school system. (He’s been very open about this during school visits and interviews—here’s a transcript of one.)

His cheeky commentary on the issue has garnered a following of kids and adults with similar struggles. Sometimes pages from his books will circulate online, causing insightful discussion and laughs aplenty along the way.

And sometimes, they lead to Wil Wheaton (and many, many others) cheering for a kid that doesn’t exist.

But before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story…

Chapter 1: Background and Original Post

On March 22nd, 2017, DreamWorks dropped a trailer for Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie. Millennials worldwide exclaimed “Woah, I loved these books and I love how faithful this is to their tone and art style!” Then, “Woah, this series is even better than I remember!” and “Dav wrote 4 more CU books after I grew out of them, and their commentary on how American schooling fails neurodivergent kids is sharper than ever!”

I took part in this moment in history, and it was awesome. It was also the catalyst for the biggest mistake of my life.

20 days later, I saw some of Dav’s more recent outings in a bookstore and read them out of curiosity. One of them was Dog Man, a graphic novel spin-off penned by George and Harold, the young protagonists of Captain Underpants.

The first book (and only the first, for some reason) contains in-universe documents from the boys’ kindergarten days, when they first made comics together. My favorite of these was a refocus form Harold was punished with for copying said comics with a teacher’s printer.

“How will my behavior change in the future?: [sic] be more Quieter When making copies of Dog Man Comix in office.

I am ready to re-join the classroom.: No

Why?: Too busy making Dog Man comix”

I thought it was hilarious. So hilarious, in fact, that I had to share it with the growing CU community. So I took a photo and posted it to Tumblr.

Please note how I tagged the post with Captain Underpants, Dog Man, and Harold’s full name. Please note the 200,000+ likes and reblogs, as well.

(cont. in next reply)

Chapter 2: Initial Spread ft. Wil Wheaton

I don’t know how or when the post escaped the CU fandom. My best guess is that someone with way more followers reblogged it without the tags, and thus without the context. All I know is that one day in early May, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

When I checked it, The Post was getting more notes at a faster rate than my blog had ever known before or since. I was delighted to finally be “Tumblr famous”… until I read the comments and tags. Turns out, people thought my photo was of a real form, written by a real kid.

Maybe if I’d edited The Post’s main body and added the context, its spread would’ve stopped then and there. Instead, I commented on it in a way people were guaranteed not to notice and left to do something else.

It hit 3k later that day. The next, it reached 7k. This is when the floodgates truly opened, and I learned the true magnitude of my mistake.

Day in and day out, people were asking where they could find these “Dog Man comix”. Others cheered Harold on for fighting the system, promising to support his future career. I got DM’d under the pretense that I was Harold’s mother.

And if you’re thinking “surely somebody here grew up with Dav’s books and recognized Harold,” you’re correct! Lots of these commenters either deduced Dav’s involvement or found out through Google. (More than one accused me of fooling everyone on purpose.) But for every one of those comments, there were ten more that were oblivious. Even better, some came close but fell just short (i.e. “isn’t this how Dav Pilkey started out lol”; “Someone needs to get this in front of Dav Pilkey stat”). These ones were so funny and frustrating all at once that they’re my favorites to this day.

So why did so many people think the form was real? I’ve had lots of time to ponder this, and I’ve boiled it down to these factors:

People who grew up with CU won’t necessarily know about Dog Man. The eighth and ninth CU books came out six years apart: more than enough time for young readers to grow out of the series or even forget its existence. I know I did before the Movie was announced. Even post-announcement, not everyone hyped for it was guaranteed to look up what Dav’s been up to.

The elements that mark this as something from CU are obscured just enough to pass detection. Harold Hutchins’ fictionality can be confirmed with a Google search, but his last name is initialized on the form. Every teacher in the series has a punny name, but Ms. Construde’s is misspelled here in a way that obscures this. (Not to mention she didn’t appear in the main series, and “misconstrued” isn’t a common word anyway.) Harold’s sketch of Dog Man himself is hard to make out under Construde’s notes.

The book’s pages were shiny, which should’ve been a dead giveaway (nobody laminates refocus forms, AFAIK). However, I took the photo in a dimly-lit bookstore at an angle that minimized the shine to the bottom-right corner.

Finally, refocus forms were kinda upsetting as a kid. Getting your drawings written over in angry red ink was scary, too. I got yelled at more than once for doodling on my notes, and a LOT of people commented with similar stories. Honestly, it’s easy to choose not to research something if its message hooks you in at first sight.

As for how everyone overlooked the red background or the improbability of a kindergartener using a printer… yeah, I got nothin’.

Now, I will admit to leading a few people on, hoping they’d look up the names and realize their error. (Not sure if that ever worked.) But for the most part, I explained things to anyone who asked to see more of Harold’s comix—sometimes in my own words, sometimes with just a photo of the book’s cover. I made a specific tag for these responses and related posts, which is how I’m able to cite so many old comments and accurately track The Post’s growth. (You can read it in chronological order here, if you dare.)

But by then, new comments were coming in so fast that I had no hope of replying to them all. At some point I resigned to simply changing my blog’s description whenever The Post flared up and hoping people would check it. I don’t remember what it said, but I have record of it working exactly once.

Anyway, Wil Wheaton reblogged The Post that September and commented, “Stay strong, Harold.” It had a sizable spike in activity right after, but I didn’t know it was due to him (or even who he was) until a friend alerted me.

By winter, I’d developed a routine. Check The Post. Pray it wouldn’t flare up again. Freak out whenever it did. Change my blog description, maybe pin an explanatory post. Reply to some angry and sad comments, reblog some funny ones. Wait for things to calm down and return to Step 1. The guilt was killing me. I had to come clean with what I’d done, and all the confusion and upset it had caused.

And when you’re dying to confess your sins, you might as well head to the very top.

(cont. in next reply)

Chapter 3: Coming Clean

Snail mail aside, there’s only one way to reach Dav Pilkey and reasonably expect a response: his Instagram. He’s on hiatus at the time of writing, but when the Movie came out, he liked and commented on nearly everything tagged as #captainunderpants. He even filled in minor details about his characters when asked, like their birthdays and middle names, as chronicled here.

No one knew how long this direct line to God would stay open. (He kept going for 3 years, but semantics.) And so, on Christmas Day, I explained myself to him in this admittedly badly formatted post.

He responded that same night. (Here’s me freaking out about it.)

“This is pretty amazing! Would it be okay if we reposted it?”

“@petey_haw_haw Absolutely! Thank you Mr. Pilkey!!”

Nothing ever came of that, AFAIK. Maybe he spoke before consulting his literary agent or something. No hard feelings, though—I’m still just glad he was so chill about it!

The holidays ended on a high note for me that year. Now that the man himself (and maybe his higher-ups at Scholastic) knew about The Post, I thought, maybe the relevant info will get bumped a little higher in Google, and less people will fall for it. Maybe it would even stop spreading altogether!

Chapter 4: To Make A Long Story Short

It didn’t.

Chapter 5: Further Spread

Before we get to The Post’s biggest break, let’s backtrack to a few months earlier. While I was watching the original Tumblr post like a hawk, the photo itself snuck away to infect more websites. First Facebook, then r/pics, Imgur, and…someone’s personal blog, I think? (Sorry for the tiny screencaps, I swear they were bigger when I took them five years ago. Also the ads for Dog Man books in the rightmost photo still kills me.)

Fun fact: I became a Redditor to comment on the photo whenever it got posted here. Besides r/pics (here), it’s popped up on r/me_irl (here), r/funny (here), and… a certain political sub that has since been quarantined and thus can’t be linked to. IIRC, I naively asked that last one to take it down because Scholastic might raise offense. In hindsight, I might’ve dodged a bullet there.

But the worst outbreak was still yet to come…

April 24th, 2021. I was at my day job. When my lunch break rolled around, I checked Twitter and saw that Dog Man was trending.

First I assumed it was about the Michigan cryptid. Then I hoped to God that Dav’s next book was just enjoying a stronger ad campaign than usual. Anything, anything but my photo.

Yeah, it was my photo. Cropped and straightened, but still unmistakably mine. This time it was posted by a family physician with military experience.

I tweeted at him offering to explain things and prove that I was the OP. He never replied. The Tweet itself lost steam less than a day later—possibly due to people’s kids setting the record straight—but not before amassing 18,000+ retweets, 3,500+ QRT’s, and 132,000+ likes. I was terrified the whole time.

This person declared it as “maybe the pinnacle of twitter,” though. I can boast that, at least.

Chapter 6: Conclusion and The Foreseeable Future

The Post hasn’t seen any major activity since April of last year, on Tumblr or elsewhere. Perhaps it’s finally fading into obscurity like it should have long ago.

Speaking of long ago, a recent Tumblr update has made tags and reblogs from 5+ years ago nigh-unviewable. As hard as it was to keep up with them at The Post’s peak, I’m glad I reblogged and screencapped so many when I could.

For all my complaining about The Post ruining my life, I do respect how the response it got exemplified what Dav’s works are about. Many of the people who shared their own school stories added that they were neurodivergent. I’m autistic myself, and school was a constant struggle all the way up to college. I waxed lyrical once that Dav’s jokes about school, “[…] albeit being exaggerated to the point of hilarity, [are] still hauntingly accurate and can strike a chord with readers even long after they’ve outgrown its age demographic”. Seeing that in action for five years straight felt like a curse most days, but if it made any of those commenters feel the slightest bit less alone, I’m willing to call it a blessing.

That being said, I’m still paranoid that said commenters might get wise and hunt me down for fooling them. Specifically in the next few years, because DreamWorks is working on a Dog Man movie. If this account ever goes dark, now you know why.

In the meantime, I shall continue to explain The Post wherever it pops up and contain the beast I unleashed… however in vain that may be.

TL;DR: Author writes school form from Kid’s POV. I post form without enough context. Hundreds of thousands get upset on Kid’s behalf.

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

Invective Pain

Alpha Bakugou x F!Omega Reader

Words: 2.4k

Requested by: @goatsenpaiultimate

Hehe, sorry for the wait you guys. It’s been a rough few weeks for me. Also, the song ‘Butterfly’s Repose’ by Zabawa is amazing to listen to while you read this💜

Warnings: harsh language, Bakugou being an asshole, angst

“Get the fuck off me.”

“Alpha, please.”

“I said, get off. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been too clingy,” you prove his point and cling to his arm.

“I miss you,” you try to nuzzle his neck so he can scent you. With your wolf quirk, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from Bakugou for long periods of time. Your instincts were on hyperdrive, always wanting him within your reach so you knew he was safe.

“Don’t you understand what ‘no’ means?” Bakugou tenses up as you continue trying to climb his body. Due to his inability to express himself, he’s still not used to your affections.

“I can’t help it,” you ruffle your tail to prove your point.

“Well, try harder to help it.”

“But, alpha-“

“No, I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. As soon as I come home, you want to climb all over me. I can’t even take a fucking shower,” you hunch into yourself as you take a step away from him. Looking back on it, he did have a point. You could stand to at least allow him a few moments to himself before you bombard him. But, it’s just hard on you.

Because of your quirk, you’ve always been the type to cling to people and try to protect them. You miss your parents because you considered them to be your pack but, that all changed when you met Bakugou. After a few months of dating, you moved in with Bakugou (your inner Omega told you she’d love to start her own pack with him). However, it’s been a difficult transition.

Bakugou normally takes your clinginess in stride but, it’s been hard for him lately. All he wants to do is take you underneath him and nuzzle you and treat you like a queen. But, he’s been dealing with this case. It’s been stressing him out and he’s never been the type to deal with stress in a correct way.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, I- FUCK! Omega. I just can’t keep doing this. You’re fucking annoying. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have moved in together,” his words stung in your mind like a swarm of hornets, making you yelp in your mind. Although, no one would ever be able to tell your inner turmoil from the calm look on your face. Why does he have to tear you down with his words? What does he gain from your dissociation? Does it bring him satisfaction to win the argument? Even at the expense of your heart? The same heart he swore to protect when he chose you as a mate.

“I’m sorry,” and you don’t understand why. You just stand there with a blank expression, no longer feeling that your heart is safe in his hands. And, that is worse than losing an argument the two of you have.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I’m tired of you sticking to my fucking side like a toddler. You’re always hovering over me. I need space,” you intend to give him all the space he needs. “Selfish extra.”

He doesn’t know what his words do to you as he goes to the room you share, bumping you out of his way. You want to cry, you want to chirp, you want to-to-die; without him-without your alpha- what is there to live for?

Your omega crawls to your heart, shriveling up like a raisin as if your soul has been sucked by a vacuum. You feel your heart drop; the first sign of Omega Depression and you don’t tell Katsuki. How can you?

He made it clear how bothersome you were in his life. You never meant to be a burden to him. All you wanted to do was love him and give him the love he lacked from his teenage years. But, it’s transparent that you’re not wanted by the person your soul has imprinted upon.

You sit on the couch, staring into nothingness. What did you do wrong? What was so wrong with wanting to love him? You feel weak. Maybe if Katsuki had someone stronger, someone who could take his invective words in stride, he’d be happier.

As you wallow in your own pain, Katsuki is upstairs taking a shower. Part of him feels relieved to finally have some space to himself and the other scolds him for what said; he barely remembers what he said to you exactly. All he knows that your face is blank so, he assumes it’s not too bad since you weren’t crying.

He walks out of the shower expecting to see you but, he’s greeted with an empty bed. He figures you just want space to be angry so, he lets you stay downstairs.

‘It’ll be fine tomorrow,’ it won’t. As he dozes off to that thought, you were downstairs stuck in your mind. It's your fault for always forgiving him after he’s verbally ruined you You just thought your love for him outweighed anything he said to you. But, your unconditional love has reached its limit.

You wait till he falls asleep before you break the facade (you still want him to get his sleep so he can wake up healthy tomorrow). You heave and whimper as you curl into a ball on the cold living room floor. You shake from the force of your tears, tears falling like rain in the spring. You’re trying to smile to stop the tears but, your mouth ends up in a horrible grimace as you silently berate yourself. Your hands scrape at your arms, nails taking patches of your skin as a way to distract your mind. You don’t sleep that night; you don’t sleep for any of the nights that follow.

When you hear your alpha’s alarm clock sound, you climb on the couch with your face smooshed to the cushions. Katsuki follows his nightly routine, not even checking to see if you’re okay. He just gets dressed for his patrol and leaves breakfast on the table for you, kissing your hair goodbye before he leaves out the door.

You’re once again crying as you just lay there. You don’t bother to call your job to notify them of your absence. If anything, you just lay there, your tail curled around your body as if it’s protecting you from the world.

You feel useless against your heart because you know you shouldn’t have allowed Bakugou’s temper to get to this point. You had suggested therapy and anger management to him many times but, he was persistent in telling you that he had it under control. You knew he thought seeking therapy was weak (as he thinks most things are weak) but, you just wanted him to think before he spoke.

You can tell that he’s tried to do better for you and you appreciate that but, it’s not enough anymore.

This was the last straw. Not because you still don’t love him but, because you’re now in your Omega’s Depression. It’s a fairly new phenomenon. The doctors warned Omegas and Alphas that their second genders could drive them into a comatose state if the genders were met with unfavorable conditions. Your omega has started the process and you can only hope that Katsuki figures that out before it’s too late.

At first, Bakugou didn’t think anything about your attitude. He just thought you were giving him space (which he hated. It feels weird to him to be alone when he was always with you and he’s too prideful to admit that) however, he knows something is wrong when you start to avoid him.

You don’t talk to him like you use to, you don’t cook his favorite spicy ramen anymore, hell, you don’t even come to bed anymore. It’s like two strangers living in the same house (well, roommates would be more accurate). And, he misses you.

“Why are you sleeping on that shitty couch?” He’s standing above you with his arms folded, head to the side so he can hide his blush. You don’t respond, dried tear stains on your cheeks.

“Not gonna answer? What you’re too good to speak to me?” He squats down to eye-level. His breath fans across your face, the smokey caramel of his scent bringing more tears to your eyes. “Omega?”

You still don’t answer. He takes that as you still being angry about the argument; he also notes the change in your scent.

“Tch,” he walks to the bedroom and comes back with a few blankets so he can make a small hammock beside the couch at your side. He slips into the covers, hand upon your waist so he can feel you. “Goodnight, Omega.”

The next day, you’re still in the same spot on the couch above him. He does his routine, this time spending longer at saying goodbye.

“I’ll be back, Omega. Cuddling wouldn’t be the worse thing when I get home,” you stare blankly.

“And, I put some of your favorite cookies on the table,” still nothing.

“I love you,” nothing. And, that’s how he knows that everything is wrong. He spends the day on patrol, withdrawn from his hero-work. All he can think about is that blank look in your eye, the stillness of your home, the taste of failure on his tongue.

‘I fucked up,’ he sure did.

He comes home and you're still in the same spot. He doesn’t even think you got up to use the bathroom. You’re the first thing he attends to when his boots cross the threshold.

“Omega, you need a bath,” you don’t move so he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. Your body is sweating and that stench gets even worse. “Omega, I’m sorry.”

But, sorry doesn’t fix everything. Sorry is nothing when you truly hurt someone. Sorry is when someone feels obligated to correct their wrongs (not because they want to). Sorry is the Black Licorice of apologies.

“Have you gone to work?” No. He knows you haven’t but, he just wants you to talk to him. His alpha cries for his mate yet, she doesn’t respond. “Baby?”

The bath is spent in silence as you sag on him. His hand's card through your (h/c) hair, trying to release some of your tension. It’s such an intimate moment of him caressing your body as though you are a precious work of art. His lips latched onto the mating mark on the side of your neck, reminding you that he cares.

When he gets you out of the tub, he dries you with your favorite fluffy towel. His carmine eyes gaze at you adoringly from your navel, blonde hair resting against your belly. One in a while, he’ll kiss your legs and feet, silently showing how much he truly cares for you.

Night rolls around and you both follow the same routine as before; you’re laying on the couch and he’s laying beside you on the floor. You’re not eating and that terrifies him. Sadly, this goes on for another month. And, Katsuki is growing desperate to have his omega back.

“I allowed my anger to do this to her- to me-to us. And, now, I don’t know if I can help her anymore,” he joined an anger management group (which, coincidentally helped his public image as well) after he realized the argument caused the rift in your relationship.

And, you’re proud of him on the inside, even if you can’t show it. At least he’s trying but, your omega just turns a blind eye to his efforts. You commend Katsuki for not giving up though.

‘It must be hard trying to change and improve for someone and they don’t even acknowledge your existence,’ you do feel bad for him. It seems that your love does outweigh his words.

But, you’re dying. He knows it. You know it. It’s known. He just won’t accept it.

“Omega,” you’re unconscious. He came home from the weekly session to find you unresponsive (well, more unresponsive than what you’ve been). “Omega, fuck-please-I God I, please wake up.”


So, you’re at the hospital now. The antiseptic burns your sensitive nose as you’re propped up on the hospital bed, sheets crinkling under your body. The doctors told Bakugou that you didn’t really have long to live but, he just can’t allow you to go without trying his best to save you.

“Omega, please, look at me,” you look at him but, it’s like you’re not seeing him. Your eyes don’t have the shine they used to. “Omega, please.”

You can’t answer him. What if you said the wrong thing? You were clinging to life by a single strand of fiber, death clinging to your scent. You knew you couldn’t handle it if Katsuki’s words hurt you once more.

“Please, talk to me, yell at me. Hit me. Do anything,” you can’t. Your voice is stuck in your mind. “Get mad. Throw something. Spit on me! Push me away. Shit, anything. Please just please please pleaseeee, fucking, please. PLEASE I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO BE WITHOUT YOU. Please stop looking like you want to die.”

“But, I do,” you hope he can understand.

“NO! NO NO! I FUCKING NEED YOU. I LOVE YOU,” he chokes on his words as he gathers your face in his hands. “I’m such a piece of shit. It takes you dying for me to realize how much I love you. But, I do. I love you so much it hurts. I can’t lose you.”

“Wipe your tears,” you brush your thumbs across his cheek to gather his tears. “I’m right here.”

“How can you love me still? Your will to live is fucking weak and it’s my fault! And, I’m sitting here asking you to hold on for me. You don’t even have to speak to me. Just stay here. I promise I’ll stay here with you. You can’t leave me.”

“Bakugou-“

“For fuck's sake, It’s Katsuki to you! I did this to you. I’m so sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for pushing you away when I felt I didn’t deserve your love. I’m sorry for making you feel the pain I felt all these years. I’m sorry for being a shitty alpha,” he cries in your lap as you pat his back. Your omega stores, crooning to help her alpha. You’re not dead; the future may look bleak but, you know it will finally bring you the love you longed for.

————————————————————————-

Tag List💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕