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chronicbeans · 2 years ago

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Human Illustrator Wally x Reader (part 8)

Julie owns a childcore fashion line. No, you cannot change my mind. Lol

TW: None that I am Aware of

🐻 A few days pass by. As you read a book to the children of the daycare, you hear the phone ring. You quickly pardon yourself, heading over to answer the phone. To your surprise, Mr. Darling has called, saying "Good morning! My friend, Ms. Joyful, has decided to visit town. She wants to meet you and myself at a nearby restaurant tomorrow. I wanted to know if you would be free at all tomorrow to actually visit?"

🐻 You don't know how to respond. First, you meet Mr. Darling and grow to become... friends? At least, you THINK you are friends. Either way, you believe you have a pleasant relationship with him. Now, THE Julie Joyful wants to meet you? You don't know how to respond! However, you are aware that tomorrow, you have a half day of work, leaving at 11. So, you should be open from 12 PM onward. It would give you time to get home, get ready, and have a small break before leaving again. "I am pretty free. 12 PM and after. Maybe we can meet for dinner?" "PERFECT! I-I mean... that is perfect! That was Ms. Joyful's plan, too! I'll pick you up, if you want?" "You don't have to!" "I want to." "Okay..."

🐻 You give him your address, before returning to the kids. Once the workday is over, you head home and begin trying to pick out your outfit. Oh, golly... You have no idea what would be appropriate for the outing! Ms. Joyful is a FASHION DESIGNER. What do you do?! You are sure that she is nice. She is Mr. Darling's friend, after all, so she must be at least tolerable... But what if you look horrible?!

🐻 You decide to just pick what you think would fit for any occasion: business casual. It has NEVER let you down. You set the outfit out, then go to bed. Once you get home from work the next day, you take a quick shower, put the outfit on, then try to relax until Mr. Darling shows up.

🐻 There is a knock on your door, to which you spring up and answer it. As expected, it is Mr. Darling. He grins, chirping "Good afternoon! Are you ready to go...?" He trails off, his cheeks Turing a bit red. After a few seconds, where he seems to space out, he blinks a bit before chuckling "You look amazing!" You chuckle nervously "Oh, thank you! I am ready to go!"

🐻 You see his car parked outside. It looks nice and cozy, as well as relatively cheaper than you expected. You hop into the passenger seat, chatting happily with Mr. Darling as he drives you to the restaurant. Outside of the building, you see a young woman standing next to her car, checking her hair in the side mirrors.

🐻 Mr. Darling parks the car next to hers, chirping "Hello, Ms. Joyful! I hope we aren't late!" "Wally, how many times have I told you to just call me Julie? Oh, is that (Y/N)?" She turns, her dark skin and dark eyes widening with intrigue. Her blonde hair is rather large, styled in two buns pushed together at the top, almost making it look like a heart. She also is wearing a headband with an orange horn on it, as well as a large, blue worm on a string as a sort of boa. Her clothes, itself, has a very childish aesthetic to it. From a large, pastel rainbow shirt, to a pair of jean shorts covered in patchwork polka dots with teddy bears in them.

🐻 'Darn it, business casual... You failed me.' you think to yourself. You somehow OVERDRESSED. Ms. Joyful, however, goes on to coo "They look adorable in their little outfit! Oh, come inside! I reserved a table for us in the back. That way, people won't swarm us." Mr. Darling laughs "Thank you, Ms- I mean, Julie. Come on, (Y/N), let's go to the table." You quietly nod, not exactly knowing what to say in this situation. Looking at the sign, you see the words "Poppy's Pop-In Diner" at the top.

🐻 You follow Mr. Darling and Ms. Julie to the table, which happens to be a booth. Looking down at the menus that the waitress provides you, you see that the majority of the menu consists of breakfast and baked deserts. There are a few lunch and dinner options, however. The drinks consist of coffee, lemonade, water, chocolate milk, hot chocolate, and a few types of soda. You make a mental note of your order, before turning to look at Ms. Joyful as she speaks.

🐻 "You will absolutely LOVE the owner of this place, as well as the dishes! Her name is Poppy Partridge, and she is just the BEST at her job! Her cakes are so delicious!" Mr. Darling laughs at her enthusiasm. "That's right, Julie. She is also just the sweetest person, too." Poppy...? That sounds familiar...

🐻 You notice how Mr. Darling decided to sit next to you, meaning that you are now trapped within the booth. He looks over to you, noticing your stare, before patting his cheeks slightly "Is... is there something on my face?" You stammer in response, feeling embarrassed for getting caught staring. "Oh, oh no! I just thought you would've sat next to Ms. Joyful, since you two seem to have known each other longer. It isn't anything wrong. I am fine with it." "Oh."

🐻 Oh golly... now you've made things awkward... why do you make everything awkward? Ms. Joyful, however, seems to be enjoying the show, as she laughs so hard you swear she would cough up a lung. "Oh my GOLLY! You two are such cute friends! You two should like... I don't know... Wait... nevermind, actually... I forgot where I was going with my words!" Mr. Darling tenses, before letting out a small chuckle. "Oh, I am sure you will remember soon... Hey, there she is! Hello Ms. Partridge!"

🐻 You look over to where Mr. Darling is looking, seeing a woman with an apron on, as well as a pretty shirt dress. She has a dark complexion, radiating a healthy glow, as her thick, curly hair has been gathered and clipped to the back of her head. It leaves a few strands poking upwards. Her eyes are wide, making her look like a deer in headlights. Then, she seemingly realizes who called her name, chirping with a voice as pretty as a birdsong "Oh, Mr. Darling! Ms. Joyful! It is so lovely to see you two, again! The last time I saw you was... Gosh, how long? When did we film that baking show, again?" "About six months ago, Ms. Partridge!"

🐻 This day keeps getting more and more shocking. First you meet Ms. Joyful, now the baking star, Ms. Partridge? Wait, not even that. You are in her diner! She walks over, her tall figure towering over the table. She seems to take note of that, as she hunches over slightly, possibly to make herself seem smaller. "Who are you, dear? Are you a new friend of these two? A friend of theirs is a friend of mine! My name is Ms. Partridge! Oh, you must know that already! Sorry!" You nervously reply to her question, holding your hand out and shaking hers. "I umm... I am (Y/N)." "Such a lovely name! It seems like your waitress has left you two hanging... Let me take your orders personally!"

🐻 You and the rest of your table order. As Ms. Partridge hurries to the kitchen, Ms. Joyful giggles "She is always in such a rush. Very anxious, too. So sweet, though! She acts very motherly towards everyone. OH! I remember what I was going to say!" She points to you and Mr. Darling, slyly saying "You two should like, have a sleepover, since you two are such good friends! OH MY GOSH! WE CAN HAVE A SLEEPOVER AT (Y/N)'S PLACE AHHHHH!!!!" She excitedly bangs her hands against the table, almost like it were a drum. Mr. Darling coughs, choking on his own spit. "C-calm down! We don't even know if (Y/N) is comfortable with having sleepovers in general. A home is a very... Delicate space for some people. Some don't like their homes being invaded. Privacy, you know?"

🐻 You look between them, feeling charmed by their antics. "I wouldn't mind, it is just that my place is pretty small. I have never held a sleepover-sleepover, before. Not even as a kid. Usually it was more like my friends would visit, then we slept. That was it." Ms. Joyful's eyes widen in horror "You have never had a REAL sleepover?! That is horrible! We must change that! When would you be available to have a sleepover, (Y/N)?" You are taken aback by her determination, before stammering "I don't know... Umm... This Saturday is free. I don't work weekends, luckily." "THEN IT IS SETTLED! WALLY, THE SLEEPOVER SHALL BE SATURDAY!" She raises her hands in the air, continuing "We shall have makeovers, fashion shows, baking, and more! Do you have any allergies, (Y/N)? I have hypoallergenic makeup and baking recipes! Actually, I'll just bring them in case! OH, CAN WE INVITE OUR OTHER FRIENDS?! PLEASE!!!"

🐻 This weekend is going to be long, isn't it? Well, at least you will get to meet these two again. Their chaotic antics are truly a sight to behold. You shrug, looking at the both of them. Mr. Darling seems especially curious as to your response. You nod slowly "Sure. Invite a friend each. I would allow more, but my place is a bit small."

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home au #wally darling #wally darling x reader

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godfrey-the-chaos-duck · 4 months ago

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this is without a doubt the weirdest thing I have ever done

SALUTATIONS, HELLAVERSE FANDOM!

You probably don't know me, but my name is Godfrey. (Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!)

To be quite honest, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here. As I type this, I'm unspeakably nervous.

"Why are you nervous, Godfrey?" I hear you ask.

Well...

I have a dream

I'm here to tell

About a fanfic I wrote for Hazbin Hotel

(sorry)

Okay okay serious director voice from now.

Look, this is gonna sound absolutely unhinged, but hear me out. (insane rambles under the cut, this bitch is LONG)

In April, a friend and I had a conversation about a song I wrote and how it was. Well, kinda coded to Vox and Valentino.

Then one thing led to another, and two-and-a-bit months and twelve thousand words later, I had written an absolutely sprawling shitshow of a fic (details later in the post)

Even as I was writing it, I knew the written word didn't do it justice.

Hence, this post.

(golly, this sounds really demanding, I am so sorry)

Fuck it, my mom always says "if you don't ask you don't get", and for once I want her to be right.

This is, I suppose, a sort of... call to action, for lack of a better term.

Artists, animators and voice actors, I'd like your help to turn this fic into an animatic, or if we can manage it, an actual animation.

ONLY if we can manage it, not if it's gonna stress anyone out.

IMPORTANT NOTE

Just to get this out of the way, not that I should even need to say this but it's unfortunately 2024. If anyone even SUGGESTS using A.I. your ass is getting blocked. I don't fuck with that artificial bullshit.

On to my next point: I am unequivocally in support of artists and actors being paid for their work.

However, I am a Broke Bitch. Unless we could somehow do crowdfunding or something, I physically would not be able to pay people. This makes me feel like a very shitty person, but unfortunately it's the truth, and I want to be upfront and honest about that.

This is why I hope to get as many people on board as possible for this project, so nobody has to do a shit-ton of work.

I understand that most of you are busy, with work, school/college, or life generally life-ing. Join the club, my life is hectic too.

This is why I really have no set deadline for this. Whether it takes a few months or a few years, as long as it's done well with a minimal amount of stress.

Well, now that that's out of the way, time to go into details a bit.

Characters in order of appearance (this is mainly for VAs)

Vox

Valentino

Velvette

Angel Dust

Charlie

Husk

Alastor

Vaggie

Lucifer

Niffty

Sir Pentious

Asmodeus (yeah this is slightly a Helluva Boss crossover)

Frank (the egg boi)

Fizzarolli

Katie Killjoy

Tom Trench

And lastly, depending on what everyone else thinks, I have an idea for how Verosika and Zestial can be involved.

Will there be musical numbers?

The short answer is YEAH, cause Hazbin is a musical. I cannot stress enough how much the music is My Problem. Literally, apart from people singing, I will take care of that.

My Idea Of The Process

(please bear in mind I have little to no idea of how the animation process works so this is almost definitely wrong, please feel free to correct me about it)

Step 1. Storyboard

Step 2. Voice lines and songs get recorded

Step 3. Animatic (this could very well end up being as far as it gets and that is absolutely cool beans)

Possible Step 4. Animation

Finally, I'd be more than happy to be the one to edit all the clips together. Editing is its own kind of hell, and I'm totally willing to take one for the team.

The Vision

This is. (fffffff) this is the part that's gonna make me sound like a Draconian jerk but I promise I don't mean to come across this way.

I'm hoping to have something that's as close to the style of the show as possible. (this video kinda has the right vibes) This is so the final project will look cohesive and somewhat professional. (god that probably sounded so bad but I genuinely have no idea how else to say it)

TO BE ABSOLUTELY CLEAR. I have nothing against artists with other distinctive art styles, in fact I've come across several that I absolutely love.

Regarding The Writing

I've never directed anything before, so forgive me if this is crossing a line, but like.

I have my vision for how I want this to go and I'm kind of. not overly flexible on that. Obviously ideas that people have to get this to work good are more than welcome, but they might not end up happening.

Not to be a dick, but I am sorta the director so I do kinda get to make the call on that stuff. (ew god that felt odd)

If this gets off the ground, I'd have to turn this 12,000 word fic into a script to make it easier for people to read it and not get bogged down by my weird old-fashioned poetic style. This would be sent out to people who express interest at some point.

Just a heads-up: If you're expecting an AO3 link I am so sorry but it's Google Docs, mainly because this thing is wildly self-indulgent and I, for one, do not fancy attracting potential haters. Most people are nice, some are very vocally not. Besides, what would be the fun if everyone knew the story in advance?

BASICALLY

If you're interested shoot me an ask and I'll answer privately (OFF anon pls, I wanna know who I'm workin' with here!) or DM me and I'll get back to you.

If you see this and know someone who'd be interested, feel free to tag them or send this post to them.

I am gonna tag @achilleanauthor (my right hand man over here) @emeraldcity1900 and @onesidedradiostatic as they're kind of the only blogs I know who are I guess. Active in the Hellaverse fandom.

If this gains enough traction and I get people on board, I'll be setting up a Discord server (another first for me).

Watch this space, and as Alastor would say, "Stay tuned..."

#the chaos duck has spoken #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #i felt like. such an asshole even writing this post #but yeah.#halp meh #hazbin fan project

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lightning-and-dragons · 2 days ago

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Never Alone (never again) Snippet

Here's a snippet of a new Ninjago fanfic I'm working on! It's an extension of my AU where Jay gets found by Ed and Edna and begins to live with them (post Dragons Rising season 2).

Warning for descriptions of blood.

I hope that you enjoy! If anyone has any questions about this AU please feel free to send an ask! I absolutely love this AU and am definitely aiming to continue writing it!

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“And, you better believe that we’re going to that festival later in the week!” Ed was saying, and Jay listened, eager to forget the thoughts that tumbled through his head. “There’s gonna be dancing, singing, you name it! Gee, it’ll be a great time!”

“I probably won’t go.” Jay said weakly. “Not if there will be a lot of people there.”

The more people around meant more threats, more people who could attack him at any moment. He couldn’t let his guard down for a second.

“I’m sure you can stay by us if you want!” Ed said. “There'll be food there too, and a lot of it! And if you ever need a break….”

Ed’s voice trailed off, and Jay looked to him, noticed Ed’s shocked gaze, and looked out the front window himself. Jay straighter, his lips parting in shock.

“What…?” Jay whispered, panic racing though his heart, and his hand found his knife.

Ed slowed the truck to a stop, silent, and Jay scrambled out onto the ground below them. Breathe was stolen from his lungs as he took in the destruction around him.

The southern forest was gone. What once was a luscious, green, fully covered wood was in ruins. In its place sat splintered wood, trees and leaves scattered on the ground, shards of wood all over the grass. The grass itself was trampled, charred, and some spots were coated in dark red. With one quick inhale he smelled the scent of iron. He scrunched his nose at it and, despite his stomach doing flips, Jay stepped closer.

Every tree had fallen. Every trunk still standing was charred, and Jay could see the horizon behind where the forest should’ve covered it. The few trees still standing were leaning precariously, and Jay couldn’t believe that there had been a thriving forest there just yesterday.

It was dead. The entire area was destroyed, as if it had laid in ruin for years.

“What…what happened?” Ed said weakly, standing behind Jay. “Golly gee, how is this even possible?”

Jay knelt onto the ground, taking off his glove and running his finger through a dark patch in the grass. A trail of red smeared across his fingertip, and Jay knew that it was blood.

“This wasn’t a storm.” Jay muttered.

“No storm is this powerful, that I can agree with. A tornado, ya think?”

“No. No, there shouldn’t be this much blood. You told me that there wasn’t much wildlife in these woods.”

Ed sighed. “It’s true, nothing but a few bears.”

Jay looked back to Ed, whose face was pale. His eyes were distant, as if he was thinking of something else, before they focused back on Jay.

“Did ya want to take a look around?” He asked Jay, and he was about to refuse, until Jay realised that he did. He wanted to figure this out. He wanted to know what caused this. Despite the lack of curiosity he experienced since wearing the mask, it burned brightly in him now, begging to be heard. He wondered if it was part of who he was, but Jay pushed that thought away.

“Yeah.”

Ed nodded, and proceeded to head to a few large fallen trees while Jay got to his feet. After quickly grabbing his bag, he moved forward. He stepped carefully, trusting his feet to guide him around the rubble. His mind wandered, and Jay couldn’t help but notice how close this was to the village, and how close disaster was to striking it. How many people could’ve died? How many homes would’ve been destroyed? How many lives would be changed yet again?

Jay didn’t know many people here, he was close to even less. But he still wanted them to live. They’ve done nothing but live a peaceful life since the Merge, they didn’t deserve anything like this.

And when Jay imagined the village in ruins, spots of grass coated in blood, he felt like puking.

Jay startled when he heard a small whimpering to his left, strangled and weak. He quickly grabbed his knife, pulling it out of its sheath, holding it at the ready as he studied the area around him, looking for any threat. Instead, he found a log shifting where it lay. He moved closer to it slowly, cautiously, knowing that whatever it was could be an enemy.

Yet all he saw was a small creature, defenseless, and pinned beneath the log.

It was small, bright orange, and quivering. Jay could see a small scaled head peeking out from below the log, black eyes staring at him with fear. Some of the scales were coated in blood, others only streaked with the substance, and the creature didn’t move other than the quakes that shook its body. Jay's breath caught in his throat as he watched it.

Every instinct of fear his body developed was gone the second he met the creature's eye. Jay knew, despite the distrust he had learned over the years, that he could trust it. He wasn’t afraid of it. For the first time in too long, his mind became clear, only for a second, before the uncertainty returned. But not the fear. The fear was gone.

He knelt into the soil, keeping his eyes on the creature, noticing its harsh breaths, its focused gaze, and weak form. It looked like a dragon, a baby one, one who couldn’t even stand on its own.

Was it so young it couldn’t do anything without its mother, or was the blood that covered it coming from its own body?

The dragon whimpered as Jay leaned closer, and Jay shushed it gently. Something stirred in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in forever, something too close to concern, and he put his knife away.

“You’re going to be fine.” Jay muttered. “Just keep calm, okay? I’ll get you out of here.”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #jay walker #ninjago jay #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago fanfiction #dragons rising #jay ninjago #never alone never again au #fanfic snippet

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daszombes · 1 year ago

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i have zero idea how this ask thing works but hello !!

🫵you,, you have knowledge...on twisting roads,,,

this question has been bouncing around my head for an entire year now that he's turned 1, so i must ask you. this is very important to me.., (i like concepts like this. i am oddly weird)

in the animation bit of his log, TR is animated falling to the floor and breathing heavily (or doing a motion similar to such) as he looks up at the red holograms. my question is if him being this human/organic is true (i always thought so because it was greenlit by you—erm i mean daszombes). and if so, i've always wondered from where he breathes from. hidden vents near his neck? from the creases inbetween robotic part segments? is his lower face area made of some weird material and there’s a system hooked up behind it?? through his skin—pores even?? another some other way??? some of my ocs have little holes near the bottom of their antennae.,,

TR talks with a speaker ofc (maybe??), but he also sighs. and after the nerves grow out of his antennae the following logs get pained and kinda breathy??? that detail was probably to emphasize the agony but it didn’t seem like he did it before. my brain is doing somersaults thinking about the logic and how and why TR would breathe. how organic is he? golly does he have a little beating heart?? blue or red or some other color of blood?? is his skin silicon or flesh? a nervous system overriding can’t *give* you a respiratory system…???

if he doesn’t breathe then are you open to fan interpretations of him doing so? i understand there could be a whole ‘nother route of him just replicating the sound to just be more human-feeling, though.

sorry,,, i get really obsessed over concepts like this 👉👈💦!! i think its fun to write and i have a ton of ocs who breathe and stuff. makes em feel more human. and its fun to imagine. apologies for the mountain of words aha, i hope ur doin well!! 💛

IMO the iterators were programmed with a lot of basic instinctual behaviors from the ancients, simple things like how to use their hands or how to stand upright were sampled from ancient biology I'd imagine considering iterators are humanoid.

TR displays a lot of human-like mannerisms with the falling to the ground stuff, the way I explain it (besides just the classic "cuz its cool" which is the actual reason) was that the pain responses are rare for an iterator to experience, so they react like a human, clutching their abdomens despite that not helping at all, attempting to breathe despite not being able to, things like that. Of course, there is always the option that iterators do just breathe because they need to breathe, which is entirely possible.

I personally think the former option is cooler so it's what I'm going with, but also like... they could just breathe because they gotta breathe. In which case if they did have to breathe I would give them a small screen or series of holes or spiracles along the neck or jawline. I like iterators being insect-like so spiracles are kickass.

#iterator logs #iceland #iceland epic

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tinyattack09 · 11 months ago

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ALLL MORAL OREL FANS

you wanna see a fix where Clay is confronted by literal god???

Here it is!!!

Beseech

After the Danielle incident and the hunting tragedy, Clay Puppington receded to his study most of the time. Making no attempt to change, he would waste his days drinking and having an affair with both Censordoll and Stopframe. But, we all know that the lord giveth, and the lord taketh away.

“Clayton Middleinitial Puppington!”

“G-…God!?”

“It is I, the Heavenly Father.” His voice shook the room, and boomed into his body.

“Wha-…Why have you visited me, Lord?” Clay said, clearly in a daze.

“You have a lesson to learn, Clayton. You give your own

lessons and stories while convoluting their meaning to fit your way of destructive, abusive life. It is time that you learn, mortal. The Lord’s mercy only reaches you if it remains pure.”

A sword of pure light appeared. As the Lord held it, the power

changed its hue.

“Lord, what are you doing!?” Clay stepped back. He knew that

he was in trouble, and he couldn’t bribe this one to go away. The sword was raised, and all the light in the room was focused only on Clay.

“What is necessary to keep my world pure.”

“Why…?!”

"Why!? Pathetic. Unable to realize thy faults. Let us see your life, and what it really was."

Everything fades. There is a young boy holding a gun. It shakes in his hands as he struggles to bear such a deadly tool.

"It's a tradition in the Puppington family that the head of the household would pass off this gun to the eldest son."

"Wow, dad… But I don't think I could kill an animal. That seems too mean."

"Son, nature was made to be hunted. We get to 'play god.'"

“Play God?? Golly Pops… that doesn’t sound very right…

You know the sixty-third commandment! ‘Thou shalt never hold a gun without anything to shoot at!’ And we have to follow God’s rules!”

The memory switches to a young Puppington, holding that

same gun, while ketchup was spewed all over the child’s body.

“Clay! Clay! Clayton! Open your fucking eyes!” Clay’s body was shook violently.

“What?? I didn’t do anything!” Clay springs back to life, having

pretended he was dead. His mother then cried out

“Oh thank the heavens! Lord, thank you-“ She froze in the

middle of her sentence. She fell to the floor, her heart unresponsive.

“Mom!” Clay ran to his now dead mother, understanding what he did.

“Get back!” Clay’s father pushed him back, slamming him to a wall. No CPR could be done, and Amanda Puppington was declared dead. The memory fades to black.

Clay was frozen.

“I-… I was so young, Father! I didn’t know what I was doing! I was only six years old!”

“Then let us watch something more… recent, yes?” The memory flashes to the wilderness. Clay is an adult, and stands there with his twelve year-old son, Orel.

“Dad… I think you might be *too* drunk.”

“I… Let me tell you something, Orel! Drunk is nature.”

“I’m not really comfortable hunting with you, Dad.” Orel is tense, gripping to the log he’s sitting on.

“You aren’t comfortable hunting with me? Ever tried hunting with you!?” Clay gulps down his liquor like it’s the last bottle of water in the desert.

“Y’know kid, your cup is always half empty. Look at me. You should be more like your old man and look on the blight side of life.”

“B-Blight?” Orel said, shivering from his fear.

“No, I didn’t say ‘bright,’" Clay interrupted, "I said blight. My life is sunny and blight. ‘Bright’ means the opposite — it means sudden withering death. And that’s… not… Oh, who am I kidding, my life is full of bright…”

“Dad..?” Orel replied, terrified that his father would lose composure.

“Oh, God.”

“What’s happening, Dad!?” Orel cried.

"Oh, I hate myself…”

He runs out of liquor in the bottle. He stares at his reflection, silently hoping that it would be the last time he’d have to see it.

“Why do you quit working on me!?!”

Everything goes silent. No birds chirping, no crickets, no owls in the night.

“She always fools me, Orel. ‘I’ll make things better dear! Drink me! Put me inside of you, I’m great!’ And then she chokes me just like every other whore out there!! They’re all worthless, kid! Every woman. Don’t let ‘em get ya! All of them just wanna get ya! They just grab you and pull you into ‘em! And then you’re forced to stay in, pull out. Stay in, and pull out!! And then they cut ya! And they grip ya by the… right where it counts! And then they start SQUEEZING things out! Things that are like weights around your head! You’re stuck there for the rest of your life, with NOWHERE to go and NO ONE to be!!! AAAAGH!!!”

The scene faded out.

"What's so bad about that?! It's useful advice!" Clay exclaimed, deluded by his own prejudice.

"Just wait, mortal."

The scene reappeared. It opens to clay and Orel sitting across from each other, with clay in a drunken stupor. Orel is now as far away from Clay as he can be while still on a log.

"It's time you became a man. Where's my rifle!?" Clay yells, searching for it/

"Dad, I don't think-"

"There it is! No mistakes, no accidents, no fuck-ups, no blunders."

"Dad! W-What are you doing?!"

"Somethin' important!!"

A single, lone spark flew. Following it was an ear-splitting bang. No noise could be heard after that, other than the ringing going through both of their ears.

"D-...Dad…"

The scene fades for the final time.

Clay was frozen.

"Do you realize thy fault now? Are you able to comprehend the weight of your sin?! Do you finally see that your actions have consequences, Puppington!?" The ethereal voice boomed. Its volume was so loud that Clay was shaken back into reality.

Clay was speechless. Instead of pleading for his case, he simply stood there thinking. He didn't need to speak, for his god could tell exactly what he was thinking.

I couldn't have done that. But I did. How? Why? What do I do!? What do I do?!

But then a thought hit him.

Just give up. You've been so dedicated to your Lord your entire life. Give everything to Him.

"Please…" Clay said, hopeless and weak. Clay then fell to his knees. He didn't dare to raise his head, or so much as stand up.

"Please what?" The deity spoke. Tears began to roll down Clay's cheeks as he remained there kneeling before his God.

"Please… Have mercy," he muttered. He was too weak to raise his voice.

"Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me. I'm weak without you, God."

"You beseech for something you could not give to your own, Clayton. The kingdom of heaven does not allow those like you."

The sword of light raised up once more, as Clay said his final vow.

"I'm sorry, Orel."

A scream rang out. The scream of a weak, hopeless, self-destructive, and miserable young boy. The light disappeared, and all that was left was a soul, going to neither heaven nor hell. The soul was trapped in the mortal world, and had a chain around its neck.

Suddenly, Orel walked into the study. As he stepped further, something came into view.

The end of a chain that led directly to his neck.

RB AND LIKE I SPENT SO MUCH TKMD ON THIS OKAY BYE

#moral orel #clay puppington #bloberta hymentact #shapey puppington #orel puppington #short story #my fic

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puella-1n-somn10 · 8 months ago

Text

Sophocles; the Miracle Child of Melemele

Total word count: 2,096

This was supposed to be a brief analysis post regarding his parents alone, but, admittedly, I got carried away whilst writing all this down. Sincere apologies for those waiting on the Meguca!Penny megapost and analysis of the families present within the Sun and Moon anime; I will do my absolute best to bring both of them on the table as soon as I am able to. This has been, let's say, a fun little writing exercise that got way out of hand- but I am happy to confess that I did have my fun writing it all down, and do hope that you guys also enjoy what I have brought in- consider it a sort of a snack made to prepare you all for the next meal!

So, starting from the very top, I have noticed that a couple of the parents' designs within the SM season of PokeAni do correlate with some NPC models present in-game for quite some time now; specifically with Abe/Mallow's father and Sophocles' parents. In the former's case, he's clearly based on the chef class; just slightly tweaked and redesigned to make him resemble his two kids, which was surprisingly effective enough to give us a simple yet unique design that helps him stand out. Meanwhile, with the latter, they're based on the madame and gentleman classes respectively- down to the minute detail of both the father and said gentleman class possessing a grey watch on both of their left arms.

It really isn't a surprise seeing how these inspirations work in their favors not just design-wise, but also within the narrative; Abe is already present in the games donning the exact same NPC model, and it has been all but outright confirmed to us that Sophocles' family is of high societal status - with both Molayne operating Hokulani Observatory and the father being the VP of the tourism board -. These designs and their inspirations help them fit in to their roles seamlessly and perfectly; giving the impressions of who they are to the viewer and their respective without the need to state their purposes to us outright.

What caught my eye for quite some time, though, is that it does appear to us that Soffy's folks are quite, let's say, quite old when compared to the other parents present within the show; not just in appearance, but it's also clear to us through their mannerisms - with the both of them having this polite, old-timey, and jolly vibe they tend to carry wherever they went -. A rather innocuous detail to fuss over, but it is one that would throw a wrench at whatever timeline one might be working on once you take Sophocles himself into account; how he appears to be so young, especially with the rest of his classmates already being in their early teens and himself being at least 11 years of age in comparison.

While I could see that the writers didn't really think too hard on it, I personally believe that this little detail right here might provide more insight into Sophocles' upbringing and why his old folks are doing their damned best to provide for and help nurture him in the best way they could. As a matter of fact, I have half a mind to say that, alongside Kiawe's and Lana's families, Sophocles' might be one the healthiest family dynamics we have seen throughout the Sun and Moon seasons of the anime, and, by golly, I am really excited to explore their interactions and the core reason behind it all in as much detail as I could.

After pondering on the topic for a while, I've managed to muster up two little theories that might help bring everything together and provide more insight into Sophocles and his folks as their own characters. Bear in mind that, aside from the analysis of certain context queues and symbolic references, neither of the following proposals are anywhere near canon; they're merely nothing but my own 11 AM ramblings on a Sunday, but it is fun to speculate and place those three goobers under a microscope! These are simply my interpretations of the events that have lead up to the present day and the characters we are currently discussing, and if you guys have other proposals behind this you want to share, I highly encourage you to do so! We are here to inspect these characters through various lenses and perspectives, so the more interpretations, the better!

The first, and most possible, reason behind all this is that the two met during later stages of their lives; the both of them already having more than enough experience to not just create a healthy relationship between one another, but also grant their eventual future child a prosperous and loving home life where he could grow up into a promising young man- with his own skills and experiences evolving with him in-tow. This scenario would not only paint the both of them in a wiser light than what we've seen throughout their appearances within the episodes they're present in, but it also boosts speculation on who they are before they both met and eventually had their kid; what sort of achievements they have personally accomplished, what they've gone through to become the people they currently are, the circumstances of their own upbringings to begin with- all of these and more are essential building blocks to a person's overall character and how they view the world. After all, though they have their similarities, the differences between the two are almost night and day- and I hope I could bring said key differences to light soon! They, alongside the other parents of the main cast, deserve an analysis post of their own, and I hope I could share my speculations and findings with you all soon enough!

The second possibility, though, teeters more on the speculative and even symbolic angle, but still manages to fit like a well-placed jigsaw piece on a puzzle board. I should give you all the heads-up, though- it's best that you take a good look at the trigger warnings present within the tags before proceeding here; if what we're about to discuss is triggering to you in any way, shape, or form, click away now for the sake of your own health. I apologize for the inconvenience, but, once more, one must place the health of the reader in a higher regards over their creative projects. Please be safe, darlings.

What I am about to suggest next is that...in gentler terms, Sophocles was the child they have managed to conceive after such a stretch of time- after countless trials and tribulations. The toll of trying and failing to conceive throughout the years may have managed to take its toll on the both of them, but now look- the duo have finally managed to bring forth their little miracle into existence. They have given their all so that they could have their sweet little child in their arms, and now he's here; happy, healthy, and breathing.

This is a...rather grim scenario, but it's also one that makes a shocking amount of sense; after all, Sophocles is usually associated with either of the two symbols within the overarching story- lightning (which is to be expected, as he is an electric type specialist) and stars; the latter of which being a common symbol of wishes, especially when in the form of meteors. Heck, when you look at him back when he was a toddler as shown in the episode "Showering the World with Love", you can even tell that his hair at the time looked like a star!

Speaking of, within that same episode, we were also presented with the life cycle of the meteor pokemon, Minior; a species that is destined to one day make an impact on the earth's surface, live out the rest of their brief lives amongst its inhabitants, and float back to the skies as they dissipate into fine particles- marking the end and new beginning of their species' life cycle. It is in that episode where Sophocles had his first encounter with loss, and, according to some, might be where he tackles the root cause of his scotophobia; witnessing a friend he's managed to make at such a young age at the time fade in to the dark with no promise of return- dissipating into the vast nothingness of space peacefully and without a care in the world, for they have long come to terms with their destinies. There was nothing he could have done to change or prevent this, as this was one of the many set rules of nature, if not existence itself.

Once more, I have to repeat myself and state that the possibility of Sophocles being a couple's only success at making their own bundle of joy is shockingly dark- and I wouldn't even blame you for believing that this is way too much for Pokemon to ever portray. However, one most also remember that the topic of grief, as we've already discussed just now, is no stranger to the Pokemon anime, especially within the Sun and Moon seasons. As a matter of fact, one of the many overarching themes present with this set of seasons is, in fact, grief- it is this state of mind and deep sense of sorrow that drives a majority of our characters, whether that's been made obvious to us or not, and it is within these seasons that we learn of the many ways one might handle or even tackle the impact of sudden loss.

Besides, in complete contrast to our first proposal, it is also implied that both his mother and father have been a thing for quite the stretch of time now; from their choice of words and language in the EN dub, to them addressing one another via affectionate nicknames such as "love" and "dear". All that, and that's on top of the father being completely smitten with his wife; taking every opportunity to give her praises all while blushing like mad whenever she compliments him. To me, that's a couple that went through thick and thin via healthy communication, and are cooperating with one another to ensure that they manage to live their lives harmoniously.

"Hang on, didn't he also have an implied celebrity crush on Kahili?" Yeah, well Burnet also had one towards the Masked Royal before she knew he was Kukui- it's ok to find some people attractive or generally good-looking, just don't go out and form romantic relations without the awareness of your partner and cheat on them. :/

All in all- though these scenarios were born from mere speculation, they still stand as a testament to how well these three are written, and how the way they interact with one another grants leeway for fan interpretations and conjectures. While I am bummed by how we didn't get any more of their dynamic in the canon of the anime, I don't think it's time to close the book on them just yet; after all, if Kiawe's grandfather was canonized by the games - specifically in Pokemon Masters EX - years after he made his debut in the anime, then there might be hope for other anime-only characters later down the line.

Personally, I am hoping that they grant us more content in regards to Sophocles' old folks, and the reason behind this is mostly due to the similarities our child of the starts has with none other than Team Galactic's leader, Cyrus. They may share similar strengths, skills, and struggles- heck, it isn't hard to see that, once upon a time, Cyrus may have been in a similar spot as Sophocles back when he was a child, but, in the end, it is their respective upbringings that have molded them into who they currently are; a child who wishes to explore the stars with his partner pokemon, and a man who sought to destroy the entirety of existence by reweaving the fabrics of space-time so that he could rebuild it all in his own image.

To a select few, Sophocles was their little blessing; a bright and peculiar little child, indeed. To those few, he deserved to live his life in harmony and peace- with the opportunity to continue growing and honing his skills in a healthy environment. To those few...I can only hope that they are now glad with all their hearts; he has, indeed, become a talented young man with oh-so much just ahead of him.

Stand proud, Sophocles.

Stand proud...our dearest bundle of happiness, pride, and joy...

#TW: Miscarriage implication #Pokemon #Pokemon Sun and Moon #Pokemon Sun and Moon: Ultra Adventures #Pokemon Sun and Moon: Ultra Legends #trial captain sophocles #Sophocles pokemon #Sophocles' parents #Pokeani #Anipoke #Character analyses #chat room

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sillygoofyqueer · 6 months ago

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Caught up on losing hope and Four? You asshole (affectionate)?? You made me cry for several reasons?? (I’m only half exaggerating but tbh you got me pretty damn close) wwx being taken care of and getting emotional abt it?? Running away and having a panic attack??? HUALIAN CAMEO?!?? Tbh it’d be a little funny if they became consistent cameo characters who give advice to the disaster that is wangxian. Also you spoil me with all this good writing istg. Like, what else do I read?? It’s hard to find well written fics Four >:/! Also Jin ling crying over Wu Ming??? I was in my room yelling “you would help him escape but he doesn’t want you to because he thinks you’ll hate him!! :(!! (And you actually might…)”. Also jgy catching on?? Hello??? What’s he gonna do with that? Idk whether to hope he does nothing with it and brushes it off or that he’s an evil little asshole and uses it against both of them. I am a bit curious as to what Jiang cheng is going to think about all this. Same with Lan Xichen because in canon he denies it but he can’t really do that here because there’s PHYSICAL EVIDENCE. Or maybe he will deny it because jgy is a good liar. But yea. As per usual I wish I could give you more kudos and please remember to TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF :/

Wrestling you into the biggest hug ever right now, aight?? BIGGEST hug ever. You can't cry, 'cause then I'll cry and I won't be able to work on Losing Hope 😨😨, and nobody wants that. Hey, there's so much going on, maybe Hualian do just randomly pop up throughout the fic and are like, "don't forget, communication is key!" or "always wear red if you want to look badass" and then just vanish, leaving everyone like "???" I'm going to think about this so much now... You are so sweet oh my golly gosh, PLEAASE THERE ARE OTHER FICS THAT ARE BETTER THAN MINE (I've been reading them instead of working on losing hope, but you can't prove that)- ((my current favourite is Grimoire)). You flatter me, now I'm violently sobbing. AGAIN. This really can't be good for me, I can't cry this much. Jin Ling just wants his Wu Ming to come back! He surely could have helped his friend escape, because he cares about his friend more than anything Xiao-Shushu could say about him! No matter what he had done, there has to be a reason for it, or else he would have scared Jin Ling off, right? I think the real question is, how could he recognise Wu Ming if he were to see him on the streets? I think that is one of the biggest fears for Jin Ling, and I can't WAIT to get into that. Jin Guangyao catching on about possible communication between Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian could not be a good thing. I wonder what on earth he could do with all of this information...nothing bad, right? He's too good for that, right? :] Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen are definitely in an interesting situation in all of this, because Jiang Cheng has no idea what's going on - why on earth is Jin Ling crying? He simply has to do something about this, he has to fucking find who has made his nephew cry and kill them chat to them about why they think it's a good idea to insult Jin Ling. My favourite thing about this AU (of sorts) is that while Lan Xichen does know that Lan Wangji is madly in love with Wei Wuxian (due to being told by his brother, they can talk about these things because ✨communication✨), he doesn't know HOW madly in love with Wei Wuxian his brother actually is, because there was no confrontation after the Nightless City Massacre. For all Lan Xichen knows, Lan Wangji has moved on from Wei Wuxian because he has no idea how down bad Lan Wangji is for this chaotic controversial man of the cultivation world. This is a little ramble away from what you actually pointed out, but I think it genuinely actually helps out with it. As you've said, there's physical evidence of how Wei Wuxian's been treated by Jin Guangyao and the Jin Clan. PLUS!! Lan Xichen in canon could be seen as biased AWAY from Wei Wuxian because of how he's treated his brother (this is just me rambling at this point), meaning he would be less likely to feel sympathy and want to help Wei Wuxian even for his brother. In this world, there isn't this bias away from Wei Wuxian! Could that help with convincing him of what Jin Guangyao has done? We'll damn well see, or my name isn't Four.

#four answers asks #four's headcanons #four's fanfic #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #wangxian #jin ling #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #lan xichen #mdzs fanfiction

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bloomstudioart · 8 months ago

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Do you enjoy your job as a shoemaker?

Are there ever annoying or rude customers, and if so how do you handle with them?

"oh golly!"

"Well, all work is good, of course, it has its pros and cons, since there can be good and bad points in everything, but the important thing is livelihood, besides, it's just Albert and me; In any case, there are times when it makes me doubt if it is really what I want to do all my life but then I remember that I am working with my brother and it motivates me a lot, since both opened the store from scratch, and about the costumer, ugh, yeah... Things have happened that you have no idea..."

"There was that time where a customer was rude to us, according to what his ex-wife had left an order for his daughter's ballet shoes, We didn't know anything and when we found out that we didn't have an order of that type"

"He apologized a lot, as he told it, he was very stressed, since his wife left him, took his daughter away and many other things, We helped him calm down, in the end he bought some nice shoes for his daughter, hoping that she would receive them, I hope he is okay."

#art #small artist #that'snotmyneighbor #tnmn #digital art #tnmn fanart #robertskypeachman #ask to robertsky peachman #ask blog #send asks #ask me anything #ask open

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lunaritychuwolf · 2 months ago

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Chu's Rant about fanfictions! (And maybe some web novels)

Note that these are my opinions, if you don't agree with them, don't comment on it, just move on and pretend you never saw my post.

Tropes:

-miscommunication

To be honest, this trope isn't bad. It just becomes irksome when it's used too much and not well. I like the miscommunication trope in healthy doses but I'm tired of seeing mostly this in the fanfics I find.

-enemies to lovers/ rivals to lovers

Most of the time when I read this trope it just doesn't sit right with me. Because yes at the start the two characters absolutely hate/despise each and then suddenly BOOM! they don't anymore? Like... Where was the progression that made them stop hating each other? Where was the part they started getting along? I really like this trope when it's written well

-idk how to title this one👀 but you will get it in the rant (or I hope you will😭)

When characters get reincarnated back into their body a few years before their death to change their life but they still end up with the person that treated them terribly? Like...I'm talking Abandoned Empress that trope! Where Tia gets killed by the emperor, her husband who has been treating her badly throughout their marriage but after her reincarnation she still ends up with him. Like wtf? She really did have so many better options😭 This trope makes me so so angry whenever I read it. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't and most the time it doesn't. Usually what makes up for it is the art honestly.

Genres:

-smut

Heaven forbid!!! This is all I find now when I search for fanfics! Smut this! Smut that! RAAAAAAAAAGH!!! I get it, goodness enough? I've filtered my tags, I've set my algorithm but holy moly smut always, without a doubt, shows up in half the fics! And it's not even the type that's integrated into the fic, no. It's the type that's literally porn with no plot or some shit. I'm so tired of smut. When I am looking for angst, I'm looking for angst. When I'm looking for fluff, I'm looking for fluff. Not fucking smut.

-angst

I'm deprived of this shit and need more of it, good golly! Where are my writers with the angst that's hurt/no comfort??? Please! I beg of you! Write more of that! I'm on my knees crying because mmm angst is the best type of writing in my opinion. I eat the writing up because those authors cooked!

-fluff

I need more fluff that's so fucking sweet it makes my soul ache and my teeth rot. That's it. I need it to give me fucking butterflies in my stomach when I see two characters I like being so sweet with each other.

Pairings:

(this is more specifically towards X reader inserts)

-M/F!reader

There's a lot of those so not much I need to say, they're mostly good

-M/M!reader

WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUUU!!! AND I'M SO SORRYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

There is not enough M/M!reader content out there and I crave it so much😭😭 gimme gimme gimme🥺

-M/GN!reader

Not enough of this pairing either but it's more than M/M!reader

-F/F!reader, F/M!reader and F/GN!reader

Is it me or are F/anything reader content like rare?!? I only on the occasion find a really good Female character fanfic and sometimes I want more about them🥺

Like... They deserve so much more words(I'm making this the equivalent of screen time😂) written about them because they so neat!

#Chu's rant #writing rant #writing rambles

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beckthenerd · 5 months ago

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I've had the delightful pleasure of finding out about Through the Deep, Dark Valley, and by golly, I loved every precious second I spent reading it! By the time I finished going through all of the available chapters, I was all too eager to blaze up your wonderful work and point out all the cool details I noticed while reading, and considering the immaculate attention to detail this story has, you can imagine I had quite a lot to say about each chapter. However, I also didn't want to send an ask chock-full of spoilers and deprive a potential reader of the ability to go into this story blind, so I wanted to send it as a DM so I could gush about all the cool little details and conversations I enjoyed without running the risk of actually spoiling someone. Just one problem, for some fuckin' reason, whenever I want to send a long-winded DM, it never actually works. I am convinced there's like a secret character limit they're not telling us about or something of the sort, because long messages like these always fail to send no matter what I do. Never once have I successfully sent a long message through DMs. Real messed up, and since I'll likely be waiting a week for my AO3 account, I can't really talk about all those specifics I wrote about in the comments section of each respective chapter either. It sods me off, but luckily a lot of the things I want to gush about have been pointed out in said comments sections. Not all of 'em, but a lot of 'em, which I love! I love it when artists get praised sufficiently for their work, and I derive great pleasure from praising their works, too! Writing good stories takes so much time and experience! Like, I've tried writing stories! It's extremely difficult to do! You've got some serious talent, and you use that talent to create this wonderful, absolutely immaculate story. That deserves praise! I genuinely hope you're having just as much fun writing this story as I have reading it, and I'm stoked to read the next chapters whenever they come out! However, just because I can't get into the nitty-gritty of the story and point out all the beautiful details I noticed, I can still talk about everything surrounding it. I'll just save the rest for when I finally have a bloody AO3 account.

(I wish I could split this first paragraph in two, but I can't find a natural way to do so. I'm sure that's not a bad omen of what's to come. No sireee…)

Anyways, I wanted to start by talking about what drew me into this story the most. When I first saw it, I was almost immediately aboard. Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive, but aboard nonetheless. After seeing that 'What If' comic where Laios imagines what would happen if he were the one who got mauled by the big red bad, the gears in my mind started turning. I had so many ideas for how that could play out, it absolutely drove me up the bloody wall! So many cool ideas! But the thing is, everyone has cool ideas. What matters is someone's ability to make those ideas a reality. The fact you're writing this story, making this alternate universe a reality, is something to be commended in and of itself, but obviously it is your ability to do so in such an immaculate way that truly sets you apart. From your writing to the characterization, it is clear to me that you know your stuff, and you know it well. It took a while for Falin to truly grow on me as a character while I was reading the manga, because I was pulling a lot of blanks on who she was as a character. I just knew there was more to her… There was something under that mask, behind that wall she puts up around others, but I just couldn't put my finger on it! She truly deserves the title of 'Miss Enigma'. It wasn't until after I reached out to a remarkably passionate and smart person that I felt I finally understood her a little more, and it really helped complete my image of her in my mind, so when I saw this story a few days later, I was a little apprehensive. There are a lot of interpretations of Dungeon Meshi's characters - especially Falin - but not all of them are equally interesting to me. For this story to work, Falin, as a character, had to work as well. Her characterization in this story was crucial to me, so I hope you understand that I was holding my breath when I started reading. When I found this story, it was like a dream come true; but was I in for the time of my life, or a rude awakening? Well, I'm writing this elaborate cry for help disguised as a message, so obviously it's like a dream come true. This character, this… 'Mystery'… You wrote her perfectly. I cannot think of a single interpretation that could possibly fit this story better. The way you wrote her thoughts, actions and dialogue are all absolutely perfect. I'm quite certain over half of the notes I took were specifically dedicated to the things Falin thinks and says. I relate to her on a very deep level I wasn't expecting, but even if I didn't, I am convinced I would absolutely love this regardless.

I genuinely wish I could dedicate this message to highlighting all of the specific moments in the story I love oh so much, but that'll have to wait until I can post it in a place where I don't risk spoiling someone. I think my favorite part of Falin that I CAN point out however, is that from the outsider's perspective, she's a total mystery. Her inner workings are alien to us. For crying out loud, until recently I didn't even know what to write for her character synopsis! But what makes this story work, is that while Falin may be a mystery to everyone around her, to Falin EVERYONE but her is a mystery! I am enthralled by the way she's constantly experiencing difficulties reading expressions, or second-guessing almost everything she says like she's playing a game of minesweeper! It's like every interaction is akin to a negotiation straight from the depths of the most unforgiving Shin Megami Tensei games, and I adore it! Not just because I relate to it so heavily, but also because it's just such a fascinating way to write her character. This teeny tiny element of her character opens the floodgates to so many interesting and insightful thoughts, conversations and other such things, and so far you've done your damnedest to make absolutely sure every single opportunity for interesting and meaningful moments is seized! That, good sir, takes a level of mastery I myself could never hope to replicate. But what makes Falin work even more for this story, is all the ways in which she handles things differently than Laios. Laios is such a social person despite his lacking people skills, and he can pick up on a lot of interesting cues that others simply don't notice. It's his unique insights and remarkable intelligence that pull the party through its darkest hour, and despite being an outwardly goofy person, has saved their bacon many times over by just being himself. At so many points does Falin lament the absence of Laios, thinking about all the things he would've done were he here right now, all the while constantly worrying about how to even revive him when they get to their destination. It's such an interesting way to mirror all the times Laios thought back to how amazing Falin was, and how she would've probably handled the situation far better all the while worrying for her safety and feeling as though he failed her. They're both so similar, yet so different, and they make up for each other's weaknesses. Another thing that I noticed is that Marcille's presence is far more overbearing here. She's still the same person as she was in the canon story - which further goes to show just how good your understanding of Dungeon Meshi and its characters is - but without Laios' equally loud presence, it feels as though Marcille's personality and overall presence just… Take up more space, for lack of a better word. It's certainly not helped by Falin's comparatively meager presence due to the way she handles social interactions. Speaking of character dynamics, I also greatly enjoy the way Falin bounces off of Senshi. It's something I was really looking forward to, especially with how he interacted with Laios. I was really, really curious to see how he'd interact with Falin, and I'm glad we get to see that here in such a magnificent way! Also, I genuinely think you wrote Toshiro perfectly. I'm not really aware of (the? Is it 'the' public opinion, or just 'public opinion'?) public opinion on Toshiro, but I generally tend to see folks describe him as the character of all time. Seeing that one post-ending story where Falin and Toshiro have a heartfelt conversation really made me wonder what would happen if the two were actually trekking through the dungeon, and et voila! The man, the myth and the bloody LEGEND delivered! You characterized Toshiro exceptionally well, good sir! I cannot stress how much I admire that!

Now, while some chapters of the manga are understandably (and thankfully) skipped over due to likely playing out the same way, there are some tidbits here and there that indicate some things did end up going differently in these skipped chapter, showing how Falin handles certain situations, which is a really cool touch. Getting what is essentially a mini recap with what's transpired between one chapter and the next is really insightful and a really clever way to bridge the gap. One last thing I'd like to mention, is that I genuinely do hope the jumps between chapters don't get too big. I understand not every chapter is going to play out as differently, making it a very good thing to gloss over, but I do also genuinely anticipate seeing Falin's reactions to certain situations or revelations, but I think that's a moot point. (Plus, it's secretly just because I want more to read. Your writing is SO friggin' swag! The more, the better in my eyes.) You've clearly shown you're highly capable of writing an excellent story, so I'm not worried at all. In fact, I have faith you'll be posting hit after hit, and I can't wait. Good luck with writing up that buffer! Personally, I hope there's a great wealth of chapters left for you to write, because I could quite literally sit down for days on end reading this without pause. You've done expertly so far, and I lament I cannot point out all of the specific interactions and other such things I loved in this comment, but that just means I get to save it for another comment whenever I finally get my grubby hands on an AO3 account.

With that though, have an absolutely wonderful day, king! Yes, it's a bit abrupt. What about it? It's difficult to wri--fucking evaporates

it's the fact that i literally saw your other asks you've left for other writers and immediately heard the jaws theme playing. i literally went ohhhhhh. oh i am so cooked. and... yeah man i am so fucking cooked. this write up was so amazingly heartfelt and kind, and i really do appreciate everything you've written for me.

if it makes you feel any better, i can say with certainty that the only other chapters that are really being skipped are the spirits/treasure bugs chapters (if only because they're being summarized quickly to get on with the plot in the part that i wrote), and even then they'll probably be mentioned in the future. this outline... man, this outline is THICK. we're talking 20+ pages of notes (even if those notes do include my summaries, my start and end notes, etc.).

there are also a few pieces that may be skipped as we go through certain beats of the story but will be revisited (specifically a certain chapter involving a younger version of some of these characters).

the biggest challenge in writing TtDDV has truly been figuring out who Falin is as a character (and also all of the research i've had to do because Kui has truly thought of... well, a lot. there's a lot going on. it does help because it answers a lot of questions).

a lot of people seem to agree with you on my characterization of Toshiro, which is really nice! he really is the Most Character of All Time, and i thought that it would make sense to make him... well, A Bit More Character. make this guy fun, if you will. a little silly, even. but yeah, it means a lot to know that people like the way i write him! one of my betas literally said "i didn't care about this guy until after reading this" which, as you can imagine, made me feel pretty good about my writing.

i have a lot of thoughts on Marcille. i love that girl so much, and she indeed is the loudest motherfucker in the room now that Laios isn't here. i've been trying my best to not make her... well, annoying, so i've been trying to kind of herd her around much like a cattle dog, picking little pieces of her dialogue to include from the manga while also developing... well, the elephant in the room. the elephant in the room being the yearning and semi-slow burn.

ANYWAYS, i'm rambling a lot, and i've got so many thoughts, but i need to shut my trap before i start laying out EVERYTHING that's going to happen in this series. i'm glad you enjoyed, and i'm so excited to see what you end up commenting!

#ttddv #ask #beck speaks

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staceymcgillicuddy · 1 year ago

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annual writing self-evaluation

Thanks to @astorytotellyourfriends for the tag - I didn't do this last year!

1. List of works published this year (in the order that they were posted):

If She Lived in Space, Man, I'd Build A Plane crimson & clover pulling overtime model citizen; zero discipline what you give just serves me right two jack trippers and a chrissy perception check all my kinktober fills a hollow tree

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Gosh, that's hard. I'm proud of all of them for different reasons, and I have issues with all of them for different reasons. I guess I would say "what you give just serves me right" makes me happy, and was something I had to push myself to do, but I was pleased with how it turned out in the end.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I hate that I have two fics out that I haven't updated in ages! I am not proud of that! And there are a few things in all of them that I'd tweak.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

Oh golly. Alright, from a hollow tree, which was my Halloween fic featuring Lilith!succubus!Chrissy:

Fog slips into the van when he opens the door. A mist so thick it’s disorienting as he drops to the ground, and the shape of a girl forms itself out of the gloom.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Almost every single regular commenter on Soul makes my heart sing and my panties drop, and I'm so sorry my brain is being stupid right now.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Right goddamn now. It's like squeezing blood from a fucking stone, and I have no idea why, but everything comes out strained and blechy and I hate it, and I refuse to inflict it on anyone else so I'll just sit like a lump, churning out crap and never showing it to anyone.

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

Genuinely did not think that I would get so into the Hopper/Chrissy/Eddie dynamic as I did when I wrote it as a crackship as part of kinktober. But, like, I could get DOWN with that shit.

Also, Hellcheerington surprised me. Oh, and writing Eddie's dad for Soul was weirdly cathartic? I was determined to make him a person and not a collection of cliches, which was easier said than done. I think I got there, in the end. Hope so, anyway!

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I didn't, I fucking regressed. Or, no, not really. I pushed myself a bit, tried to get sharper and cleaner with some prose. Read some theory books, worked on my rhetorical devices, forced myself to kill a couple darlings along the way (but not all the darlings, god damn it).

I also published a book, so yay?

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I'd like to get back to writing original fiction. I've been in a slump with that, too, because it doesn't have the instantaneous feedback that fanfic does. I want to split my time between fic and pro writing stuff, and I want to be very realistic about how much mental energy my real job takes up. When I used to write like a madwoman, I didn't have the role I currently do, which is a senior project manager leading a team, working mostly with executive-level staff. Don't get me wrong, my job pisses me off a lot, and stresses me out, too, but it pays well and we live in a shithole of a society where money matters in the grand scheme of things.

So, like, I guess I hope to grow as a writer in writing even when my brain doesn't want me to, or it doesn't feel great to do so.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Freaking Shirley Jackson, man. That bitch can write.

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

I'm always putting kinky shit I see or experience at the bdsm club into my fic. I am as God made me.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Everything is made up and the points don't matter. Stop comparing yourself to other authors. Turn off stats on your AO3. Write what you fucking want and quit worrying if other people are going to like it.

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I'm going to be so, so glad when Soul is done because I love it so much but it is also the millstone around my neck.

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

@binickandros, @pipergirl17 and @phoenixwrites please!

#ask meme #writing #personal #bsc diaries #i rambled a lot up there #thank u for reading if u got this far #gentle forehead kisses for you

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adleryoung · 4 months ago

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The majority of you seem to believe that I sidestepped the issue, distracting Burnside by making her my official bodyguard and concubine … which of course is absolutely correct.

This is uncanny. I’m going to have to organize a task force to find out if someone else is publishing my life story without my permission. This has to be a violation of one of your convoluted lowfolk laws regarding trade-mark or copying rights, and I won’t stand for it. Meanwhile, let's continue the story.

Where was I? Oh yes:

…..

My mind raced, trying to think of some way to resolve this situation in a way that wouldn’t end with my entrails festooning the nearby trees. My Ixies were somewhere nearby, watching. Should I summon them? What exactly could they do if I did? And what were the odds that Burnside could gut me before they reached us?

I glanced at Burnside. She stared up at me expectantly, her ironclad grip not loosening for a moment. Obviously she was waiting for me to work my Wiles on her. Wait … WILES! That was the answer! I could use some of the more complicated Wiles to butter her up and steer her mind away from romantic topics.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed.

"Huh?" she countered strategically.

"After spending so long guarding Rebecca and her various covens," I continued magnanimously, "the fact that you never abandoned your post while awaiting my return, and your mostly-loyal service in past years despite being originally an Antglade agent, it is clear to me that your services are invaluable. Therefore it is only fitting that, acting in my official capacity as High King and Emperor of Faerie, I reward you for your past dedication while simultaneously claiming your loyalty for future labors. As you know, I am married to a skunk of noble blood, but the union is far from a happy one. Therefore, it is only fitting that I exercise my royal prerogative to bestow upon you the combined office of Imperial Bodyguard and Personal Concubine."

Burnside loosened her grip and stared at me, spellbound.

"No foolin?" she asked.

"Elves do not lie, my dear," I chuckled regally as I wriggled out of her now-loosened grip. "It is clear to me that this is the only way forward. However, such responsibility does not come lightly. I must be able to rely on your absolute loyalty. All of my enemies will become your enemies, including the Duchess of Daisies. Can you commit to that?"

"Yer durn tootin!" she blurted almost immediately. "The Duchess plum forgot about me, I reckon. All these years an nary a word. Nobody come lookin' for me to see how I was doin, nor give me any orders nor collect my report. I don't owe the Duchess nothin. Her an me is quits, an I'm a hunnerd percent yo servant."

"Excellent," I beamed, not expecting her to agree quite so fast. I reached into my Elfintory and pulled out a bundle of twisted willow withies (from a point in my long, boring exile when I tried actually MAKING baskets instead of magickally apporting them.) Wielding this object as a scepter, I gently tapped once on each of Burnside’s shoulders. "By my authority as the official acting Emperor over all of Faerie, I dub thee Lady Burnside, my official bodyguard and concubine."

"Golly," Burnside gasped, and I hoped she might faint. "I'm a Lady!? I got me a boss who likes me enough not to send me away in disgust?!? I ain't just some filthy Antglade-trash no more?! My pappy said I’d never amount to nothin. Almost wish I hadn't kilt him, so's I could see his face now! This here means more to me than … than ANYTHANG, Adler honey. Sire. Yer Highness. Yer darlin Majesty."

This worked out even better than I thought it would. Excellent. I leaned back and silently congratulated myself as I began to wonder when Rebecca and the others would get back.

Burnside suddenly latched onto me again.

"You done made me a right happy critter," she purred around the knife clenched between her teeth. "I may not know much about fancy rituals for royalty, but I do know what a concubine does. Now that it's official, I reckon it’s high time I show you some grade-A Burnside lovin. I went easy on ya when we had venery before, but now … brace yerself for the full ride! Don’t worry bout shuckin yo clothes, they’ll take care o themselves."

“Dear merciful Fuma," I whimpered. "Please protect and preserve me this day, for lo, I walk through the valley of the shadow of AAAAGHH!!"

#furry #adventure #elves #story #plot #cartoon #tboay

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sesamestreep · 1 year ago

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30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 7

Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox (from this list) ➸ slight future fic in the west wing AU, set probably six months after part 4 which does not exist yet (🫠) so maybe consider it a preview of what’s to come eventually in the series?? corresponds to the beginning of season 3 of the west wing when everybody’s in Manchester for the campaign and based (loosely) on that scene where Toby sucks at pool. ♡ dedicated to my pal @aivley-reblogs who had the chance to influence me to make this fic less weird and horny and chose violence instead ♡

It's only after Foggy has managed to send Karen and most of the remaining staffers that were still holed up in the bar either working or blowing off steam back to their hotel rooms for the night that Matt finally reappears.

“Did I miss the end of the party?” Matt asks.

“We’re calling it a night,” Foggy replies, as he’s futzing with his wallet. He's waiting on the drink he just ordered with plans to close his tab after that. “The team’s picking back up with the speech in the morning. Hopefully, some rest will help.”

“I don’t know if one good night of sleep is enough to make everyone see eye to eye there.”

“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and I think we’re all entitled to some delusion.”

Matt smiles at that, and says, “You’re heading out, then?”

Foggy leans back against the bar. “After this drink, yes.”

“I’d have another too, if you’re offering.”

“Yeah, alright,” Foggy says, at the exact same moment the bartender reappears with his drink. “Can I be a bother and add one more thing to my tab?”

The bartender gives Foggy the impression of someone who’s probably a school teacher by day and does this for extra cash because the educational system in this country is fundamentally broken. That’s a long way of saying she’s a different breed from the sleek, lithe employees of the downtown DC bars he usually frequents, most of whom could and likely do double as escorts to senators and ambassadors now and again. She’s also probably old enough to be his mother, which makes it charming and not weird when she nods curtly and turns to Matt with a, “Jameson, right, honey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt replies, with the sort of humble acquiescence of someone used to terms of endearment from the older ladies at church. Once she’s gone, Matt pokes Foggy’s wrist and says, “You play pool?”

“Not as well as Karen, but…”

Matt smiles, too brightly for the hour and for their current circumstances. “I see news of my humbling defeat has already reached you."

"As if there's a force on this earth that could actually humble you in any real way."

"True enough," Matt replies, his smile only growing. "It's clear to me now that I should have done my homework before challenging her, at least.”

"I hope you didn't put any money on it," Foggy says, casually.

"Nothing I couldn't afford to lose," Matt says, with a shrug. It's hard to tell in the subdued lighting of the bar, but he might also be blushing faintly. "If you're worried, I'll be generous with you. You can lose for free."

"Golly, thanks," Foggy says, drily, making Matt laugh.

"Sounds like a yes to me," he says, before nodding to the raised area in the back of the room where the pool table resides. “I’ll get it set up. Meet me there when you’re all set.”

“Sorry, am I buying and delivering your drinks now, Murdock?”

“Seems like it, yeah,” Matt replies, with a grin that threatens to overtake his face as he effortlessly walks back from the bar without turning away.

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” Foggy shouts after him.

“The pleasure of my company,” Matt fires back, and then disappears again.

Foggy can’t deny that that’s enough of a draw for him, but he doesn’t have to be stupid and admit it out loud. Instead, he gets Matt’s drink without further complaint, as well as his own, closes his tab, and heads over to the slightly enclosed area at the back of the bar where there’s a pool table with Matt Murdock leaning against it. He hands the drink off to him, and clinks their glasses together before Matt can pull his away.

“Cheers,” he says, for no real reason, and watches Matt’s throat move on a swallow just a little too closely. He feels fine and normal otherwise.

“You know how to play?” Matt asks, inclining his head towards the table as he stands and makes his way to the rack of pool cues.

There’s something loose and warm in the way he moves around the rounded corners of the table, like this is his neighborhood bar and he knows it by heart. Foggy attributes it to the few drinks he’s had over the course of the night and a certain natural grace that Matt seems to possess, but having an explanation for it doesn’t dampen the effect of it at all. Just like he was fascinated by Matt’s throat a moment ago, Foggy now feels like he can’t take his eyes off Matt’s hips, which is a real problem.

“I’m a man of a certain age, Matthew,” Foggy gripes, in the hopes of distracting from his obvious enamored state with sheer bad manners. “Of course I know how to play pool!”

"Good, then I won't go easy on you," Matt says.

"I have a feeling that was never an option," Foggy retorts. "What's a guy like you get out of pool, anyway?

"A guy like me? What's that supposed to mean?

Foggy rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that. It's a pretty visual game!"

"True enough. I was going to ask you to point me in the right direction, depending on whether I end up with stripes or solids."

"I could lie."

"Yeah, but you won't."

"I'm a politician, kiddo. Don't be so sure."

"'Kiddo'," Matt repeats, evidently delighted by it. "You're in a real mood, huh?"

"I'm fine," Foggy says, too sharply. "You want to break or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Matt offers, generously. "I want you to feel like you stood an actual chance, at least to start."

"You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm aware. You can save the energy you're about to put into pretending you don't like it, by the way."

"I don't like it!"

"Sure."

"I really don't," Foggy says, even as he's trying to fight a smile. And winning, but still. "Not right now I don't, at least."

"Yes, you do," Matt replies, knowingly. "Right now, me being an asshole is the only thing stopping you from taking your frustrations out on someone who doesn't deserve it."

Foggy sighs, defeated. "You don't deserve it either."

"Give it fifteen, twenty minutes and see if you still feel that way," Matt says, lightly, and nudges him with his elbow.

Foggy steps up to take the first shot, breaking the neat little triangle of billiard balls that Matt has assembled in the center of the table with the white cue ball easily. Nothing goes into a pocket, of course, not that he really expected it. He's fine at pool, generally speaking, but not great. It's a feeling he's beginning to get used to (and increasingly tired of) in the rest of his life as well.

"Let's keep it simple," he says, as he stands up. "Whoever sinks the most shots wins."

"Easy enough," Matt says, coming to stand next to him. "Where's the cue ball?"

Foggy steps in close to Matt's side, until their arms brush. "Eleven o'clock."

Matt nods and sinks down into his stance. Foggy steps back, both to get out of his way and to admire his form. Matt’s got a nice ass, which is something Foggy noticed about him basically immediately, being gifted by God with both the power of sight and the blessing of bisexuality. He can normally control himself enough to conveniently avoid noticing it, except for right now when it’s late, he’s a little tipsy, and Matt’s suit is perfectly tailored to show it off. It is, quite frankly, a ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into. Even the dim amber lighting of the bar is blending with the glow of several nearby neon signs—they serve Heineken and Pabst Blue Ribbon here, apparently—to cast Matt’s skin in the dreamiest light possible.

Matt sinks three balls without trouble before Foggy can manage to tear his gaze away from his ass, and even then, it’s only to get distracted by the lovely shape his fingers make around the cue. He misses his next shot by about three millimeters, a miracle that Foggy attributes either to the power of his overwhelming horniness creating some sort of palpable disturbance in the atmosphere or God punishing him for his lustful thoughts by contriving a scenario where Matt’s no longer bending over a pool table in his line of sight. Either way, it’s a reprieve.

“That’s you,” Matt says, still stalking around the table like a jungle cat. Foggy might need to get out more, is the thing.

“How are you this good at pool, anyway?” Foggy asks, as he lines up his shot and delicately avoids letting his hips come into contact with the table. He thinks unsensuous thoughts and doesn’t look over at Matt at all, because, with his luck, if he does, Matt will be innocently fellating the pool cue or some similar such nonsense. Better to avoid it altogether, he thinks.

“Practice,” Matt says, smugly. “And very, very dim vision, technically.”

“I didn’t know that,” Foggy says as he sinks a shot, finally. Even that, the sound of the ball finding the pocket, is kind of erotic to him now because his life is a farce.

“Yeah. Most blind people have some vision. Total blindness is fairly rare.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you totally just let me lead you around most of the time because you really just like walking arm in arm with me. Is that accurate?”

“You caught me,” Matt says, with a soft smile, and Foggy misses his next shot completely. “Not bad.”

“3 to 1,” Foggy replies, pushing himself up.

“You’re on the board,” Matt says, passing behind him closely enough that Foggy catches the scent of his cologne mixed with the Jameson left in his glass. He takes another drink and Foggy wonders what his mouth would taste like right now and also if there’s a historically significant, beautiful river nearby that he could potentially drown himself in. They’re in small town New Hampshire, after all. The chances that Benedict Arnold did something stupid near here back in 1776 and there's a scenic spot with a plaque commemorating it are pretty high. There are worse places to drown yourself, he figures.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbles, instead of saying any of that out loud.

“I wasn’t,” Matt says, grinning as he settles into his spot for his next shot.

“How much did Karen beat you by, again? I feel like it might be helpful, for me, to know.”

“It’s not fair,” Matt says in an exaggerated whine that’s in no way convincing. His smile doesn’t help either. “I’m blind and she tricked me!”

“I don’t think her being better at pool than you expected constitutes a trick on her part, Matt.”

“She let me explain the rules to her for like ten minutes!”

“And I bet she let you do that thing where you got real close and showed her how to handle the stick from behind too,” Foggy says, infusing his tone with mock pity.

“Oh, she dropped the ruse well before that point, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not above that move,” Matt says, unrepentant, and sinks another shot. “But I can always do that for you if you need some pointers!”

“Sure,” Foggy says, sweetly. “Come on over, big boy.”

Matt misses his next shot because he’s too busy doubling over with laughter. “Jesus, Foggy!”

“Don’t put anything on the table you don’t want people to accept, Murdock.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt says. “Your turn.”

Foggy sighs as he gets into position. Matt comes to stand at his side and, after a quiet moment in which Foggy attempts to line up his shot, puts his hand on the small of Foggy’s back. It takes all of Foggy’s concentration not to jump away from the touch, but he manages to keep his cool, just barely.

“Your stance does need work,” Matt says, mildly, and kicks him in the ankle before Foggy can make a smart comment about what his lower back has to do with his stance. “Bring this foot out a little.”

Foggy complies, because his brain can’t think of anything else to do in this moment. “Better?” he asks.

“Good,” Matt replies, and Foggy likes the tone in his voice a little too much for his own well being. “Take your shot.”

Foggy does, and scratches. The humiliation, at least, cuts through the arousal rather effectively. That’s something.

“Saboteur,” he mutters as he goes off in search of the lost cue ball.

“I can improve your stance, but your aim is your own problem.”

“A likely story,” Foggy says, as he returns. “I’m hip to your little mind games now, Murdock.”

He puts the cue ball into Matt’s outstretched hand. Matt is entitled, per the rules, to place it wherever he likes on the table to set up his next shot, but he stands there cradling it thoughtfully in his palm, testing its weight, instead, for a long moment, like a total sociopath, adding more force to the argument that Foggy is currently being punished by a mean-spirited and vengeful god.

“You know massaging that thing won’t help you score, right?”

Matt gives him a smile that indicates he either appreciates some good trash talk between men or that he’s seen through to the very heart of Foggy’s desires and found them trivial and amusing in the grand scheme of things. Either way, it’s a good look on him.

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Matt asks, smugly, and places the cue ball before lining up his shot and sinking it in one practiced, elegant motion. “5 to 1, correct?”

“Yep,” Foggy says, leaning back to watch the show without guilt now, since he’s paying for it so dearly at the cost of his self-respect. Matt sinks another shot and Foggy doesn’t even care because he’s too transfixed by the way the fabric of Matt’s dress shirt bunches up around his bicep and spreads taught between his shoulder blades. Foggy takes a healthy sip of his drink because his mouth is suddenly so dry.

"You know," Matt says, casually, with his ass unceremoniously in the air because pool is the greatest game ever invented, in Foggy's not-entirely-sober opinion (even if he is losing spectacularly), "we are rapidly approaching the point in the game where you can't actually win."

"Yes, I'm aware. Believe it or not, I can do basic math. It's one of my very few skills."

"I don't agree with that assessment."

"You don't think I can do math?"

"I think you have lots of skills," Matt says, as he brings his score up to seven. "The gift of foresight, for one."

"What?"

Matt smiles. "You were smart to accept the offer not to play for money."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I thought—you're right. That was smart.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, I—it's not important. I was just confused for a second there."

"Foggy..."

"Just take your next shot, Matt," Foggy interjects, harshly. "You're one point away from ensuring complete domination over me."

Without turning away from him, Matt reaches out to poke the cue ball with his cue, leaving it to roll hesitantly and without urgency into the bumpers around the edge of the table. "You're up," he says, with a helpless shrug, and comes to stand next to Foggy.

He sighs. "Matt, listen—”

"I didn't mean the tobacco thing," Matt says, ignoring him. All of the levity of a moment ago is gone. They're not cheerfully messing around anymore, it looks like. "That's not how I'd bring it up. You know that, right?"

"I do know that. You wouldn't—it's just that it's been on my mind. That's why I went there. It has nothing to do with you."

Matt nods, absently. "I hope so."

"It's the truth," Foggy says, grabbing him by the arm to emphasize his sincerity. "And you've been a real class act for not rubbing my nose in it. I deserved an 'I told you so' at the very least and you haven't given me one, so I should be more appreciative."

"You don't have to thank me for not kicking you when you're down."

"I went to you for advice on how to handle things with the Appropriations subcommittee and then blatantly ignored all of the very good advice you gave me. 'I told you so' would be getting off easy."

Matt smiles, reluctantly. "To be fair, I don't think you really went to me for advice. You knew what you wanted to do before you came to me."

"What was I looking for then?"

"Permission," Matt suggests. "Forgiveness. Maybe some mild fawning over your political acumen."

"All of the above, maybe," Foggy admits, warily, and rubs his face. "I'm sorry."

"For which part?"

"Ignoring your good advice, for one thing. And, well, if I made you feel like I was pulling rank on you, that's not good either."

Matt laughs. "You do outrank me, Foggy."

“Still,” Foggy says. “I like to think I’m not that guy, usually.”

“What guy?”

“The one who’s so far up his own ass that he can’t see anyone else’s point of view.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, thoughtfully. “You’re definitely not that guy.”

“I was to you.”

“Not really. It was one situation where you didn’t take my advice. That’s going to happen if we work together for any stretch of time. It’s going to happen again, I’d guess. I hate to think you’re going to beat yourself up this much every time.”

Foggy nudges Matt with his elbow ineffectively. “You’re being too nice to me.”

“And you’re being too hard on yourself,” Matt replies. “Someone’s got to be nice to you. Might as well be me.”

“I notice this vow of kindness doesn’t extend to letting me win at pool.”

“Even I have my limits of good grace, Foggy,” Matt says, with a smile. “Besides, I already lost once tonight. My ego barely survived it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says, earning a confused look from Matt. “Karen asked me to check on you before she left. She was worried about your fragile mental state, that maybe you were weeping over your humiliation alone in the bathroom.”

“No such luck,” Matt laughs.

“My theory was that we had you to thank for the back-to-back Shania Twain songs on the jukebox at the time.”

“Also not true, but only because Shania Twain isn’t exactly sulking music.”

“Speak for yourself,” Foggy says. “I could sulk to Shania.”

“Well, that’s why they pay you the big bucks, I guess,” Matt replies, absently leaning his weight onto the pool cue. “I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Foggy pauses with his glass midway to his lips. “What?”

“When Karen and I finished our game,” Matt says, still brightly but with a strange edge, like he’s not sure mentioning this is the right thing to do. “I thought you were still outside with Jeri.”

“I was,” Foggy says, and then reconsiders. “I mean, I was for most of your game, I think. When I came back in, you two seemed to be finishing up.”

They also seemed to be laughing and touching a whole lot, which is why Foggy hadn’t come over. He’d slunk off to drink at a table with Marci and Ben and a few of the new people Jeri had hired to run the campaign while they went nine rounds over the wording of a single sentence in the speech for the President’s official announcement for the bid for re-election. The senior staff and the campaign staff were finding it difficult to mesh together so far and it meant that this important speech was stuck in limbo between them like a child of divorce in a nasty custody battle. Everyone, it seemed, was having a miserable time of it lately, which was especially inconvenient because there’d never been more scrutiny on the administration before this particular moment.

Matt was, technically, campaign staff but he’d been on the payroll longer than anyone else, because he’d been doing polling for them for a while now and they’d just decided to extend his contract and fold it into their re-election efforts. So far, he was keeping his head above water and wasn’t getting embroiled in the stupid little pissing matches happening elsewhere, which was impressive. He’d also been pitching in and helping with the announcement speech where he could, but there were a lot of egos to soothe or flatter in that area and it wasn’t what they were specifically paying him to do. Still, Foggy’s been pleased so far watching him navigate these tense situations and remain professional and undeterred in spite of them. It’s partly because Foggy had been the one to recommend Matt in the first place that he feels such obvious pride, but it’s hard to ignore that there’s another reason for it. He’s trying to make peace with the fact that he’s more than incidentally in love with Matt and constant proximity is not tempering it at all. In fact, seeing Matt every day now and watching him succeed at the thing he loves doing makes Foggy so absurdly happy, it’s almost like these professional victories are happening to him by proxy. Which means, in terms of ever getting past this unfortunate crush, Foggy is monumentally fucked.

“You should have come over,” Matt says, still talking about his game of pool with Karen, oblivious to Foggy’s inner torment. “She said you would, when you got back.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I’m bad company tonight,” Foggy says, spreading his arms out defensively.

“You’re never bad company, as far as I can tell.”

“What did I ever do to earn such loyalty from you? Just let me call myself an asshole, man.”

Matt sighs, disappointed. “You made one mistake, Foggy. You’ve got to—”

“I made a mistake that could cost us the election!”

“It could, but that doesn’t mean it will! It’s still early and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. And, more importantly, you got the Justice Department 30 million dollars to go after the tobacco industry! That’s what they asked you to do! That’s a victory! Why don’t you see that?”

“Because there was a larger victory that I left on the table in my need to get anything done in this fucking town,” Foggy says. “I mean, not this town. We’re in Bumblefuck, New Hampshire. But you know…”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I followed that,” Matt says, unimpressed. “And smaller victories are nothing to scoff at. I think you’ve been in this business so long you’ve lost sight of that. Small victories are how you build your way up to bigger ones. In fact, most big victories are comprised of smaller ones. You’re good at what you do, Foggy. You know all this!”

“I don’t feel good at this anymore.”

“Yeah, well, speaking as someone who grew up around professional boxers, I’ll tell you that the right time to ask a man about his next fight is not when he’s just been K.O.’d. You’ve still got the flashlight in your eyes checking for a concussion. I wouldn’t make any career judgments right now.”

“You think we’ve been K.O.’d?” Foggy asks.

“I think the administration’s on its ass right now, for sure,” Matt replies, with the steely calm of a real political operative and Foggy’s pride in him is not misplaced even a little, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t get back up. The numbers I’m seeing are better than expected and they’re built on all the good you’ve done for the last three years. People will remember why they voted for you guys in the first place soon enough.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“I am and I think that earns me the right to say something that might hurt your feelings a bit.”

Foggy takes a fortifying sip of his drink, bracing himself. “Go for it, then.”

“As great as you are, this election won’t be won or lost on your actions alone,” Matt says, gently. “I know it’s tempting to decide that what you personally do or don’t do is the most important thing in the universe, to take every setback as a condemnation of your efforts and proof that you need to double down and do more, but you’re a part of a team. It’s not up to you to win this election by yourself. And it won’t be your fault and only yours if we don’t.”

“Why would that hurt my feelings?” Foggy asks, far too casually. He doesn’t know who he thinks he’s trying to fool here.

“Because it would hurt mine,” Matt says, “if our situations were reversed.”

Foggy understands that for what it is: an offer of a hand up off the ground, an acknowledgement that he and Matt are the same in this regard. It’s not nothing and he’d be wise to take what’s being given to him here, but he’s not quite there yet.

“I could have done more, Matt.”

“And you’ll have plenty of chances to do so. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I think it’s always going to haunt me, the things we didn’t get through, the things we compromised on to appeal to our opposition. I think it’ll kill me, eventually.”

“You’ve done a lot of good too.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, solemnly. “But enough? I’m not sure.”

Matt lets that sit, rather than trying to placate him with some sort of truism, which is nice. It’s meaningful to him that Matt knows this isn’t some empty question coming from him, that Foggy really means it when he asks it. He feels certain that this is something Matt worries about too, that this is a question Matt’s asked himself at the end of many days before. It’s dangerous, honestly, feeling this close to someone. This kind of intimacy isn’t something he feels capable of shaking off and pretending isn’t there, most of the time.

“You didn’t answer my question before, you know,” he says, eventually, even though it feels sacrilegious to break this particular silence.

“Which one?” Matt asks, shifting the cue back and forth between his hands in what could be a nervous tic or maybe he’s just bored with this conversation. It’s hard to tell.

“The one about what I did to earn such loyalty.”

Matt shrugs, staring into the middle distance. “You got me this job, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I remembered your name. That’s about it. Everything else was a result of your hard work.”

“Then, I guess it’s all for remembering my name.”

“That’s the real answer?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Matt replies, leaning into his side. “If you win this game, I’ll give you the real answer.”

“I’d need a miracle for that to happen,” Foggy grumbles. “Are you sure I can’t just bribe you?”

“Okay, final offer,” Matt answers, with a cryptic smile, “you get the eight ball into any pocket on this turn and you win.”

“That’s a stupid bet, Murdock. Where did you learn to gamble?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“You’re winning seven to one. Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just that confident that you won’t be able to make the shot.”

“Or maybe you just really want to tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

“My deepest, darkest secret has nothing to do with you, Foggy. You’re getting a shallow, well lit secret out of me in this bargain, if anything.”

“We’ll see,” Foggy replies, breezily, as he approaches the table to line up his shot. He doesn’t have Matt’s lithe sort of confidence or any kind of delusion that he’d paint a tempting picture right now even for someone who could see him, but he is stupidly determined, so he likes his odds in this situation just fine.

“Oh,” Matt interrupts, innocently, at the precise moment Foggy was going to pull his cue back and take the shot. “Since we’re now wagering on the outcome of this game, I should ask: what do I get?”

“What do you get?” Foggy repeats, irritated. He feels certain Matt timed that question to throw him off and he’s not pleased about it. “You’re going to beat me in the most humiliating way possible! What more do you need?”

“I’d like a secret too.”

“Fine, but you had better be satisfied with an equally shallow, well lit one from me too.”

“That kind of depends on what kind of secret you consider the answer to my question to be.”

“What question?”

“What made you remember my name?”

Foggy actually stands up to consider this fully. It’s hard to tell with Matt, if he’s aware of the way Foggy can’t help but flirt with him sometimes and how seriously he takes it. Matt gives as good as he gets, Foggy thinks, but whether he knows that Foggy would gladly make real on all the innuendo he throws at him is another matter. All of which just makes it that much more confusing why he’d make this request in the first place. Does he want flattery? Does he want some confirmation that the new opportunities in his career were gotten honestly? Or does he want Foggy to admit to something here? And why would he want that? To laugh at him? To clear the air? To prove his suspicions about why he got this job are true?

Foggy’s not prepared for any of those scenarios. Matt is maybe just joking around (though he certainly doesn’t look like it) but he’s asking for a bigger secret than he realizes. And Foggy will not be explaining that to him, because even that would be admitting too much. They’re going to be working together closely for a while yet and Foggy’s not going to ruin it now, not right out of the gate. He’s got more instinct for self-preservation than that.

“Fine,” he says, setting his sights on the eight ball again. “You have yourself a deal. Now, shut up and stop distracting me.”

Matt crosses his arms over his chest, looking self-satisfied and unconcerned. This expression changes into one of shock and disbelief at the sound of the eight ball landing in the middle pocket on the left side of the table.

“Like I said,” Foggy states, rounding the corner of the table, “that was a bad bet.”

“You cheated,” Matt exclaims.

“How?”

“I didn’t hear the cue touch the ball. Did you—did you just move the eight ball with your hand?!”

“Of course,” Foggy says, with a shrug. “You never said how I had to get the eight ball into the pocket, only that it had to happen on my next turn.”

Matt laughs in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous! And very clearly against the rules!”

“Not against the ones you set, though. Technically.”

“Yeah, technically, I guess,” Matt says. “But don’t you feel bad winning this way?”

“Of course not,” Foggy answers, gesturing widely with the cue still in his hands. “I’m a pathetic little man, Matthew.”

“Five minutes ago, I would have argued with that kind of negative self-talk, but I’m no longer feeling generous towards you at all.”

Foggy shrugs as he reaches past Matt for his drink. “I would totally understand if you didn’t want to uphold your end of the bargain, by the way. I mean, if our situations were reversed, I would still do it, but I’m a class act, through and through.”

“You’re a cheat is what you are,” Matt says, and it might be the inadequate lighting in here playing tricks on him, but Foggy thinks there might be color rising in Matt’s cheeks. “This is why no one trusts anyone in Washington, you know.”

“I know,” Foggy says, indulgently. “Like I said, it’s up to you. But you’ll also recall I warned you never to put something on the table that you don’t want your opponent to accept.”

“I didn’t mind the idea of you winning, I just didn’t think you’d cheat to get it!”

“Then you underestimated how baffled I am by your loyalty to me.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Matt says, leaning back to rest more fully against the table behind him. “I think it’s obvious why I’d…what makes me feel that way towards you.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Foggy replies, at the same moment he realizes Matt leaning back didn’t put that much space between them after all. He’d gotten pretty close to reach for his drink and, maybe, just to push this conversation from trash talk more firmly into flirting territory. For someone who doesn’t want to fuck things up, he’s really pushing his luck.

Matt exhales noisily, and Foggy can feel it on his neck, that’s how close they’re standing. They’re in a bar, of course, so they have their excuses. It’s noisy, with the patrons and the jukebox and the TVs. They could need privacy, given the jobs they have and the sensitive nature of the information they have access to as part of them. But that’s not why Foggy’s doing this and he suspects that, even if he’s just following Foggy’s lead, Matt doesn’t ultimately have a better reason.

“Why did you remember me?” Matt asks, quietly. “I mean, me, of all people? What made me stand out? What did I do right?”

Everything, Foggy wants to say. You do everything right. You’re smart and conscientious and charming and everyone likes you and everyone remembers you and you’ve got a mind and mouth that won’t quit and an ass to match. Remembering you wasn’t the hard part. Forgetting you someday will be. “Matthew Murdock,” Foggy says, carefully, appreciatively, like he’s really savoring every vowel and consonant. “Very alliterative. Extremely easy to remember.”

Matt’s answering smile is slow-dawning to the point of decadence and he tucks his chin to hide it. “My middle name is Michael, you know.”

“Goddammit,” Foggy groans, because he can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is, come back to my room and I’ll make sure you never want to leave. He’s so fucking in love, it’s honestly stupid.

“As for me,” Matt says, a moment later, after careful consideration, “and what you did—why I feel so—what you asked, I mean…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just that—”

A loud, chirping ringtone severs the tenuous connection of the moment. Foggy stares openly at Matt’s face as he doesn’t react to the interruption at all beyond stopping talking mid-sentence. After a few tense seconds, Foggy clears his throat and steps back.

“I think that’s you, Matt.”

Matt blinks, like he’s waking for a dream and he doesn’t know where he is. “Right,” he says, without confidence and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He holds it like he doesn’t remember owning such a thing in the first place for a long moment before he flips it open to answer it.

“Hello?” he asks, frowning in concentration. “Oh, Nadia, hi. Yeah, no, not too late, don’t worry. Can you give me one second?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts his hand over the receiver before addressing Foggy. “We’re doing some polling of potential voters on the West Coast tonight, and they need to give me the early data.”

“Right.”

“The speech writing team is going to want this information tomorrow. It will impact the messaging.”

“Understood,” Foggy nods. “You, uh, need to take this, then.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Matt admits, looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry. Cell service is a little better outside, if that helps.”

Matt frowns briefly before his expression clears and he nods briskly. “Thanks. That might be a good idea.”

“I’ll, um, clean this up,” Foggy says, gesturing to the pool table. “You go ahead.”

“Alright,” Matt says, chewing his lip. “Will you head out after that?”

“I might. I could, I guess. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You want me to wait? Walk back to the hotel with you when you’re done?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt responds, looking awkward. It’s a nice out, and it would probably be better to put a little space between them—it’s just too tempting for Foggy to be around Matt like this, late at night, in casual environments, with alcohol and dumb wagers blurring the lines between them that should be crystal clear.

“I’ll wait,” he says, instead, hating the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t mind waiting.”

The worst part is that it’s the most honest thing he’s said all night.

#HWS30days #homelywenchsociety #im not sure this will make any sense to anyone except me or who hasn’t seen tww but…here we are #tww au #series: a more perfect union #daredevil #mattfoggy #matt murdock #foggy nelson #matt x foggy #i don’t know the actual rules of pool everyone forgive me i just let them make shit up #also I’m not sure it makes sense for Matt to still be good at pool in a no powers AU #but him being a slutty pool shark is really important to me #so it stays #30 day challenge #writing challenge #this is so long RIP

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